no suitable material for my poetic art. It better suited me to
represent that peaceful, plastic, and always patient opposition which
recognising the superior power, still presumes to claim equality. And
yet the bolder members of the race, Tantalus, Ixion, Sisyphus, were
also my saints. Admitted to the society of the gods, they would not
deport themselves submissively enough, but, by their haughty bearing
as guests, provoked the anger of their host and patron, and drew upon
themselves a sorrowful banishment. I pitied them; their condition had
already been set forth by the ancients as truly tragic, and when I
introduced them in the background of my _Iphigenie_, I was indebted to
them for a part of the effect which that piece had the good fortune to
produce.
At this period I usually combined the art of design with poetical
composition. I drew the portraits of my friends in profile on grey
paper, in white and black chalk. Whenever I dictated or listened
to reading, I sketched the positions of the writer and reader,
with the surrounding objects; the resemblance could not be denied,
and the drawings were well received. Dilettanti always have this
advantage because they give their labor for nothing. But feeling the
insufficiency of this copying, I betook myself once more to language
and rhythm which were much more at my command. How briskly, how
joyously and eagerly I went to work with them will appear from the many
poems which, enthusiastically proclaiming the art of nature, and the
nature of art, infused, at the moment of their production, new spirit
into me as well as into my friends.
At this epoch, and in the midst of these occupations, I was sitting one
evening with a struggling light in my chamber, to which at least the
air of an artist's studio was thus imparted, while the walls, stuck
over and covered with half-finished works, gave the impression of great
industry, when there entered a well-formed, slender man, whom, at
first, in the twilight, I took for Fritz Jacobi, but soon, discovering
my mistake, greeted as a stranger. In his free and agreeable bearing a
certain military air was perceptible. He announced himself by the name
of Von Knebel, and from a brief introduction I gathered that he was in
the Prussian service, and that during a long residence at Berlin and
Potsdam he had actively cultivated an acquaintance with the literary
men of those places, and with German literature in general. He had
attached himself particularly to Ramler, and had adopted his mode of
reciting poems. He was also familiar with all that Götz had written,
who, at that time, had not as yet made a name among the Germans.
Through his exertions the _Mädcheninsel_ (Isle of Maidens) of this poet
had been printed at Potsdam, and had fallen into the hands of the king,
who was said to have expressed a favorable opinion of it.
[Side-note: State of Weimar.]
We had scarcely talked over these subjects of general interest in
German literature, before I learned, much to my satisfaction, that he
was at present stationed in Weimar, and was appointed the companion of
Prince Constantin. Of matters there I had already heard much that was
favorable; for several strangers, who had come from Weimar, assured
us that the Duchess Amalia had gathered round her the best men to
assist in the education of the princes her sons; that the Academy of
Jena, through its admirable teachers, had also contributed its part
to this excellent purpose; and that the arts were not only protected
by this princess, but were practised by her with great diligence and
zeal. We also heard that Wieland was in especial favor. The _Deutsche
Merkur_, too, which united the labors of so many scholars in other
places, contributed not a little to the fame of the city in which it
was published. There also was one of the best theatres in Germany,
which was made famous by its actors, as well as by the authors who
wrote for it. These noble institutions and plans seemed, however,
to have received a sudden check, and to be threatened with a long
interruption, in consequence of the terrible conflagration of the
castle, which took place in the May of that year. But the confidence
in the hereditary prince was so great that every one was convinced not
only that the damage would be repaired, but that in spite of it every
other hope would be fully accomplished. As I inquired after these
persons and things, as if I were an old acquaintance, and expressed
a wish to become more intimately acquainted with them, my visitor
replied, in the most friendly manner possible, that nothing was easier,
since the hereditary prince, with his brother, the Prince Constantin,
had just arrived in Frankfort, and desired to see and know me. I at
once expressed the greatest willingness to wait upon them, and my new
friend told me that I must not delay, as their stay would not be long.
