than the former. There all was longer or flatter; here all is
shorter, broader, more arched, and rounded; there all was vague; here
everything is more precise and sharply defined. So the brow; so the
nose; so the breast: more compressed, more active, less diffuse, more
of concentrated life and power! For the rest, the same amiableness
and _bonhommie!_ Not that striking openness, rather more of reserve,
but in principle, or rather in deed, the same honorable tone. The
same invincible abhorrence of injustice and baseness; the same
irreconcilable hatred of all that is called cunning and trickery; the
same unyielding opposition to tyranny and despotism; the same pure,
incorruptible sensibility to all that is noble, and great, and good;
the same need of friendship and of freedom, the same sensitiveness
and noble thirst for glory; the same catholicity of heart for all
good, wise, sincere, and energetic men, renowned or unrenowned, known
or misunderstood,--and the same light-hearted inconsiderateness. No!
not exactly the same. The face is sharper, more contracted, firmer;
has more inward, self-developing capacity for business and practical
counsels; more of enterprising spirit--which is shown especially by
the strongly prominent and fully rounded bones of the eye-sockets.
Not the all-blending, rich, pure, lofty poet's feeling--not the ease
and rapidity of the productive, power which marks the other--but yet
he is, and that in profounder depths, vivacious, upright, ardent.
Not the airy genius of light floating away in the morning red of
heaven, and fashioning huge shapes therein--but more of inward power,
though perhaps less of expression! more powerful and terrible--less
of elegance and finish; though his pencil nevertheless wants neither
coloring nor enchantment. More wit and riotous humor; droll satire;
brow, nose, look--all so downward, so over-hanging--decidedly what
it should be for original and all-enlivening wit, which does not
gather from without, but brings forth from within. Above all in this
character every trait more prominent, more angular, more aggressive,
more storming! No passive dullness, no relaxation, except in the sunken
eyes, where, as well as in the brow and nose, pleasure evidently
sits. In all besides--and even in this very brow, this concentration
of all--in this look indeed--there is an unmistakable expression of
natural, unacquired greatness; strength, impetuosity of manliness;
constancy, simplicity, precision!"
* * * * *
After having in Darmstadt conceded to Merck the justice of his
opinions and allowed him to triumph, in his having predicted my
speedy separation from these gay companions, I found myself again in
Frankfort, well received by every one, including my father, although
the latter could not conceal his disappointment that I had not
descended by the pass to Airolo, and announced to him from Milan my
arrival in Italy. All this was expressed by his silence rather than his
words; but above all he did not show the slightest sympathy with those
wild rocks, those lakes of mist, and dragons' nests.
At last, however, by an incidental remark, by no means intended for
a reproach, he gave me to understand how little all such sights were
worth: he who has not seen Naples, he observed, has lived to no end.
[Side-note: My Meeting again with Lili.]
On my return I did not, I could not, avoid seeing Lili; the position
we maintained towards each other was tender and considerate. I was
informed that they had fully convinced her in my absence, that she must
break off her intimacy with me, and that this was the more necessary
and indeed more practicable, since by my journey and voluntary absence,
I had given a sufficiently clear intimation of my own intentions.
Nevertheless, the same localities in town and country, the same
friends, confidentially acquainted with all the past, could scarcely
be seen without emotion by either of us--still and for ever lovers,
although drawn apart in a mysterious way. It was an accursed state,
which in a certain sense resembled Hades, or the meeting of the happy
with the unhappy dead.
There were moments when departed days seemed to revive, but instantly
vanished again, like ghosts.
Some kind people had told me in confidence, that Lili, when all the
obstacles to, our union were laid before her, had declared that for my
love she was ready to renounce all present ties and advantages, and to
go with me to America. America was then perhaps, still more than now,
the Eldorado of all who found themselves crossed in the wishes of the
moment.
But the very thing which should have animated my hopes, only depressed
them the more. My handsome paternal house, only a few hundred steps
from hers, offered certainly a more tolerable and more attractive
habitation than an uncertain and remote locality beyond the ocean;
still I do not deny, that in her presence all hopes, all wishes sprang
to life again, and irresolution was stirring within me.
