style, and was calculated to excite the tenderest feelings. On the
other hand a Demon of Realism had got possession of the opera-house;
operas founded upon different crafts and classes were brought out. _The
Huntsmen, the Coopers_, and I know not what else, were produced; André
chose the _Potter._ He had written the words himself, and upon that
part of the text which belonged to him, had lavished his whole musical
talent.
I was lodging with him, and will only say so much as occasion demands
of this ever ready poet and composer.
He was a man of an innate lively talent and was settled at Offenbach,
where he properly carried on a mechanical business and manufacture; he
floated between the chapel-master (or Precentor) and the dilettante. In
the hope of meriting the former title, he toiled very earnestly to gain
a thorough knowledge of the science of music; in the latter character
he was inclined to repeat his own compositions without end.
Among the persons who at this time were most active in filling and
enlivening our circle, the pastor Ewald must be first named. In
society an intellectual agreeable companion, he still carried on in
private quietly and diligently the studies of his profession, and in
fact afterwards honourably distinguished himself in the province of
theology. Ewald in short was an indispensable member of our circle,
being quick alike of comprehension and reply.
Lili's pianoforte-playing completely fettered our good André to our
society; what with instructing, conducting, and executing, there were
few hours of the day or night in which he was not either in the family
circle or at our social parties.
Bürger's "Leonore," then but just published, and received with
enthusiasm by the Germans, had been set to music by by him; this piece
he was always forward to execute however often it might be encored.
I too, who was in the habit of repeating pieces of poetry with
animation, was always ready to recite it. Our friends at this time
did not get weary of the constant repetition of the same thing. When
the company had their choice which of us they would rather hear, the
decision was often in my favour.
All this (however it might be) served to prolong the intercourse of the
lovers. They knew no bounds, and between them both they easily managed
to keep the good John André continually in motion, that by repetitions
he might make his music last till midnight. The two lovers thus secured
for themselves, a precious and indispensable opportunity.
If we walked out early in the morning, we found ourselves in the
freshest air, but not precisely in the country. Imposing buildings,
which at that time would have done honor to a city; gardens, spreading
before us and easily overlooked, with their smooth flower and
ornamental beds; a clear prospect commanding the opposite banks of
the river, over whose surface even at an early hour might be seen
floating a busy line of rafts or nimble market-skiffs and boats--these
together formed a gently gliding, living world, in harmony with love's
tender feelings. Even the lonely rippling of the waves and rustling
of the reeds in a softly flowing stream was highly refreshing, and
never failed to throw a decidedly tranquillising spell over those who
approached the spot. A clear sky of the finest season of the year
overarched the whole, and most pleasant was it to renew morning after
morning her dear society, in the midst of such scenes!
Should such a mode of life seem too irregular, too trivial to
the earnest reader, let him consider that between what is here
brought closely together for the sake of a convenient order, there
intervened whole days and weeks of renunciation, other engagements and
occupations, and indeed an insupportable tedium.
Men and women were busily engaged in their spheres of duty. I, too,
out of regard for the present and the future, delayed not to attend to
all my obligations; and I found time enough to finish that to which my
talent and my passion irresistibly impelled me.
The earliest hours of the morning I devoted to poetry; the middle
of the day was assigned to worldly business, which was handled in
a manner quite peculiar. My father, a thorough and indeed finished
jurist, managed himself such business as arose from the care of his
own property, and a connexion with highly valued friends; for although
his character as Imperial Councillor did not allow him to practise,
he was at hand as legal adviser to many a friend, while the papers
he had prepared were signed by a regular advocate, who received a
consideration for every such signature.
This activity of his had now become more lively since my return,
and I could easily remark, that he prized my talent higher than my
practice, and on that account did what he could to leave me time for
my poetical studies and productions. Sound and thoroughly apt, but
slow of conception and execution, he studied the papers as private
_Referendarius_, and when we came together, he would state the case,
and left me to work it out, in which I shewed so much readiness,
that he felt a father's purest joy, and once could not refrain from
declaring, "that, if I were not of his own blood, he should envy me."
[Side-note: My Worldly Affairs.]
To lighten our work we had engaged a scribe whose character and
individuality, well worked out, would have helped to adorn a romance.
After his school-years, which had been profitably spent, and in which
he had become fully master of Latin, and acquired some other useful
branches of knowledge, a dissipated academic life had brought trouble
on the remainder of his days. He dragged on a wretched existence for a
time in sickness and in poverty, till at last he contrived to improve
his circumstances by the aid of a fine hand-writing and a readiness at
accounts. Employed by some advocates, he gradually acquired an accurate
knowledge of the formalities of legal business, and by his faithfulness
and punctuality made every one he served his patron. He had been
frequently employed by our family, and was always at hand in matters of
law and account.