In order to equip myself for the visit, I took Von Knebel to my father
and mother, who were surprised at his arrival, and the message he bore,
and conversed with him with great satisfaction. I then proceeded with
him to the young princes, who received me in a very easy and friendly
manner; Count Görtz, also, the tutor of the hereditary prince, appeared
not displeased to see me. Though there was no lack of literary subjects
for our conversation, accident furnished the best possible introduction
to it, and rendered it at once important and profitable.
Möser's _Patriotische Fantasien_ (patriotic Fantasies), that is to
say, the first part of them, were lying on the table, fresh from the
binder, with the leaves uncut. As I was familiar with them, while the
rest were scarcely acquainted with them, I had the advantage of being
able to give a complete account of the work, and had here a favorable
opportunity for speaking with a young prince who was sincerely
desirous, and also firmly determined to make use of his station to do
all the good in his power. Möser's book, both in its contents and its
tone, could not but be highly interesting to every German. While by
other writers division, anarchy, and impotence, had been brought as a
reproach against the German empire, according to Möser this very number
of small states was highly desirable, as affording room for the special
cultivation of each, according to its necessities, which must vary with
the site and peculiarities of such widely different provinces. In the
same way, I remarked, that Möser, starting with the city and bishopric
(_Stift_) of Osnaburg, and thence going over the circle of Westphalia,
set forth its relation to the whole empire, and just as he, in the
further examination of the subject, uniting the past with the present,
deduced the latter from the former, and thus clearly shewed what
alterations were desirable or not; so might every ruler, by proceeding
in the same way, obtain a thorough knowledge of the constitution of
the state he governs, its connexion with its neighbors and with the
whole empire, and thus enable himself to judge both the present and the
future.
In the course of our conversation, many remarks were made with regard
to the difference between the States of Upper and Lower Saxony; not
only their natural productions, it was observed, but also their
manners, laws, and customs had differed from the earliest times,
and, according to the form of religion and government, had variously
modified themselves. We endeavoured to obtain a clear view of the
differences between the two regions, and in this attempt it soon
appeared how useful it would be to have a good model, which, if
regarded, not in its individual peculiarities, but in the general
method on which it had been based, might be applied to the most widely
differing cases, and thereby might be highly serviceable in helping us
to form a correct judgment.
This conversation, which was kept up when we were set down at table,
made a better impression in my favor than I perhaps deserved. For
instead of making such works as belonged to my own sphere of literature
the subjects of discussion; instead of demanding an undivided attention
for the drama and for romance, I appeared while discussing Möser's
book, to prefer those writers whose talents, proceeding from active
life, returned to it with immediate benefit, whereas works properly
poetical, as soaring above mere social and material interests, could
only be indirectly and accidentally profitable. These discussions went
on like the stories of the Arabian Nights; one important matter came
up after another; many themes were only touched upon without our being
able to follow them out, and accordingly, as the stay of the young
princes in Frankfort was necessarily short, they made me promise to
follow them to Mayence and spend a few days with them there. I gave
this promise gladly enough, and hastened home to impart the agreeable
intelligence to my parents.
[Side-note: Prospects of a Court-Life.]
My father, however, could not by any means be brought to approve of
it. In accordance with his sentiments as a citizen of the empire, he
had always kept aloof from the great, and although constantly coming
in contact with the _chargés d'affaires_ of the neighboring princes,
he had nevertheless avoided all personal relations with them. In fact,
courts were among the things about which he was accustomed to joke. He
was not indeed displeased if any one opposed his opinions on this head;
only he was not satisfied unless his opponent maintained his side with
wit and spirit. If we allowed his "_Procul a Jove procul a fulmine_"
to pass, but added that with lightning the question was not so much
whence it came as whither it went; he would bring up the old proverb,
"With great lords it is not good to eat cherries." When to this we
replied that it was yet worse to eat with dainty people out of one
basket, he would not deny the truth of this; only he was sure to have
another proverb ready at hand which was to put us to confusion. For
since proverbs and rhyming apophthegms proceed from the people, who,
while they are forced to obey, like at least to speak their vengeance,
just as their superiors, on the other hand, indemnify themselves by
deeds; and since the poetry of the sixteenth century is almost wholly
of a nervous didactic character, there is in our language no lack of
jests and serious adages, directed from below upwards. We juniors,
however, now began to aim from above downwards, fancying ourselves
something great as we took up the cause of the great. Of these sayings
and counter-sayings I will here insert a few.
