marked by such peculiarities as would grace a youth better than a man
in years, and an unmarried man better than the father of a family;
and one independent, rather than one, who, however freely disposed,
nevertheless restrained by the various relations of life.
Having thus, in my conception of Egmont's character, made him youthful,
and set him free from all domestic restraints, I ascribed to him
unlimited enjoyment of life and its pleasures, boundless self-reliance,
a gift of drawing all men to himself, and consequently also of winning
the favor of the people, and which, while it inspired a princess with a
silent, and a young child of nature with an avowed passion, won for him
the sympathy of a shrewd statesman, and even the loving admiration of
the son of his great adversary.
[Side-note: The Daemonic Influence in Life.]
The personal courage which distinguishes the hero is the foundation
upon which his whole character rests, the ground and soil from which
it sprung. He knows no danger, and willingly is blind to the greatest
when it is close at hand. Surrounded by enemies, we may, at any rate,
cut our way through them; the meshes of state policy are harder to
break through. The Daemonic element, which is in play on both sides,
and in conflict with which the lovely falls while the hated triumphs;
and, above all, the prospect that out of this conflict will spring a
third element, which will answer to the wishes of all men this perhaps
is what has gained for the piece (not, indeed, immediately on its first
appearance, but later and at the right time), the favor which it now
enjoys. Here, therefore, for the sake of many beloved readers, I will
anticipate myself, and as I know not whether I shall soon have another
opportunity, will express a conviction which, however, I did not form
till a considerable period subsequent to that of which I am now writing.
Although this Daemonic element can manifest itself in all corporeal
and incorporeal things, and even expresses itself most distinctly in
animals, yet, with man, especially does it stand in a most wonderful
connexion, forming in him a power which, if it be not opposed to the
moral order of the world, nevertheless does often so cross it that one
may be regarded as the warp, and the other as the woof.
For the phenomena which it gives rise to there are innumerable names:
for all philosophies and religions have sought in prose and poetry
to solve this enigma and to read once for all the riddle which,
nevertheless, remains still unriddled by them.
But the most fearful manifestation of the Daemonical, is when it is
seen predominating in some individual character. During my life I have
observed several instances of this, either more closely or remotely.
Such persons are not always the most eminent men, either morally or
intellectually, and it is seldom that they recommend themselves to
our affections by goodness of heart; a tremendous energy seems to be
seated in them, and they exercise a wonderful power over all creatures,
and even over the elements; and, indeed, who shall say how much
farther such influence may extend? All the moral powers combined are
of no avail against them; in vain does the more enlightened portion
of mankind attempt to throw suspicion upon them as deceived if not
deceivers--the mass is still drawn on by them. Seldom if ever do the
great men of an age find their equals among their contemporaries, and
they are to be overcome by nothing but by the universe itself; and it
is from observation of this fact that the strange, but most striking,
proverb must have risen: _Nemo contra Deum nisi Deus ipse._
From these lofty reflections I return to the littleness of my own
life, for which strange events, clothed at least with a daemonical
appearance, were in store. From the summit of Mont Gotthard, I had
turned my back upon Italy, and returned home, because I could not
make up my mind to go to a distance from Lili. An affection, which is
grounded on the hope of possessing for life one dearly beloved, in
an intimate and cordial union, does not die away all at once; on the
contrary, it is nourished by a consideration of the reasonable desires
and honest hopes we are conscious of cherishing.
It lies in the nature of the thing, that in such cases the maiden
should be consoled before the youth. To these beautiful children, as
descendants of Pandora, is granted the enviable gift to charm, attract,
and (more through nature and of half purpose, than through design or of
malice) to gather admirers around them; and thus, like the Magician's
Apprentice, they are often in danger of being frightened by the crowd
of their adorers. And then at last a choice must be made from among
them all; one must be exclusively preferred; one must lead home the
bride.
