could not allow to pass away in a hurry. I prevailed on my father and
friends to manage my most pressing affairs, and now set off again from
Frankfort in the company of Basedow. But what a difference did I feel
when I recalled the gentle spirit which breathed from Lavater! Pure
himself, he created around him a pure circle. At his side one became
like a maiden, for fear of presenting before him anything repulsive.
Basedow, on the contrary, being altogether absorbed in himself, could
not pay any attention to his external appearance. His ceaseless smoking
of wretched tobacco was of itself extremely disagreeable, especially as
his pipe was no sooner out, than he brought forth a dirtily prepared
kind of tinder, which took fire quickly, but had a most horrid stench,
and every time poisoned the air insufferably with the first whiff. I
called this preparation "The Basedovian Smellfungus," (Stink-schwamm)
and declared that it ought to be introduced into Natural History under
this name. This greatly amused him, and to my disgust he minutely
explained the hated preparation, taking a malicious pleasure in my
aversion from it. It was one of the deeply rooted, disagreeable
peculiarities of this admirably gifted man that he was fond of
teasing, and would sting the most dispassionate persons. He could never
see any one quiet, but he provoked him with mocking irony, in a hoarse
voice, or put him to confusion by an unexpected question, and laughed
bitterly when he had gained his end; yet he was pleased when the object
of his jests was quick enough to collect himself, and gave him a retort.
[Side-note: Basedow.]
How much greater was now my longing for Lavater. He, too, seemed to
be rejoiced when he saw me again, and confided to me much that he
had learned, especially in reference to the various characters of
his fellow-guests, among whom he had already succeeded in making
many friends and disciples. For my part I found here several old
acquaintances, and in those whom I had not seen for many years, I began
to notice what in youth long remains concealed from us, namely, that
men grow old and women change. The company became more numerous every
day. There was no end to the dancing, and, as in the two principal
bath-houses, people came into pretty close contact, the familiarity
led to many a practical joke. Once I disguised myself as a village
clergyman, while an intimate friend took the character of his wife; by
our excessive and troublesome politeness, we were tolerably amusing to
the elegant society, and so put every one into good humor. Of serenades
at evening, midnight and morning, there was no lack, and we juniors
enjoyed but little sleep.
To make up for these dissipations, I always passed a part of the night
with Basedow. He never went to bed, but dictated without cessation.
Occasionally he cast himself on the couch and slumbered, while his
amanuensis sat quietly, pen in hand, ready to continue his work when
the half awakened author should once again give free course to his
thoughts. All this took place in a close confined chamber, filled
with the fumes of tobacco and the odious tinder. As often as I was
disengaged from a dance, I hastened up to Basedow, who was ready at
once to speak and dispute on any question; and when after a time, I
hurried again to the ball-room, before I had closed the door behind me,
he would resume the thread of his essay as composedly as if he hat been
engaged with nothing else.
We also made together many excursions into the neighborhood, visiting
the châteaux, especially those of noble ladies, who were everywhere
more inclined than the men, to receive anything that made a pretence
to intellect and talent. At Nassau, at the house of Frau von Stein, a
most estimable lady, who enjoyed universal respect, we found a large
company. Frau von Laroche was likewise present, and there was no lack
of young ladies and children. Here Lavater was doomed to be put to many
a physiognomical temptation, which consisted mainly in our seeking
to palm upon him the accidents of cultivation as original forms, but
his eye was too sure to be deceived. I, too, was called on as much as
ever to maintain the truth of the Sorrows of Werther, and to name the
residence of Charlotte, a desire which I declined to gratify, not in
the politest manner. On the other hand I collected the children around
me in order to tell them very wonderful stories, all about well known
things, in which I had the great advantage, that no member of my circle
of hearers could ask me with any importunity what part was truth and
what fiction.
[Side-note: Basedow and Lavater.]
