beautiful was to be protected by the noblest power. Always fortunate
is that epoch in a literature when the great works of the past again
rise up as if thawed, and come into notice, because they then produce a
perfectly fresh effect. Even the Homeric light rose again quite new to
us, and indeed quite in the spirit of the time, which highly favoured
such an appearance; for the constant reference to nature had at last
the effect, that we learned to regard even the works of the ancients
from this side. What several travellers had done for explanation of
the Holy Scriptures, others had done for Homer. By Guys the matter was
introduced; Wood gave it an impulse. A Göttingen review of the original
work, which was at first very rare, made us acquainted with the design,
and taught us how far it had been carried out. We now no longer saw in
those poems a strained and inflated heroism, but the reflected truth
of a primeval present, and sought to bring this as closely to us as
possible. At the same time we could not give our assent, when it was
maintained that in order rightly to understand the Homeric natures, one
must make oneself acquainted with the wild races and their manners, as
described by the travellers in new worlds; for it cannot be denied that
both Europeans and Asiatics are represented in the Homeric poems as at
a higher grade of culture,--perhaps higher than the time of the Trojan
war could have enjoyed. But that maxim was nevertheless in harmony with
the prevailing confession of nature, and so far we let it pass.
With all these occupations, which were related to the knowledge of
mankind in the higher sense, as well as most nearly and dearly to
poetry, I was nevertheless forced every day to experience that I
was residing in Wetzlar. The conversation on the situation of the
business of the "Visitation," and its ever-increasing obstacles, the
discovery of new offences, was heard every hour. Here was the holy
Roman Empire once more assembled, not for mere outward forms, but for
an occupation which penetrated to the very depths. But even here that
half-empty banqueting-hall on the coronation-day occurred to me, where
the bidden guests remained without, because they were too proud. Here,
indeed, they had come, but even worse symptoms were to be seen. The
want of coherence in the whole, the mutual opposition of the parts,
were continually apparent; and it remained no secret that princes had
confidentially communicated to each other this notion, that they must
see whether, on this occasion, something could not be gained from the
supreme authority.
What a bad impression the petty detail of all the anecdotes of neglects
and delays, of injustices and corruptions, must make upon a young man
who desired what was good, and with this view cultivated his mind,
every honest person will feel. Under such circumstances, where was a
reverence for the law and the judge to arise? Even if the greatest
confidence had been placed in the effects of the "Visitation,"--if
it could have been believed that it would fully accomplish its high
purpose,--there was still no remedy to be found here for a joyous,
inwardly-striving youth. The formalities of the proceeding all tended
towards delay; if any one desired to do anything, and to be of any
importance, he was obliged to serve the party in the wrong--always the
accused--and to be skilled in the fencing-art of twisting and evading.
[Side-note: Æsthetic Speculations.]
Since, amid this distraction, I could not succeed in any æsthetic
labours, I again and again lost myself in æsthetic speculations, as
indeed all theorising indicates a defect or stagnation of productive
power. Before with Merk, now with Gotter, I endeavoured to find out
the maxims according to which one might go to work in production. But
neither with me nor with them would it succeed. Merk was a sceptic and
eclectic; Gotter adhered to such examples as pleased him the most.
The Sulzer theory was published more for the amateur than the artist.
In this sphere moral effects are required above all things; and here
at once arises a dissension between the class that produces and that
which uses; for a good work of art can, and will indeed, have moral
consequences; but to require moral ends of the artist, is to destroy
his profession.
What the ancients had said on these important subjects I had read
industriously for some years, by skips, at least, if not in regular
order. Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, Longinus--none were unconsidered;
but this did not help me in the least, for all these men presupposed an
experience which I lacked. They led me into a world infinitely rich in
works of art; they unfolded the merits of excellent poets and orators,
of most of whom the names alone are left us, and convinced me but too
well that a great abundance of objects must lie before us ere we can
think upon them; that one must first accomplish something oneself, nay,
fail in something, to learn to know one's own capacities, and those of
others. My acquaintance with so much that was good in those old times,
was only according to school and book, and by no means vital, since,
even with the most celebrated, orators, it was striking that they had
altogether formed themselves in life, and that one could never speak of
the peculiarities of their character as artists, without at the same
time mentioning the personal peculiarities of their disposition. With
the poets this seemed less to be the case; and thus the result of all
my thoughts and endeavours was the old resolution to investigate inner
and outer nature, and to allow her to rule herself in loving imitation.