A.
Long at court is long in hell,
B.
There many good folks warm them well.
A
Such as I am, I'm still mine own,
To me shall favors ne'er be shown.
B.
Blush not a favor to receive,
For you must take, if you would give.
A.
This trouble at the court you catch,
That where you itch, you must not scratch.
B.
The sage, that would the people teach,
Must scratch a place that does not itch.
A.
Those who a slavish office choose,
One half of life are sure to lose,
And come what will they may be sure,
Old Nick the other will secure.
B.
Whoe'er with princes is at home,
Will some day find good fortune come;
Who courts the rabble,--to his cost
Will find that all his year is lost.
A.
Though wheat at court seems flourishing,
Doubt that great harvest it will bring,
When to your barn you deem it brought.
You'll find that after all 'tis nought.
B.
The wheat that blooms will ripen too,
For so of old it used to do;
And if a crop is spoil'd by hail,
The next year's harvest will not fail.
A.
He who would serve himself alone,
Should have a cottage of his own.
Dwell with his children and his wife,
Regale himself with light new wine,
And on the cheapest viands dine;
Then nothing can disturb his life.
B.
So, from a master you'ld be free?--
Whither think'st thou then to flee?
Dream not your freedom you will get,
You have a wife to rule you yet.
She by her stupid boy is ruled,
Thus in your cot you still are schooled.
[Side-note: Prospects of a Court-Life.]
As I was lately looking up these rhymes in some old memorandum books, I
fell in with many such _jeux d'esprit_, in which we had amplified pithy
old German saws, in order to set them off against other proverbs which
are equally verified by experience. A selection from them may perhaps
hereafter, as an epilogue to the "Puppenspiele" (puppet shows), suggest
some pleasant reflections.
But all these rejoinders could not move my father from his opinions.
He was in the habit of saving his most stringent argument for the
close of the discussion. This consisted of a minute description of
Voltaire's adventure with Frederick the Second. He told us how the
unbounded favor, familiarity, mutual obligations, were at once revoked
and forgotten; how he had lived to see the comedy out in the arrest of
that extraordinary poet and writer by the Frankfort civic guard, on the
complaint of the Resident Freytag, and the warrant of the Burgomaster
Fichard, and his confinement for some time in the tavern of the Rose,
on the Zeil. To this we might have answered in many ways,--among
others, that Voltaire was not free from blame himself,--but from
filial respect we always yielded the point. On the present occasion,
when these things and others like them were alluded to, I hardly knew
how to demean myself, for he warned me explicitly, maintaining that
the invitation was given only to entice me into a trap, in order to
take vengeance on me for my mischievous treatment of the favored
Wieland. Fully as I was convinced of the contrary, yet as I saw but too
plainly that a preconceived opinion, excited by hypochondriac fancies,
afflicted my worthy father, I was unwilling to act in direct opposition
to his convictions. Still I could not find any excuse for failing
to keep my promise without appearing ungrateful and uncourteous.
Unfortunately our friend Fraülein Von Klettenberg, to whose advice we
usually resorted in such cases, was confined to her bed. In her and my
mother I had two incomparable companions. I called them Word and Deed;
for when the former cast her serene or rather blissful glance over
earthly things, what was confusion to us children of earth, at once
grew plain before her, and she could almost always point out the right
way, because she looked upon the labyrinth from above, and was not
herself entangled in it. When a decision was once made, the readiness
and energy of my mother could be relied on. While the former had Sight
for her aid the latter had Faith, and as she maintained her serenity in
all cases, she was never without the means of accomplishing what was
proposed or desired. Accordingly she was now despatched to our sick
friend to obtain her opinion, and when this turned out in my favour,
she was entreated to gain the consent of my father, who yielded,
against his belief and will.
