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FRAGMENTS 
 
 FROM 
 
 GERMAN PROSE WRITERS. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/fragmentsfromger0-1aust_0 
 
FRAGMENTS 
 
 FROM 
 
 GERMAN PROSE WRITERS. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 SARAH AUSTIN. 
 
 WITH 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 No. 200 Broadway. 
 
 1841. 
 
CAMBRIDGE: 
 FOLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON, 
 
 PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
ML 
 Jwrz~ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I cannot send this little volume into the world with- 
 out cautioning my readers against a misapprehen- 
 sion of its character and purpose. It would be un- 
 just to German literature to regard it as a selection. 
 That word implies more of choice and order than I 
 have been able to bestow. Many of these fragments 
 were translated some years ago from books which 
 chance threw in my way, and without any view to 
 their publication; they were given to friends, who 
 were curious to known what inducement there was 
 to study the German language, and thus found their 
 way into several numbers of a magazine. It has 
 been frequently suggested to me, that a reprint of 
 them, with additions, in a more convenient and du- 
 rable form, would not be unacceptable to the Eng- 
 lish public, among whom a curiosity concerning 
 the matter and form of German literature is great- 
 
vi 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ly increased and increasing. Upon this suggestion I 
 have at length acted, though not without many mis- 
 givings. 
 
 Germany and its literature open a new world to 
 one accustomed only to the habits and the opinions 
 of England. They present trains of thought as for- 
 eign to those with which we are familiar, as their 
 forms of language are to our modes of expression. 
 This great dissimilarity affords, as may readily be 
 imagined, ample scope for the misconceptions and 
 misrepresentations of ill-informed, prejudiced, and 
 uncandid readers ; indeed, renders it very difficult 
 for the most candid and enlightened to avoid them, 
 without a far more intimate knowledge of the coun- 
 try than foreigners can usually acquire. And ac- 
 cordingly, such misconceptions and misrepresenta- 
 tions do very widely prevail. 
 
 It may be said that this is an inconvenience under 
 which all nations labor with respect to each other. 
 To a certain extent that is true ; but it admits of 
 modifications from the peculiarities of national char- 
 acter. Few, I imagine, will assert that the ener- 
 getic and practical English mind has that plasticity 
 which enables it to place itself in the very circum- 
 stances of another, and, as it were, to adopt trains 
 of thought, associations and images, wholly unlike 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 vii 
 
 the accustomed ones. We are astonished at devia- 
 tions from our own standard, and readily conclude 
 that all that is unwonted is wrong. On the other 
 hand, there is no quality for which Germans are more 
 remarkable, than for their power of complete self- 
 transplantation (if I may use the word) to that point 
 of view whence another looks upon the world, and 
 of fair appreciation of varieties in thought, expres- 
 sion, and action. Hence their preeminent success as 
 translators ; and hence the universality of their liter- 
 ature, in which every nation may find itself candidly 
 judged and faithfully reflected. From these causes 
 it follows that German writers have less chance of 
 being understood here, than ours in Germany. 
 
 I have been the more inclined to submit to the 
 public these slight results of a desultory reading, 
 from the hope that they may contribute a little to 
 correct the extravagant notions which have long 
 been current in this country as to the general char- 
 acter of German literature. In some places it has 
 been represented as all composed of cloudy philoso- 
 phy, dull pedantry, or romantic horrors ; in others, 
 as deformed throughout by whining sentimentality, 
 impurity, or irreligion. That, in the multitudinous 
 offspring of the German press, some of each of 
 these misshapen productions are to be found, we 
 
viii 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 shall be little inclined to doubt, if we consider the 
 disgusting shapes assumed by portions of our own 
 literature ; but that a sound-hearted and intelligent 
 country gives birth to nothing else, is as little con- 
 sistent with probability as it is with truth. 
 
 These strange misrepresentations are, it is true, 
 no longer listened to by the more instructed portion 
 of society. The translations and criticisms of some 
 of the valuable works which Germany has con- 
 tributed to every branch of knowledge, but espe- 
 cially to philology and history, and still better, the 
 study of the originals, have produced a vast and 
 increasing change in the more cultivated part of 
 public opinion. But though it is rather the fashion 
 now to talk with a vague admiration of German 
 literature, we are very far as yet from that intimate 
 knowledge of it, upon which alone a just estimate 
 of its merits can be founded. 
 