He also was an useful assistant in our continually increasing business,
which consisted not only of law matters, but also of various sorts of
commissions, orders and transit agencies. In the council-house he knew
all the passages and windings; in his way, he was in tolerable favor at
both burgomasters' audiences; and since, from his first entrance into
office, and even during the times of his equivocal behaviour, he had
been well acquainted with many of the new senators, some of whom had
quickly risen to the dignity of _Schöffen_, he had acquired a certain
confidence, which might be called a sort of influence. All this he
knew how to turn to the advantage of his patrons, and since the state
of his health forced him to limit his application to writing, he was
always found ready to execute every commission or order with care.
His presence was not disagreeable; he was slender in person and
of regular features; his manner was unobtrusive, though a certain
expression betrayed his conviction that he knew all what was necessary
to be done; moreover, he was cheerful and dexterous in clearing away
difficulties. He must have been full forty, and (to say the same
thing over again), I regret that I have never introduced him as the
mainspring in the machinery of some novel.
Hoping that my more serious readers are now somewhat satisfied by what
I have just related, I will venture to turn again to that bright point
of time, when love and friendship shone in their fairest light.
It was in the nature of such social circles that all birth-days should
be carefully celebrated, with every variety of rejoicing; it was in
honor of the birth-day of the pastor Ewald, that the following song was
written:--
When met in glad communion,
When warm'd by love and wine,
To sing this song in union,
Our voices we'll combine,
Through God, who first united,
Together we remain:
The flame which once He lighted,
He now revives again.
Since this song has been preserved until this day, and there is
scarcely a merry party at which it is not joyfully revived, we commend
it also to all that shall come after us, and to all who sing it or
recite it we wish the same delight and inward satisfaction which we
then had, when we had no thought of any wider world, but felt ourselves
a world to ourselves in that narrow circle.
It will, of course, be expected that Lili's birth-day, which, on
the 23rd June, 1775, returned for the seventeenth time, was to
be celebrated with peculiar honours. She had promised to come to
Offenbach at noon; and I must observe that our friends, with a happy
unanimity, had laid aside all customary compliments at this festival,
and had prepared for her reception and entertainment nothing but such
heartfelt tokens, as were worthy of her.
[Side-note: Plot of "She Comes Not."]
Busied with such pleasant duties, I saw the sun go down, announcing a
bright day to follow, and promising its glad beaming presence at our
feast, when Lili's brother, George, who knew not how to dissemble, came
somewhat rudely into the chamber, and, without sparing our feelings,
gave us to understand that to-morrow's intended festival was put off;
he himself could not tell how, or why, but his sister had bid him say
that it would be wholly impossible for her to come to Offenbach at noon
that day, and take part in the intended festival; she had no hope of
arriving before evening. She knew and felt most sensibly how vexatious
and disagreeable it must be to me and all her friends, but she begged
me very earnestly to invent some expedient which might soften and
perhaps do away the unpleasant effects of this news, which she left it
to me to announce. If I could, she would give me her warmest thanks.
I was silent for a moment, but I quickly recovered myself, and, as
if by heavenly inspiration, saw what was to be done. "Make haste,
George!" I cried; "tell her to make herself easy, and do her best to
come towards evening; I promise that this very disappointment shall be
turned into a cause of rejoicing!" The boy was curious, and wanted to
know how? I refused to gratify his curiosity, notwithstanding that he
called to his aid all the arts and all the influence which a brother of
our beloved can presume to exercise.
No sooner had he gone, than I walked up and down in my chamber with a
singular self-satisfaction; and, with the glad, free feeling that here
was a brilliant opportunity of proving myself her devoted servant,
I stitched together several sheets of paper with beautiful silk, as
suited alone such an occasional poem, and hastened to write down the
title:
"SHE COMES NOT!"
"A Mournful Family Piece, which, by the sore visitation of
Divine Providence, will be represented in the most natural
manner on the 23rd of June, 1775, at Offenbach-on-the-Maine.
The action lasts from morning until evening."
I have not by me either the original or a copy of this _jeu d'esprit_;
I have often inquired after one, but have never been able to get a
trace of it; I must therefore compose it anew, a thing which, in the
general way, is not difficult.
The scene is at D'Orville's house and garden in Offenbach; the action
opens with the domestics, of whom each one plays his special part,
and evident preparations for a festival are being made. The children,
drawn to the life, run in and out among them; the master appears and
the mistress, actively discharging her appropriate functions; then,
in the midst of the hurry and bustle of active preparation comes in
neighbour Hans André, the indefatigable composer; he seats himself at
the piano, and calls them all together to hear him try his new song,
which he has just finished for the festival. He gathers round him the
whole house, but all soon disperse again to attend to pressing duties;
one is called away by another, this person wants the help of that; at
last, the arrival of the gardener draws attention to the preparations
in the grounds and on the water; wreaths, banners with ornamental
inscriptions, in short, nothing is forgotten.