True, the injunctions of my sister were very peremptory and precise;
not only had she, with all the shrewd penetration of which she was
mistress, explained the situation of things to me, but she had also,
with painfully cogent letters, harped upon the same text still more
powerfully. "It were very well," said she, "if you could not help it,
then you would have to put up with it; such things one must _suffer_
but not _choose._" Some months passed away in this most miserable of
all conditions; every circumstance had conspired against the union; in
her alone I felt, I knew, lay the power which could have overcome every
difficulty.
Both the lovers, conscious of their position, avoided all solitary
interviews; but, in company, they could not help meeting in the usual
formal way. It was now that the strongest trial was to be gone through,
as every noble and feeling soul will acknowledge, when I have explained
myself more fully.
It is generally allowed, that in a new acquaintance, in the formation
of a new attachment, the lover gladly draws a veil over the past.
Growing affection troubles itself about no antecedents, and as it
springs up like genius with the rapidity of lightning, it knows nothing
either of past or future. It is true, my closer intimacy with Lili had
begun by her telling me the story of her early youth: how, from a child
up, she had excited in many both a liking and devotion to herself,
especially in strangers visiting her father's gay and lively house, and
how she had found her pleasure in all this, though it had been attended
with no further consequences and had lead to no permanent tie.
[Side-note: Lili's Old Lovers.]
True, lovers consider all that they have felt before only as
preparation for their present bliss, only as the foundation on which
the structure of their future life is to be reared. Past attachments
seem like spectres of the night, which glide away before the break of
day.
But what occurred! The fair came on, and with it appeared the whole
swarm of those spectres in their reality; all the mercantile friends
of the eminent house came one by one, and it was soon manifest
that not a man among them was willing or able wholly to give up a
certain claim to the lovely daughter. The younger ones, without being
obtrusive, still seemed to claim the rights of familiar friends; the
middle-aged, with a certain obliging dignity, like those who seek to
make themselves beloved, and who in all probability might come forward
with higher claims. There were fine men among them, with the additional
recommendation of a substantial fortune.
The older gentlemen, with their _uncle's_ ways and manners, were
altogether intolerable; they could not bridle their hands, and in the
midst of their disagreeable twaddle would demand a kiss, for which the
cheek was not refused. It was so natural to her, gracefully to satisfy
every one. The conversation, too, excited many a painful remembrance.
Allusion was constantly made to pleasure parties by water and by land,
to perils of all kinds with their happy escapes, to balls and evening
promenades, to the amusement afforded by ridiculous wooers, and to
whatever could excite an uncomfortable jealousy in the heart of an
inconsolable lover, who had, as it were, for a long time drawn to
himself the sum of so many years. But amid all this crowd and gaiety,
she did not push aside her friend, and when she turned to him, she
contrived, in a few words, to express all the tenderness which seemed
allowable to their present position.
But let us turn from this torture, of which the memory even is almost
intolerable, to poesy, which afforded, at least, an intellectual and
heartfelt alleviation of my sufferings.
"_Lili's Menagerie_" belongs somewhere to this period; I do not adduce
the poem here, because it does not reveal the softer sentiment, but
seeks only, with genial earnestness, to exaggerate the disagreeable,
and by comical, and provoking images, to change renunciation into
despair.
The _following song_ expresses rather the sweeter side of that misery,
and on that account is here inserted:
Sweetest roses, ye are drooping,
By my love ye were not worn;
Bloom for one, who past all hoping,
Feels his soul by sorrow torn.
Oh, the days still live in thought, love,
When to thee, my angel, bound;
I my garden early sought, love,
And for thee the young buds found.
All the flowers and fruits I bore thee,
And I cast them at thy feet;
As I proudly stood before thee,
Then my heart with hope would beat!
Sweetest roses, ye are drooping,
By my love ye were not worn;
Bloom for one, who past all hoping,
Feels his soul by sorrow torn.
The opera of "_Erwin and Elvira_" was suggested by the pretty
little romaunt or ballad introduced by Goldsmith in his "_Vicar of
Wakefield_," which had given us so much pleasure in our happiest days,
when we never dreamed that a similar fate awaited us.