 It must of course be difficult, if not impossible, 
 to characterize an entire national literature ; and 
 I am far from imagining myself in any way quali- 
 fied for such a task. But if I were called upon to 
 point out the quality which strikes me as the most 
 prominent and pervading in that of Germany, I 
 should say it is earnestness. I have ventured to 
 express an opinion that wit and humor are not the 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ix 
 
 strong points of German writers. Happily for them- 
 selves and the world, they are even less successful 
 in persiflage. Still more happily, they seem con- 
 scious of this ; few of them attempt a style of 
 writing in which the French display their inimitable 
 finesse and lightness of touch, and other nations 
 their bad taste and bitterness of feeling. 
 
 What has elsewhere been said of Goethe's writ- 
 ings is, I think, true of German literature generally, 
 — that it is suggestive. Those who wish to close 
 a book with the comfortable feeling that no new 
 idea has been suggested, and no old one disturbed, 
 will regard this as very questionable praise; but 
 those who read in order to be made to think, will, I 
 hope, derive some satisfaction even from the frag- 
 ments thus loosely thrown together. 
 
 The choice of these passages has been deter- 
 mined by considerations as various as their charac- 
 ter and their subjects. In some it was the value of 
 the matter, in others the beauty of the form, that 
 struck me ; in some the vigorous, unaffected good 
 sense, in others the fantastic or mystical charm. 
 Some recalled familiar trains of thought, which 
 meet one in a foreign literature like old friends in 
 a far country ; others suggested ideas altogether new 
 and strange. My readers must, therefore, apply 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 measures as different as those which I have used, 
 and by no means ascribe to me the intention of 
 recommending every opinion to their unqualified 
 assent, or every passage to their unqualified admi- 
 ration. 
 
 Still less must they imagine that this little collec- 
 tion is intended to serve as a guide for the student in 
 the choice of books. Against such a misconception I 
 must earnestly protest. Though some of the pas- 
 sages are but samples of the excellence of the store 
 whence they are taken, others may be regarded as 
 the rare flowers plucked from a field otherwise 
 nearly barren or overgrown with weeds. 
 
 I have too much experience of the indulgence of 
 German readers not to feel assured that, if this little 
 book finds its way among them, it will be treated 
 better than it deserves. They will, I hope, discover 
 in it the same anxiety to interpret their writers 
 faithfully, for which they have already given me 
 credit, and which they will accept as an atonement 
 for many deficiencies. 
 
 But I am perfectly aware how defective and plan- 
 less such a collection must appear to them ; how 
 many of their greatest names they will miss ; how 
 painfully the confusion of dates, styles, and subjects 
 will strike such methodical compilers. When I see 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 .Xi 
 
 that the names of Winckelmann, Wieland, Men- 
 delssohn, Solger, Steffens, and others of equal or 
 nearly equal celebrity, do not even occur in my 
 list, — not to mention a host whose works are 
 worthy of mention, and would afford volumes of 
 striking and agreeable extracts, — I feel as if I 
 merited some reproaches from Germany. But, I 
 must repeat, I have had no extensive access to Ger- 
 man books, and have taken what fell in my way. 
 I had translated, or marked for translation, several 
 longer passages, or entire essays ; such as Alex. v. 
 Humboldt's "Physiognomy of Plants;" the intro- 
 duction to Grimm's " German Mythology ; " J. von 
 Miiller's " Battle of Sempach ; " the " Death of Con- 
 radin " from Raumer's " Hohenstauffen ; " the por- 
 trait of Charles the Fifth from Ranke's " Fiirsten und 
 Volker" (Sovereigns and Subjects), and others; 
 but I found that I should far exceed the limits of 
 this little volume, which is all I can venture to rec- 
 ommend to the indulgence of the English public. 
 
 I have added a few notes at the end, which re- 
 quire a more serious apology than any defects of 
 selection or translation, since they contain the ex- 
 pression of some opinions of my own. These I am 
 always reluctant to intrude on the public. But I 
 was repeatedly assured that such an index raisonne 
 
» 
 
 xii PREFACE. 
 
 was absolutely necessary to the English reader, un- 
 acquainted with the names and characters of the 
 writers I have quoted, or with the tendencies of the 
 schools or classes to which they belong ; and I have 
 been betrayed into much more of general commen- 
 tary than I contemplated when I began. 
 
