immense wall without ornaments, with firm buttresses, with the necessary
openings in it, but only so far as necessity requires them, we even then
must allow that these chief divisions are in good proportion: thus the
whole will appear solemn and noble indeed, but always heavily
unpleasant, and, being without ornament, unartistical. For a work of
art, the whole of which is conceived in great, simple, harmonious parts,
makes indeed a noble and dignified impression; but the peculiar
enjoyment which the pleasing produces can only find place in the
consonance of all developed details.
And it is precisely here that the building we are examining satisfies us
in the highest degree, for we see all the ornaments fully suited to
every part which they adorn: they are subordinate to it, they seem to
have grown out of it. Such a manifoldness always gives great pleasure,
since it flows of its own accord from the suitable, and therefore at the
same time awakens the feeling of unity. It is only in such cases that
the execution is prized as the summit of art.
By such means, now, was a solid piece of masonry, an impenetrable wall,
which had moreover to announce itself as the base of two heaven-high
towers, made to appear to the eye as if resting on itself, consisting in
itself, but at the same time light and adorned, and, though pierced
through in a thousand places, to give the idea of indestructible
firmness.
This riddle is solved in the happiest manner. The openings in the wall,
its solid parts, the pillars, every thing has its peculiar character,
which proceeds from its particular destination: this communicates itself
by degrees to the subdivisions; hence every thing is adorned in
proportionate taste, the great as well as the small is in the right
place, and can be easily comprehended, and thus the pleasing presents
itself in the vast. I would refer only to the doors sinking in
perspective into the thickness of the wall, and adorned without end in
their columns and pointed arches; to the window with its rose springing
out of the round form; to the outline of its framework, as well as to
the slender reed-like pillars of the perpendicular compartments. Let one
represent to himself the pillars retreating step by step, accompanied by
little, slender, light-pillared, pointed structures, likewise striving
upwards, and furnished with canopies to shelter the images of the
saints, and how at last every rib, every boss, seems like a flower-head
and row of leaves, or some other natural object transformed into stone.
One may compare, if not the building itself, yet representations of the
whole and of its parts, for the purpose of reviewing and giving life to
what I have said. It may seem exaggerated to many; for I myself, though
transported into love for this work at first sight, required a long time
to make myself intimately acquainted with its value.
Having grown up among those who found fault with Gothic architecture, I
cherished my aversion from the abundantly overloaded, complicated
ornaments which, by their capriciousness, made a religious, gloomy
character highly adverse. I strengthened myself in this repugnance,
since I had only met with spiritless works of this kind, in which one
could perceive neither good proportions nor a pure consistency. But here
I thought I saw a new revelation of it, since what was objectionable by
no means appeared, but the contrary opinion rather forced itself upon my
mind.
But the longer I looked and considered, I all the while thought I
discovered yet greater merits beyond that which I have already
mentioned. The right proportion of the larger divisions, the ornamental,
as judicious as rich, even to the minutest, were found out; but now I
recognized the connection of these manifold ornaments amongst each
other, the transition from one leading part to another, the enclosing of
details, homogeneous indeed, but yet greatly varying in form, from the
saint to the monster, from the leaf to the dental. The more I
investigated, the more I was astonished; the more I amused and wearied
myself with measuring and drawing, so much the more did my attachment
increase, so that I spent much time, partly in studying what actually
existed, partly in restoring, in my mind and on paper, what was wanting
and unfinished, especially in the towers.
Finding that this building had been based on old German ground, and
grown thus far in genuine German times, and that the name of the master,
on his modest gravestone, was likewise of native sound and origin, I
ventured, being incited by the worth of this work of art, to change the
hitherto decried appellation of "Gothic architecture," and to claim it
for our nation as "German architecture;" nor did I fail to bring my
patriotic views to light, first orally, and afterwards in a little
treatise dedicated to the memory of Ervinus a Steinbach.