I have already introduced some of the poetical productions of
this epoch, and I only wish they had all been preserved. A never
failing excitement in the happy season of love, heightened by the
beginning of care, gave birth to songs, which throughout expressed
no overstrained emotion, but always the sincere feeling of the
moment. From social songs for festivals, down to the most trifling of
presentation-verses--all was living and real and what a refined company
had sympathized in; first glad, then sorrowful, till finally there was
no height of bliss, no depth of woe, to which a strain was not devoted.
All these internal feelings and outward doings, so far as they were
likely to vex and pain my father, were by my mother's bustling prudence
skilfully kept from him. Although his hope of seeing me lead into
his house, that first one (who had so fully realised his ideas of a
daughter-in-law) had died away, still this "state-lady," as he used to
call her in his confidential conversations with ms wife, would never
suit him.
Nevertheless he let matters take their course, and diligently occupied
himself with his little Chancery. The young juristic friend, as well as
the dexterous amanuensis, gained continually more and more of influence
under his firm. As the absentee was now no longer missed there, they
let me take my own way, and sought to establish themselves firmly upon
a ground on which I was not destined to thrive.
Fortunately my own tendencies corresponded with the sentiments and
wishes of my father. He had so great an idea of my poetic talents, and
felt so personal a pleasure in the applause which my earliest efforts
had obtained, that he often talked to me on the subject of new and
further attempts. On the other hand, I did not venture to communicate
to him any of these social effusions and poems of passion.
[Side-note: Plan of Egmont.]
As, in _Götz von Berlichingen_, I had in my own way mirrored forth the
image of an important epoch of the world, I now again carefully looked
round for another crisis in political history of similar interest.
Accordingly the Revolt of the Netherlands attracted my attention. In
Götz, I had depicted a man of parts and energy, sinking under the
delusion that, in times of anarchy, ability and honesty of purpose must
have their weight and influence. The design of Egmont was to shew that
the most firmly established institutions cannot maintain themselves
against a powerful and shrewdly calculating Despotism. I had talked so
earnestly with my father about what the piece ought to be, and what I
wanted to do, that it inspired him with an invincible desire to see
the plan which I had already worked out in my head, fairly set down on
paper, in order to its being printed and admired.
In earlier times, while I still hoped to gain Lili's hand, I had
applied myself with the utmost diligence to the study and practice
of legal business, but now I sought to fill the fearful gulf which
separated me from her, with occupations of more intellect and soul. I
therefore set to work in earnest with the composition of Egmont. Unlike
the first _Götz von Berlichingen_, however, it was not written in
succession and in order; but immediately after the first introduction
I went at once to the main scenes without troubling myself about the
various connecting links. I made rapid progress, because my father,
knowing my fitful way of working, spurred me on (literally and without
exaggeration) day and night, and seemed to believe that the plan, so
easily conceived, might as easily be executed.
TWENTIETH BOOK.
And so I got on rapidly with my "_Egmont_;" and while I found in this
some alleviation of my wounded passion, the society of a clever artist
also helped me through many wearisome hours. And thus, as had often
before been the case, a vague desire of practical improvement brought
me a secret peace of mind, at a time when it could scarcely be hoped
for.
GEORGE MELCHIOR KRAUS, who had been born at Frankfort, but educated in
Paris, having just returned from a short tour to the north of Germany,
paid me a visit, and I immediately felt an impulse and a need to attach
myself to him. He was a cheerful merry fellow, whose light joyous
disposition had found its right sphere in Paris.
At that time Paris promised a pleasant welcome for Germans; PHILIP
HACKERT was residing there in credit and opulence; the true German
style in which, both in oil and water-colors, he faithfully executed
landscapes after nature, met with great favor, as contrasted with the
formal _mannerism_ into which the French had fallen. WILLE, in high
esteem as a copperplate engraver, supported and made German excellence
more widely known. GRIMM, already an artist of some influence, rejoiced
to help his countrymen. Pleasant excursions, in order to take original
sketches from nature were constantly undertaken, in which much of
undoubted excellence was either executed or designed.