 I have endeavoured to supply the biographical 
 and critical details from sources deserving of credit. 
 
 S. A. 
 
 London, April 21, 1841. 
 
FRAGMENTS 
 
 FROM 
 
 GERMAN PROSE WRITERS. 
 
 GERMANY. 
 
 Surrounded by the nations which have the chief 
 and foremost influence on the condition and desti- 
 nies of mankind, lies our Fatherland; strong against 
 all, formidable to most, in six hundred thousand 
 warriors, who have seldom been equalled, and nev- 
 er excelled. For whomsoever, or for whatsoever 
 cause, they lake up arms, whoever be their leader, 
 with them rests the balance of political power, the 
 liberties of Europe, the welfare of the human race. 
 
 By Germans was the last universal monarchy 
 overthrown ; from among them proceeded the rulers 
 of the states which arose out of its ruins, in one of 
 whom, chosen by themselves, Europe recognised 
 the title and rank of Caesar ; while the abuse of 
 his power was mainly checked by the spirit of Ger- 
 man freedom. 
 
2 
 
 A country, more than twelve thousand square 
 miles in extent ; fruitful, yet rather in what minis- 
 ters to the necessities, than to the luxury and vo- 
 luptuous ease, of man ; fostering the growth of an 
 active and industrious spirit by her numerous towns, 
 and of high culture and civilization by her many 
 capitals ; sufficiently furnished with coasts and riv- 
 ers for commerce, yet not to such a degree as that 
 the mercantile spirit can ever become national and 
 predominant ; lying under a climate neither ener- 
 vating from heat, nor painful from cold, but of a 
 healthful mean, and thence producing an organiza- 
 tion of the human species equally removed from the 
 extremes of rigid apathy and effeminate sensibility : 
 a country peopled by men vigorous both in labor 
 and in enjoyment ; apt and intelligent in invention ; 
 inclining always to the useful, and patient in im- 
 proving and perfecting ; full of feeling for the beau- 
 tiful, and in the fine arts second to none, yet still 
 more successful in the investigation of the true and 
 in the accomplishment of the great ; remarkable 
 for good sense and for unwearied perseverance ; 
 obedient even to the most rigid military subordina- 
 tion, yet ardent at the name of freedom and worthy 
 to enjoy it ; a people capable of any thing, if they 
 have but sufficient pride to throw aside all imita- 
 tion, and be content to be German, — such is our 
 people, — such is Germany. 
 
 Johannes v. Mailer. 
 
3 
 
 As with artisans, so with the higher order of art- 
 ists, we see the most striking proofs, that man can 
 least appropriate to himself that which most com- 
 pletely belongs to him. His works leave him, as a 
 bird the nest in which it was hatched. 
 
 The lot of the architect is herein strange above 
 all others. How often does he turn his whole mind 
 and soul to the construction and perfecting of rooms 
 from which he must be for ever shut out ! The 
 royal halls are indebted to him for a splendor, the 
 full effect of which he is never to enjoy. 
 
 In the temple, he fixes an impassable barrier be- 
 tween himself and the Holy of holies. The steps 
 which he has laid for the celebration of the heart- 
 elevating mysteries, he must never venture to as- 
 cend ; as the goldsmith looks with distant reverence 
 on the sacred chalice, to the gold and gems of which 
 he has given shape and brilliancy. With the keys 
 of the palace, the architect delivers up to the rich 
 man all its conveniences and enjoyments, of which 
 he is never to share in one. 
 
 Must not this gradually estrange the art from the 
 artist, — that his work, like a full-grown child, no 
 longer reflects its influence on its father ? And how 
 much would the art advance if it were occupied al- 
 most exclusively with the external, which belongs to 
 all, and, in common with all, to the artist himself. 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 
 
4 
 
 The last, best fruit which comes to late perfec- 
 tion, even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness to- 
 ward the hard, forbearance toward the unforbearing, 
 warmth of heart toward the cold, philanthropy to- 
 ward the misanthropic. 
 
 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter. {Siebenkils.) 
 