While they are all assembled around the most attractive objects, in
steps a messenger, who, as a sort of humorous go-between, was also
entitled to play his part, and who although he has had plenty of
drink-money, could still pretty shrewdly guess what was the state of
the case. He sets a high value on his packet, demands a glass of wine
and a wheaten roll, and after some roguish hesitation hands over his
despatches. The master of the house lets his arms drop, the papers fall
to the floor, he calls out: "Let me go to the table! let me go to the
bureau that I may _brush._"
The spirited intercourse of vivacious persons is chiefly distinguished
by a certain symbolical style of speech and gesture. A sort of
conventional idiom arises, which, while it makes the initiated very
happy, is unobserved by the stranger, or, if observed, is disagreeable.
[Side-note: Plot of "She Comes Not."]
Among Lili's most pleasing particularities was the one which is here
expressed by the word brushing, and which manifested itself whenever
anything disagreeable was said or told, especially when she sat at
table, or was near any flat surface.
It had its origin in a most fascinating but odd expedient, which she
once had recourse to when a stranger, sitting near her at table,
uttered something unseemly. Without altering her mild countenance, she
brushed with her right hand, most prettily, across the table-cloth,
and deliberately pushed off on to the floor everything she reached
with this gentle motion. I know not what did not fall:--knives, forks,
bread, salt-cellar, and also something belonging to her neighbour;
every one was startled; the servants ran up, and no one knew what it
all meant, except the observing ones, who were delighted that she had
rebuked and checked an impropriety in so pretty a manner.
Here now was a symbol found to express the repulsion of anything
disagreeable, which still is frequently made use of in clever, hearty,
estimable, well-meaning, and not thoroughly polished society. We all
adopted the motion of the right hand as a sign of reprobation; the
actual brushing away of objects was a thing which afterwards she
herself indulged in only moderately and with good taste.
When, therefore, the poet gives to the master of the house, as a piece
of dumb shew, this desire for brushing, (a habit which had become
with us a second nature,) the meaning and effect of the action and
its tendency, are at once apparent; for while he threatens to sweep
everything from all flat surfaces, everybody tries to hinder him, and
to pacify him, till finally he throws himself exhausted on a seat.
"What has happened?" all exclaim. "Is she sick? Is any one dead?"
"Read! read!" cries D'Orville, "there it lies on the ground." The
despatch is picked up; they read it, and exclaim: _She comes not!_
The great terror had prepared them for a greater;--but she was
well-nothing had happened to her! no one of the family was hurt; hope
pointed still to the evening.
André, who in the meanwhile had kept on with his music, came running
up at last, consoling and seeking consolation. Pastor Ewald and his
wife likewise came in quite characteristically, disappointed and yet
reasonable, sorry for the disappointment and yet quietly accepting all
for the best. Everything now is at sixes and sevens, until the calm and
exemplary uncle Bernard finally approaches, expecting a good breakfast
and a comfortable dinner; and he is the only one who sees the matter
from the right point of view. He, by reasonable speeches, sets all to
rights, just as in the Greek tragedy a god manages with a few words to
clear up the perplexities of the greatest heroes.
Dashed off "currente calamo," it was yet late at night before I had
finished it and given it to a messenger with instructions to deliver it
the next morning in Offenbach, precisely at ten o'clock.
Next day when I awoke, it was one of the brightest mornings possible,
and, I set off just in time to arrive at Offenbach, as I purposed,
precisely at noon.
I was received with the strangest charivari of salutations; the
interrupted feast was scarcely mentioned; they scolded and rated me,
because I had taken them off so well. The domestics were contented
with being introduced on the same stage with their superiors; only the
children, those most decided and indomitable realists, obstinately
insisted that they had not talked so and so, that everything in fact
went quite differently from the way in which it there stood written. I
appeased them by some foretastes of the supper-table, and they loved
me as much as ever. A cheerful dinner-party, with some though not all
of our intended festivities, put us in the mood of receiving Lili with
less splendor, but perhaps the more affectionately. She came, and
was welcomed by cheerful, nay, merry faces, surprised to find that
her staying away had not marred all our cheerfulness. They told her
everything, they laid the whole thing before her, and she, in her dear
sweet way, thanked me as only she could thank.
It required no remarkable acuteness to perceive, that her absence from
the festival in her honor was not accidental, but had been caused by
gossiping about the intimacy between us. However, this had not the
slightest influence either on our sentiments or our behavior.
[Side-note: Intimacy with Lili.]
At this season of the year there never failed to be a varied throng
of visitors from the city. Frequently I did not join the company
until late in the evening, when I found her apparently sympathizing;
and since I commonly appeared only for a few hours, I was glad of
an opportunity to be useful to her in any way, by attending to or
undertaking some commission, whether trifling or not, in her behalf.