And how often does accident determine the choice and sway the mind
of her who has to make the selection! I had renounced Lili from
conviction, but love made me suspect my own reason. Lili had taken
leave of me with the same feelings, and I had set out on a beautiful
tour in order to distract my mind, but it had produced the opposite
effect.
As long as I was absent I believed in the separation, but did not
believe in the renunciation. Recollections, hopes and wishes, all had
free play. Now I came back, and as the re-union of those whose happy
love is unopposed, is a heaven so the meeting again of two lovers
who are kept apart by cold calculations of reason, is an intolerable
purgatory, a forecourt of hell. When I again entered the circle in
which Lili still moved, all the dissonances which tended to oppose
our union, seemed to have gained double force; when I stood once more
before her, the conviction that she was lost to me, fell heavy upon my
heart.
Accordingly I resolved at once on flight, and under this impression
there was nothing which I desired more, than that the young ducal
pair of Weimar should come from Carlsruhe to Frankfort, in order
that, complying with old and new imitations, I might follow them to
Weimar. Their Highnesses had always maintained towards me a gracious
and confidential manner, for which I on my part returned the warmest
thanks. My attachment to the Duke from the first moment I saw him;
my respect for the princess whom by reputation I had so long known;
a desire to render personally some friendly service to Wieland,
whose conduct had been so liberal, and to atone upon the spot for my
half-wilful, half-unintentional improprieties, were motives enough
to induce and even to force the assent of a youth, who now had no
attachment to detain him. Moreover, from Lili I must fly, whether to
the South, where my Father's enthusiasm was daily depicting to me a
most glorious heaven of Art and Nature, or to the North, whither so
distinguished a circle of eminent men invited me.
The young princely pair now reached Frankfort on their way home. The
Duke of Meiningen's suite was there at the same time, and by him, as
well as by the Privy Counsellor von Dürkheim, who accompanied the young
prince, I was received in the most friendly manner possible. But now,
to keep up the fashion of my youth, a strange incident was not wanting:
a little misunderstanding arose to throw me into an incredible but
rather laughable perplexity.
[Side-note: A Little Perplexity.]
Their Highnesses of Weimar and Meiningen were living in the same hotel.
I received one day an invitation to dinner. My mind was so preoccupied
with the Court of Weimar, that I did not think it necessary more
particularly to inform myself, especially as I had not the presumption
to imagine that any notice would be taken of me by the Duke of
Meiningen. Accordingly I go full dressed to the "Roman Emperors," and
making my way to the apartments of the Weimar family find them empty;
being informed that the Duke and his suite are with his Highness of
Meiningen, I betake myself thither, and am kindly received. Supposing
that this is only a morning visit, or that perhaps the two Dukes are to
dine together, I await the issue. Suddenly, however, the Weimar suite
sets itself in motion, and I of course follow; but instead of returning
to their own apartments they go straight down stairs and into their
chariots, and I am left alone in the street.
Now, instead of inquiring into the matter, and adroitly and prudently
seeking some solution of it, I, with my usual precipitancy, went
straight home, where I found my parents at supper. My father shook his
head, while my mother made every possible excuse for me. In the evening
she told me in confidence, that after I had left the table, my father
had said, that he wondered very much how I, generally acute enough,
could not see that in that quarter they only wished to make a fool of
me and to laugh at me. But this did not move me: for meanwhile I had
met with Herr von Dürkheim, who in his mild way brought me to book
with sundry graceful and humorous reproaches. I was now awakened from
my dream, and had an opportunity to express my most sincere thanks for
the favor intended me contrary to my hope and expectation, and to ask
forgiveness for my blunder.
After I had on good grounds determined to accept their friendly offers,
the following arrangement was made. A gentleman of the Duke's suite who
had stayed behind in Carlsruhe, to wait for a landau which was building
in Strasburg, was to be by a certain day in Frankfort, and I was to
hold myself in readiness to set off directly with him for Weimar. The
hearty and gracious farewell with which the young sovereigns took their
leave of me, the friendly behaviour of the courtiers, made me look
forward most anxiously to this journey, for which the road seemed so
pleasantly to smoothe itself.