 It is a coarse but very common misapprehen- 
 sion, that in order to represent the Ideal, an aggre- 
 gate of virtues as numerous as possible must be 
 packed together under one name ; — a whole com- 
 pendium of morality be exhibited in one man. 
 Nothing is effected by this but the utter extinction 
 of individuality and truth. The Ideal consists not 
 in quantity, but in quality. Grandison is exem- 
 plary, but not ideal. 
 
 A. W v. Schlegel. 
 
 The proper and characteristic duty of an instruct- 
 or of the people is the affording a good example. 
 The faith of his flock rests mainly upon his own, 
 and is, strictly speaking, little more than a faith in 
 his faith. His precepts ought to be delivered, not 
 as something learnt, as something speculatively 
 discovered, but as something drawn out of his own 
 inward experience, pince on this subject every thing 
 must be the result of such experience. If his life 
 
5 
 
 contradicts his precepts, no one believes in his ex- 
 perience. And even if he could support them by 
 such theoretical proofs as must compel conviction, 
 nothing of what he says is believed of himself in- 
 dividually. 
 
 Fichte. 
 
 Wherever, O man, God's sun first beamed upon 
 thee, — where the stars of heaven first shone above 
 thee, — where his lightnings first declared his om- 
 nipotence, and his storm-wind shook thy soul with 
 pious awe, — there are thy affections, there is thy 
 country. 
 
 Where the first human eye bent lovingly over 
 thy cradle, — where thy mother first bore thee joy- 
 fully on her bosom, — where thy father engraved 
 the words of wisdom in thy heart, — there are thy 
 affections, there is thy country. 
 
 And though it be among bare rocks and desert 
 islands, and though poverty and care dwell there 
 with thee, thou must love that land for ever ; for 
 thou art man, and thou canst not forget it, but it 
 must abide in thine inmost heart. 
 
 And freedom is no empty dream, no barren im- 
 agination ; but in her dwell thy courage, and thv 
 pride, and the certainty that thou art of high and 
 heavenly race. 
 
 There is freedom where thou canst live according 
 2 
 
G 
 
 to the customs and fashions and laws of thy fa- 
 thers ; where that which rejoiced their hearts re- 
 joices thine ; where no foreign oppressor can com- 
 mand thee, no foreign ruler drive thee at his will, 
 as cattle at the will of their driver. 
 
 This thy country, — thy free country, — is a 
 treasure which contains within itself indestructible 
 love and faith ; the noblest good (excepting reli- 
 gion, in which dwells a still higher freedom) that a 
 virtuous man can possess, or can covet. 
 
 Arndt. 
 
 .... This fickle, uncertain, capricious love of the 
 many, which a ruler often loses when he seeks, and 
 wins when he shuns it, is a thing certainly useless 
 and valueless, if not pernicious, since it always in- 
 volves the inclination to fall into the contrary ex- 
 treme. What is this empty and sentimental exhi- 
 bition of popular affection ? It is an illusion, — the 
 blunder of demagogy, which calculates only for the 
 moment, and fancies it can build permanent institu- 
 tions on what is utterly transient. It is not the love, 
 it is the confidence of the people which a prince 
 stands in need of. The assurance that he observes 
 their laws and usages, that he respects the rights of 
 property and the freedom of opinion, that he never 
 attempts to introduce by force innovations or devi- 
 ations from the established and the customary, but 
 
7 
 
 only with the consent of those interested ; this as- 
 surance is the important thing in our monarchy and 
 perhaps in every other. 
 
 Rumohr. (Deutsche Denkwiirdigkeiten.) 
 
 The party were about to rise, when Manfred 
 
 exclaimed, "Only this one bottle, my friends, of 
 delicious Constantia ; let each fill his glass, and 
 give a health, right from his heart ! " Ernest rais- 
 ed the liquid gold, and said, not without some so- 
 lemnity, "Health and long life to the father and 
 liberator of Art among us, to the noble German, 
 to our Goethe, of whom we may well be proud, 
 and whom other nations might envy us ! " All 
 touched glasses ; and when Theodore was about 
 to recall some recent discussion, Manfred exclaim- 
 ed, " No, my friends, no criticism now. Let us 
 unite all the joys of our youth, all that we have to 
 thank him for, in one remembrance at this mo- 
 ment ! " 
 