And indeed this service is the most delightful which a man can enter
upon, as the old romances of chivalry contrive how to intimate in their
obscure, but powerful manner. That she ruled over me, was not to be
concealed, and this pride she might well allow herself; for in this
contest the victor and the vanquished both triumph, and enjoy an equal
glory.
This my repeated, though often brief co-operation, was always so much
the more effective. John André had always store of music; I contributed
new pieces either by others or myself; so that poetical and musical
blossoms showered down upon us. It was altogether a brilliant time; a
certain excitement reigned in the company, and there were no insipid
moments. Without further question it seemed to be communicated to all
the rest. For where inclination and passion come out in their own bold
nature, they encourage timid souls, who cannot comprehend why they
should suppress their equally valid rights. Hence relations, which
hitherto were more or less concealed, were now seen to intertwine
themselves without reserve; while others, which did not confess
themselves so openly, still glided on agreeably in the shade.
If, because of my multifarious avocations, I could not pass whole days
out of doors with her, yet the clear evenings gave us opportunity for
prolonged meetings in the open air. Loving souls will be pleased to
read the following event.
Ours was a condition of which it stands written: "I sleep, but my heart
wakes;" the bright and the dark hours were alike; the light of the day
could not outshine the light of love, and the night was made as the
brightest day by the radiance of passion.
One clear starlight evening we had been walking about in the open
country till it was quite late; and after I had seen her and her
friends home to their several doors, and finally had taken leave of
her, I felt so little inclined to sleep that I did not hesitate to set
off on another ramble. I took the highroad to Frankfort, giving myself
up to my thoughts and hopes; here I seated myself on a bench, in the
purest stillness of night, under the gleaming starry heavens, that I
might belong only to myself and her.
My attention was attracted by a sound quite near me, which I could not
explain; it was not a rattling, nor a rustling noise, and on closer
observation I discovered that it was under the ground, and caused
by the working of some little animal. It might be a hedge-hog, or a
weasel, or whatever creature labors in that way at such hours.
Having set off again towards the city and got near to the Röderberg, I
recognised, by their chalk-white gleam, the steps which lead up to the
vineyards. I ascended them, sat down, and fell asleep.
When I awoke, the twilight had already dawned, and I found myself
opposite the high wall, which in earlier times had been erected to
defend the heights on this side. Saxenhausen lay before me, light mists
marked out the course of the river; it was cool, and to me most welcome.
There I waited till the sun, rising gradually behind me, lighted up
the opposite landscape. It was the spot where I was again to see my
beloved, and I returned slowly back to the paradise which surrounded
her yet sleeping.
On account of my increasing circle of business, which, from love to
her, I was anxious to extend and to establish, my visits to Offenbach
became more rare, and hence arose a somewhat painful predicament; so
that it might well be remarked, that, for the sake of the future, one
postpones and loses the present.
As my prospects were now gradually improving, I took them to be more
promising than they really were, and I thought the more about coming
to a speedy explanation, since go public an intimacy could not go on
much longer without misconstruction. And, as is usual in such cases,
we did not expressly say it to one another; but the feeling of being
mutually pleased in every way, the full conviction that a separation
was impossible, the confidence reposed in one another,--all this
produced such a seriousness, that I, who had firmly resolved never
again to get involved in any troublesome connexion of the kind, and who
found myself, nevertheless, entangled in this, without the certainty of
a favorable result, was actually beset with a heaviness of mind, to get
rid of which I plunged more and more in indifferent worldly affairs,
from which apart from my beloved I had no care to derive either profit
or pleasure.
[Side-note: A Betrothal.]
In this strange situation, the like of which many, no doubt, have
with pain experienced, there came to our aid a female friend of the
family, who saw through characters and situations very clearly. She
was called Mademoiselle Delf; she presided with her elder sister over
a little business in Heidelberg, and on several occasions had received
many favors from the greater Frankfort commission-house. She had
known and loved Lili from her youth; she was quite a peculiar person,
of an earnest, masculine look, and with an even, firm hasty step. She
had had peculiar reason to adapt herself to the world, and hence she
understood it, in a certain sense at least. She could not be called
intriguing; she was accustomed to consider distant contingencies,
and to carry out her plans in silence: but then she had the gift of
seeing an opportunity, and if she found people wavering betwixt doubt
and resolution, at the moment when everything depended upon decision,
she skilfully contrived to infuse into their minds such a force of
character, that she seldom failed to accomplish, her purpose. Properly
speaking she had no selfish ends; to have done anything, to have
completed anything, especially to have brought about a marriage, was
reward enough for her. She had long since seen through our position,
and, in repeated visits, had carefully observed the state of affairs,
so that she had finally convinced herself that the attachment must
be favored; that our plans, honestly but not very skilfully taken in
hand and prosecuted, must be promoted, and that this little romance be
brought to a close as speedily as possible.