But here, too, accidents came in to complicate so simple an
arrangement, which through my passionate impatience became still more
confused, and was almost quite frustrated. Having announced the day
of my departure, I had taken leave of everybody, and after packing
up in haste my chattels, not forgetting my unprinted manuscripts, I
waited anxiously for the hour which was to bring the aforesaid friend
in the new landau, and to carry me into a new country, and into new
circumstances. The hour passed, and the day also; and I since, to avoid
a second leave-taking and the being overrun with visits, I had given
out that I was to depart early in the morning, I was obliged to keep
close to the house, and to my own room, and had thus placed myself in a
peculiar situation.
But since solitude and a narrow space were always favorable to me,
and I was now compelled to find some employment for these hours, I
set to work on my "Egmont," and brought it almost to a close. I read
over what I wrote to my father who had acquired a peculiar interest
in this piece, and wished nothing more than to see it finished and
in print, since he hoped that it would add to his son's reputation.
He needed something of this sort to keep him quiet, and to make him
contented; for he was inclined to make very grave comments on the
non-arrival of the carriage. He maintained that the whole affair was
a mere fiction, would not believe in any new landau, and pronounced
the gentleman who stayed behind to be a phantom of the air. It was,
however, only indirectly that he gave me to understand all this; but
he only tormented himself and my mother the more openly; insisting
that the whole thing was a mere piece of court pleasantry, which they
had practised upon me in consequence of my former escapades, and in
order to sicken and to shame me, had put upon me a disgraceful mockery
instead of the expected honor.
As to myself, I held fast to my first faith, and congratulated myself
upon these solitary hours, disturbed by neither friends nor strangers,
nor by any sort of social distraction. I therefore wrote on vigorously
at "Egmont," though not without inward mortification. And this frame of
mind perhaps suited well with the piece itself, which, agitated by so
many passions, could not very well have been written by one entirely
passionless.
[Side-note: A Disappointment.]
Thus passed eight days, and I know not how many more, when such perfect
imprisonment began to prove irksome. Accustomed for many years to live
under the open sky, and to enter into society on the most frank and
familiar terms, in the neighbourhood too of one dearly beloved, from
whom indeed I had resolved to part, but from whom, so long as I was
within the circle of her attraction, I found it difficult to absent
myself--all this begun to make me so uneasy, that there was danger
lest the interest of my tragedy should suffer, and my inventive powers
be suspended through my impatience. Already for several evenings
I had found it impossible to remain at home. Disguised in a large
mantle, I crept round the city, passing the houses of my friends and
acquaintances, and not forbearing to walk up to Lili's window. Her
house was a corner one, and the room she usually spent her evenings
in was on the ground floor; the green shades were down, but I could
easily remark that the lights stood in their usual places. Soon I heard
her singing at the piano; it was the song, _Ah! why resistless dost
thou press me?_ which I had written for her hardly a year before. She
seemed to me to sing with more expression than ever; I could make out
every word distinctly; for I had placed my ear as close as the convex
lattice would permit. After she had sung it through, I saw by the
shadow which fell upon the curtain that she got up and walked backwards
and forwards, but I sought in vain to catch the outline of her lovely
person through the thick curtains. Nothing but the firm resolve to tear
myself away, and not to afflict her with my presence, but actually to
renounce her, and the thought of the strange impression which would be
made by my re-appearance, could have determined me to leave so dear a
neighbourhood.
Several more days passed away, and my father's suggestion seemed daily
to become more probable, since not even a letter arrived from Carlsruhe
to explain the reasons of the delay. I was unable to go on with my
poetic labors, and now, in the uneasiness with which I was internally
distracted, my father had the game to himself. He represented to me,
that it was now too late to change matters, that my trunk was packed,
and he would give me money and credit to go to Italy; but I must
decide quickly. In such a weighty affair, I naturally doubted and
hesitated. Finally, however, I agreed that if, by a certain hour,
neither carriage nor message came, I would set off, directing my steps
first of all to Heidelberg and from there over the Alps, not, however,
going through Switzerland again, but rather taking the route through
the Grisons, or the Tyrol.