 "You are right," said Wilibald ; "the mo- 
 ment of awakened love must be sacred to love 
 alone ; and therefore let us unite with the recol- 
 lection of him that of Schiller, whose earnest 
 and grandly-aspiring soul should have longer tar- 
 ried among us ! " 
 
 " I drink this glass," said Anton, with emotion, 
 "to the noblest and kindest of spirits, — to the 
 
8 
 
 most amiable of old men, whom all good and pros- 
 perity attend, — to the sage who was never a sec- 
 tary, — to the child-like Jacobi ; may a gentle 
 destiny long preserve him to ijs ! " 
 
 "We close our repast solemnly," said Emilia ; 
 " it is impossible not to be touched by the thought 
 of so many beloved absent ones." 
 
 "Let us give ourselves up to this delightful feel- 
 ing ! " exclaimed Manfred with animation ; " and 
 therefore fill your glasses, and let us celebrate the 
 memory of our fancy-gifted, witty, and inspired 
 Jean Paul. Not him should ye forget, ye youth 
 of Germany ! Thanks be to him for his flowery 
 mazes and his wondrous imaginings ; may he in 
 this moment think kindly of us, as we recall with 
 emotion the time when he joined in our circle with 
 ready and delightful cordiality ! " 
 
 "Nor be the twin stars of the German firma- 
 ment forgotten," exclaimed Theodore, with un- 
 wonted earnestness, "our Frederic and William 
 Schlegel, who have excited and promoted so much 
 that is beautiful ; may the penetration and earnest- 
 ness of the one, the refined taste and devotion to 
 art of the other, be remembered by grateful Ger- 
 many to all ages ! " 
 
 "Be it then permitted," said Lothair, "to in- 
 voke a genius who has long since left our sphere, 
 but who may perhaps hover above us, if all hearts 
 call on him with deep longing and veneration ; — 
 
9 
 
 the great Englishman, the true and complete Man, 
 the lofty spirit, fresh in ever-during childhood, — 
 the one Shakspeare ! Be he, by us and our pos- 
 terity through all ages, praised, loved, and hon- 
 ored ! " 
 
 All were strongly excited ; and Frederic stood 
 up and said, "Yes, my dearest friends, as it is 
 through friendship and love that we are gathered 
 together, and by them are made one, recollection 
 brings around us all noble and true-hearted friends 
 from afar, and their hearts are, perhaps, even now 
 turned hither. But faith piously invokes the de- 
 parted also to our social pleasures, to our joys and 
 our festivities with longing affection and with tears 
 of gladness. And this is the worthiest crown and 
 consummation of our joy ; — death is no separa- 
 tion ; his countenance is not terrible : hallow then 
 these last drops to the beloved Novalis, the apos- 
 tle of religion, love, and innocence, the prophetic 
 dawn of a better future ! " 
 
 <c Women," said Rosalie tenderly, " are espe- 
 cially bound to be grateful to him." 
 
 Tieck. (Phantasus.) 
 
 The French stand in a strange position with re- 
 gard to German literature. They are precisely in 
 the case of the cunning fox, who can get nothing 
 out of the long neck of the jar. With all the 
 
10 
 
 good-will in the world, they do not know what to 
 make out of our things ; they treat all our produc- 
 tions as raw material, which must be wrought into 
 shape by them. How wretchedly have they dis- 
 placed and confused my notes to Rameau ; there 
 is not a thing left in its proper place ! 
 
 The English have put forth their " Living Po- 
 ets " in two thick octavo volumes, with short bio- 
 graphical notices ; I have been very industriously 
 studying this work for some time. It gives occa- 
 sion to highly-interesting comparisons. The most 
 remarkable excellences of all these poets are to 
 be traced to descent and situation ; the meanest 
 among them has Shakspeare for his ancestor, and 
 the Ocean at his feet. 
 
 Goethe. {Brieficechsel mil Zelter.) 
 
 The beau-monde of Paris was delighted with 
 Gessner's Idylls ; just as a palate sated and dead- 
 ened with high feeding and poignant sauces, is re- 
 freshed by a milk diet. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 POPULAR POETRY. 
 