Basedow affirmed that the only thing necessary was a better education
of youth, and to promote this end he called upon the higher and wealthy
classes for considerable contributions. But hardly had his reasoning
and his impassioned eloquence excited, not to say, won to his purpose,
the sympathy of his auditors, when the evil anti-trinitarian spirit
came upon him, so that without the least sense of where he was, he
broke forth into the strangest discourses, which in his own opinion
were highly religious, but according to the convictions of those around
him highly blasphemous. All sought a remedy for this evil; Lavater, by
gentle seriousness, I, by jests, leading off from the subject, and the
ladies by amusing walks, but harmony could not be restored. A Christian
conversation, such as had been expected from the presence of Lavater, a
discourse on education, such as had been anticipated from Basedow, and
a sentimental one, for which it was thought I should be ready--all were
at once disturbed and destroyed. On our return home, Lavater reproached
him, but I punished him in a humorous way. The weather was warm, and
the tobacco-smoke had perhaps contributed to the dryness of Basedow's
palate; he was dying for a glass of beer, and seeing a tavern at a
distance on the road, he eagerly ordered the coachman to stop there.
But just as he was driving up to the door, I called out to him loudly
and imperiously, "Go on!" Basedow, taken by surprise, could hardly get
the contrary command out of his husky voice. I urged the coachman more
vehemently, and he obeyed me. Basedow cursed me, and was ready to fall
on me with his fists, but I replied to him with the greatest composure,
"Father, be quiet! You ought to thank me. Luckily you didn't see the
beer-sign! It was two triangles put together across each other. Now you
commonly get mad about one triangle, and if you had set eyes on two, we
should have had to get you a strait jacket." This joke threw him into
a fit of immoderate laughter, in the intervals of which he scolded and
cursed me, while Lavater exercised his patience on both the young fool
and the old one.
When in the middle of July, Lavater was preparing to depart, Basedow
thought it advantageous to join him, while I had become so accustomed
to this rare society that I could not bring myself to give it up. We
had a delightful journey down the Lahn; it was refreshing alike to
heart and senses. At the sight of an old ruined castle, I wrote the
song "_Hoch auf dem alten Thurme steht_" (High on the ancient Turret
stands), in Lips's Album, and as it was well received, I wrote, after
my evil habit, all kinds of doggrel rhymes and comicalities on the
succeeding pages, in order to destroy the impression. I rejoiced
to see the magnificent Rhine once more, and was delighted with the
astonishment of those who had never before enjoyed this splendid
spectacle. We landed at Coblentz; wherever we went, the crowd was
very great, and each of the three excited interest and curiosity.
Basedow and I seemed to strive which could behave most outrageously.
Lavater conducted himself rationally and with judgment, only he could
not conceal his favorite opinions, and thus with the best designs he
appeared very odd to all men of mediocrity.
I have preserved the memory of a strange dinner at a hotel in Coblentz,
in some doggrel rhymes, which will, perhaps, stand with all their
kindred in my New Edition. I sat between Lavater and Basedow; the first
was instructing a country parson on the mysteries of the Revelation
of St. John, and the other was in vain endeavouring to prove to an
obstinate dancing master, that baptism was an obsolete usage not
calculated for our times. As we were going on to Cologne, I wrote in an
Album--
As though to Emmaus, on their ride
Storming they might be seen;
The prophets sat on either side.
The world-child sat between.
[Side-note: The Brothers Jacobi.]
Luckily this world-child had also a side which was turned towards the
heavenly, and which was now to be moved in a way wholly peculiar.
While in Ems I had rejoiced to hear that in Cologne we should find the
brothers Jacobi, who with other eminent men had set out to meet and
show attention to our two remarkable travellers. On my part, I hoped
for forgiveness from them for sundry little improprieties which had
originated in the great love of mischief that Herder's keen humor had
excited in us. The letters and poems in which Gleim and George Jacobi
publicly rejoiced in each other, had given us opportunity for all
sorts of sport, and we had not reflected that there is just as much
self-conceit in giving pain to others when they are comfortable, as in
showing an excess of kindness to oneself or to one's friends. By this
means, a certain dissension had arisen between the Upper and Lower
Rhine, of so slight importance, however, that mediation was easy. For
this the ladies were particularly adapted. Sophia Laroche had already
given us the best idea of the noble brothers. Mademoiselle Fahlmer,
who had come to Frankfort from Düsseldorf, and who was intimate with
their circle, by the great tenderness of her sympathies, and the
uncommon cultivation of her mind, furnished an evidence of the worth
of the society in which she had grown up. She gradually put us to
shame by her patience with our harsh Upper Saxon manner, and taught us
forbearance by letting us feel that we ourselves stood in need of it.