Strange things indeed must happen, when a planless youth who of himself
is so easily misled, is also driven into a false step by a passionate
error of age. But so it is both with youth and the whole of life. It is
not till the campaign is over that we learn to see through its tactics.
In the ordinary course of things such an accident were easy enough
to be explained; but we are always too ready to conspire with error
against what is naturally probable, just as we shuffle the cards before
we deal them round, in order that chance may not be deprived of its
full share in the game. It is precisely thus that the element arises
in and upon which the Daemonical so loves to work; and it even sports
with us the more fearfully, the clearer are the inklings we have of its
approach.
The last day for my waiting had arrived, and the next morning was fixed
for my setting out on my travels; and now I felt extremely anxious to
see my friend Passavant again, who had just returned from Switzerland,
and who would really have had cause to be offended if, by keeping
my plans entirely to myself I had violated the intimate confidence
which subsisted between us. I therefore sent him an anonymous note,
requesting a meeting by night at a certain spot, where I was the
first to arrive enveloped in my mantle; but he was not long after me,
and if he wondered at the appointment, he must have been still more
surprised to meet the person he did. His joy, however, was equal to the
astonishment; conversation and counsel were not to be thought of, he
could only wish me well through my Italian journey, and so we parted.
The next day I saw myself by good time advancing along the mountain
road.
[Side-note: Heidelberg--Mademoiselle Delf.]
I had several reasons for going to Heidelberg; one was very sensible
and prudent, for I had heard that my missing Weimar friend must
pass through Heidelberg from Carlsruhe; and so, when we reached the
post-house, I left a note which was to be handed to a cavalier who
should pass through in the carriage described; the second reason was
one of passion, and bad reference to my late attachment to Lili. In
short. Mademoiselle Delf, who had been the confidante of our love, and
indeed the mediator with our respective parents for their approval of
our marriage, lived there; and I prized it as the greatest happiness to
be able, before I left Germany, to talk over those happy times with a
worthy, patient, and indulgent friend.
I was well received, and introduced into many families; among others,
the family of the high warden of the forests, Von W------, particularly
pleased me. The parents were dignified and easy in their manners, and
one of the daughters resembled Frederica. It was just the time of
vintage, the weather beautiful, and all my Alsacian feelings revived
in the beautiful valley of the Rhine. At this time, however, my
experience, both of myself and others seemed very strange; it was as
yet quite vague and undigested in my mind, no deliberate judgment upon
life had shaped itself before me, and whatever sense of the infinite
had been awakened within me served only to confuse and perplex me the
more. In society, nevertheless, I was as agreeable and entertaining as
ever, and possibly even still more so. Here, under this free air of
heaven, among joyous men, I sought again the old sports which never
lose their novelty and charm for youth. With an earlier and not yet
extinguished love in my heart, I excited sympathy without seeking it,
even though it sought no utterance of itself, and thus I soon became at
home in this circle, and indeed necessary to it, and I forgot that I
had resolved, after talking away a couple of evenings, to continue my
journey.
Mademoiselle Delf was one of those persons who, without exactly
intriguing, always like to have some business in hand, and to keep
others employed, and to carry through some object or other. She had
conceived a sincere friendship for me; and prevailed the more easily on
me to prolong my visit as I lived in her house, where she suggested all
manner of inducements for my stay, and raised all manner of obstacles
to my journey. When, however, I wanted to turn the conversation to
Lili, she was not so well pleased or so sympathizing as I had hoped.