BOUCHER and WATTEAU, both of them artists born, whose works, though
fluttering in the style and spirit of the time, were always highly
respectable, were favorably inclined to the new school, and even
took an active part in their excursions, though only for the sake of
amusement and experiment. GREUZE, living quietly by himself in his
family circle, and fond of representing such domestic scenes, seemed
delighted with his own works, held an honored and easy pencil.
All these several styles our townsman KRAUS was able to take up and
blend with his own particular talent; he formed himself in school
after school, and was skilful in his portrait-like delineations of
family and friendly gatherings; equally happy was he in his landscape
sketches, which cordially commended themselves to the eye by their
clear outlines, massive shadows, and agreeable coloring. The inward
sense was satisfied by a certain naïve truth, while the admirer of
artistic skill was especially pleased with the tact by which he
arranged and grouped into a picture what he had copied singly from
nature.
He was a most agreeable companion; a cheerful equanimity never failed
him; obliging without obsequiousness, reserved without pride, he was
everywhere at home, everywhere beloved, the most active, and, at the
same time, the most manageable of all mortals. With such talents and of
such a disposition, he soon won the favor of the higher circles; but he
was especially well received at the castle of the Baron von Stein, at
Nassau on the Lahn, whose accomplished and lovely daughter he assisted
in her artistic studies, and in many ways enlivened the whole circle.
Upon the marriage of this excellent lady to the Count von Werther,
the newly wedded couple took the artist with them to Thuringia, where
the Count possessed a large estate, and thus he got to Weimar. His
acquaintance was immediately sought, his talents were appreciated--and
a wish expressed that he would fix his permanent abode there.
Obliging as he was to everybody, upon his return at this time to
Frankfort, he stimulated my love of art, which had been contented with
merely collecting, and to making practical essays. The neighbourhood of
the artist is indispensable to the Dilettante, for the latter sees all
that is wanting in himself supplied by the former; the wishes of the
amateur are fulfilled in the artist.
By a certain natural talent, assisted by practice, I succeeded pretty
well in an outline, and I could give the shape of all that I saw before
me in nature; but I wanted the peculiar plastic power, the skilful
industry, which lends a body to the outline by well-graduated light and
shade. My copies were rather remote suggestions of the real form, and
my figures like those light airy beings in Dante's Purgatory, which,
casting no shadow themselves, fled affrighted at the shadows of actual
bodies.
Lavater's fishing for physiognomical treasures--for so we may well
designate the importunate urgency with which he called upon all men,
not only to observe physiognomies, but also practically to make, be it
artistic or most bungling attempts at copying faces, led me into the
habit of taking the portraits of all my friends on grey paper, with
black and white chalk. The likeness was not to be mistaken, but it
required the hand of my artistic friend to make them stand out from the
dark background.
[Side-note: Kraus the Artist.]
In turning over and looking through the rich portfolio of drawings
which the good Kraus had taken during his travels, we had most pleasant
talk together when he came to the sketches of scenes and persons in and
about Weimar. On such paintings I, too, was glad to dwell, and you may
imagine that it must have been flattering to the young man, to see in
so many pictures only the text which was to lead to a circumstantially
repeated exclamation: they would be glad to see _him_ there. With much
grace he would imitate the different persons whose portraits he had
taken and impersonate the greetings and invitations he had received.
One very successful oil-painting represented the musical director,
Wolf, at the piano, with his wife behind him preparing to sing; and
this gave the artist opportunity to assure me in earnest terms, of the
warm welcome this worthy pair would give me. Among his sketches were
several of the wood and mountain scenery around Bürgel. Here an honest
forester, more perhaps to please his pretty daughters than himself,
had by means of bridges, railings, and mossy paths, opened pleasant
and sociable walks through the rough masses of rocks, thickets, and
plantations. In one of these beautiful promenades he had painted
the fair damsels in white dresses, and not without their attendant
cavaliers. In one of these you immediately recognized Bertuch, whose
serious designs upon the oldest daughter were openly avowed; and Kraus
was not offended if you ventured to refer a second youth to himself,
and guessed his growing attachment to the sister.