[Side-note: Gods, Heroes, and Wieland]
It was in a very cold season of the year that I arrived at the
appointed hour in Mayence. My reception by the young princes and
by their attendants, was no less friendly than the invitation. The
conversation in Frankfort was recalled and resumed at the point
where it had been broken off. When it touched upon the recent German
literature and its audacities, it was perfectly natural that my famous
piece, "_Götter, Helden, und Wieland_" (Gods, Heroes, and Wieland)
should come up, at which I remarked with satisfaction that the thing
was regarded with good humor. Being called on to give the real history
of this _jeu d'esprit_, which had excited so great attention, I could
not avoid confessing, first of all, that as true fellows of the Upper
Rhine, we had no bounds either to our liking or disliking. With us,
reverence for Shakspeare was carried to adoration. But Wieland, with
his decided peculiarity of destroying the interest, both of himself
and of his readers, had, in the notes to his translation, found much
fault with the great author, and that in such a way as to vex us
exceedingly, and to diminish in our eyes, the value of the work. We
saw that Wieland, whom we had so highly revered as a poet, and who,
as a translator, had rendered such great service, was, as a critic,
capricious, one-sided, and unjust. Besides this, he had deliberately
spoken against our idols, the Greeks, and this sharpened our hostility
yet more. It is well known that the Greek gods and heroes are eminent
not for moral but for glorified physical qualities, for which reason
they afford such splendid subjects to artists. Now Wieland, in his
_Alceste_, had presented heroes and demi-gods after the modern fashion.
Against this we had nothing to say, as every one is at liberty to mould
poetic traditions to his own ends and way of thinking. But in the
letters on this opera, which he inserted in the _Merkur_, he appeared
to us unduly to exalt this mode of treating them; in short, to show too
much of the partisan, and to commit an unpardonable sin against the
good ancients and their higher style, by his absolute unwillingness
to recognise the strong, healthy nature which is the basis of their
productions. I told them we had hardly discussed these grievances
with some vehemence in our little society, when my ordinary rage for
dramatizing everything came upon me one Sunday afternoon, and so at one
sitting, over a bottle of good Burgundy, I wrote off the whole piece,
just as it stands. It was no sooner read to those of my colleagues as
were present, and received by them with exclamations of delight, than I
sent the manuscript to Lenz at Strasburg, who appeared enraptured with
it, and maintained that it must be printed without delay. After some
correspondence, I at last consented, and he put it hastily to press at
Strasburg. Some time afterwards, I learned that this was one of the
first steps which Lenz took in his design to injure me, and to bring
me into disgrace with the public; but at that time I neither knew nor
surmised anything of the kind.
In this way I narrated to my new patrons, with perfect candour, the
innocent origin of the piece, as well as I knew it myself, in order
to convince them that it contained no personality, nor any ulterior
motive. I also took care to let them understand with what gaiety and
recklessness we were accustomed to banter and ridicule each other
among ourselves. With this, I saw that they were quite content. They
almost admired the great fear we had lest any one of ourselves should
go to sleep upon his laurels. They compared such a society to those
Buccaneers who, in every moment of repose, are afraid of becoming
effeminate, and whose leaders, when there are no enemies in sight, and
there is no one to plunder, will let off a pistol under the mess-table,
in order that even in peace there may be no want of wounds and horrors.
After considerable discussion pro and con upon this subject, I was
at last induced to write Wieland a friendly letter. I gladly availed
myself of the opportunity, as, in the _Merkur_, he had spoken most
liberally of this piece of youthful folly, and as, in literary feuds,
was almost always his custom, had ended the affair in the most skilful
manner.