For these operations, which rested in me neither day nor night, lay
before me two great, nay, monstrous materials, the wealth of which
I had only to prize, in order to produce something of importance.
There was the older epoch, into which falls the life of Götz von
Berlichingen, and the modern one, the unhappy bloom of which is
depicted in _Werther._ Of the historical preparation to that first work
I have already spoken; the ethical occasions of the second shall now be
introduced.
The resolution to preserve my internal nature according to its
peculiarities, and to let external nature influence me according to
its qualities, impelled me to the strange element in which _Werther_
is designed and written. I sought to free myself internally from all
that was foreign to me, to regard the external with love, and to allow
all beings, from man downwards, as low as they were comprehensible, to
act upon me, each after its own kind. Thus arose a wonderful affinity
with the single objects of nature, and a hearty concord, a harmony with
the whole, so that every change, whether of place and region, or of
the times of the day and year, or whatever else could happen, affected
me in the deepest manner. The glance of the painter associated itself
to that of the poet, the beautiful rural landscape, animated by the
pleasant river, increased my love of solitude, and favoured my silent
observations as they extended on all sides.
But since I had left the family circle in Sesenheim, and again my
family circle at Frankfort and Darmstadt, a vacuum had remained in
my bosom which I was not able to fill up; I therefore found myself
in a situation where the inclinations, if they appear in any degree
veiled, gradually steal upon us, and can render abortive all our good
resolutions.
And now, when the author has attained this step of his undertaking,
he for the first time feels light-hearted in his labour, since from
henceforward this book first becomes what it properly ought to be.
It has not been announced as an independent work; it is much more
designed to fill up the gaps of an author's life, to complete much
that is fragmentary, and to preserve the memory of lost and forgotten
ventures. But what is already done neither should nor can be repeated,
and the poet would now vainly call upon those darkened powers of
the soul, vainly ask of them to render present again those charming
circumstances, which rendered the period in Lahnthal so agreeable to
him. Fortunately the genius had already provided for that, and had
impelled him, in the vigorous period of youth, to hold fast, describe,
and with sufficient boldness and at the favourable hour publicly to
exhibit that which had immediately gone by. That the little book
_Werther_ is here meant, requires no further indication, but something
is to be gradually revealed, both of the persons introduced in it and
the views which it exhibits.
[Side-note: Origin of "Werther".]
Among the young men, who, attached to the embassy, had to prepare
themselves for their future career of office, was one whom we were
accustomed to call only the "Bridegroom." He distinguished himself by
a calm, agreeable deportment, clearness of views, definiteness both in
speaking and in acting. His cheerful activity, his persevering industry
so much recommended him to his superiors, that an appointment at an
early period was promised him. Being justified by this, he ventured to
betroth himself to a lady, who fully corresponded to his tone of mind
and his wishes. After the death of her mother, she had shown herself
extremely active as the head of a numerous young family, and had alone
sustained her father in his widowhood, so that a future husband might
hope the same for himself and his posterity, and expect a decided
domestic felicity. Every one confessed, without having these selfish
ends immediately in view, that she was a desirable lady. She belonged
to those who, if they do not inspire ardent passion, are nevertheless
formed to create a general feeling of pleasure. A figure lightly built
and neatly formed, a pure healthy temperament, with a glad activity of
life resulting from it, an unembarrassed management of the necessities
of the day--all these were given her together. I always felt happy in
the contemplation of such qualities, and I readily associated myself to
those who possessed them; and if I did not always find opportunity to
render them real service, I rather shared with them than with others
the enjoyment of those innocent pleasures which youth can always
find at hand, and seize without any great cost or effort. Moreover,
since it is now settled that ladies decorate themselves only for each
other, and are unwearied among each other to heighten the effect of
their adornments, those were always the most agreeable to me, who,
with simple purity, give their friend, their bridegroom, the silent
assurance that all is really done for him alone, and that a whole life
could be so carried on without much circumstance and outlay.