The true-heartedness of the younger sister of the Jacobis, the gaiety
of the wife of Fritz Jacobi, turned our minds and eyes more and more
to these regions. The latter was qualified to captivate me entirely;
possessed of a correct feeling without a trace of sentimentality, and
with a lively way of speaking, she was a fine Netherlands' woman, who
without any expression of sensuality, by her robust nature called to
mind the women of Rubens. Both these ladies, in longer and shorter
visits at Frankfort, had formed the closest alliance with my sister,
and had expanded and enlivened the severe, stiff, and somewhat loveless
nature of Cornelia. Thus Düsseldorf and Pempelfort had interested our
minds and hearts, even in Frankfort.
Accordingly our first meeting in Cologne was at once frank and
confidential, for the good opinion of the ladies had not been without
its influence at home. I was not now treated, as hitherto on the
journey, as the mere misty tail of the two great comets; all around
paid me particular attention, and showed me abundant kindness, which
they also seemed inclined to receive from me in return. I was weary of
my previous follies and impertinences, behind which, in truth, I only
hid my impatience, to find during the journey so little care taken to
satisfy my heart and soul. Hence, what was within me, burst out like
a torrent, and this is perhaps the reason why I recollect so little
of individual events. The thoughts we have had, the pictures we have
seen, can be again called up before the mind and the imagination; but
the heart is not so complaisant; it will not repeat its agreeable
emotions. And least of all are we able to recall moments of enthusiasm;
they come upon us unprepared, and we yield to them unconsciously. For
this reason, others, who observe us at such moments have a better and
clearer insight into what passes within us, than we ourselves.
Religious conversations I had hitherto gently declined; to plain
questions, I had not unfrequently replied with harshness, because they
seemed to me too narrow in comparison with what I sought. When any one
wished to force upon me his sentiments and opinions of my compositions,
but especially when I was afflicted with the demands of common sense,
and people told me decidedly what I ought to have done or left undone,
I got out of all patience, and the conversation broke off, or crumbled
to pieces, so that no one went away with a particularly good opinion
of me. It would have been much more natural to make myself gentle and
friendly, but my feelings would not be schooled. They needed to be
expanded by free good will and to be moved to a surrender by sincere
sympathy. One feeling which prevailed greatly with me, and could never
find an expression odd enough for itself, was a sense of the past
and present together in one; a phenomenon which brought something
spectral into the present. It is expressed in many of my smaller and
larger works, and always has a beneficial influence in a poem, though,
whenever it began to mix itself up with actual life, it must have
appeared to every one strange, inexplicable, perhaps gloomy.
Cologne was the place where antiquity had such an incalculable effect
upon me. The ruins of the Cathedral (for an unfinished work is like one
destroyed) called up the emotions to which I had been accustomed at
Strasburg. Artistic considerations were out of the question; too much
and too little was given me; and there was no one who could help me out
of the labyrinth of what was performed and what was proposed, of the
fact and the plan, of what was built and what was only designed, as our
industrious, persevering friends nowadays are ready to do. In company
with others I did indeed admire its wonderful chapels and columns, but
when alone I always gloomily lost myself in this world-edifice, thus
checked in its creation while far from complete. Here, too, was a great
idea never realized! It would seem, indeed, as if the architecture
were there only to convince us that by many men, in a series of years,
nothing can be accomplished, and that in art and in deeds only that is
achieved which, like Minerva, springs full-grown and armed from the
head of its inventor.