[Side-note: Prometheus, Deucalion and his Reviewers.]
The few days of my stay at Mayence passed off very pleasantly; for
when my new patrons were abroad on visits and banquets, I remained
with their attendants, drew the portraits of several, or went skating,
for which the frozen ditches of the fortification afforded excellent
opportunity. I returned home full of the kindness I had met with, and,
as I entered the house, was on the point of emptying my heart by a
minute account of it; but I saw only troubled faces, and the conviction
was soon forced upon me that our friend Fraülein von Klettenberg was no
more. At this I was greatly concerned, because, in my present situation
I needed her more than ever. They told me for my consolation, that
a pious death had crowned her happy life, and that the cheerfulness
of her faith had remained undisturbed to the end. But there was also
another obstacle in the way of a free communication on the subject
of my visit. My father, instead of rejoicing at the fortunate issue
of this little adventure, persisted in his opinion, and maintained,
on the other hand, that it was nothing but dissimulation, and that
perhaps there was a danger of their carrying out in the end something
still worse against me. I was thus driven to my younger friends
with my narrative, and to them I could not tell it circumstantially
enough. But, their attachment and good will, led to a result which
to me was most unpleasant. Shortly afterwards, appeared a pamphlet,
called "Prometheus, Deucalion and his Reviewers," also in a dramatic
form. In this the comical notion was carried out, of putting little
wood-cut figures before the dialogue, instead of proper names, and
representing by all sorts of satirical images those critics who had
expressed an opinion upon my works, or on works akin to them. In one
place the Altona courier, without his head, was blowing his horn, here
a bear was growling, and there a goose was cackling. The _Merkur_, too,
was not forgotten, and many wild and tame animals were represented
in the _atelier_ of the sculptor endeavoring to put him out, while
he, without taking particular notice of them, kept zealously at his
work, and did not refrain from expressing his opinion about the
matter in general. The appearance of this _jeu d'esprit_ surprised
me much, and was as unexpected as it was disagreeable. Its style and
tone evidently showed that it was by one of our society, and indeed
I feared it might be attributed to me. But what was most annoying,
was the circumstance that "Prometheus" brought out some allusions
to my stay at Mayence and to what was said there, which nobody but
myself could have known. To me this was a proof that the author was
one of those who formed my most intimate circle of friends, where he
must have heard me relate these events in detail. Accordingly we all
looked at each other, and each suspected the rest, but the unknown
writer managed very well to keep his own secret. I uttered vehement
reproaches against him, because it was exceedingly vexatious to me,
after so gracious a reception and so important a conversation, and
after the confiding letter I had written to Wieland, to see here an
occasion for fresh distrust and disagreement. However my uncertainty on
this point was not of long duration. As I walked up and down my room
reading the book aloud, I heard clearly in the fancies and the turns of
expression the voice of Wagner--and it was he. When I had rushed down
stairs to impart my discovery to my mother, she confessed to me that
she already knew it. Annoyed at the ill results of what had seemed to
him a good and praiseworthy plan, the author had discovered himself
to her, and besought her intercession with me, not to fulfil in his
person my threat of holding no further intercourse with the writer who
had so abused my confidence. The fact that I had found him out myself
was very much in his favour, and the satisfaction always attending a
discovery of one's own, inclined me to be merciful. The fault which
had given occasion for such a proof of my sagacity, was forgiven.
Nevertheless, it was not easy to convince the public that Wagner was
the author, and that I had had no hand in the game. No one believed
that he possessed such versatility of talent; and no one reflected,
that it was very easy for him, though possessing no remarkable
talents of his own, to notice, seize upon, and bring out in his own
way all that for some time had passed either in jest and earnest in
an intellectual society. And thus on this occasion as on many others
afterwards, I had to suffer not only for my own follies, but also for
the indiscretion and precipitancy of my friends.