father once more brought forward, as the best means of cutting short
all these connexions at once. But, in order that no new danger might
spring up in the wide world, she intended first of all to bind fast
the union which had already been suggested, so as to make a return
into my native country more desirable, and my final determination more
decided. "Whether I only attribute this scheme to her, or whether she
had actually formed it with her departed friend, I am not quite sure;
enough, that her actions seemed to be based on a well-digested plan.
I had very often to hear from her a regret that since Cornelia's
marriage our family circle was altogether too small; it was felt that
I had lost a sister, my mother an assistant, and my father a pupil;
nor was this all that was said. It happened, as if by accident, that
my parents met the lady on a walk, invited her into the garden, and
conversed with her for a long time. Thereupon there was some pleasantry
at tea-table, and the remark was made with a certain satisfaction that
she had pleased my father, as she possessed all the chief qualities
which he as a connoisseur of women required.
[Side-note: Preparations for my Wedding.]
One thing after another was now arranged in our first story, as if
guests were expected; the linen was reviewed, and some hitherto
neglected furniture was thought of. One day I surprised my mother in a
garret examining the old cradles, among which an immense one of walnut
inlaid with ivory and ebony, in which I had formerly been rocked, was
especially prominent. She did not seem altogether pleased when I said
to her, that such swing-boxes were quite out of fashion, and that now
people put babies, with free limbs, into a neat little basket, and
carried them about for show, by a strap over the shoulder, like other
small wares.
Enough;--such prognostics of a renewal of domestic activity became
frequent, and, as I was in every way submissive, the thought of a state
which would last through life spread a peace over our house and its
inhabitants such as had not been enjoyed for a long time.[4]
[1] There are two words used for "skate." One of them _Schlittschuh_,
means "sledge-shoe;" the other _Schrittschuch_, means "stride-shoe."
Göthe and his friends make use of the former; Klopstock contends for
the latter.
[2] The allusion, is to Göthe's own poem "Der Zauberlehrling."
[3] Members of the same family address each other with the second
person singular, "Du" instead of the more formal third person plural,
"Sie." In the same way the French employ "Tu" instead of "Vous."
_Trans._
[4] The following note is prefixed by the author to the last portion of
this work.
Preface. In treating a life's story, progressing in many different
ways, like this which we have ventured to undertake, it is necessary,
in order to be intelligible and readable, that some parts of it,
connected in time should be separated, whilst others which can only
be understood by a connected treatment must be brought together: and
the whole be so arranged in sections that the reader inspecting it
intelligently may form an opinion on it, and appropriate a good deal
for his own use.
We open the present volume with this reflexion, that it may help to
justify our mode of proceeding: and we add the request that our readers
will note that the narrative here continued does not exactly fit on to
the end of the preceding book, though the intention is to gather up
again the main threads one by one, and to bring on the personages as
well as the thoughts and actions in a virtually complete sequence.
PART THE FOURTH.
NEMO CONTRA DEUM NISI DEUS IPSE.
SIXTEENTH BOOK.
What people commonly say of misfortunes: that they never come alone:
may with almost as much truth be said also of good fortune, and,
indeed, of other circumstances which often cluster around us in a
harmonious way; whether it he by a kind of fatality, or whether it be
that man has the power of attracting to himself all mutually related
things.
At any rate, my present experience shewed me everything conspiring to
produce an outward and an inward peace. The former came to me while I
resolved patiently to await the result of what others were meditating
and designing for me; the latter, however, I had to attain for myself
by renewing former studies.
I had not thought of Spinoza for a long time, and now I was driven
to him by an attack upon him. In our library I found a little
book, the author of which railed violently against that original
thinker; and to go the more effectually to work, had inserted for
a frontispiece a picture of Spinoza himself, with the inscription:
"_Signum reprobationis in vultu gerens_" bearing on his face the stamp
of reprobation. This there was no gainsaying, indeed, so long as one
looked at the picture; for the engraving was wretchedly bad, a perfect
caricature; so that I could not help thinking of those adversaries who,
when they conceive a dislike to any one, first of all misrepresent him,
and then assail the monster of their own creation.