Such persons are not too much occupied with themselves; they have
time to consider the external world, and patience enough to direct
themselves according to it, and to adapt themselves to it; they become
shrewd and sensible without exertion, and require but few books for
their cultivation. Such was the bride.[3] The bridegroom, with his
thoroughly upright and confiding turn of mind, soon made many whom
he esteemed acquainted with her; and as he had to pass the greatest
part of his day in a zealous attention to business, was pleased when
his betrothed, after the domestic toils were ended, amused herself
otherwise, and took social recreation in walks and rural parties
with friends of both sexes. Lottie--for so we shall call her--was
unpretending in two senses; first, by her nature, which was rather
directed to a general kindly feeling than to particular inclinations;
and then she had set her mind upon a man who, being worthy of her,
declared himself ready to attach his fate to hers for life. The most
cheerful atmosphere seemed to surround her; nay, if it be a pleasing
sight to see parents bestow an uninterrupted care upon their children,
there is something still more beautiful when brothers and sisters do
the same for each other. In the former case we think we can perceive
more of natural impulse and social tradition; in the latter, more of
choice and of a free exercise of feeling.
The new comer, perfectly free from all ties, and careless in the
presence of a girl who, already engaged to another, could not interpret
the most obliging services as acts of courtship, and could take the
more pleasure in them accordingly, quietly went his way, but was soon
so drawn in and rivetted, that he no longer knew himself. Indolent
and dreamy, because nothing present satisfied him, he found what he
had lacked in a female friend, who, while she lived for the whole
year, seemed only to live for the moment. She liked him much as her
companion; he soon could not bear her absence, as she formed for him
the connecting link with the every-day world; and during extensive
household occupations, they were inseparable companions in the fields
and in the meadows, in the vegetable-ground and in the garden. If
business permitted, the bridegroom was also of the party; they had all
three accustomed themselves to each other without intention, and did
not know how they had become so mutually indispensable. During the
splendid summer they lived through a real German idyl, to which the
fertile land gave the form and a pure affection the poetry. Wandering
through ripe corn-fields, they took delight in the dewy morning; the
song of the lark, the cry of the quail, were pleasant tones; sultry
hours followed, monstrous storms came on,--they grew more and more
attached to each other, and by this continuous love many a little
domestic annoyance was easily extinguished. And thus one ordinary day
followed another, and all seemed to be holidays,--the whole calendar
should have been printed red. He will understand me who recollects what
was predicted by the happily unhappy friend of the "New Heloise:" "And
sitting at the feet of his beloved, he will break hemp, and he will
wish to break hemp to-day, to-morrow, and the day after, nay, for his
whole life."
[Side-note: Young Jerusalem.]
I can say but little, though just as much as may be necessary,
respecting a young man, whose name was afterwards but too often
mentioned. This was Jerusalem, the son of the freely and tenderly
thinking theologian. He also had an appointment with an embassy; his
form was pleasing, of a middle height, and well built; his face was
rather round than long; his features were soft and calm, and he had
the other appurtenances of a handsome blond youth, with blue eyes,
rather attractive than speaking. His dress was that introduced in
Lower Germany in imitation of the English,--a blue frock, waistcoat
and breeches of yellow leather, and boots with brown tops. The author
never visited him, nor saw him at his own residence, but often met him
among his friends. The expressions of this young man were moderate but
kindly. He took interest in productions of the most different kinds,
and especially loved those designs and sketches in which the the
tranquil character of solitary spots is caught. On such occasions he
showed Gesner's etchings, and encouraged the amateurs to study them. In
all that mummery and knighthood he took no part, but lived for himself
and his own sentiments. It was said he had a decided passion for the
wife of one of as friends. In public they were never seen together.
