The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 5/Tenth Book

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

Part the Second

(Continued)

Truth and Fiction Relating
to My Life

TENTH BOOK.

When the German poets, as members of a corporation, were no longer standing as one man, they did not enjoy the smallest advantages among their fellow citizens. They had neither support, standing, nor respectability, except in so far as their other position was favourable to them; and therefore it was a matter of mere chance whether talent was born to honour or to disgrace. A poor son of earth, with a consciousness of mind and faculties, was forced to crawl along painfully through life, and, from the pressure of momentary necessities, to squander the gifts which perchance he had received from the Muses. Occasional poems, the first and most genuine of all kinds of poetry, had become despicable to such a degree, that the nation even now cannot attain a conception of their high value: and a poet, if he did not strike altogether into Günther's path, appeared in the world in the most melancholy state of subserviency, as a jester and parasite; so that both on the theatre and on the stage of life he represented a character which any one and every one could abuse at pleasure.

If, on the contrary, the Muse associated herself with men of respectability, these received thereby a lustre which was reflected back to the donor. Noblemen well versed in life, like Hagedorn; dignified citizens, like Brockes; distinguished men of science, like Haller,—appeared among the first in the nation, to be equal with the most eminent and the most prized. Those persons, too, were specially honoured, who, together with this pleasing talent, distinguished themselves as active, faithful men of business. In this way Uz, Rabener, and Weisse enjoyed a respect of quite a peculiar kind: people had here to value, when combined, those most heterogeneous qualities which are seldom found united.

But now the time was to come for poetic genius to become self-conscious, to create for itself its own circumstances, and understand how to lay the foundation of an independent dignity. Everything requisite for founding such an epoch was combined in Klopstock. Considered, both from the sensual and moral side, he was a pure young man. Seriously and thoroughly educated, he places from his youth upwards a great value upon himself and upon whatever he does, and, while considerately measuring out beforehand the steps of his life, turns, with a presentiment of the whole strength of his internal nature, toward the loftiest and most grateful theme. The Messiah, a name which betokens infinite attributes, was to be glorified afresh by him. The Redeemer was to be the hero whom the poet thought to accompany through earthly lowliness and sorrows to the highest heavenly triumphs. Everything Godlike, angelic, and human that lay in the young soul was here called into requisition. Brought up by the Bible and nourished by its strength, he now lives with patriarchs, prophets, and forerunners, as if they were present; yet all these are only evoked from ages to draw a bright halo round the One whose humiliation they behold with astonishment, and in whose exaltation they are gloriously to bear a part. For at last, after gloomy and horrible hours, the everlasting Judge will uncloud his face, again acknowledge his Son and fellow God, who, on the other hand, will again lead to him alienated men, — nay, even a fallen spirit. The living heavens shout with a thousand angel voices round the throne, and a radiance of love gushes out over the universe, which shortly before had fastened its looks upon a fearful place of sacrifice. The heavenly peace which Klopstock felt in the conception and execution of this poem communicates itself even now to every one who reads the first ten cantos, without allowing certain requisitions to be brought forward, which an advancing cultivation does not willingly abandon.

The dignity of the subject elevated in the poet the feeling of his own personality. That he himself would enter hereafter into those choirs, that the God-Man would distinguish him, nay, give him face to face the reward for his labours, which even here every feeling, pious heart had fondly paid in many a pure tear, — these were such innocent, childlike thoughts and hopes, as only a well-constituted mind can conceive and cherish. Thus Klopstock gained the perfect right to regard himself as a consecrated person, and thus in his actions he studied the most scrupulous purity. Even in his old age it troubled him exceedingly that he had given his earliest love to a lady who, by marrying another, left him in uncertainty whether she had really loved or been worthy of him. The sentiments which bound him to Meta; their hearty, tranquil affection; their short, sacred married life; the aversion of the surviving husband from a second union,—all is of that kind which may well be remembered hereafter in the circle of the blessed.

This honourable conduct toward himself was still further enhanced by his being favourably received for a long time in well-minded Denmark, in the house of a great, and, humanly speaking, excellent statesman. Here, in a higher circle, which was exclusive indeed, but, at the same time, devoted to external manners and attention toward the world, his tendency became still more decided. A composed demeanour, a measured speech, and a laconism even when he spoke openly and decidedly, gave him, through his whole life, a certain diplomatic ministerial consequence, which seemed to be at variance with his tender natural feelings, although both sprang from one source. Of all this, his first works give a clear transcript and type; and they thus could not but gain an incredible influence. That, however, he personally assisted others who were struggling in life and poetry, has scarcely been mentioned, as one of his most decided characteristics.

But just such a furtherance of young people in literary action and pursuit, a hopeful pleasure in bringing forward men not favoured by fortune, and making the way easy to them, has rendered illustrious one German, who, in respect to the dignity which he gave himself, may be named as the second, but, in regard to his living influence, as the first. It will escape no one that Gleim is here meant. Holding an obscure, but lucrative, office, residing in a pleasantly situated spot, not too large, and enlivened by military, civic, and literary activity, whence proceeded the revenues of a great and wealthy institution, not without a part of them remaining behind for the advantage of the place, he felt within himself also a lively productive impulse, which, however, with all its strength, was not quite enough for him; and therefore he gave himself up to another, perhaps stronger, impulse, namely, that of making others produce something. Both these activities were intertwined incessantly during his whole long life. He could as easily have lived without taking breath as without writing poetry and making presents; and, by helping needy talents of all kinds through earlier or later embarrassments, contributing to the honour of literature, he gained so many friends, debtors, and dependents, that they willingly allowed his diffuse verses to pass, since they could give him nothing in return for his rich benefits but endurance of his poetry.

Now, the high idea which these two men might well form of their own worth, and by which others were induced also to think well of themselves, has produced very great and beautiful results, both in public and private. But this consciousness, honourable as it is, called a peculiar evil down upon themselves, on those around them, and on their time. If, judging from their intellectual effects, both these men may without hesitation be called great, with respect to the world they remained but small, and, considered in comparison with a more stirring life, their external position was nought. The day is long, and so is the night; one cannot be always writing poetry, or doing, or giving; their time could not be filled up like that of people of the world, and men of rank and wealth; they therefore set too high a value on their particular limited situations, attached an importance to their daily affairs which they should only have allowed themselves amongst each other, and took more than reasonable delight in their own jokes, which, though they made the moment agreeable, could be of no consequence in the end. They received praise and honour from others, as they deserved; they gave it back, with measure indeed, but always too profusely; and, because they felt that their friendship was worth much, they were pleased to express it repeatedly, and in this spared neither paper nor ink. Thus arose those correspondences, at the deficiency of which in solid contents the modern world wonders; nor can it be blamed, when it hardly sees the possibility of eminent men delighting themselves in such an interchange of nothing, or when it expresses the wish that such leaves might have remained unprinted. But we may suffer these few volumes always to stand along with so many others upon our book-shelves, if we have learned from them the fact, that even the most eminent man lives only by the day, and enjoys but a sorry entertainment when he throws himself too much back upon himself, and neglects to grasp into the fulness of the external world, where alone he can find nourishment for his growth, and at the same time a standard for its measurement.

The activity of these men was in its finest bloom, when we young folks also began to stir in our own circle; and with my younger friends, if not with older persons too, I was pretty much in the way of falling into this sort of mutual flattery, forbearance, raising and supporting. In my immediate sphere, whatever I produced could always be reckoned good. Ladies, friends, and patrons will not consider bad that which is undertaken and written out of affection for them. From such obligations at last arises the expression of an empty satisfaction with each other, in the phrases of which a character is easily lost if it is not from time to time steeled to higher excellence.

And thus I had the happiness to say, that, by means of an unexpected acquaintance, all the self-complacency, love of the looking-glass, vanity, pride, and haughtiness that might have been resting or working within me, were exposed to a very severe trial, which was unique in its kind, by no means in accordance with the time, and therefore so much the more searching and more sorely felt.

For the most important event, one that was to have the weightiest consequences for me, was my acquaintance with Herder, and the nearer connection with him which sprung from it. He accompanied the travels of the Prince of Holstein-Eutin, who was in a melancholy state of mind, and had come with him to Strasburg. Our society, as soon as it knew of his arrival, was seized with a great longing to approach him; and this good fortune happened to me first, quite unexpectedly and by chance. I had gone to the Ghost tavern to inquire after some distinguished stranger or other. Just at the bottom of the staircase I found a man who was on the point of ascending, and whom I might have taken for a clergyman. His powdered hair was put up in a cue, his black clothes likewise distinguished him, but still more a long black silk mantle, the skirts of which he had gathered up and stuck into his pocket. This somewhat striking, but yet, on the whole, polite and pleasing, figure, of which I had already been told, left me not the least doubt that he was the celebrated newcomer; and my address was to convince him at once that I knew him. He asked my name, which could be of no consequence to him; but my frankness seemed to please him, since he returned it with great friendliness, and, as we mounted the stairs, showed himself ready immediately for animated communication. I have forgotten whom we visited then: it is sufficient to say, that at parting I begged permission to wait on him at his own residence, which he granted me kindly enough. I did not neglect to avail myself repeatedly of this favour, and was more and more attracted by him. He had a certain gentleness in his manner, which was very suitable and becoming, without being exactly easy. A round face; an imposing forehead; a somewhat puggish nose; a mouth somewhat prominent, but highly characteristic, pleasing, and amiable; a pair of coal-black eyes under black eyebrows, which did not fail of their effect, although one of them used to be red and inflamed. By various questions he tried to make himself acquainted with me and my situation, and his power of attraction operated on me with growing strength. I was, generally speaking, of a very confiding disposition; and with him especially I had no secrets. It was not long, however, before the repelling pulse of his nature began to appear, and placed me in no small uneasiness. I related to him many things of my youthful occupation and taste, and among others, of a collection of seals, which I had principally gotten together through the assistance of our family friend, who had an extensive correspondence. I had arranged them according to the "State Calendar," and by this means had become well acquainted with the whole of the potentates, the greater and lesser mightinesses and powers, even down to the nobility under them. These heraldic insignia had often, and in particular at the ceremonies of the coronation, been of use to my memory. I spoke of these things with some complacency; but he was of another opinion, and not only stripped the subject of all interest, but also contrived to make it ridiculous and nearly disgusting.