At these moments which, oppressed more than they cheered my heart, I
little thought that the tenderest and fairest emotion was in store for
me near at hand. I was persuaded to visit Jabach's Dwelling, and here
all that I had been wont to form for myself in my mind came actually
and sensibly before my eyes. This family had probably long ago become
extinct, but on the ground floor which opened upon a garden, we found
everything unchanged. A pavement of brownish red tiles, of a rhomboidal
form regularly laid, carved chairs with embroidered seats and high
backs, flap-tables, metal chandeliers curiously inlaid, on heavy feet,
an immense fire-place with its appropriate utensils, everything in
harmony with those early times, and in the whole room nothing new,
nothing belonging to the present but ourselves. But what more than all
heightened and completed the emotions thus strangely excited, was a
large family picture over the fire-place. There sat the former wealthy
inhabitant of this abode surrounded by his wife and children,--there
were they in all the freshness of life, and as if of yesterday, or
rather of to-day, and yet all of them had passed away. These young,
round-cheeked children had grown old, and but for this clever likeness,
not a trace of them would have remained. How I acted, how I demeaned
myself, when overcome by these impressions I cannot say. The lowest
depths of my human affections and poetic sensibilities were laid bare
in the boundless stirring of my heart; all that was good and loving in
my soul seemed to open and break forth. In that moment without further
probation or debate, I gained for life the affection and confidence of
those eminent men.
As a result of this union of soul and intellect, in which all that
was living in each came forth upon his lips, I offered to recite my
newest and most favorite ballads. "_Der König von Thule_" (The king
of Thule,) and "_Es war ein Bube frech genug_," (There was a rascal
bold enough[2],) had a good effect, and I brought them forth with
more feeling as my poems were still bound to my heart, and as they
seldom passed my lips. For in the presence of persons, who I feared
could not sympathize with my tender sensibility, I felt restrained;
and frequently, in the midst of a recitation, I have become confused
and could not get right again. How often for that reason have I been
accused of wilfulness, and of a strange, whimsical disposition!
Although poetic composition, just then, mainly occupied me and exactly
suited my temperament, I was still no stranger to reflection on all
kinds of subjects, and Jacobi's tendency to the unfathomable, which
was so original, and so much in accordance with his nature, was most
welcome and agreeable to me. Here no controversy arose, neither a
Christian one, as with Lavater, nor a didactic one, as with Basedow.
The thoughts which Jacobi imparted to me flowed immediately from his
heart. How profoundly was I moved when in unlimited confidence, he
revealed to me even the most hidden longings of his soul! From so
amazing a combination of mental wants, passion, and ideas, I could
only gather presentiments of what might, perhaps, afterwards grow more
clear to me. Happily, I had already prepared if not fully cultivated
myself on this side, having in some degree appropriated the thoughts
and mind of an extraordinary man, and though my study of him had
been incomplete and hasty, I was yet already conscious of important
influences derived from this source. This mind, which had worked upon
me thus decisively, and which was destined to affect so deeply my whole
mode of thinking, was SPINOZA. After looking through the world in vain,
to find a means of development for my strange nature, I at last fell
upon the Ethics of this philosopher. Of what I read out of the work,
and of what I read into it, I can give no account. Enough that I found
in it a sedative for my passions, and that a free, wide view over the
sensible and moral world, seemed to open before me. But what especially
riveted me to him, was the utter disinterestedness which shone forth
in his every sentence. That wonderful sentiment, "He who truly loves
God must not desire God to love him in return," together with all the
preliminary propositions on which it rests, and all the consequences
that follow from it, filled my whole mind. To be disinterested in
everything, but the most of all in love and friendship, was my highest
desire, my maxim, my practice, so that that subsequent hasty saying
of mine, "If I love thee what is that to thee?" was spoken right
out of my heart. Moreover, it must not be forgotten here that the
closest unions are those of opposites. The all-composing calmness of
Spinoza was in striking contrast with my all-disturbing activity; his
mathematical method was the direct opposite of my poetic humour and my
way of writing, and that very precision which was thought ill-adapted
to moral subjects, made me his enthusiastic disciple, his most decided
worshipper. Mind and heart, understanding and sense, sought each other
with an eager affinity, binding together the most different natures.
[Side-note: Fritz Jacobi.]
At this time, however, all within was fermenting and seething in the
first action and reaction. Fritz Jacobi, the first whom I suffered
to look into the chaos, and whose nature was also toiling in its own
extreme depths, heartily received my confidence, responded to it, and
endeavored to lead me to his own opinions. He, too, felt an unspeakable
mental want; he, too, did not wish to have it appeased by outward aid,
but aimed at development and illumination from within. I could not
comprehend what he communicated to me of the state of his mind, so much
the less indeed, because I could form no idea as to my own. Still,
as he was far in advance of me in philosophical thought, and even in
the study of Spinoza, he endeavored to guide and enlighten my obscure
efforts. Such a purely intellectual relationship was new to me, and
excited a passionate longing for farther communion. At night, after we
had parted and retired to our chambers, I often sought him again. With
the moonlight trembling over the broad Rhine, we stood at the window,
and revelled in that full interchange of ideas which in such splendid
moments of confidence swells forth so abundantly.