In general very little could be said of him, except that he occupied
himself with English literature. As the son of an opulent man, he had
no occasion either painfully to devote himself to business, or to make
pressing applications for an early appointment.
Those etchings by Gesner increased the pleasure and interest in rural
objects, and a little poem, which we passionately received into
our circle, allowed us from henceforward to think of nothing else.
Goldsmith's _Deserted Village_ necessarily delighted every one at that
grade of cultivation, in that sphere of thought. Not as living and
active, but as a departed, vanished existence was described, all that
one so readily looked upon, that one loved, prized, sought passionately
in the present, to take part in it with the cheerfulness of youth.
Highdays and holidays in the country, church consecrations and fairs,
the solemn assemblage of the elders under the village linden-tree,
supplanted in its turn by the lively delight of youth in dancing,
while the more educated classes show their sympathy. How seemly did
these pleasures appear, moderated as they were by an excellent country
pastor, who understood how to smooth down and remove all that went too
far,--that gave occasion to quarrel and dispute. Here again we found an
honest Wakefield, in his well-known circle, yet no longer in his living
bodily form, but as a shadow recalled by the soft mournful tones of the
elegiac poet. The very thought of this picture is one of the happiest
possible, when once the design is formed to evoke once more an innocent
past with a graceful melancholy. And in this kindly endeavour, how well
has the Englishman succeeded in every sense of the word! I shared the
enthusiasm for this charming poem with Gotter, who was more felicitous
than myself with the translation undertaken by us both; for I had too
painfully tried to imitate in our language the delicate significance of
the original, and thus had well agreed with single passages, but not
with the whole.
If now, as they say, the greatest happiness rests on a sense of longing
(_sehnsucht_), and if the genuine longing can only be directed to
something unattainable, everything had fallen together to render the
youth whom we now accompany on his wanderings the happiest of mortals.
An affection for one betrothed to another, the effort to acquire the
masterpieces of foreign literature for our own, the endeavour to
imitate natural objects, not only with words, but also with style
and pencil, without any proper technical knowledge,--each of these
particulars would singly have sufficed to me melt the heart and oppress
the bosom. But, that the sweetly suffering youth might be torn out
of this state, and that new circumstances might be prepared for new
disquiet, the following events occurred:--
[Side-note: Höpfner.]
Höpfner, professor of law, was at Giessen. He was acknowledged and
highly esteemed by Merck and Schlosser as clever in his office, and as
a thinking and excellent man. I had long ago desired his acquaintance,
and now, when these two friends thought to pay him a visit, to
negotiate about some literary matters, it was agreed that I should
likewise go to Giessen on this opportunity. Because, however--as
generally happens with the wilfulness of glad and peaceful times--we
could not easily do anything in the direct way, but, like genuine
children, sought to get a jest even out of what was necessary, I was
now, as an unknown person, to appear in a strange form, and once more
satisfy my desire to appear disguised. One cheerful morning, before
sunrise, I went from Wetzlar along the Lahne, up the charming valley;
such ramblings again constituted my greatest felicity. I invented,
connected, elaborated, and was quietly happy and cheerful with
myself; I set right what the ever-contradictory world had clumsily
and confusedly forced upon me. Arrived at the end of my journey, I
looked out for Höpfner's residence, and knocked at his study. When he
had cried out, "Come in!" I modestly appeared before him as a student
who was going home from the universities, and wished on his way to
become acquainted with the most worthy men. For his questions as to my
more intimate circumstances, I was prepared; I made up a plausible,
prosaic tale, with which he seemed satisfied, and as I gave myself out
for a jurist, I did not come off badly; for I well knew his merits
in this department, and also that he was occupied with natural law.
Conversation, however, sometimes came to a stand, and it seemed as
if he were looking for a _Stammbuch_[4] or for me to take my leave.
Nevertheless, I managed to delay my departure, as I expected with
certainty the arrival of Schlosser, whose punctuality was well known
to me. He came in reality, and after a side glance, took little notice
of me. Höpfner, however, drew me into conversation, and showed himself
throughout as a humane and kindly man. I at last took my leave, and
hastened to the inn, where I exchanged a few hurried words with Merck,
and awaited further proceedings.