From this his spirit of contradiction I had much to endure; for he had resolved, partly because he wished to separate from the prince, partly on account of a complaint in his eye, to remain in Strasburg. This complaint is one of the most inconvenient and unpleasant, and the more troublesome as it can be cured only by a painful, highly irritating, and uncertain operation. The tear-bag is closed below, so that the moisture contained in it cannot flow off to the nose, and so much the less as the adjacent bone is deficient in the aperture by which this secretion should naturally take place. The bottom of the tear-bag must therefore be cut open, and the bone bored through, when a horsehair is drawn through the lacrimal point, then down through the opened bag, and the new canal thus put into connection with it; and this hair is moved backwards and forwards every day, in order to restore the communication between the two parts, — all which cannot be done or attained, if an incision is not first made externally in that place.

Herder was now separated from the prince, had moved into lodgings of his own, and resolved to have himself operated upon by Lobstein. Here those exercises by which I had sought to blunt my sensibility did me good service: I was able to be present at the operation, and to be serviceable and helpful in many ways to so worthy a man. I found here every reason to admire his great firmness and endurance: for neither during the numerous surgical operations, nor at the oft-repeated painful dressings, did he show himself in any degree irritable; and of all of us he seemed to be the one who suffered least. But in the intervals, indeed, we had to endure the change of his temper in many ways. I say we; for, besides myself, a pleasant Russian named Peglow was mostly with him. This man had been an early acquaintance of Herder's in Riga, and, though no longer a youth, was trying to perfect himself in surgery under Lobstein's guidance. Herder could be charmingly prepossessing and brilliant, but he could just as easily turn an ill-humoured side foremost. All men, indeed, have this attraction and repulsion, according to their natures, some more, some less, some in longer, some in shorter, pulsations: few can really control their peculiarities in this respect, many in appearance. As for Herder, the preponderance of his contradictory, bitter, biting humour was certainly derived from his disease and the sufferings arising from it. This case often occurs in life: one does not sufficiently take into consideration the moral effect of sickly conditions; and one therefore judges many characters very unjustly, because it is assumed that all men are healthy, and required of them that they shall conduct themselves accordingly.

During the whole time of this cure I visited Herder morning and evening: I even remained whole days with him, and in a short time accustomed myself so much the more to his chiding and faultfinding, as I daily learned to appreciate his beautiful and great qualities, his extensive knowledge, and his profound views. The influence of this good-natured blusterer was great and important. He was five years older than myself, which in younger days makes a great difference to begin with; and as I acknowledged him for what he was, and tried to value that which he had already produced, he necessarily gained a great superiority over me. But the situation was not comfortable; for older persons, with whom I had associated hitherto, had sought to form me with indulgence, perhaps had even spoiled me by their lenity: but from Herder, behave as one might, one could never expect approval. As now, on the one side, my great affection and reverence for him, and, on the other, the discontent which he excited in me, were continually at strife with each other, there arose within me an inward struggle, the first of its kind which I had experienced in my life. Since his conversations were at all times important, whether he asked, answered, or communicated his opinions in any other manner, he could not but advance me daily, nay, hourly, to new views. At Leipzig I had accustomed myself to a narrow and circumscribed existence, and my general knowledge of German literature could not be extended by my situation in Frankfort; nay, those mystico-religio-chemical occupations had led me into obscure regions, and what had been passing for some years back in the wide literary world had, for the most part, remained unknown to me. Now I was at once made acquainted by Herder with all the new aspiration and all the tendencies which it seemed to be taking. He had already made himself sufficiently known; and by his "Fragments," his "Kritische Wälder" ("Critical Woods"), and other works, had immediately placed himself by the side of the most eminent men who had for a long time drawn toward them the eyes of their country. What an agitation there must have been in such a mind, what a fermentation there must have been in such a nature, can neither be conceived nor described. But great was certainly the concealed effort, as will be easily admitted when one reflects for how many years afterward, and how much, he has done and produced.

We had not lived together long in this manner when he confided to me that he meant to be a competitor for the prize which was offered at Berlin for the best treatise on the origin of language. His work was already nearly completed; and, as he wrote a very neat hand, he could soon communicate to me, in part, a legible manuscript. I had never reflected on such subjects, for I was yet too deeply involved in the midst of things to have thought about their beginning and end. The question, too, seemed to me idle in some measure; for, if God had created man as man, language was just as innate in him as walking erect: he must have just as well perceived that he could sing with his throat, and modify the tones in various ways with tongue, palate, and lips, as he must have remarked that he could walk, and take hold of things. If man was of divine origin, so was also language; and if man, considered in the circle of nature, was a natural being, language was likewise natural. These two things, like soul and body, I could never separate. Süssmilch, with a realism crude, yet somewhat fantastically devised, had declared himself for the divine origin; that is, that God had played the schoolmaster to the first men. Herder's treatise went to show that man as man could and must have attained to language by his own powers. I read the treatise with much pleasure, and it was of special aid in strengthening my mind; but I did not stand high enough, either in knowledge or thought, to form a solid judgment upon it. I therefore gave the author my applause, adding only a few remarks which flowed from my way of viewing the subject. But one was received just like the other: there was scolding and blaming whether one agreed with him conditionally or unconditionally. The fat surgeon had less patience than I: he humourously declined the communication of this prize-essay, and affirmed that he was not prepared to meditate on such abstract topics. He urged us in preference to a game of ombre, which we commonly played together in the evening.

During so troublesome and painful a cure. Herder lost nothing of his vivacity; but it became less and less amiable. He could not write a note to ask for anything that would not be spiced with some scoff or other. Once, for instance, he wrote to me thus:

"If those letters of Brutus thou hast in thy Cicero's letters,
Thou, whom consolers of schools, decked out in magnificent
⁠bindings,
Soothe from their well-planned shelves,—yet more by the
⁠outside than inside,—
Thou, who from gods art descended, or Goths, or from origin
⁠filthy,^[1]
Göthe, send them to me."

It was not polite, indeed, that he should have permitted himself this jest on my name; for a man's name is not like a mantle, which merely hangs about him, and which, perchance, may be safely twitched and pulled, but is a perfectly fitting garment, which has grown over and over him like his very skin, at which one cannot scratch and scrape without wounding the man himself.

The first reproach, on the contrary, was better founded. I had brought with me to Strasburg the authors I had obtained, by exchange, from Langer, together with various fine editions from my father's collection besides, and had set them up on a neat bookcase, with the best intentions of using them. But how should my time, which I split up into a hundred different activities, suffice for that? Herder, who was most attentive to books, since he had need of them every moment, perceived my fine collection at his first visit, but soon saw, too, that I made no use of them. He, therefore, as the greatest enemy to all semblance and ostentation, was accustomed, on occasion, to rally me upon the subject.

Another sarcastic poem occurs to me, which he sent me one evening, when I had been telling him a great deal about the Dresden gallery. I had, indeed, not penetrated into the higher meaning of the Italian school; but Dominico Feti, an excellent artist, although a humourist, and therefore not of the first rank, had interested me much. Scripture subjects had to be painted. He confined himself to the New Testament parables, and was fond of representing them with much originality, taste, and good humour. He brought them altogether into every-day life; and the spirited and naïve details of his compositions, recommended by a free pencil, had made a vivid impression upon me. At this, my childish enthusiasm for art, Herder sneered in the following fashion:

⁠"From sympathy,
The master I like best of all
Dominico Feti they call.
A parable from Scripture he is able
Neatly to turn into a crazy fable
From sympathy:—thou crazy parable!"

I could mention many jokes of the kind, more or less clear or abstruse, cheerful or bitter. They did not vex me, but made me feel uncomfortable. Yet since I knew how to value highly everything that contributed to my own cultivation, and as I had often given up former opinions and inclinations, I soon accommodated myself, and only sought, as far as it was possible for me from my point of view, to distinguish just blame from unjust invectives. And thus no day passed that had not been, in the most fruitful manner, instructive to me.

I was made acquainted by him with poetry from quite a different side, in another light than heretofore, and one, too, which suited me well. The poetic art of the Hebrews, which he treated ingeniously after his predecessor Lowth,—popular poetry, the traditions of which in Alsace he urged us to search after; and the oldest records existing as poetry,—all bore witness that poetry in general was a gift to the world and to nations, and not the private inheritance of a few refined, cultivated men. I swallowed all this; and the more eager I was in receiving, the more liberal was he in giving, so that we spent the most interesting hours together. The other natural studies which I had begun, I endeavoured to continue; and as one always has time enough, if one will apply it well, so amongst them all I succeeded in doing twice or thrice as much as usual. As to the fulness of those few weeks during which we lived together, I can well say, that all which Herder has gradually produced since was then announced in the germ, and that I thereby fell into the fortunate condition that I could completely attach to something higher, and expand all that I had hitherto thought, learned, and made my own. Had Herder been methodical, I should have found the most precious guide for giving a durable tendency to my cultivation; but he was more inclined to examine and stimulate than to lead and conduct. Thus he at first made me acquainted with Hamann's writings, upon which he set a very great value. But instead of instructing me as to these, and making the bias and drift of his extraordinary mind intelligible to me, it generally only served him for amusement when I behaved strangely enough in trying to get at the meaning of such sibylline leaves. However, I could well feel that something in Hamann's writings appealed to me; and to this I gave myself up, without knowing whence it came or whither it was leading me.

After the cure had lasted longer than was reasonable, Lobstein had begun to hesitate, and to repeat himself in his treatment, so that the affair would not come to an end; and Peglow, too, had confided to me in private that a favourable issue was hardly to be expected; the whole position became gloomy: Herder became impatient and out of temper; he could not succeed in continuing his activity as heretofore, and was obliged to restrain himself the more, as they began to lay the blame of the surgical failure upon his too great mental exertion, and his uninterrupted, animated, nay, merry, intercourse with us. It is sufficient to say, that, after so much trouble and suffering, the artificial tear-channel would not form itself, and the communication intended would not take place. It was necessary to let the wound heal over lest the disease should become worse. If, now, during the operation, one could but admire Herder's firmness under such pains, his melancholy and even fierce resignation to the idea that he must bear such a blot about him all his life had about it something truly sublime, by which he gained for ever the reverence of those who saw and loved him. This disease, which disfigured so expressive a countenance, must have been so much the more afflicting to him, as he had become acquainted with an excellent lady in Darmstadt, and had gained her affections. It may have been for this cause principally that he submitted to the cure, in order, on his return, to appear more free, more cheerful, and more handsome in the eyes of his half-betrothed, and to unite himself more certainly and indissolubly with her. However, he hastened away from Strasburg as soon as possible; and, since his stay had hitherto been as expensive as it was unpleasant, I borrowed a sum of money for him, which he promised to refund by an appointed day. The time passed without the arrival of the money. My creditor, indeed, did not dun me; but I was for several weeks in embarrassment. At last the letter and money came, and even here he did not act unlike himself: for, instead of thanks or an apology, his letter contained nothing but satirical things in doggerel verse, which would have puzzled, if not alienated, another; but it did not move me at all, for I had conceived so great and powerful an idea of his worth that it absorbed everything of an opposite nature which could have injured it.