This little book, however, made no impression upon me, since generally
I did not like controversial works, but preferred always to learn
from the author himself how he did think, than to hear from another
how he ought to have thought. Still, curiosity led me to the article
"Spinoza," in Bayle's Dictionary, a work as valuable for its learning
and acuteness as it is ridiculous and pernicious by its gossiping and
scandal.
[Side-note: Spinoza - His Principles.]
The article "Spinoza" excited in me displeasure and mistrust. In the
first place, the philosopher is represented as an atheist, and his
opinions as most abominable; but immediately afterwards it is confessed
that he was a calmly reflecting man, devoted to his studies, a good
citizen, a sympathizing neighbour, and a peaceable individual. The
writer seemed to me to have quite forgotten the words of the gospel:
"By their fruits ye shall know them," for how could a life pleasing in
the sight of God and man spring from corrupt principles?
I well remembered what peace of mind and clearness of ideas came over
me when I first turned over the posthumous works of that remarkable
man. The effect itself was still quite distinct to my mind, though I
could not recall the particulars; I therefore speedily had recourse
again to the work? to which I had owed so much, and again the same calm
air breathed over me. I gave myself up to this reading, and believed,
while I looked into myself, that I had never before so clearly seen
through the world.
As, on this subject, there always has been, and still is even in these
later times, so much controversy, I would not wish to be misunderstood,
and therefore I make here a few remarks upon these so much feared, yea,
abhorred views.
Our physical as well as our social life, manners, customs, worldly
wisdom, philosophy, religion, and many an accidental event, all call
upon us, _to deny ourselves._ Much that is most inwardly peculiar to
us we are not allowed to develope; much that we need from without for
the completion of our character is withheld; while, on the other hand,
so much is forced upon us which is as alien to us as it is burdensome.
We are robbed of all that we have laboriously acquired for ourselves,
or friendly circumstances have bestowed upon us; and before we can
see clearly what we are, we find ourselves compelled to part with
our personality, piece by piece, till at last it is gone altogether.
Indeed, the case is so universal that it seems a law of society to
despise a man who shows himself surly on that account. On the contrary,
the bitterer the cup we have to drink, the more pleasant face must one
make, in order that composed lookers on may not be offended by the
least grimace.
To solve this painful problem, however, nature has endowed man with
ample power, activity, and endurance. But especially is he aided
therein by his volatility (_Leichtsinn_), a boon to man, which nothing
can take away. By its means he is able to renounce the cherished object
of the moment, if only the next presents him something new to reach at;
and thus he goes on unconsciously, remodelling his whole life. We are
continually putting one passion in the place of another; employments,
inclinations, tastes, hobbies--we try them all, only to exclaim at
last, All is vanity. No one is shocked by this false and murmuring
speech; nay, every one thinks, while he says it, that he is uttering
a wise and indisputable maxim. A few men there are, and only a few,
who anticipate this insupportable feeling, and avoid all calls to such
partial resignation by one grand act of total self-renunciation.
Such men convince themselves of the Eternal, the Necessary, and
of Immutable Law, and seek to form to themselves ideas which are
incorruptible, nay which observation of the Perishable does not shake,
but rather confirms. But since in this there is something superhuman,
such persons are commonly esteemed _in_-human, without a God and
without a World. People hardly know what sort of horns and claws to
give them.
My confidence in Spinoza rested on the serene effect he wrought in me,
and it only increased when I found my worthy mystics were accused of
Spinozism, and learned that even Leibnitz himself could not escape the
charge; nay, that Boerhaave, being suspected of similar sentiments, had
to abandon Theology for Medicine.
But let no one think that I would have subscribed to his writings,
and assented to them _verbatim et literatim._ For, that no one really
understands another; that no one attaches the same idea to the same
word which another does; that a dialogue, a book, excites in different
persons different trains of thought:--this I had long seen all too
plainly; and the reader will trust the assertion of the author of Faust
and Werther, that deeply experienced in such misunderstandings, he was
never so presumptuous as to think that he understood perfectly a man,
who, as the scholar of Descartes, raised himself, through mathematical
and rabbinical studies, to the highest reach of thought; and whose name
even at this day seems to mark the limit of all speculative efforts.