On the contrary, she said that, under the circumstances, nothing could
be wiser than our resolution to part, and maintained that one must
submit to what is unavoidable, banish the impossible from the mind, and
look around for some new object of interest in life. Full of plans as
she always was, she had not intended to leave this matter to accident,
but had already formed a project for my future conduct, from which I
clearly saw that her recent invitation to Heidelberg had not been so
disinterested as it sounded.
She reminded me that the Electoral Prince, Charles Theodore, who had
done so much for the arts and sciences, resided still at Mannheim, and
that as the court was Roman Catholic while the country was Protestant
the latter party was extremely anxious to strengthen itself by
enlisting the services of able and hopeful men. I must now go, in God's
name, to Italy, and there mature my views of Art; meanwhile they would
work for me. It would, on my return, soon be seen whether the budding
affection of Fraülein von W------ had expanded or had been nipped, and
whether it would be politic, through an alliance with a respectable
family, to establish myself and my fortunes in a new home.
All these suggestions I did not, to be sure, reject; but my planless
nature could not wholly harmonize with the scheming spirit of my
friend; I was gratified, however, with the kind intentions of the
moment, while Lili's image floated before me, waking and dreaming, and
mingled with everything else which afforded me pleasure or distraction.
But now I summoned before my soul the serious import of my great
travelling plan, and I resolved to set myself free, gently and with
propriety, and in a few days to make known to her my determination of
taking leave of her, and to resume my route.
One night Mademoiselle Delf had gone on until late unfolding to me
her plans, and all that certain parties were disposed to do for me,
and I could not but feel grateful for such sentiments, although the
scheme of strengthening a certain circle, through me and my possible
influence at court, was manifest enough. It was about one o'clock when
we separated. I soon fell into a sound sleep, but before very long I
was awakened by the horn of a postilion who was stopping and blowing it
before the house. Very soon Mademoiselle Delf appeared with a light,
and a letter in her hands, and coming up to my bed-side, she exclaimed,
"Here's the letter; read and tell me what it says. Surely it comes from
the Weimar people. If it is an invitation do not follow it, but call
to mind our conversation." I asked her to give me a light and leave me
for a quarter of an hour to myself. She went away very reluctantly.
I remained thinking for some time without opening the letter. The
express then has come from Frankfort, I know both the seal and hand;
the friend then has arrived there; he is still true to his invitation,
and our own want of faith and incredulity had made us act prematurely.
Why could one not wait, in a quiet civilized place, for a man who had
been announced distinctly, but whose arrival might be delayed by so
many accidents? The scales fell from my eyes. All the kindness, the
graciousness, the confidence of the past came up livingly before me,
and I was almost ashamed of the strange wilful step I had taken. I
opened the letter, and found all that had happened explained naturally
enough. My missing guide had waited for the new landau which was to
come from Strasburg, day after day, hour after hour, as we had waited
for him; then for the sake of some business he had gone round by way
of Mannheim to Frankfort, and to his dismay had not found me there. He
sent the hasty letter by express, proposing that now the mistake was
explained I should instantly return, and save him the shame of going to
Weimar without me.
[Side-note: Departure for Weimar.]
Much as my understanding and my feeling inclined me to this side, there
was still no lack of weighty arguments in favour of my new route.
My father had laid out for me a fine plan of travel, and had given
me a little library, which might prepare me for the scenes I was to
visit, and also guide me on the spot. In my leisure hours I had had
no other entertainment than to reflect on it, and, indeed, during my
last short journey I had thought of nothing else in the coach. Those
glorious objects which, from my youth up, I had become acquainted with,
histories and all sorts of tales, gathered before my soul, and nothing
seemed to me so desirable as to visit them, while I was parting from
Lili for ever.
As these thoughts passed through my mind I had dressed myself and was
walking up and down my chamber. My anxious hostess entered. "What am
I to hope?" she cried. "Dearest madam," I answered;" say no more on
the subject; I have made up my mind to return: the grounds of that
conclusion I have well weighed, and to repeat them to you would be
wasting time. A resolution must be taken sooner or later, and who
should take it but the person whom it most concerns?"