One should never speak, publicly at least, of his own faults, or those of others, unless he hopes to attain some useful end thereby: on this account I will here insert certain remarks which force themselves upon me.

Gratitude and ingratitude belong to those events which appear every moment in the moral world, and about which men can never agree among themselves. I usually distinguish between non-thankfulness, ingratitude, and aversion from gratitude. The former is innate with men, nay, created with them; for it arises from a happy volatile forgetfulness of the repulsive as well as of the delightful, by which alone the continuation of life is possible. Man needs such an infinite quantity of previous and concurrent assistances for a tolerable existence, that if he would always pay to the sun and the earth, to God and nature, to ancestors and parents, to friends and companions, the thanks due to them, he would have neither time nor feeling left to receive and enjoy new benefits. But, if the natural man suffers this volatility to get the control in and over him, a cold indifference gains more and more the ascendency, and one at last regards one's benefactor as a stranger, to whose injury, perhaps, anything may be undertaken, provided it be advantageous to ourselves. This alone can properly be called ingratitude, which results from the rudeness into which the uncultivated nature must necessarily lose itself at last. Aversion from gratitude, however, the rewarding of a benefit by ill-natured and sullen conduct, is very rare, and occurs only in eminent men, such as, with great natural gifts, and a presentiment of them, being born in a lower rank of society or in a helpless condition, must, from their youth upwards, force themselves along step by step, and receive at every point aids and supports, which are often embittered and repulsive to them through the coarseness of their benefactors, since that which they receive is earthly, while that which, on the other hand, they give, is of a higher kind; so that what is, strictly speaking, a compensation, is out of the question. Lessing, with the fine knowledge of earthly things which fell to his share in the best years of his life, has in one place bluntly but cheerfully expressed himself. Herder, on the contrary, constantly embittered his finest days, both for himself and others, because he knew not how to moderate, by strength of mind in later years, that ill-humour which had necessarily seized him in youth.

One may well make this demand of himself; for to a man's capability of cultivation, comes, with friendly aid, the light of nature, which is always active in enlightening him about his condition: and generally, in many moral points of culture, one should not construe the failings too severely, nor look about after the most serious and remote means of correcting them; for certain faults may be easily and even playfully removed. Thus, for instance, by mere habit, we can excite gratitude in ourselves, keep it alive, and even make it necessary to us.

In a biographical attempt, it is proper to speak of one's self. I am, by nature, as little grateful as any man; and, on forgetting the benefit received, the violent feeling of a momentary disagreement could very easily beguile me into ingratitude.

To obviate this, I accustomed myself, in the first place, with everything that I possessed, to call to mind with pleasure how I came by it, from whom I received it, whether it was by way of present, exchange, or purchase, or in any other manner. I have accustomed myself, in showing my collections, to mention the persons by whose means I obtained each article, nay, even to do justice to the occasion, to the accident, to the remotest cause and coincidence, by which things which are dear and of value to me have become mine. That which surrounds us thus receives a life; we see in it a spiritual combination, full of love, reminding us of its origin; and, by thus making past circumstances present to us, our momentary existence is elevated and enriched; the originators of the gifts rise repeatedly before the imagination; we connect with their image a pleasing remembrance; ingratitude becomes impossible; and a return, on occasion, becomes easy and desirable. At the same time, we are led to the consideration of that which is not a possession palpable to the senses; and we love to recapitulate to whom our higher endowments are to be ascribed, and whence they take their date.

Before I turn my attention from my connection with Herder, which was so important and so rich in consequences for me, I find yet something more to adduce. Nothing was more natural than that I should by degrees become more and more reserved toward Herder, in communicating those things which had hitherto contributed to my culture, but especially such as still seriously occupied my attention at the moment. He had destroyed my enjoyment of so much that I had loved before, and had especially blamed me in the strongest manner for the pleasure I took in "Ovid's Metamorphoses." I might defend my favourite as I would; I might say, that, for a youthful fancy, nothing could be more delightful than to linger in those cheerful and glorious regions with gods and demi-gods, and to be a witness of their deeds and passions; I might circumstantially quote that previously mentioned opinion of a sober-minded man, and corroborate it by my own experience,—all this, according to Herder, went for nothing; there was no immediate truth, properly so called, to be found in these poems: here was neither Greece nor Italy, neither a primitive world nor a cultivated one; everything was rather an imitation of what had already existed, and a mannerised representation, such as could be expected only from an over-cultivated man. And if at last I would maintain, that whatever an eminent individual produces is also nature, and that always, in all nations, ancient and modern, the poet alone has been the maker, this was not allowed to pass, and I had to endure much on this account, nay, I was almost disgusted with my Ovid by it; for there is no affection, no habit so strong, that it can hold out in the long run against the animadversions of eminent men in whom one places confidence. Something always cleaves to us; and, if one cannot love unconditionally, love is already in a critical condition.

I most carefully concealed from him my interest in certain subjects which had rooted themselves within me, and were, by little and little, moulding themselves into poetic form. These were "Götz von Berlichingen" and "Faust." The biography of the former had seized my inmost heart. The figure of a rough, well-meaning self-helper, in a wild anarchical time, awakened my deepest sympathy. The significant puppet-show fable of the latter resounded and vibrated many-toned within me. I had also wandered about in all sorts of science, and had early enough been led to see its vanity. I had, moreover, tried all sorts of ways in real life, and had always returned more unsatisfied and troubled. Now, these things, as well as many others, I carried about with me, and delighted myself with them during my solitary hours, but without writing anything down. But, most of all, I concealed from Herder my mystico-cabalistical chemistry, and everything relating to it; although, at the same time, I was still very fond of secretly busying myself in working it out more consistently than it had been communicated to me. Of my poetical labours, I believe I laid before him "Die Mitschuldigen;" but I do not recollect that on this account I received either correction or encouragement on his part. Yet, with all this, he remained what he was: whatever proceeded from him had an important, if not a cheering effect; and even his handwriting exercised a magic power over me. I do not remember having ever torn up or thrown away one of his letters, or even a mere envelope from his hand; yet, with my various changes of place and time, not one document of those strange, foreboding, and happy days is left.

That Herder's power of attraction had as much effect on others as on me, I should scarcely mention, had I not to remark that it extended itself particularly to Jung, commonly called Stilling. The true, honest striving of this man could not but deeply interest everybody who had any feeling, and his susceptibility must have charmed into candour every one who was in a condition to impart anything. Even Herder behaved toward him with more forbearance than toward the rest of us, for his counter-action always seemed to stand in relation with the action exerted upon him. Jung's narrowness was accompanied by so much good will, his urgency with so much softness and earnestness, that a man of intelligence could certainly not be severe against him, and a benevolent man could not scoff at him or turn him into ridicule. Jung was also exhilarated to such a degree by Herder, that he felt himself strengthened and advanced in all he did: even his affection for me seemed to lose ground in the same ratio; yet we always remained good companions, made allowances for each other from first to last, and mutually rendered the most friendly services.

Let us now, however, withdraw from the sick-chamber of friendship, and from the general considerations which refer rather to disorder than to health of mind; let us betake ourselves into the open air, to the lofty and broad gallery of the minster, as if the time were still present when we young fellows often appointed an evening meeting to greet the departing sun with brimming goblets. Here all conversation was lost in the contemplation of the country; here sharpness of eyesight was put to the proof, and every one strove to perceive, nay, plainly to distinguish, the most distant objects. Good telescopes were employed to assist us, and one friend after another exactly pointed out the spot which had become the most dear and precious to him: nor did I lack such a little spot, which, although it did not come out with importance in the landscape, nevertheless more than all the rest attracted me with an amiable magic. On these occasions the imagination was excited by relating our adventures; and several little jaunts were concerted, nay, often undertaken on the spur of the moment, of which I will circumstantially relate only one instead of a number, since in many respects it was of consequence to me.

With two worthy friends and fellow boarders, Engelbach and Weyland, both natives of Lower Alsace, I repaired on horseback to Zabern, where, in the fine weather, the friendly little place smiled pleasantly upon us. The sight of the bishop's castle awakened our admiration; the extent, height, and splendour of a new set of stables bore witness to the other comforts of the owner. The gorgeousness of the staircase surprised us; the chambers and saloons we trod with reverence; only the person of the cardinal, a little wreck of a man, whom we saw at table, made a contrast. The view of the garden is splendid; and a canal, three-quarters of a league long, which leads straight up to the middle of the castle, gives a high idea of the taste and resources of the former possessors. We rambled up and down there, and enjoyed many parts of this altogether beautifully situated country, skirting the magnificent plain of Alsace, at the foot of the Vosges.

After we had enjoyed ourselves at this clerical outpost of a royal power, and had made ourselves comfortable in its region, we arrived early next morning at a public work, which most nobly opens the entrance into a mighty kingdom. Illumined by the beams of the rising sun, the famous Zabern-stairs, a work of incredible labour, rose before us. A road, built serpentine-wise over the most fearful crags, and wide enough for three wagons abreast, leads up hill so gently, that the ascent is scarcely perceptible. The hardness and smoothness of the way, the flat-topped elevations on both sides for the foot-passengers, the stone channels to lead off the mountain-water, all are executed as neatly, as artistically and durably, so that they afford a satisfactory view. Thus one gradually arrives at Pfalzburg, a modern fortification. It is situated upon a moderate hill; the works are elegantly built on blackish rocks, and of the same kind of stone; and the joinings, being pointed out with white mortar, show exactly the size of the square stones, and give a striking proof of neat workmanship. We found the place itself, as is proper for a fortress, regular, built of stone, and the church in good taste. When we wandered through the streets,—it was nine o'clock on Sunday morning,—we heard music: they were already waltzing in the tavern to their hearts' content; and as the inhabitants did not suffer themselves to be disturbed in their pleasures by the great scarcity, nay, by the threatened famine; so also our youthful cheerfulness was not at all troubled when the baker on the road refused us some bread, and directed us to the tavern, where perhaps we might procure provisions at the usual place.