If my biographical narrative should come down to the epoch when the said
sheet appeared in print, which Herder afterwards inserted in his
pamphlet, "Von Deutscher Art und Kunst" ("Of German Manner and Art"),
much more will be said on this weighty subject. But, before I turn from
it this time, I will take the opportunity to vindicate the motto
prefixed to the present volume with those who may have entertained some
doubt about it. I know indeed very well, that in opposition to this
honest, hopeful old German saying, "Of whatever one wishes in youth, he
has abundance in old age," many would quote contrary experience, and
many trifling comments might be made; but much, also, is to be said in
its favor: and I will explain how I understand it.
Our wishes are presentiments of the capabilities which lie within us,
and harbingers of that which we shall be in a condition to perform.
Whatever we are able and would like to do, presents itself to our
imagination, as without us and in the future. We feel a longing after
that which we already possess in secret. Thus a passionate anticipating
grasp changes the truly possible into a dreamed reality. Now, if such a
bias lies decidedly in our nature, then, with every step of our
development will a part of the first wish be fulfilled,--under favorable
circumstances in the direct way, under unfavorable in the circuitous
way, from which we always come back again to the other. Thus we see men
by perseverance attain to earthly wealth. They surround themselves with
riches, splendor, and external honor. Others strive yet more certainly
after intellectual advantages, acquire for themselves a clear survey of
things, a peacefulness of mind, and a certainty for the present and the
future.
But now there is a third direction, which is compounded of both, and the
issue of which must be the most surely successful. When a man's youth
falls into a pregnant time; when production overweighs destruction, and
a presentiment is early awakened within him as to what such an epoch
demands and promises,--he will then, being forced by outward inducements
into an active interest, take hold now here, now there, and the wish to
be active on many sides will be lively within him. But so many
accidental hinderances are associated with human limitation, that here a
thing, once begun, remains unfinished: there that which is already
grasped falls out of the hand, and one wish after another is dissipated.
But had these wishes sprung out of a pure heart, and in conformity with
the necessities of the times, one might composedly let them lie and fall
right and left, and be assured that these must not only be found out and
picked up again, but that also many kindred things, which one has never
touched and never even thought of, will come to light. If, now, during
our own lifetime, we see that performed by others, for which we
ourselves felt an earlier call, but had been obliged to give it up, with
much besides, then the beautiful feeling enters the mind that only
mankind combined is the true man, and that the individual can only be
joyous and happy when he has the courage to feel himself in the whole.
This contemplation is here in the right place; for when I reflect on the
affection which drew me to these antique edifices, when I reckon up the
time which I devoted to the Strasburg minster alone, the attention with
which I afterwards examined: the cathedral at Cologne, and that at
Freyburg, and more and more felt the value of these buildings, I could
even blame myself for having afterwards lost sight of them altogether,--
nay, for having left them completely in the background, being attracted
by a more developed art. But when now, in the latest times, I see
attention again turned to those objects; when I see affection, and even
passion, for them appearing and flourishing; when I see able young
persons seized with this passion, recklessly devoting powers, time,
care, and property to these memorials of a past world,--then am I
reminded with pleasure that what I formerly would and wished had a
value. With satisfaction I see that they not only know how to prize what
was done by our fore-fathers, but that, from existing unfinished
beginnings, they try to represent, in pictures at least, the original
design, so as thus to make us acquainted with the thought, which is ever
the beginning and end of all undertakings; and that they strive with
considerate zeal to clear up and vivify what seems to be a confused
past. Here I especially applaud the brave Sulpiz Boisserée, who is
indefatigably employed in a magnificent series of copper-plates to
exhibit the cathedral of Cologne as the model of those vast conceptions,
the spirit of which, like that of Babel, strove up to heaven, and which
were so out of proportion to earthly means that they were necessarily
stopped fast in their execution. If we have been hitherto astonished
that such buildings proceeded only so far, we shall learn with the
greatest admiration what was really designed to be done.