Still, of the unspeakable joy of those moments I can now give no
account. Much more distinct to my mind is an excursion to the
hunting-seat of Bensberg, which, lying on the right shore of the
Rhine, commanded the most splendid prospect. What delighted me beyond
measure was the decorations of the walls by Weenix. They represented
a large open hall surrounded by columns, at the foot of these, as if
forming the plinth, lay all the animals that the chase can furnish
skilfully arranged, and over these again the eye ranged over a wide
landscape. The wonderful artist had expended his whole skill in giving
life to these lifeless creatures. In the delineation of their widely
varying coats, the bristles, hair, or feathers, with the antlers and
claws, he had equalled nature, while, in the effect produced, he had
excelled her. When we had admired these works of art sufficiently, as a
whole, we were led to reflect on the handling by which such pictures,
combining so much spirit and mechanical skill, were produced. We
could not understand how they could be created by the hands of man,
or by any of his instruments. The pencil was not sufficient; peculiar
preparations must be supposed to make such variety possible. Whether
we came close to them, or withdrew to a distance, our astonishment was
equal; the cause was as wonderful as the effect.
Our further journey up the Rhine was happy and fortunate. The widening
of the river invites the mind to expand itself likewise, and to look
into the distance. We arrived at Düsseldorf, and from thence came
to Pempelfort, a most delightful and beautiful resting-place, where
a spacious mansion, opening upon extensive and well-kept gardens,
collected together a thoughtful and refined circle. The members of the
family were numerous, and strangers, who found abundant enjoyment in so
rich and agreeable a neighbourhood were never wanting.
In the Düsseldorf gallery my predilection for the Flemish school
found plentiful nourishment. There were whole halls filled with these
vigorous, sturdy pictures, brilliant with a fulness of nature; and, if
my judgment was not enlarged, my store of knowledge was enriched and my
love for art confirmed.
The beautiful composure, contentment, and firmness, which marked
the leading character of this family circle, quickly manifested
themselves to the observant eye of the thoughtful guest, who could
not fail to perceive that a wide sphere of influences had here its
centre. The activity and opulence of the neighboring cities and
villages contributed not a little to enhance this feeling of inward
satisfaction. We visited Elberfeld, and were delighted with the busy
aspect of so many flourishing manufactories. Here we fell in again
with our friend Jung, commonly known as Stilling, who had gone even
to Coblentz to meet us; and who always had his faith in God and his
truth towards men, as his most precious attendants. Here we saw him in
his own circle, and took pleasure in the confidence reposed in him by
his fellow citizens, who, though occupied with earthly gain, did not
leave the heavenly treasures out of view. The sight of this industrious
region, was satisfactory, because its prosperity was the result of
order and neatness. In the contemplation of these things we passed
happy days.
When I returned to my friend Jacobi, I enjoyed the rapturous feeling
springing from a union of the innermost soul. We were both inspired by
the liveliest hope of an influence in common, and I urgently pressed
him to make an exhibition in some striking form or other of all that
was acting and moving within him. This was the means by which I had
escaped from many perplexities, and I hoped that it would relieve him
also. He did not object, but undertook the task with zeal, and how much
that is good, and beautiful, and consolatory, has he accomplished!
And so, at last, we parted with the happy feeling of eternal union,
and wholly without a presentiment that our labors would assume the
opposite directions, which, in the course of life, they so markedly
took.
Whatever else occurred to me on the return down the Rhine has
altogether vanished from my memory, partly because the second
impressions of natural objects are wont, in my mind, to be mingled with
the first; and partly because, with my thoughts turned inwardly, I was
endeavouring to arrange the varied experience I on myself had gained,
and to work up what had affected me. Of one important result, as it
impelled me to creative efforts, which kept me occupied for a long
time, I will now speak.
[Side-note: Intended Drama of Mahomet.]