We now very gladly rode down the Zabern-stairs again to gaze at this architectural wonder a second time, and to enjoy once more the refreshing prospect over Alsace. We soon reached Buchsweiler, where friend Weyland had prepared for us a good reception. To a fresh, youthful mind the condition of a small town is well suited: family connections are closer and more perceptible; domestic life, which, with moderate activity, moves hither and thither between light official duties, town business, agriculture and gardening, invites us to a friendly participation; sociableness is necessary; and the stranger finds himself very pleasantly situated in the limited circles, if the disputes of the inhabitants, which in such places are more palpable, do not everywhere come in contact with him. This little town was the chief place of the county of Hanau-Lichtenberg, belonging to the Landgrave of Darmstadt, under French sovereignty. A regency and board of officers established here made the place an important centre of a very beautiful and desirable principality. We easily forgot the unequal streets and the irregular architecture of the place when we went out to look at the old castle and the gardens, which are excellently laid out on a hill. Numerous little pleasure-woods, a preserve for tame and wild pheasants, and the relics of many similar arrangements, showed how pleasant this little residence must formerly have been.

Yet all these views were surpassed by the prospect which met the eye, when, from the neighbouring Baschberg, one looked over the perfectly paradisiacal region. This height, wholly heaped together out of different kinds of shells, attracted my attention for the first time to such documents of antiquity: I had never before seen them together in so great a mass. Yet the curious eye soon turned itself exclusively to the landscape. You stand on the last landward^[2] mountain-point; toward the north lies a fruitful plain, interspersed with little forests, and bounded by a stern row of mountains, that stretches itself westward toward Zabere, where the episcopal palace and the Abbey of St. John, lying a league beyond it, may be plainly recognised. Thence the eye follows the more and more vanishing chain of the Vosges toward the south. If you turn to the northeast, you see the castle of Lichtenberg upon a rock; and toward the southeast the eye has the boundless plain of Alsace to scrutinise, which, afar off, withdraws itself from the sight in the more and more misty landscape, until at last the Suabian mountains melt away like shadows into the horizon.

Already, in my limited wanderings through the world, I had remarked how important it is in travelling to ascertain the course of the waters, and even to ask with respect to the smallest brook, whither in reality it runs. One thus acquires a general survey of every stream-region in which one happens to be, a conception of the heights and depths which bear relation to each other, and by these leading lines, which assist the contemplation as well as the memory, extricates one's self in the surest manner from the geological and political labyrinth. With these observations, I took a solemn farewell of my beloved Alsace, as the next morning we meant to turn our steps toward Lorraine.

The evening passed away in familiar conversation, in which we tried to cheer ourselves up under a joyless present by remembrances of a better past. Here, as in the whole of this small country, the name of the last Count Reinhard von Hanau was blessed above all others: his great understanding and aptitude had appeared in all his actions, and many a beautiful memorial of his existence yet remained. Such men have the advantage of being double benefactors: once to the present, which they make happy, and then to the future, the feeling of which and courage they nourish and sustain.

Now as we turned northwestward into the mountains, passed by Lutzelstein, an old mountain tower, in a very hilly country, and descended into the region of the Saar and the Moselle, the heavens began to lower, as if they would render yet more sensible to us the condition of the more rugged western country. The valley of the Saar, where we first reached Bockenheim, a small place, and saw opposite to it Neusaarwerden, which is well built, with a pleasure-castle, is bordered on both sides by mountains which might be called melancholy, if at their foot an endless succession of meadows and fields, called the Huhnau, did not extend as far as Saaralbe, and beyond it, farther than the eye can reach. Great buildings, belonging to the former stables of the Duke of Lorraine, here attract the eye: they are at present used as a dairy, for which purpose, indeed, they are very well situated. We passed through Saargemünd to Saarbrück, and this little residence was a bright point in a land so rocky and woody. The town, small and hilly, but well adorned by the last prince, makes at once a pleasing impression, as he houses are all painted a grayish white, and the different elevation of them affords a variegated view. In the middle of a beautiful square, surrounded with handsome buildings, stands the Lutheran church, on a small scale, but in proportion with the whole. The front of the castle lies on the same level with the town; the back, on the contrary, on the declivity of a steep rock. This has not only been worked out terrace-fashion, to afford easy access to the valley, but an oblong garden-plot has also been obtained below, by turning off the stream on one side, and cutting away the rock on the other, after which this whole space was lastly filled up with earth and planted. The time of this undertaking fell in the epoch when they used to consult the architects about laying out gardens, just as at present they call in the aid of the landscape- painter's eye. The whole arrangement of the castle, the costly and the agreeable, the rich and the ornamental, betokened a life-enjoying owner, such as the deceased prince had been: the present sovereign was not at home. President von Günderode received us in the most obliging manner, and entertained us for three days better than we had a right to expect. I made use of the various acquaintance which we formed, to instruct myself in many respects. The life of the late prince, rich in pleasure, gave material enough for conversation, as well as the various expedients which he hit upon to make use of the advantages supplied by the nature of his land. Here I was now properly initiated into the interest for mountain countries, and the love for those economical and technical investigations which have busied me a great part of my life was first awakened within me. We heard of the rich coal-pits at Dutweil, of the iron and alum works, and even of a burning mountain; and we prepared ourselves to see these wonders close.

We now rode through woody mountains, which must seem wild and dreary to him who comes out of a magnificent, fertile land, and which can attract us only by the internal contents of its bosom. We were made acquainted with one simple and one complicated piece of machinery, within a short distance of each other; namely, a scythe-smithy and a wire-drawing factory. If one is pleased at the first because it supplies the place of common hands, one cannot sufficiently admire the other; for it works in a higher organic sense, from which understanding and consciousness are scarcely to be separated. In the alum-works we made accurate inquiries about the production and purifying of this so necessary material; and when we saw great heaps of a white, greasy, loose, earthy matter, and asked the use of it, the labourers answered, smiling, that it was the scum thrown up in boiling the alum, and that Herr Stauf had it collected, as he hoped perchance to turn it to some profit. "Is Herr Stauf alive yet?" exclaimed my companion in surprise. They answered in the affirmative, and assured us, that, according to the plan of our journey, we should not pass far from his lonely dwelling.

Our road now led up along the channels by which the alum-water is conducted down, and the principal horizontal works (Stollen), which they call the "Landgrube" and from which the famous Dutweil coals are procured. These, when they are dry, have the blue colour of darkly tarnished steel; and the most beautiful succession of rainbow-tints plays over the surface with every movement. The deep abysses of the coal-levels, however, attracted us so much the less as their contents lay richly poured out around us. We now reached the open mine, in which the roasted alum-scales are steeped in lye; and, soon after, a strange occurrence surprised us, although we had been prepared. We entered into a chasm, and found ourselves in the region of the Burning Mountain. A strong smell of sulphur surrounded us; one side of the cavity was almost red-hot, covered with reddish stone burnt white; thick fumes arose from the crevices, and we felt the heat of the ground through our strong boot-soles. An event so accidental—for it is not known how this place became ignited—affords a great advantage for the manufacture of alum; since the alum-scales, of which the surface of the mountain consists, lie there perfectly roasted, and may be steeped in a short time and very well. The whole chasm has arisen by the calcined scales being gradually removed and used up. We clambered up out of this depth, and were on the top of the mountain. A pleasant beech-grove encircled the spot, which followed up to the chasm, and extended itself on both sides of it. Many trees were already dried up: some were withering near others, which, as yet quite fresh, felt no forebodings of that fierce heat which was approaching and threatening their roots also.

Upon this space different openings were steaming, others had already done smoking; and this fire had thus smouldered for ten years already through old broken-up pits and horizontal shafts, with which the mountain is undermined. It may, too, have penetrated to the clefts through new coal-beds: for, some hundred paces farther into the wood, they had contemplated following up manifest indications of an abundance of coal; but they had not excavated far before a strong smoke burst out against the labourers, and dispersed them. The opening was filled up again, yet we found the place still smoking as we went on our way past it to the residence of our hermit-like chemist. This is situated amid mountains and woods; the valleys there take very various and pleasing windings; the soil round about is black and of the coal kind, and strata of it frequently come in sight. A coal philosopher—philosophus ver ignem, as they said formerly—could scarcely have settled himself more suitably.

We approached a small house, not inconvenient for a dwelling, and found Herr Stauf, who immediately recognised my friend, and received him with lamentations about the new government. Indeed, we could see, from what he said, that the alum-works, as well as many other well-meant establishments, on account of external and perhaps internal circumstances also, did not pay their expenses, with much else of the sort. He belonged to the chemists of that time, who, with a hearty feeling for all that could be done with the products of nature, took delight in abstruse investigations of trifles and secondary matters, and, with their insufficient knowledge, were not dexterous enough to do that from which properly economical and mercantile profit is to be derived. Thus the use to which he hoped to turn that scum lay very far in the distance: thus he had nothing to show but a cake of sal-ammoniac, with which the Burning Mountain had supplied him.

Ready and glad to communicate his complaints to some human ear, the lean, decrepit little man, with a shoe on one foot and a slipper on the other, and with stockings hanging down and repeatedly pulled up in vain, dragged himself up the mountain to where the resin-house stands, which he himself had erected, and now, with great grief, sees falling to ruins. Here was found a connected row of furnaces, where coal was to be cleansed of sulphur, and made fit for use in iron-works; but at the same time they wished also to turn the oil and resin to account,—nay, they would not even lose the soot: and thus all failed together, on account of the many ends in view. During the lifetime of the former prince, the business had been carried on in the spirit of an amateur, and in hope: now they asked for the immediate use, which was not to be shown.

After we had left our adept to his solitude, we hastened—for it was now late—to the glass-house in Friedrichsthal, where we became acquainted, on our way, with one of the most important and most wonderful operations of human ingenuity.

Nevertheless, some pleasant adventures, and a surprising firework at nightfall, not far from Neukirch, interested us young fellows almost more than these important experiences. For as a few nights before, on the banks of the Saar, shining clouds of glowworms hovered around us, betwixt rock and thicket; so now the spark-spitting forges played their sprightly firework toward us. We passed, in the depth of night, the smelting-houses situated in the bottom of the valley, and were delighted with the strange half-gloom of these dens of plank, which are but dimly lighted by a little opening in the glowing furnace. The noise of the water, and of the bellows driven by it; the fearful whizzing and shrieking of the blast of air, which, raging into the smelted ore, stuns the hearing and confuses the senses,—drove us away, at last, to turn into Neukirch, which is built up against the mountain.