 The position which Burger assumed in the pre- 
 face to the first edition of his poems, namely, 
 
11 
 
 "that popular poetry is the perfect, and, indeed, 
 the only true poetry," he has repeated in the sec 
 ond edition, thus modified, — "that the popularity 
 of a poetical work is the proof of its perfection," 
 and has endeavoured to establish it by argument. 
 If we look at all he has said on this subject, in or- 
 der to come at a clear notion of what he means by 
 the word people, we find that we shall obtain it by 
 running a sort of mean line through all classes, 
 comprehending within that word all varieties of 
 natural situation and capacity ; for with reference 
 to the educated and accomplished, there exists no 
 such average : the line between those who partici- 
 pate in scientific and conventional education and 
 those who are excluded from it, must ever remain 
 sufficiently broad and distinct. It is not, however, 
 easy to perceive why Poetry, to whom it is given to 
 express to men all that is highest and noblest, 
 should be condemned to adapt herself to mediocri- 
 ty, instead of addressing herself to the most ele- 
 vated and most richly endowed spirits, and leaving 
 the others to come up with her as they can. Bur- 
 ger did not understand rightly what he required of 
 poetry ; he confounded it with the very attainable 
 end which he proposed to himself in most of his 
 songs ; that is, to write for readers of various ranks, 
 and especially those of the lower and uninstructed. 
 
 Nor was any such wonderful condescension ne- 
 cessary for this purpose, as many have pretended ; 
 
12 
 
 for Nature distributes fancy and susceptibility with- 
 out regard to higher or lower birth : conventional 
 culture is required only for those kinds of literature 
 which represent pictures of polished social life, and 
 scientific attainments may be rendered unnecessary 
 by the choice of the subject. In this sense, it is 
 very possible to be a dignified and noble popular 
 poet. But it is not evident why every poet must 
 invariably address himself to a public so consti- 
 tuted ; why, for instance, he should not occasion- 
 ally set before himself readers whom Nature has 
 endowed with a philosophical eye, or education 
 made conversant with classical antiquities. What 
 he loses in quantity of effect, would be amply com- 
 pensated to him by its quality. How narrow would 
 be the sphere of poetry, what magnificent images 
 would be rendered unavailable, were Burger's po- 
 sition universally acknowledged ! His assertion, 
 "that all great poets have been popular poets, and 
 that what they did not write popularly was almost 
 forgotten in their lifetime, or ever received into 
 the imagination and the memory of their readers," 
 is expressly contradicted by history, — at least by 
 that of modern poetry, which is most to our pres- 
 ent purpose. Dante and Petrarch, the two great 
 fathers of modern poetry, are, in every sense of 
 the word, both as to knowledge and genius, as un- 
 popular as it is possible to be. Guarini, the great 
 link between the ancient and modern schools, is 
 
13 
 
 nowise popular ; and Shakspeare and Cervantes 
 appear so only because they satisfy the many with 
 strong emotions and gay images, and delude them 
 with a superficial intelligibility, while the deeper 
 sense, and an infinity of delicate allusions, remain 
 hidden from vulgar readers or spectators. 
 
 The question, how far Homer's rhapsodies were 
 originally suited to the taste and comprehension 
 of the people, or sung only for the noble and the 
 great, would lead us too far ; but it is indisputable 
 that the Troubadours and Minnesingers are by no 
 means entitled to the name of popular poets. They 
 cultivated rather a courtly and knightly style of 
 poetry, founded on the manners, views, and senti- 
 ments of the highest and most cultivated ranks. 
 We have, it is true, some specimens of the same 
 age, evidently composed for the pleasure and ap- 
 probation of the common people, and these form 
 the most striking contrast with the former ; indeed, 
 we find in more than one noble Minnesinger ex- 
 pressions of the utmost contempt for the lays of 
 peasants and burghers. 
 