How much I appropriated from Spinoza, would be seen distinctly enough,
if the visit of the "Wandering Jew," to Spinoza, which I had devised as
a worthy ingredient for that poem, existed in writing. But it pleased
me so much in the conception, and I found so much delight in meditating
on it in silence, that I never could bring myself to the point of
writing it out. Thus the notion, which would have been well enough as a
passing joke, expanded itself until it lost its charm, and I banished
it from my mind as something troublesome. The chief points, however,
of what I owed to my study of Spinoza, so far as they have remained
indelibly impressed on my mind, and have exercised a great influence
on the subsequent course of my life, I will now unfold as briefly and
succinctly as possible.
[Side-note: Influence of Spinoza.]
Nature works after such eternal, necessary, dime laws, that the Deity
himself could alter nothing in them. In this belief, all men are
unconsciously agreed. Think only how a natural phenomenon, which should
intimate any degree of understanding, reason, or even of caprice, would
instantly astonish and terrify us.
If anything like reason shows itself in brutes, it is long before
we can recover from our amazement; for, although they stand so near
to us, they nevertheless seem to be divided from us by an infinite
gulf, and to belong altogether to the kingdom of necessity. It is
therefore impossible to take it ill if some thinkers have pronounced
the infinitely ingenious, but strictly limited, organisation of those
creatures, to be thoroughly mechanical.
If we turn to plants, our position is still more strikingly confirmed.
How unaccountable is the feeling which seizes an observer upon seeing
the _Mimosa_, as soon as it is touched, fold together in pairs its
downy leaves, and finally clap down its little stalk as if upon a
joint (_Gewerbe_). Still higher rises that feeling, to which I will
give no name, at the sight of the _Hedysarum Gyrans_, which without
any apparent outward occasion moves up and down its little leaves,
and seems to play with itself as with our thoughts. Let us imagine a
_Banana_, suddenly endowed with a similar capacity, so that of itself
it could by turns let down and lift up again its huge leafy canopy;
who would not, upon seeing it the first time, start back in terror? So
rooted within us is the idea of our own superiority, that we absolutely
refuse to concede to the outward world any part or portion in it; nay,
if we could, we would too often withhold such advantages from our
fellows.
On the other hand, a similar horror seizes upon us, when we see a man
unreasonably opposing universally recognised moral laws, or unwisely
acting against the interest of himself and others. To get rid of the
repugnance which we feel on such occasions, we convert it at once into
censure or detestation, and we seek either in reality or in thought to
get free from such a man.
This contrariety between Reason and Necessity, which Spinoza threw out
in so strong a light, I, strangely enough, applied to my own being;
and what has been said is, properly speaking, only for the purpose of
rendering intelligible what follows.
I had come to look upon my indwelling poetic talent altogether as
Nature; the more so, as I had always been impelled to regard outward
Nature as its proper object. The exercise of this poetic gift could
indeed be excited and determined by circumstances; but its most joyful,
its richest action was spontaneous-nay, even involuntary.
Through field and forest roaming,
My little songs still humming,
So went it all day long.
In my nightly vigils the same thing happened; I therefore often wished,
like one of my predecessors, to get me a leathern jerkin made, and to
accustom myself to write in the dark so as to be able to fix down at
once all such unpremeditated effusions. So frequently had it happened
that after composing a little piece in my head I could not recall it,
that I would now hurry to the desk and, at one standing, write off the
poem from beginning to end, and as I could not spare time to adjust
my paper, however obliquely it might lie, the lines often crossed it
diagonally. In such a mood I liked best to get hold of a lead pencil,
because I could write most readily with it; whereas the scratching and
spluttering of the pen would sometimes wake me from my somnambular
poetizing, confuse me, and stifle a little conception in its birth.
For the poems thus created I had a particular reverence; for I felt
towards them somewhat as the hen does towards her chickens, which
she sees hatched and chirping about her. My old whim of making known
these things only by means of private readings, now returned to me: to
exchange them for money seemed to me detestable.
[Side-note: Himburg - The Piratical Bookseller.]