BERTUCH, as the pupil of Wieland, had so distinguished himself in
science and in business, that already appointed private secretary
of the Duke, he had the best possible prospects before him. From
him we passed to Wieland and talked at length of his rectitude, and
cheerfulness, and kindly disposition; his fine literary and poetical
designs were dwelt upon, and allusions were made to the influence
of the _Merkur_ throughout Germany; many other names of literary,
political, or social distinction were also mentioned, and among them.
Musæus, Kirms, Berendis, and Ludecus. Of women, the wife of Wolf, and
a widow Kotzebue, with a lovely daughter and a bright boy, were, among
many others, characterized and extolled. Everything seemed to point to
a fresh and active life of literature and art.
And so, by degrees, were exhibited all the various elements upon
which the young Duke was, on his return, to work. His mother and
guardian had prepared this state of things, while, as regarded the
introduction of more important measures, all that, in accordance with
the duty of such provisional governments, was left to the judgment and
decision of the future sovereign. The sad ruin caused by the burning
of the palace was already looked upon as furnishing occasion for new
improvements. The mines at Ilmenau, which had stopped working, but
which, it was asserted, might again be made profitable by going to the
great expense of repairing the deep shaft;--the university at Jena,
which was somewhat behind the spirit of the age, and was consequently
threatened with the loss of some of its most able teachers,--and many
other matters, roused a noble common interest. Already were looks cast
around for persons, who, in the upward struggle of Germany, might be
qualified to further such various designs for good, and the prospect
seemed as fresh as the vivacity and energy of youth could desire.
And if it seemed sad to bring a young princess not to a home, of a
suitable princely dignity, but to a very ordinary dwelling built for
quite a different object; still such beautifully situated and well
contrived country-houses as Ettenburg, Belvedere, and other delightful
pleasure-seats, gave enjoyment for the present, and also a hope that
the life of nature thus rendered necessary, might lead to profitable
and agreeable occupations.
In the course of this biography, we have circumstantially exhibited the
child, the boy, the youth, seeking by different ways to approach to
the Suprasensible first, looking with strong inclination to a religion
of nature; then, clinging with love to a positive one; and, finally,
concentrating himself in the trial of his own powers, and joyfully
giving himself up to the general faith. Whilst he wandered to and fro,
space which lay intermediate between the sensible and suprasensible
regions, seeking and looking about him, much came in his way which did
not appear to belong to either, and he seemed to see, more and more
distinctly, that it is better to avoid all thought of the immense and
incomprehensible.
He thought he could detect in nature--both animate and inanimate,
with soul or without soul--something which manifests itself only in
contradictions, and which, therefore, could not be comprehended under
any idea, still less under one word. It was not godlike, for it seemed
unreasonable; not human, for it had no understanding; nor devilish,
for it was beneficent; nor angelic, for it often betrayed a malicious
pleasure. It resembled chance, for it evolved no consequences; it was
like Providence, for it hinted at connexion. All that limits us it
seemed to penetrate; it seemed to sport at will with the necessary
elements of our existence; it contracted time and expanded space. In
the impossible alone did it appear to find pleasure, while it rejected
the possible with contempt.
[Side-note: The Daemonic--Egmont.]
To this principle, which seemed to come in between all other principles
to separate them, and yet to link them together, I gave the name of
Daemonic, after the example of the ancients and of those who, at any
rate, had perceptions of the same kind. I sought to screen myself from
this fearful principle, by taking refuge, according to my usual habits,
in an imaginary creation.
Among the parts of history which I had particularly studied with some
care, were the events which have made the United Netherlands so famous.
I had diligently examined the original sources, and had endeavoured,
as far as possible, to get my facts at first hand, and to bring the
whole period vividly before my mind's eye. The situations it presented
appeared to me to be in the highest degree dramatic, while, for a
principal figure, around whom the others might be grouped with the
happiest effect, there was Count Egmont, whose greatness as a man and a
hero was most captivating.