Would that literary-artistical undertakings of this kind were duly
patronized by all who have power, wealth, and influence; that the great
and gigantic views of our fore-fathers may be presented to our
contemplation; and that we may be able to form a conception of what they
dared to desire. The insight resulting from this will not remain
fruitless; and the judgment will, for once at least, be in a condition
to exercise itself on these works with justice. Nay, this will be done
most thoroughly if our active young friend, besides the monograph
devoted to the cathedral of Cologne, follows out in detail the history
of our mediaeval architecture. When whatever is to be known about the
practical exercise of this art is further brought to light, when the art
is represented in all its fundamental features by a comparison with the
Graeco-Roman and the Oriental Egyptian, little can remain to be done in
this department. And I, when the results of such patriotic labors lie
before the world, as they are now known in friendly private
communications, shall be able, with true content, to repeat that motto
in its best sense, "Of whatever one wishes in youth, he will have enough
in old age."
But if, in operations like these, which belong to centuries, one can
trust one's self to time, and wait for opportunity, there are, on the
contrary, other things which in youth must be enjoyed at once, fresh,
like ripe fruits. Let me be permitted, with this sudden turn, to mention
dancing, of which the ear is reminded, as the eye is of the minster,
every day and every hour in Strasburg and all Alsace. From early youth
my father himself had given my sister and me instruction in dancing, a
task which must have comported strangely enough with so stern a man. But
he did not suffer his composure to be put out by it: he drilled us in
the positions and steps in a manner the most precise; and, when he had
brought us far enough to dance a minuet, he played for us something
easily intelligible in three-four time, on a /flute-douce/, and we
moved to it as well as we could. On the French theatre, likewise, I had
seen from my youth upwards, if not ballets, yet /pas seuls/ and
/pas de deux/, and had noticed in them various strange motions of
the feet, and all sorts of springs. When we had had enough of the
minuet, I requested my father to play some other dance-music, of which
our music-books, in their jigs and murkies, [Footnote: A "murki" is
defined as an old species of short composition for the harpsichord, with
a lively murmuring accompaniment in the bass.--TRANS.] offered us a rich
supply; and I immediately found out, of myself, the steps and other
motions for them, the time being quite suitable to my limbs, and, as it
were, born with them. This pleased my father to a certain degree;
indeed, he often, by way of joke for himself and us, let the "monkies"
dance in this way. After my misfortune with Gretchen, and during the
whole of my residence in Leipzig, I did not make my appearance again on
the floor: on the contrary, I still remember, that when, at a ball, they
forced me into a minuet, both measure and motion seemed to have
abandoned my limbs, and I could no longer remember either the steps or
the figures; so that I should have been put to disgrace and shame if the
greater part of the spectators had not maintained that my awkward
behavior was pure obstinacy, assumed with the view of depriving the
ladies of all desire to invite me and draw me into their circle against
my will.
During my residence in Frankfort I was quite cut off from such
pleasures; but in Strasburg, with other enjoyments of life, there soon
arose in my limbs the faculty of keeping time. On Sundays and week-days
one sauntered by no pleasure-ground without finding there a joyous crowd
assembled for the dance, and for the most part revolving in the circle.
Moreover, there were private balls in the country houses; and people
were already talking of the brilliant masquerades of the coming winter.
Here, indeed, I should have been out of my place, and useless to the
company, when a friend, who waltzed very well, advised me to practise
myself first in parties of a lower rank, so that afterwards I might be
worth something in the highest. He took me to a dancing-master, who was
well known for his skill. This man promised me, that, when I had in some
degree repeated the first elements and made myself master of them, he
would then lead me farther. He was one of your dry, ready French
characters, and received me in a friendly manner. I paid him a month in
advance, and received twelve tickets, for which he agreed to give me
certain hours' instruction. The man was strict and precise, but not
pedantic; and, as I already had some previous practice, I soon gave him
satisfaction, and received his commendation.
One circumstance, however, greatly facilitated the instruction of this
teacher: he had two daughters, both pretty, and both not yet twenty.