And this suggests to me to mention in the present place a little
incident, which however did not take place till some time after. When
the demand for my works had increased and a collected edition of
them was much called for, these feelings held me back from preparing
it myself; Himburg, however, took advantage of my hesitation, and I
unexpectedly received one day several copies of my collected works in
print. With cool audacity this unauthorized publisher even boasted of
having done me a public service, and offered to send me, if I wished,
some Berlin porcelain by way of compensation. His offer served to
remind me of the law which compelled the Jews of Berlin, when they
married, to purchase a certain quantity of porcelain, in order to keep
up the sale of the Royal manufacture. The contempt which was shewn for
the shameless pirate, led me to suppress the indignation which I could
not but feel at such a robbery. I gave him no reply; and while he was
making himself very comfortable with my property, I revenged myself in
silence with the following verses:--
Records of the years once dream'd away,
Long fallen hairs, and flow'rs that shew decay,
Faded ribbons, veils so lightly wove,
The mournful pledges of a vanished love;
Things that to the flames should long have gone,
--Saucy Sosias snatches every one.
Just as though he were the heir to claim,
Lawfully the poets' works and fame.
And to make the owner full amends
Paltry tea and coffee-cups he sends!
Take your china back, your gingerbread!
For all Himburgs living I am dead.
This very Nature, however, which thus spontaneously brought forth
so many longer and smaller works, was subject to long pauses, and
for considerable periods I was unable, even when I most wished it,
to produce anything, and consequently often suffered from ennui.
The perception of such contrasts within me gave rise to the thought
whether, on the other hand, it would not be my wisest course to employ
for my own and others' profit and advantage, the human, rational, and
intellectual part of my being, and as I already had done, and as I
now felt myself more and more called upon to do, devote the intervals
when Nature ceased to influence me, to worldly occupations, and thus
to leave no one of my faculties unused. This course, which seemed to
be dictated by those general ideas before described, was so much in
harmony with my character and my position in life, that I resolved
to adopt it and by this means to check the wavering and hesitation
to which I had hitherto been subject. Very pleasant was it to me
to reflect, that thus for actual service to my fellow men, I might
demand a substantial reward, while on the other hand I might go on
disinterestedly spending that lovely gift of nature as a sacred thing.
By this consideration I guarded against the bitterness of feeling
which might have arisen when circumstances should force upon the
remark that precisely this talent, so courted and admired in Germany,
was treated as altogether beyond the pale of the law and of justice.
For not only were piracies considered perfectly allowable, and even
comical in Berlin, but the estimable Margrave of Baden, so praised for
his administrative virtues, and the Emperor Joseph who had justified
so many hopes, lent their sanction, one to his Macklot, and the other
to his honorable noble _von Trattner_; and it was declared, that the
rights, as well as the property of genius, should be left at the
absolute mercy of the trade.
One day, when we were complaining of this to a visitor from Baden, he
told us the following story: Her ladyship the Margravine, being a very
active lady, had established a paper-manufactory; but the paper was so
bad, that it was impossible to dispose of it. Thereupon Mr. bookseller
Macklot proposed, if he were permitted to print the German poets and
prose writers, he would use this paper, and thus enhance its value. The
proposition was adopted with avidity.
Of course, we pronounced this malicious piece of scandal to be a
mere fabrication; but found our pleasure in it notwithstanding. The
name of Macklot became a by-word at the time, and was applied by us
to all mean transactions. And, a versatile youth, often reduced to
borrowing himself, while others' meanness was making itself rich upon
his talents, felt himself sufficiently compensated by a couple of good
jokes.
* * * * *
Children and youths wander on in a sort of happy intoxication, which
betrays itself especially in the fact, that the good, innocent
creatures are scarcely able to notice, and still less to understand,
the ever changing state of things around them. They regard the world
as raw material which they must shape, as a treasure which they must
take possession of. Everything they seem to think belongs to them,
everything must be subservient to their will; indeed, on this account,
the greater part lose themselves in a wild uncontrollable temper.
With the better part, however, this tendency unfolds itself into a
moral enthusiasm, which, occasionally moves of its own accord after
some actual or seeming good, but still oftener suffers itself to be
prompted, led, and even misled.
Such was the case with the youth of whom we are at present speaking,
and if he appeared rather strange to mankind, still he seemed welcome
to many. At the very first meeting you found in him a freedom from
reserve, a cheerful open-heartedness in conversation, and in action the
unpremeditated suggestions of the moment. Of the latter trait a story
or two.