But, notwithstanding all the variety and fatigue of the day, I could find no rest here. I left my friend to a happy sleep, and sought the hunting-seat, which lay still farther up. It looks out far over mountain and wood, the outlines of which were only to be recognised against the clear night sky, but the sides and depths of which were impenetrable to my sight. This well-preserved building stood as empty as it was lonely: no castellan, no huntsman, was to be found. I sat before the great glass doors upon the steps which run around the whole terrace. Here, surrounded by mountains, over a forest-grown, dark soil, which seemed yet darker in contrast with the clear horizon of a summer night, with the glowing, starry vault above me, I sat for a long time by myself on the deserted spot, and thought I never had felt such a solitude. How sweetly, then, was I surprised by the distant sound of a couple of French horns, which at once, like the fragrance of balsam, enlivened the peaceful atmosphere. Then there awakened within me the image of a lovely being, which had retired into the background before the motley objects of these travelling days, but which now unveiled itself more and more, and drove me from the spot back to my quarters, where I made preparations to set off as early as possible.

The return was not used like the journey out. Thus we hurried through Zwey-brücken (Deux-Ponts), which, as a beautiful and notable residence, might well have deserved our attention. We cast a glance at the great, simple castle, on the extensive esplanades, regularly planted with linden-trees, and very well adapted for the training of race-horses; and on the large stables, and the citizens' houses which the prince had built to be raffled for. All this, as well as the costume and manners of the inhabitants, especially of the matrons and maids, had reference to a distant connection, and made plainly visible the relation with Paris, from which, for a long time, nothing transrhenane had been able to withdraw itself. We visited also the ducal wine-cellars, situated before the city, which are extensive, and furnished with large, well-made tuns. We went on farther, and at last found the country like that in the neighbourhood of Saarbrück. Between wild and savage mountains are a few villages: one here gets rid of the habit of looking about for corn. We mounted up, by the side of the Hornbach, to Bitsch, which lies on the important spot where the waters divide, and fall, a part into the Saar, a part into the Rhine. The latter were soon to draw us after them. Yet we could not refuse our attention to the little city of Bitsch, which very picturesquely winds around the mountain; nor to the fortress, which lies above. This is partly built on rocks, and partly hewn out of them. The subterraneous chambers are particularly worthy of remark: here is not only space sufficient for the abode of a number of men and cattle, but one even lights upon large vaults for the drilling of troops, a mill, a chapel, and whatever else could be required underground, provided the surface were in a state of disturbance.

We now followed the rapidly descending brooks through the Bärenthal. The thick forests on both the heights remain unused by the hand of man. Here trunks of trees lie on each other rotting by thousands, and young scions sprout up without number from their half-mouldered progenitors. Here, in conversation with some companions travelling on foot, the name Von Dieterich again struck our ears, which we had often heard honourably mentioned already in these woody regions. The activity and cleverness of this man, his wealth, and the use and applications of it, all seemed in proportion. He could with justice take delight in the acquisitions which he increased, and enjoy the profits he secured. The more I saw of the world, the more pleasure I took, not only in the universally famous names, but in those also, especially, which were mentioned in particular regions with reverence and love; and thus I easily learned here, by a few questions, that Von Dieterich, earlier than others, had known how to make successful use of the mountain treasures, iron, coal, and wood, and had worked his way to an ever-growing opulence.

Niederbrunn, where we now arrived, was a new proof of this. He had purchased this little place from the Count of Leiningen and other part-owners, to erect important iron-works in the place.

Here in these baths, already founded by the Romans, floated around me with the spirit of antiquity, venerable relics of which, in fragments of bas-reliefs and inscriptions, capitals and shafts, shone out strangely toward me, from farmhouses, amidst household lumber and furniture.

As we were ascending the adjacent Wasenburg also, I paid my respects to a well-preserved inscription, which discharged a thankful vow to Mercury, and is situated upon the great mass of rock which forms the base of the hill on one side. The fortress itself lies on the last mountain, looking from Bitsch toward Germany. It is the ruin of a German castle built upon Roman remains. From the tower the whole of Alsace was once more surveyed, and the conspicious minster-spire pointed out the situation of Strasburg. First of all, however, the great forest of Hagenau extended itself: and the towers of this town peered plainly from behind. I was attracted thither. We rode through Reichshof, where Von Dieterich built an imposing castle: and after we had contemplated from the hills near Niedermoder the pleasing course of the little river Moder, by the forest of Hagenau, I left my friend on a ridiculous coal-mine visitation, which, at Dutweil, might have been a somewhat more serious business; and I then rode through Hagenau, on the direct road—already indicated by my affection—to my beloved Sesenheim.

For all these views of a wild mountain region, and then, again, of a cheerful, fruitful, joyous land, could not rivet my mind's eye, which was directed to an amiable, attractive object. This time, also, the way thither seemed to me more charming than its opposite, as it brought me again into the neighbourhood of a lady to whom I was heartily devoted, and who deserved as much respect as love. But, before I lead my friends to her rural abode, let me be permitted to mention a circumstance which contributed very much to enliven and heighten my affection, and the satisfaction it afforded me.

How far I must have been behindhand in modern literature, may be gathered from the mode of life which I led at Frankfort, and from the studies to which I had devoted myself; nor could my residence in Strasburg have furthered me in this respect. Now Herder came, and brought besides his great knowledge many other aids, and the later publications besides. Among these he announced to us "The Vicar of Wakefield" as an excellent work, with the German translation of which he said he would make us acquainted by reading it aloud to us himself.

His method of reading was quite peculiar: whoever has heard him preach will be able to form a notion of it. He delivered everything, this romance included, in a serious and simple style, perfectly removed from all dramatically imitative representation: he even avoided that variety which is not only permitted, but even required, in an epical delivery,—a slight change of tone when different persons speak, by which what every one says is brought into relief, and the actor is distinguished from the narrator. Without being monotonous, Herder let everything go on in the same tone, just as if nothing was present before him, but all was merely historical; as if the shadows of this poetic creation did not act livingly before him, but only glided gently by. Yet this manner of delivery from his mouth had an infinite charm; for as he felt all most deeply, and knew how to estimate the variety of such a work, so the whole merit of a production appeared purely and the more clearly, as one was not disturbed by details sharply spoken out, nor interrupted in the feeling which the whole was meant to produce.

A Protestant country clergyman is, perhaps, the most beautiful subject for a modern idyl: he appears, like Melchizedek, as priest and king in one person. To the most innocent situation which can be imagined on earth, to that of a husbandman, he is, for the most part, united by similarity of occupation, as well as by equality in family relationships: he is a father, a master of a family, an agriculturist, and thus perfectly a member of the community. On this pure, beautiful earthly foundation, rests his higher calling; to him is it given to guide men through life, to take care of their spiritual education, to bless them at all the leading epochs of their existence, to instruct, to strengthen, to console them, and, if consolation is not sufficient for the present, to call up and guarantee the hope of a happier future. Imagine such a man, with pure human sentiments, strong enough not to deviate from them under any circumstances, and by this already elevated above the multitude, of whom one cannot expect purity and firmness; give him the learning necessary for his office, as well as a cheerful equable activity, which is even passionate as it neglects no moment to do good,—and you will have him well endowed. But at the same time add the necessary limitation, so that he must not only pause in a small circle, but may also perchance pass over to a smaller; grant him good nature, placability, resolution, and everything else praiseworthy that springs from a decided character, and over all this a cheerful spirit of compliance, and a smiling toleration of his own failings and those of others,—then you will have put together pretty well the image of our excellent Wakefield.

The delineation of this character on his course of life, through joys and sorrows, the ever-increasing interest of the story, by the combination of the entirely natural with the strange and the singular, make this novel one of the best which has ever been written; besides this, it has the great advantage that it is quite moral, nay, in a pure sense, Christian—represents the reward of a good will and perseverance in the right, strengthens an unconditional confidence in God, and attests the final triumph of good over evil, and all this without a trace of cant or pedantry. The author was preserved from both by an elevation of mind that shows itself throughout in the form of irony, by which this little work must appear to us as wise as it is amiable. The author, Doctor Goldsmith, has, without question, great insight into the moral world, into its strength and its infirmities; but at the same time he can thankfully acknowledge that he is an Englishman, and reckon highly the advantages which his country and his nation afford him. The family, with the delineation of which he occupies himself, stands upon one of the last steps of citizen comfort, and yet comes in contact with the highest; its narrow circle, which becomes still more contracted, touches upon the great world through the natural and civil course of things; this little skiff floats on the agitated waves of English life, and in weal and woe has to expect injury or help from the vast fleet sailing around it.

I may suppose that my readers know this work, and have it in recollection; whoever hears it named for the first time here, as well as he who is induced to read it again, will thank me. For the former, I would merely make the cursory remark, that the vicar's wife is of that good, busy sort, who allows herself and her own to want for nothing, but who is also somewhat vain of herself and her own. There are two daughters, — Olivia, handsome, and more devoted to the external: and Sophia, charming and more given to the internal: nor will I omit to mention an industrious son, Moses, who is somewhat blunt, and emulous of his father.

If Herder could be accused of any fault in his reading aloud, it was impatience; he did not wait until the hearer had heard and comprehended a certain part of the progress, so as to be able to feel and think correctly about it: too hasty, he wanted to see effects at once; and yet he was displeased even with this when it manifested itself. He blamed the excess of feeling which overflowed from me more and more at every step. I felt like a man, like a young man: everything was living, true, and present before me. He, considering only the intrinsic contents and form, saw clearly, indeed, that I was overpowered by the subject-matter; and this he would not allow. Then Peglow's reflections, which were not of the most refined, were still worse received; but he was especially angry at our want of keenness in not seeing beforehand the contrasts of which the author often makes use, and in suffering ourselves to be moved and carried away by them without remarking the oft-returning artifice. He would not pardon us for not seeing at once, or at least suspecting at the very beginning, where Burchell is on the point of discovering himself by passing over in his narration from the third to the first person, that he himself is the lord of whom he is speaking; and when, finally, we rejoiced like children at the discovery and the transformation of the poor, needy wanderer into a rich, powerful lord, he immediately recalled the passage, which, according to the author's plan, we had overlooked, and read us a powerful lecture on our stupidity. It will be seen from this, that he regarded the work merely as a production of art, and required the same of us, who were yet wandering in that state where it is very allowable to let works of art affect us like productions of nature.