Having been instructed in this art from their youth upwards, they showed
themselves very skilful, and might have been able, as partners, soon to
help even the most clumsy scholars into some cultivation. They were both
very polite, spoke nothing but French; and I, on my part, did my best,
that I might not appear awkward or ridiculous before them. I had the
good fortune that they likewise praised me, and were always willing to
dance a minuet to their father's little violin, and, what indeed was
more difficult for them, to initiate me by degrees into waltzing and
whirling. Their father did not seem to have many customers, and they led
a lonely life. For this reason they often asked me to remain with them
after my hour, and to chat away the time a little, which I the more
willingly did, as the younger one pleased me well; and generally they
both altogether behaved very becomingly. I often read aloud something
from a novel, and they did the same. The elder, who was as handsome as,
perhaps even handsomer than, the second, but who did not correspond with
my taste so well as the latter, always conducted herself towards me more
obligingly, and more kindly in every respect. She was always at hand
during the lesson, and often protracted it: hence I sometimes thought
myself bound to offer back a couple of tickets to her father, which,
however, he did not accept. The younger, on the contrary, although never
showing me any ill will, was more reserved, and waited till she was
called by her father before she relieved the elder.
The cause of this became manifest to me one evening; for when, after the
dance was done, I was about to go into the sitting-room with the elder,
she held me back, and said, "Let us remain here a little longer; for I
will confess to you that my sister has with her a woman who tells
fortunes from cards, and who is to reveal to her how matters stand with
an absent lover, on whom her whole heart hangs, and upon whom she has
placed all her hope. Mine is free," she continued, "and I must accustom
myself to see it despised." I thereupon said sundry pretty things to
her, replying that she could at once convince herself on that point by
consulting the wise woman likewise; that I would do so myself, for I had
long wished to learn something of the kind, but lacked faith. She blamed
me for this, and assured me that nothing in the world was surer than the
responses of this oracle; only it must be consulted, not out of sport
and mischief, but solely in real affairs. However, I at last compelled
her to go with me into that room, as soon as she had ascertained that
the consultation was over. We found her sister in a very cheerful humor:
and even towards me she was kinder than usual, sportive, and almost
witty; for, since she seemed to be secure of an absent friend, she may
have thought it no treachery to be a little gracious with a present
friend of her sister's, which she thought me to be. The old woman was
now flattered, and good payment was promised her if she would tell the
truth to the elder sister and to me. With the usual preparations and
ceremonies she began her business, in order to tell the fair one's
fortune first. She carefully considered the situation of the cards, but
seemed to hesitate, and would not speak out what she had to say. "I see
now," said the younger, who was already better acquainted with the
interpretation of such a magic tablet, "you hesitate, and do not wish to
disclose any thing disagreeable to my sister; but that is a cursed
card!" The elder one turned pale, but composed herself, and said, "Only
speak out: it will not cost one's head!" The old woman, after a deep
sigh, showed her that she was in love; that she was not beloved; that
another person stood in the way; and other things of like import. We saw
the good girl's embarrassment. The old woman thought somewhat to improve
the affair by giving hopes of letters and money. "Letters," said the
lovely child, "I do not expect; and money I do not desire. If it is
true, as you say, that I love, I deserve a heart that loves me in
return."--"Let us see if it will not be better," replied the old woman,
as she shuffled the cards and laid them out a second time; but before
the eyes of all of us it had only become still worse. The fair one
stood, not only more lonely, but surrounded with many sorrows. Her lover
had moved somewhat farther, and the intervening figures nearer. The old
woman wished to try it a third time, in hopes of a better prospect; but
the beautiful girl could restrain herself no longer,--she broke out into
uncontrollable weeping, her lovely bosom heaved violently, she turned
round, and rushed out of the room. I knew not what to do. Inclination
kept me with the one present: compassion drove me to the other. My
situation was painful enough. "Comfort Lucinda," said the younger: "go
after her." I hesitated. How could I comfort her without at least
assuring her of some sort of affection? and could I do that at such a
moment in a cool, moderate manner? "Let us go together," said I to
Emilia. "I know not whether my presence will do her good," replied she.