[Side-note: A Scene at a Fire.]
In the close-built Jews' street (_Judengasse_), a violent conflagration
had broken out. My universal benevolence, which prompted me to lend my
active aid to all, led me to the spot, full dressed as I was. A passage
had been broken through from All Saints' street (_Allerheiligengasse_),
and thither I repaired. I found a great number of men busied with
carrying water, rushing forward with full buckets, and back again with
empty ones. I soon saw that, by forming a lane for passing up and
down the buckets, the help we rendered might be doubled. I seized two
full buckets and remained standing and called others to me; those who
came on were relieved of their load, while those returning arranged
themselves in a row on the other side. The arrangement was applauded,
my address and personal sympathy found favor, and the lane, unbroken
from its commencement to its burning goal, was soon completed.
Scarcely, however, had the cheerfulness which this inspired, called
forth a joyous, I might even say, a merry humor in this living machine,
all of whose party worked well together, when wantonness began to
appear, and was soon succeeded by a love of mischief. The wretched
fugitives, dragging off their miserable substance upon their backs, if
they once got within the lane, must pass on without stopping, and if
they ventured to halt for a moment's rest, were immediately assailed.
Saucy boys would sprinkle them with the water, and even add insult
to misery. However, by means of gentle words and eloquent reproofs,
prompted perhaps by a regard to my best clothes, which were in danger,
I managed to put a stop to their rudeness.
Some of my friends had from curiosity approached, to gaze on the
calamity, and seemed astonished to see their companion, in thin shoes
and silk stockings--for that was then the fashion-engaged in this wet
business. But few of them could I persuade to join us; the others
laughed and shook their heads. We stood our ground, however, a long
while, for, if any were tired and went away, there were plenty ready to
take their places. Many sight-seers, too, came merely for the sake of
the spectacle, and so my innocent daring became universally known, and
the strange disregard of etiquette became the town-talk of the day.
This readiness to do any action that a good-natured whim might prompt,
which proceeded from a happy self-consciousness which men are apt to
blame as vanity, made our friend to be talked of for other oddities.
A very inclement winter had completely covered the Main with ice, and
converted it into a solid floor. The liveliest intercourse, both for
business and pleasure, was kept up on the ice. Boundless skating-paths,
and wide, smooth frozen plains, swarmed with a moving multitude. I
never failed to be there early in the morning, and once, being lightly
clad, felt myself nearly frozen through by the time that my mother
arrived, who usually came at a later hour to visit the scene. She sat
in the carriage, in her purple-velvet and fur-trimmed cloak, which,
held together on her breast by a strong golden cord and tassel, looked
quite fine. "Give me your furs, dear mother!" I cried out on the
instant, without a moment's thought, "I am terribly frozen." She, too,
did not stop to think, and so in a moment I was wrapped in her cloak.
Beaching half-way below my knees with its purple-colour, sable-border,
and gold trimmings, it contrasted not badly with the brown fur cap
I wore. Thus clad, I carelessly went on skating up and down; the
crowd was so great that no especial notice was taken of my strange
appearance; still it was not unobserved, for often afterwards it was
brought up, in jest or in earnest, among my other eccentricities.
* * * * *
Leaving these recollections of happy and spontaneous action, we will
now resume the sober thread of our narrative.
A witty Frenchman has said: If a clever man has once attracted the
attention of the public by any meritorious work, every one does his
best to prevent his ever doing a similar thing again.
It is even so: something good and spirited is produced in the quiet
seclusion of youth; applause is won, but independence is lost; the
concentrated talent is pulled about and distracted, because people
think that they may pluck off and appropriate to themselves a portion
of the personality.
It was owing to this that I received a great many invitations, or,
rather, not exactly invitations: a Mend, an acquaintance would propose,
with even more than urgency, to introduce me here or there.
The _quasi_ stranger, now described as a bear on account of his
frequent surly refusals, and then again like Voltaire's Huron, or
Cumberland's West Indian, as a child of nature in spite of many
talents, excited curiosity, and in various families negotiations were
set on foot to see him.
[Side-note: Introduction to Lili.]