I was not at all perplexed by Herder's invectives; for young people have the happiness or unhappiness, that, when once anything has produced an effect on them, this effect must be wrought out within themselves,—from which much good, as well as much mischief, arises. The above work had left in me a great impression, for which I could not account; but, properly speaking, I felt in harmony with that ironical tone of mind which elevates itself above every object, above fortune and misfortune, good and evil, death and life, and thus attains to the possession of a truly poetical world. I could not, indeed, become conscious of this until later: it was enough that it gave me much to do at the moment; but I could by no means have expected to be so soon transposed from this fictitious world into a similar real one.

My fellow boarder, Weyland, who enlivened his quiet, laborious life by visiting from time to time his friends and relations in the country (for he was a native of Alsace), did me many services on my little excursions, by introducing me to different localities and families, sometimes in person, sometimes by recommendations. He had often spoken to me about a country clergyman who lived near Drusenheim, six leagues from Strasburg, in possession of a good benefice, with an intelligent wife and a pair of amiable daughters. The hospitality and agreeableness of this family were always highly extolled. It scarcely needed so much to draw thither a young knight who had already accustomed himself to spend all his leisure days and hours on horseback and in the open air. We decided, therefore, upon this trip; and my friend had to promise, that, on introducing me, he would say neither good nor ill of me, but would treat me with general indifference, and would allow me to make my appearance clad, if not meanly, yet somewhat poorly and negligently. He consented to this, and promised himself some sport from it.

It is a pardonable whim in men of consequence, to place their exterior advantages in concealment now and then, so as to allow their own internal human nature to operate with the greater purity. For this reason the incognito of princes, and the adventures resulting therefrom, are always highly pleasing: these appear disguised divinities, who can reckon at double its value all the good offices shown to them as individuals, and are in such a position that they can either make light of the disagreeable or avoid it. That Jupiter should be well pleased in his incognito with Philemon and Baucis, and Henry the Fourth with his peasants after a hunting party, is quite comformable to nature, and we like it well; but that a young man, without importance or name, should take it into his head to derive some pleasure from an incognito, might be construed by many as an unpardonable piece of arrogance. Yet since the question here is not of such views and actions, so far as they are praiseworthy or blamable, but so far as they can manifest themselves and actually occur, we will on this occasion, for the sake of our own amusement, pardon the youngster his self-conceit; and the more so, as I must here allege, that, from youth upwards, a love for disguising myself had been excited in me even by my stern father.

This time, too, partly by some cast-off clothes of my own, partly by some borrowed garments and by the manner of combing my hair, I had, if not disfigured myself, yet at least rigged myself out so oddly, that my friend could not help laughing on the way, especially as I knew how to imitate perfectly the bearing and gestures of such figures when they sit on horseback, and which are called "Latin riders." The fine road, the most splendid weather, and the neighbourhood of the Rhine, put us in the best humour. At Drusenheim we stopped a moment, he to make himself spruce, and I to rehearse my part, out of which I was afraid I should now and then fall. The country here has the characteristics of all the open, level Alsace. We rode on a pleasant foot-path over the meadows, soon reached Sesenheim, left our horses at the tavern, and walked leisurely toward the parsonage. "Do not be put out," said Weyland, showing me the house from a distance, "because it looks like an old miserable farmhouse: it is so much younger inside." We stepped into the courtyard: the whole pleased me well; for it had exactly that which is called picturesque, and which had so magically interested me in Dutch art. The effect which time produces on all human work was strongly perceptible. House, barn, and stable were just at that point of dilapidation where, indecisive and doubtful between preserving and rebuilding, one often neglects the one without being able to accomplish the other.

As in the village, so in the courtyard, all was quiet and deserted. We found the father, a little man, wrapped up within himself, but friendly notwithstanding, quite alone, for the family were in the fields. He bade us welcome, and offered us some refreshment, which we declined. My friend hurried away to look after the ladies, and I remained alone with our host. "You are perhaps surprised," said he, "to find me so miserably quartered in a wealthy village, and with a lucrative benefice; but," he continued, "this proceeds from irresolution. Long since, it has been promised me by the parish, and even by those in higher places, that the house shall be rebuilt; many plans have been already drawn, examined, and altered, none of them altogether rejected, and none carried into execution. This has lasted so many years, that I scarcely know how to command my impatience." I made him an answer such as I thought likely to cherish his hopes, and to encourage him to pursue the affair more vigorously. Upon this he proceeded to describe familiarly the personages on whom such matters depended; and, although he was no great delineator of character, I could nevertheless easily comprehend how the whole business must have been delayed. The confidential tone of the man was something peculiar: he talked to me as if he had known me for ten years, while there was nothing in his look for which I could have suspected that he was directing any attention to me. At last my friend came in with the mother. She seemed to look at me with quite different eyes. Her countenance was regular, and the expression of it intelligent: she must have been beautiful in her youth. Her figure was tall and spare, but not more so than became her years; and, when seen from behind, she had quite a youthful and pleasing appearance. The elder daughter then came bouncing in briskly: she inquired after Frederica, just as both the others had also done. The father assured them that he had not seen her since all three had gone out together. The daughter again went out at the door to look for her sister; the mother brought us some refreshment; and Weyland, with the old couple, continued the conversation, which referred to nothing but known persons and circumstances,—as, indeed, it is usually the case when acquaintances meet after some length of time, that they make inquiries, and mutually give each other information about the members of a large circle. I listened, and now learned how much I had to promise myself from this circle.

The elder daughter again came hastily back into the room, uneasy at not having found her sister. They were anxious about her, and blamed her for this or that bad habit; only the father said, very composedly, "Let her alone: she will come back!" At this instant she really entered the door, and then truly a most charming star arose in this rural heaven. Both daughters still wore nothing but German, as they used to call it; and this almost obsolete national costume became Frederica particularly well. A short, white, full skirt, with a furbelow, not so long but that the neatest little feet were visible up to the ankle; a tight white bodice and a black taffeta apron,—thus she stood on the boundary between country girl and city girl. Slender and light, she tripped along as if she had nothing to carry; and her neck seemed almost too delicate for the large fair braids on her elegant little head. From cheerful blue eyes she looked very plainly round, and her pretty turned-up nose peered as freely into the air as if there could be no care in the world; her straw hat hung on her arm; and thus, at the first glance, I had the delight of seeing her, and knowing her at once in all her grace and loveliness.

I now began to act my part with moderation, half ashamed to play a joke on such good people, whom I had time enough to observe; for the girls continued the previous conversation, and that with passion and some display of temper. All the neighbours and connections were again brought forward; and there seemed, to my imagination, such a swarm of uncles and aunts, relations, cousins, comers, goers, gossips, and guests, that I thought myself lodged in the liveliest world possible. All the members of the family had exchanged some words with me, the mother looked at me every time she came in or went out, but Frederica first entered into conversation with me; and, as I took up and glanced through some music that was lying around, she asked me if I played also. When I answered in the affirmative, she requested me to perform something; but the father would not allow this, for he maintained that it was proper to serve the guest first with some piece of music or a song.

She played several things with some readiness, in the style which one usually hears in the country, and on a harpsichord, too, that the schoolmaster should have tuned long since, if he had only had time. She was now also to sing a song, a certain tender-melancholy affair; but she did not succeed in it. She rose and said, smiling, or rather with that touch of serene joy which ever reposed on her countenance, "If I sing badly, I cannot lay the blame on the harpsichord or the schoolmaster: but let us go out of doors; then you shall hear my Alsatian and Swiss songs,—they sound much better."

During supper, a notion which had already struck me occupied me to such a degree, that I became meditative and silent; although the liveliness of the elder sister, and the gracefulness of the younger, shook me often enough out of my contemplations. My astonishment at finding myself so actually in the Wakefield family was beyond all expression. The father, indeed, could not be compared to that excellent man; but where will you find his like? On the other hand, all the dignity which is peculiar to that husband here appeared in the wife. One could not see her without at the same time reverencing and fearing her. In her were remarked the fruits of a good education: her demeanour was quiet, easy, cheerful, and inviting.

If the elder daughter had not the celebrated beauty of Olivia, yet she was well made, lively, and rather impetuous: she everywhere showed herself active, and lent a helping hand to her mother in all things. To put Frederica in the place of Primrose's Sophia was not difficult; for little is said of the latter, it is only taken for granted that she is amiable: and this girl was amiable indeed. Now, as the same occupation and the same situation, wherever they may occur, produce similar, if not the same, effects; so here too many things were talked about, many things happened, which had already taken place in the Wakefield family. But when at last a younger son, long announced and impatiently expected by the father, rushed into the room, and boldly sat himself down by us, taking but little notice of the guests, I could scarcely help exclaiming, "Moses, are you here, too!"

The conversation carried on at table extended my insight into this country and family circle; since the discourse was about various droll incidents which had happened now here, now there. Frederica, who sat by me, thence took occasion to describe to me different localities which it was worth while to visit. As one little story always calls forth another, I was so much the better able to join in the conversation, and to relate similar incidents: and as, besides this, a good country wine was by no means spared, I stood in danger of slipping out of my character; for which reason my more prudent friend took advantage of the beautiful moonlight, and proposed a walk, which was approved at once. He gave his arm to the elder, I to the younger; and thus we went through the wide field, paying more attention to the heavens above us than to the earth, which lost itself in extension around us. There was, however, nothing of moonshine in Frederica's discourse: by the clearness with which she spoke she turned night into day, and there was nothing in it which would have indicated or excited any feeling, except that her expressions related more than hitherto to me, since she represented to me her own situation, as well as the neighbourhood and her acquaintances, just as far as I should be acquainted with them; for she hoped, she added, I would make no exception, and would visit them again, as all strangers had willingly done who had once stopped with them.