Yet we went, but found the door bolted. Lucinda made no answer, we might
knock, shout, entreat, as we would. "We must let her have her own way,"
said Emilia: "she will not have it otherwise now." And, indeed, when I
called to my mind her manner from our very first acquaintance, she
always had something violent and unequal about her, and chiefly showed
her affection for me by not behaving to me with rudeness. What was I to
do? I paid the old woman richly for the mischief she had caused, and was
about to go, when Emilia said, "I stipulate that the cards shall now be
cut for you too." The old woman was ready. "Do not let me be present,"
cried I, and hastened down stairs.
The next day I had not courage to go there. The third day, early in the
morning, Emilia sent me word by a boy,--who had already brought me many
a message from the sisters, and had carried back flowers and fruits to
them in return,--that I should not fail that day. I came at the usual
hour, and found the father alone, who, in many respects, improved my
paces and steps, my goings and comings, my bearing and behavior, and,
moreover, seemed to be satisfied with me. The younger daughter came in
towards the end of the hour, and danced with me a very graceful minuet,
in which her movements were extraordinarily pleasing, and her father
declared that he had rarely seen a prettier and more nimble pair upon
his floor. After the lesson, I went as usual into the sitting-room; the
father left us alone; I missed Lucinda. "She is in bed," said Emilia,
"and I am glad of it: do not be concerned about it. Her mental illness
is first alleviated when she fancies herself bodily sick: she does not
like to die, and therefore she then does what we wish. We have certain
family medicines which she takes, and reposes; and thus, by degrees, the
swelling waves subside. She is indeed too good and amiable in such an
imaginary sickness; and as she is in reality very well, and is only
attacked by passion, she imagines various kinds of romantic deaths, with
which she frightens herself in a pleasant manner, like children when we
tell them ghost-stories. Thus, only last night, she announced to me with
great vehemence, that this time she should certainly die; and that only
when she was really near death, they should bring again before her the
ungrateful, false friend, who had at first acted so handsomely to her,
and now treated her so ill; she would reproach him bitterly, and then
give up the ghost."--"I know not that I am guilty," exclaimed I, "of
having expressed any sort of affection for her. I know somebody who can
best bear me witness in this respect." Emilia smiled, and rejoined, "I
understand you; and, if we are not discreet and determined, we shall all
find ourselves in a bad plight together. What will you say if I entreat
you not to continue your lessons? You have, I believe, four tickets yet
of the last month: and my father has already declared that he finds it
inexcusable to take your money any longer, unless you wish to devote
yourself to the art of dancing in a more serious manner; what is
required by a young man of the world you possess already."--"And do you,
Emilia, give me this advice, to avoid your house?" replied I. "Yes, I
do," said she, "but not of myself. Only listen! When you hastened away,
the day before yesterday, I had the cards cut for you; and the same
response was repeated thrice, and each time more emphatically. You were
surrounded by every thing good and pleasing, by friends and great lords;
and there was no lack of money. The ladies kept themselves at some
distance. My poor sister in particular stood always the farthest off:
one other advanced constantly nearer to you, but never came up to your
side; for a third person, of the male sex, always came between. I will
confess to you that I thought that I myself was meant by the second
lady, and after this confession you will best comprehend my well-meant
counsel. To an absent friend I have promised my heart and my hand; and,
until now, I loved him above all: yet it might be possible for your
presence to become more important to me than hitherto; and what kind of
a situation would you have between two sisters, one of whom you had made
unhappy by your affection, and the other by your coldness, and all this
ado about nothing and only for a short time? For, if we had not known
already who you are and what are your expectations, the cards would have
placed it before my eyes in the clearest manner. Fare you well!" said
she, and gave me her hand. I hesitated. "Now," said she, leading me
towards the door, "that it may really be the last time that we shall
speak to each other, take what I would otherwise have denied you." She
fell upon my neck, and kissed me most tenderly. I embraced her, and
pressed her to my bosom.