The friends had resolved to ask Höpfner to dinner, and also that
Christian Heinrich Schmidt who had played a part, though a very
subordinate one, in German literature. For him the affair was really
designed, and he was to be punished in a mirthful manner. When the
guests had assembled in the dining-room, I asked, through the waiter,
whether the gentlemen would allow me to dine with them. Schlosser, whom
a certain earnestness well became, opposed this proposition, because
they did not wish their conversation interrupted by a third party. But,
on the pressing demand of the waiter and the advocacy of Höpfner, who
assured the other that I was a very tolerable person, I was admitted,
and at the commencement of the meal behaved as if modest and abashed.
Schlosser and Merck put no restraint upon themselves, and went on about
many subjects as freely as if no stranger were present. I now showed
myself somewhat bolder, and did not allow myself to be disturbed when
Schlosser threw out at me much that was in earnest, and Merck something
sarcastic; but I directed against Schmidt all my darts, which fell
sharply and surely on the uncovered places which I well knew.
I had been moderate over my pint of table-wine, but the gentlemen
ordered better wine to be brought, and did not fail to give me some.
After many affairs of the day had been talked over, conversation went
into general matters, and the question was discussed, which will be
repeated as long as there are authors in the world,--the question,
namely, whether literature was rising or declining, progressing
or retrograding? This question, about which old and young, those
commencing and those retiring, seldom agree, was discussed with
cheerfulness, though without any exact design of coming decidedly
to terms about it. At last I took up the discourse, and said, "The
different literatures, as it seems to me, have seasons, which
alternating with each other, as in nature, bring forth certain
phenomena, and assert themselves in due order. Hence I do not believe
that any epoch of a literature can be praised or blamed on the whole;
especially it displeases me when certain talents, which are brought
out by their time, are raised and vaunted so highly, while others are
censured and depreciated. The throat of the nightingale is excited
by the spring, but at the same time also that of the cuckoo. The
butterflies, which are so agreeable to the eye, and the gnats, which
are so painful to the feelings, are called into being by the same heat
of the sun. If this were duly considered, we should not hear the same
complaints renewed every ten years, and the vain trouble which is
taken to root out this or that offensive thing, would not so often be
wasted." The party looked at me, wondering whence I had got so much
wisdom and tolerance. I, however, continued quite calmly to compare
literary phenomena with natural productions, and (I know not how)
came to the _molluscæ_, of which I contrived to set forth all sorts
of strange things. I said that there were creatures to whom a sort of
body, nay, a certain figure, could not be denied; but that, since they
had no bones, one never knew how to set about rightly with them, and
they were nothing better than living slime; nevertheless, the sea must
have such inhabitants. Since I carried the simile beyond its due limits
to designate Schmidt, who was present, and that class of characterless
_littérateurs_, I was reminded that a simile carried too far at last
becomes nothing. "Well, then, I will return to the earth," I replied,
"and speak of the ivy. As these creatures have no bones, so this has
no trunk; but wherever it attaches itself, it likes to play the chief
part. It belongs to old walls, in which there is nothing more to
destroy; but from new buildings it is properly removed. It sucks up the
goodness of the trees; and is most insupportable to me when it clambers
up a post, and assures me that this is a living trunk, because it has
covered it with leaves."
[Side-note: Joke upon P. H. Schmidt.]
Notwithstanding I was again reproached with the obscurity and
inapplicability of my similes, I became more and more warm against
all parasitical creatures, and as far as my knowledge of nature then
extended, managed the affair pretty well. I at last sang a _vivat_ to
all independent men, a _pereat_ to those who forced themselves upon
them, seized Höpfner's hand after dinner, shook it violently, declared
him to be the best man in the world, and finally embraced both him and
the others right heartily. My excellent new friend thought he was
really dreaming, until Schlosser and Merk at last solved the riddle;
and the discovered joke diffused a general hilarity, which was shared
by Schmidt himself, who was appeased by an acknowledgment of his real
merits, and the interest we took in his tastes.