It was very pleasant to me to listen silently to the description which she gave of the little world in which she moved, and of the persons whom she particularly valued. She thereby imparted to me a clear, and, at the same time, such an amiable, idea of her situation that it had a very strange effect on me; for I felt at once a deep regret that I had not lived with her sooner, and at the same time a truly painful envious feeling toward all who had hitherto had the good fortune to surround her. I at once watched closely, as if I had a right to do so, all her descriptions of men, whether they appeared under the names of neighbours, cousins, or gossips, and my conjectures inclined now this way, now that; but how could I have discovered anything in my complete ignorance of all the circumstances? She at last became more and more talkative, and I more and more silent. It was so pleasant to listen to her; and as I heard only her voice, while the form of her countenance, as well as the rest of the world, floated dimly in the twilight, it seemed to me as if I could see into her heart, which I could not but find very pure, since it unbosomed itself to me in such unembarrassed loquacity.

When my companion retired with me into the guest-chamber, which had been prepared for us, he at once, with self-complacency, broke out into pleasant jesting, and took great credit to himself for having surprised me so much with the resemblance to the Primrose family. I chimed in with him by showing myself thankful. "Truly," cried he, "the story is quite complete. This family may very well be compared to that, and the gentleman in disguise here may assume the honour of passing for Mr. Burchell; moreover, since scoundrels are not so necessary in common life as in novels, I will for this time undertake the rôle of the nephew, and behave myself better than he did." However, I immediately changed this conversation, pleasant as it might be to me, and asked him, before all things, on his conscience, if he had not really betrayed me. He answered "No!" and I could believe him. They had rather inquired, said he, after the merry table-companion who boarded at the same house with him in Strasburg, and of whom they had been told all sorts of preposterous stuff. I now went to other questions: Had she ever been in love? Was she now in love? Was she engaged? He replied to all in the negative. "In truth," replied I, "such natural cheerfulness is inconceivable to me. Had she loved and lost, and again recovered herself, or had she been betrothed,—in both these cases I could account for it."

Thus we chatted together far into the night, and I was awake again at the dawn. My desire to see her once more seemed unconquerable; but, while I dressed myself, I was horrified at the accursed wardrobe I had so wantonly selected. The further I advanced in putting on my clothes, the meaner I seemed in my own eyes; for everything had been calculated for just this effect. My hair I might perchance have set to rights; but when at last I forced myself into the borrowed, worn-out gray coat, and the short sleeves gave me the most absurd appearance, I fell the more decidedly into despair, as I could see myself only piecemeal in a little looking-glass, since one part always looked more ridiculous than the other.

During this toilet my friend awoke, and with the satisfaction of a good conscience, and in the feeling of pleasurable hope for the day, looked out at me from the quilted silk coverlet. I had for a long time envied him for his fine clothes, as they hung over the chair; and, had he been of my size, I would have carried them off before his eyes, changed my dress outside, and, hurrying into the garden, left my accursed husk for him: he would have had good humour enough to put himself into my clothes, and the tale would have found a merry ending early in the morning. But that was not now to be thought of,—no more was any other feasible accommodation. To appear again before Frederica in the figure in which my friend could give me out as a laborious and accomplished but poor student of theology,—before Frederica, who the evening before had spoken so friendly to my disguised self,—that was altogether impossible. There I stood, vexed and thoughtful, and summoned all my power of invention; but it deserted me! But now when he, comfortably stretched out, after fixing his eyes upon me for awhile, all at once burst out into a laugh, and exclaimed, "No! it is true, you do look most cursedly!" I replied impetuously, "And I know what I will do. Good-by, and make my excuses!" "Are you mad?" cried he, springing out of bed, and trying to detain me. But I was already out of the door, down the stairs, out of the house and yard, off to the tavern: in an instant my horse was saddled; and I hurried away in mad vexation, galloping toward Drusenheim, then through that place, and still farther on.

Now, thinking myself in safety, I rode more slowly, and now first felt how infinitely against my will I was going away. But I resigned myself to my fate, made present to my mind the promenade of yesterday evening with the greatest calmness, and cherished the secret hope of seeing her soon again. But this quiet feeling soon changed again to impatience; and I now determined to ride rapidly into the city, change my dress, take a good, fresh horse, since then, as my passion made me believe, I could at all events return before dinner, or, as was more probable, for dessert, or toward evening, and beg my forgiveness.

I was just about to put spurs to my horse to execute this plan, when another, and, as seemed to me, very happy thought, passed through my mind. In the tavern at Drusenheim, the day before, I had noticed a son of the landlord very nicely dressed, who, early this morning, being busied about his rural arrangements, had saluted me from his courtyard. He was of my figure, and had for the moment reminded me of myself. No sooner thought than done! My horse was hardly turned round, when I found myself in Drusenheim: I brought him into the stable, and in a few words made the fellow my proposal, namely, that he should lend me his clothes, as I had something merry on foot at Sesenheim. I had no need to talk long: he agreed to the proposition with joy, and praised me for wishing to make some sport for the Mamsells; they were, he said, such capital people, especially Mamselle Reikchen;^[3] and the parents, too, liked to see everything go on merrily and pleasantly. He looked at me attentively; and as from my appearance he might have taken me for a poor starveling, he said, "If you wish to insinuate yourself, this is the right way." In the meanwhile we had already proceeded far in our toilet: and, properly speaking, he should not have trusted me with his holiday clothes on the strength of mine; but he was honest-hearted, and, moreover, had my horse in his stable. I soon stood there smart enough, gave myself a consequential air, and my friend seemed to regard his counterpart with complacency. "Topp,^[4] Mr. Brother!" said he, giving me his hand, which I grasped heartily: "don't come too near my girl; she might make a mistake!"

My hair, which had now its full growth again, I could part at the top, much like his: and, as I looked at him repeatedly, I found it comical moderately to imitate his thicker eyebrows with a burnt cork, and bring mine nearer together in the middle; so that, with my enigmatical intentions, I might make myself an external riddle likewise. "Now, have you not," said I, as he handed me his beribboned hat, "something or other to be done at the parsonage, that I might announce myself there in a natural manner?" "Very well," replied he; "but then, you must wait two hours yet. There is a woman confined at our house: I will offer to take the cake to the parson's wife^[5] and you may carry it over. Pride must pay its penalty, and so must a joke." I resolved to wait; but these two hours were infinitely long, and I was dying with impatience when the third hour passed before the cake came out of the oven. At last I got it quite hot, and hastened away with my credentials in the most beautiful sunshine, accompanied for a distance by my counterpart, who promised to come after me in the evening and bring me my clothes. This, however, I briskly declined, and stipulated that I should deliver up to him his own.

I had not skipped far with my present, which I carried in a neat tied-up napkin, when, in the distance, I saw my friend coming toward me with the two ladies. My heart was uneasy, which was certainly unsuitable underneath this jacket. I stood still, took breath, and tried to consider how I should begin: and now only I noticed that the nature of the ground was very much in my favour; for they were walking on the other side of the brook, which, together with the strips of meadow through which it ran, kept the two foot-paths pretty far apart. When they were just opposite to me, Frederica, who had already perceived me long before, cried, "George, what are you bringing there?" I was clever enough to cover my face with my hat, which I took off, while I held up the loaded napkin high in the air. "A christening-cake!" cried she at that: "how is your sister?" "Well,"^[6] said I; for I tried to talk in a strange dialect, if not exactly in the Alsatian. "Carry it to the house," said the elder, "and, if you do not find my mother, give it to the maid; but wait for us, we shall soon be back,—do you hear?" I hastened along my path in the joyous feeling of the best hope, that, as the beginning was so lucky, all would go off well; and I had soon reached the parsonage. I found nobody, either in the house or in the kitchen; I did not wish to disturb the old gentleman, whom I might suppose busy in the study; I therefore sat down on the bench before the door, with the cake beside me, and pressed my hat upon my face.

I cannot easily recall a more pleasant sensation. To sit again on this threshold, across which, a short time before, I had blundered out in despair; to have seen her already again; to have already heard again her dear voice, so soon after my chagrin had pictured to me a long separation; every moment to be expecting herself and a discovery, at which my heart throbbed, and yet, in this ambiguous case, a discovery without shame; for at the very beginning it was a merrier prank than any of those they had laughed at so much yesterday. Love and necessity are the best masters: they both acted together here, and their pupil was not unworthy of them.

But the maid came stepping out of the barn. "Now, did the cakes turn out well?" cried she to me: "how is your sister?" "All right," said I, and pointed to the cake without looking up. She took up the napkin, and muttered, "Now what's the matter with you to day again? Has Barbchen^[7] been looking again at somebody else? Don't let us suffer for that! You will make a happy couple if you carry on so!" As she spoke pretty loud, the pastor came to the window, and asked what was the matter. She showed him to me: I stood up, and turned myself toward him, but still kept the hat over my face. When he had said something kind and bid me to stay, I went toward the garden, and was just going in, when the pastor's wife, who was entering the courtyard gate, called to me. As the sun was shining right in my face, I once more availed myself of the advantage my hat afforded me, and greeted her by scraping a leg; but she went into the house after she had bidden me not to go away without eating something. I now walked up and down in the garden: everything had hitherto had the best success, yet I breathed hard when I reflected that the young people now would soon return. But the mother unexpectedly stepped up to me, and was just going to ask me a question, when she looked me in the face, so that I could not conceal myself any longer, and the words stuck in her throat. "I am looking for George," said she, after a pause, "and whom do I find? Is it you, sir? How many forms have you, then?" "In earnest only one," replied I: "in sport as many as you like." "Which sport I will not spoil," smiled she: "go out behind the garden into the meadow until it strikes twelve, then come back; and I shall already have contrived the joke." I did so; but when I was beyond the hedges of the village gardens and was going along the meadows, toward me some country people came by the foot-path, and put me in some embarrassment. I therefore turned aside into a little wood, which crowned an elevation quite near, in order to conceal myself there till the appointed time. Yet what a strange feeling came over me when I entered it; for there appeared before me a neat place, with benches, from every one of which was a pretty view of the country. Here was the village and the steeple, here Drusenheim, and behind it the woody islands of the Rhine: in the opposite direction was the Vosgian mountain range, and at last the minster of Strasburg. These different heaven-bright pictures were set in bushy frames, so that one could see nothing more joyous and pleasing. I sat down upon one of the benches, and noticed on the largest tree an oblong little board with the inscription, "Frederica's Repose." It never occurred to me that I might have come to disturb this repose; for a budding passion has this beauty about it, that, as it is unconscious of its origin, neither can it have any thought of an end, nor, while it feels itself glad and cheerful, have any presentiment that it may also create mischief.

I had scarcely had time to look about me, and was losing myself in sweet reveries, when I heard somebody coming: it was Frederica herself. "George, what are you doing here?" she cried from a distance. "Not George!" cried I, running toward her, "but one who craves your forgiveness a thousand times." She looked at me with astonishment, but soon collected herself, and said, after fetching her breath more deeply, "You abominable man, how you frightened me!" "The first disguise has led me into the second!" exclaimed I: "the former would have been unpardonable if I had only known in any degree to whom I was going; but this one you will surely forgive, for it is the shape of persons whom you treat so kindly." Her pale cheeks had coloured up with the most beautiful rose-red. "You shall not be worse off than George, at any rate! But let us sit down. I confess the fright has gone into my limbs." I sat down beside her, exceedingly agitated. "We know everything already, up to this morning, from your friend," said she, "now do you tell me the rest." I did not let her say that twice, but described to her my horror at my yesterday's figure, and my rushing out of the house, so comically, that she laughed heartily and graciously: then I went on to what followed, with all modesty, indeed, yet passionately enough, so that it might have passed for a declaration of love in historical form. At last I solemnised my pleasure at finding her again, by a kiss upon her hand, which she suffered to remain in mine. Whereas she had taken upon herself the expense of the conversation during our moonlight walk, of the night before, I now, on my part, richly repaid the debt. The pleasure of seeing her again, and being able to say to her everything that I had yesterday kept back, was so great, that, in my eloquence, I did not remark how meditative and silent she was. Once more she deeply drew breath, and I over and over again begged her forgiveness for the fright I had caused her. How long we may have sat I know not, but at once we heard some one call. It was her sister's voice. "That will be a pretty story," said the dear girl, restored to her perfect cheerfulness: "she is coming hither on my side," she added, bending so as half to conceal me; " turn away, so that you may not be recognised at once." The sister entered the place, but not alone,—Weyland was with her; and both, when they saw us, stood still, as if petrified.

If we should all at once see a flame burst out violently from a quiet roof, or should meet a monster whose deformity was at the same time revolting and fearful, we should not be struck with such a fierce horror as that which seizes us when, unexpectedly, we see with our own eyes what we have believed morally impossible. "What is this?" cried the elder, with the rapidity of one who is frightened; "what is this? you with George, hand-in-hand! How am I to understand this?" "Dear sister," replied Frederica, very doubtfully, "the poor fellow. He is begging something of me: he has something to beg of you too, but you must forgive him beforehand." "I do not understand, I do not comprehend," said her sister, shaking her head, and looking at Weyland, who, in his quiet way, stood by in perfect tranquillity, and contemplated the scene without any kind of expression. Frederica arose and drew me after her. "No hesitating!" cried she: "let pardon be begged and granted!" "Well, then," said I, stepping pretty near the elder, "I have need of pardon." She drew back, gave a loud shriek, and was covered with blushes: she then threw herself down on the grass, laughed immoderately, and seemed as if she would never have done. Weyland smiled as if pleased, and cried, "You are a rare youth!" Then he shook my hand in his. He was not usually liberal with his caresses, but his shake of the hand had something hearty and enlivening about it; yet he was sparing of this also.

After having somewhat recovered and collected ourselves, we set out on our return to the village. On the way I learned how this singular meeting had been occasioned. Frederica had at last parted from the promenaders to rest herself in her little nook for a moment before dinner; and, when the other two came back to the house, the mother had sent them to call Frederica with as great haste as possible, because dinner was ready.

The elder sister manifested the most extravagant delight; and, when she learned that the mother had already discovered the secret, she exclaimed, "Now we have still to deceive my father, my brother, the servant-man, and the maid." When we were at the garden-hedge, Frederica insisted upon going first into the house with my friend. The maid was busy in the kitchen-garden; and Olivia (so let the elder sister be named here) called out to her, "Stop! I have something to tell you!" She left me standing by the hedge, and went up to the maid. I saw that they were speaking very earnestly. Olivia represented to her that George had quarrelled with Barbara, and seemed desirous of marrying her. The lass was not displeased at this: I was now called, and was to confirm what had been said. The pretty, stout girl cast down her eyes, and remained so until I stood quite near before her. But when, all at once, she perceived the strange face, she, too, gave a loud scream, and ran away. Olivia bade me run after her and hold her fast, so that she should not get into the house and make a noise; while she herself wished to go and see how it was with her father. On the way Olivia met the servant-boy, who was in love with the maid: I had in the meantime hurried after the maid, and held her fast. "Only think! what good luck!" cried Olivia: "it's all over with Barbara, and George marries Liese." "That I have thought for a long while," said the good fellow, and remained standing in an ill humour.

I had given the maid to understand that all we had to do was to deceive the father. We went up to the lad, who turned away and tried to withdraw: but Liese brought him back; and he, too, when he was undeceived, made the most extraordinary gestures. We went together to the house. The table was covered, and the father was already in the room. Olivia, who kept me behind her, stepped to the threshold, and said, "Father, have you any objection to George dining with us to-day? but you must let him keep his hat on." "With all my heart!" said the old man, "but why such an unusual thing? Has he hurt himself?" She led me forward as I stood with my hat on. "No," said she, leading me into the room: "but he has a birdcage under it; and the birds might fly out and make a terrible fuss, for there are nothing but wild ones." The father was pleased with the joke, without precisely knowing what it meant. At this instant she took off my hat, made a scrape, and required me to do the same. The old man looked at me and recognised me, but was not put out of his priestly self-possession. "Ay, ay, Mr. Candidate!" exclaimed he, raising a threatening finger at me; "you have changed saddles very quickly: and in the night I have lost an assistant, who yesterday promised me so faithfully that he would often mount my pulpit on week days." He then laughed heartily, bade me welcome, and we sat down to table. Moses came in much later; for, as the youngest spoiled child, he had accustomed himself not to hear the dinner-bell. Besides, he took very little notice of the company, scarcely even when he contradicted them. In order to be more sure of him, they had placed me, not between the sisters, but at the end of the table, where George often used to sit. As he came in at the door behind me, he slapped me smartly on the shoulder, and said, "Good dinner to you, George!" "Many thanks, squire," replied I. The strange voice and the strange face startled him. "What say you?" cried Olivia: "does he not look very like his brother?" "Yes, from behind," replied Moses, who managed to recover his composure immediately, "like all folks." He did not look at me again, and merely busied himself with zealously devouring the dishes, to make up for lost time. Then, too, he thought proper to rise on occasion and find something to do in the yard and the garden. At the dessert the real George came in, and made the whole scene still more lively. They began to banter him for his jealousy, and would not praise him for getting rid of a rival in me: but he was modest and clever enough, and, in a half-confused manner, mixed up himself, his sweetheart, his counterpart, and the Mamsells with each other, to such a degree, that at last nobody could tell about whom he was talking; and they were but too glad to let him consume in peace a glass of wine and a bit of his own cake.

After dinner there was some talk about going to walk; which, however, did not suit me very well in my peasant's clothes. But the ladies, early on that day already, when they learned who had run away in such a desperate hurry, had remembered that a fine hunting-coat (Pekesche) of a cousin of theirs, in which, when there, he used to go sporting, was hanging in the clothes-press. I, however, declined it, outwardly with all sorts of jokes, but inwardly with a feeling of vanity, not wishing, as the cousin, to disturb the good impression I had made as the peasant. The father had gone to take his afternoon nap: the mother, as always, was busy about her housewifery. But my friend proposed that I should tell them some story, to which I immediately agreed. We went into a spacious arbour, and I gave them a tale which I have since written out under the title of "The New Melusina."^[8] It bears about the same relation to "The New Paris" as the youth bears to the boy; and I would insert it here, were I not afraid of injuring, by odd plays of fancy, the rural quality and simplicity which here agreeably surround us. In short, I succeeded in gaining the reward of the inventors and narrators of such productions: namely, in awakening curiosity, in fixing the attention, in provoking overhasty solutions of impenetrable riddles, in deceiving expectations, in confusing by the more wonderful which came into the place of the wonderful, in arousing sympathy and fear, in causing anxiety, in moving, and, at last, by the change of what was apparently earnest into an ingenious and cheerful jest, in satisfying the mind, and in leaving the imagination materials for new images, and the understanding materials for further reflection.

Should any one hereafter read this tale in print, and doubt whether it could have produced such an effect, let him remember, that, properly speaking, man is only called upon to act in the present. Writing is an abuse of language: reading silently to one's self is a sorry substitute for speech. Man effects all he can upon man by his personality, youth is most powerful upon youth, and hence also arise the purest influences. It is these which enliven the world, and allow it neither morally nor physically to perish. I had inherited from my father a certain didactic loquacity; from my mother the faculty of representing, clearly and forcibly, everything that the imagination can produce or grasp, of giving a freshness to known stories, of inventing and relating others,—nay, of inventing in the course of narration. By my paternal endowment I was for the most part annoying to the company; for who likes to listen to the opinions and sentiments of another, especially a youth, whose judgment, from defective experience, always seems insufficient? My mother, on the contrary, had thoroughly qualified me for social conversation. The emptiest tale has in itself a high charm for the imagination, and the smallest quantity of solid matter is thankfully received by the understanding.

By such recitals, which cost me nothing, I made myself beloved by children, excited and delighted youth, and drew upon myself the attention of older persons. But in society, such as it commonly is, I was soon obliged to stop these exercises; and I have thereby lost but too much of the enjoyment of life and of free mental advancement. Nevertheless, both these parental gifts accompanied me throughout my whole life, united with a third; namely, the necessity of expressing myself figuratively and by comparisons. In consideration of these peculiarities, which the acute and ingenious Doctor Gall discovered in me according to his theory, he assured me that I was, properly speaking, born for a popular orator. At this disclosure I was not a little alarmed; for if it were well founded, whatever else I might have undertaken would have proved a failure, from the fact that among my nation there was nothing to harangue about.

1. The German word is "Koth;" and the whole object of the
   line is, to introduce a play on the words "Göthe," "Götter," "Gothen" and "Koth."—Trans.
2. That is, toward Germany. Germany is the land by pre-eminence.—American Note.
3. Abbreviation for Frederica.—Trans.
4. The exclamation used on striking a bargain. It is, we believe, employed by some trades in England.—Trans.
5. The general custom of the country villages in Protestant Germany on such interesting occasions.—American Note.
6. In the original his answer is "Guet," for "Gut."—Trans.
7. Diminutive of Barbara.—Trans.
8. This is introduced in "Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjahre."—Trans.