 If Burger, by this sweeping demand for popular- 
 ity of style, which he subsequently defines to be 
 clearness and perfect intelligibility, only meant that 
 every poem ought to possess these qualities in the 
 highest degree compatible with the nature of its 
 subject-matter, this will readily be admitted ; with 
 the sole exception of those cases in which a veil of 
 
14 
 
 intricacy and obscurity contributes to make the 
 desired impression, and is thus necessary to com- 
 plete the effect. In the sense above mentioned, his 
 observation does not seem superfluous or unneces- 
 sary, since many of our poets have, by means of 
 dramatic and rhetorical artifices, clothed the most 
 commonplace thoughts in a dense mist ; a perver- 
 sity from which Burger is altogether free. But if 
 it is contended that perfect clearness is the essen- 
 tial requisite for popular poetry, this may lead the 
 poet into the most fatal errors. Our existence rests 
 on the Incomprehensible, and the aim of poetry, 
 springing as it does out of this " fathomless pro- 
 found," cannot be to solve all mysteries. The peo- 
 ple, for whom he has taken the trouble to versify, 
 on this point, as on many others, have held fast by 
 the true and natural feeling ; the desire to under- 
 stand every thing, that is, to embrace every thing 
 by the reason, is certainly a most unpopular one. 
 The Bible, such as it at present is in the hands of 
 the people, can be but very imperfectly understood; 
 nay, must even be very frequently misunderstood, 
 and yet it is in the highest degree a popular book. 
 Adapted to universal comprehension by our mod- 
 ern Exegetes, it will infallibly lose the greater part 
 of its popularity. The old hymns and psalms, es- 
 pecially the Catholic ones, full of the most daring- 
 allegory and mysticism, are highly popular ; the 
 modern ones which have taken their place, strip- 
 
15 
 
 ped of all imagery and all flights, perfectly reason- 
 able, and as clear as water, are not at all so. And 
 why is this ? Because in their mawkish monotony 
 nothing arouses the attention, nothing suddenly 
 strikes the feelings and hurries the reader at once 
 to a point which he can never reach by the aid of 
 formal instruction. In a word, he who wishes to 
 write for the people any thing which rises above 
 their daily wants, must be not wholly unskilled in 
 White Magic, — in the art of painting by words 
 and signs. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 It is only necessary to grow old, to become more 
 indulgent. I see no fault committed that I have 
 not committed myself. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 Beneficence is a duty. He who frequently 
 practises it, and sees his benevolent intentions 
 realized, at length comes really to love him to 
 whom he has done good. When, therefore, it is 
 said, " Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," 
 it is not meant, thou shalt love him first, and do 
 good to him in consequence of that love, but Thou 
 shalt do good to thy neighbour, and this thy benefi- 
 cence will engender in thee that love to mankind 
 
16 
 
 which is the fulness and consummation of the incli- 
 nation to do good. 
 
 Kant. (Tugendlelire.) 
 
 On the earth lay yellow faded rose-leaves, 
 
 and skeletons of nosegays, in which there was 
 more of sticks and threads than of flowers: it seem- 
 ed to me as if I saw the summer in which they had 
 grown and blossomed, lying withered at my feet; 
 and the evening joys which Sunday shed among 
 the villages; and many a youthful, high-breathing 
 bosom, from which (perhaps more brightly bloom- 
 ing than they) they had xiropped faded: and gladly 
 would I have put the summer, and its withered 
 joys, by their dead stalks into water and revived 
 them; and I looked at the tall sexton, to whom the 
 thing was nothing but a vexation, as he took the 
 broom and swept them away among the dry dust. 
 
 As we came down, and I trod, like death, over 
 the breast of many a strong mail-clad knight, and 
 his gently-supplicating lady-wife, I thought deeply, 
 but cheerfully, of the old by-gone Catholic times, 
 whose rostrum and whose theatre this place had 
 been. A Catholic church, as it now is, presses 
 the near image of the gloomy, ponderous middle 
 ages too heavily on my heart; but if its service has 
 ceased, then the dim, shadowy picture pleases me; 
 and I figure to myself indulgently, how many a 
 
17 
 
 fevered bosom here caught fresh air ; how many a 
 breathing sigh, how many a sanctifying prayer, 
 were uttered here; and how the poor people, sunk 
 in the deepest shaft of monkery, beheld, not indeed 
 the quickening sun of our living day, but, like 
 other miners, some star of the second day: — even 
 that is something. And I would rather dwell in 
 the dim fog of superstition, than in air rarefied to 
 nothing by the air-pump of unbelief, in which the 
 panting breast expires, vainly and convulsively 
 gasping for breath. 
 
 In general our century has destroyed rather er- 
 rors, than the moral sources of errors. Our mental 
 cataract is not operated on with the couching in- 
 strument, which removes it entirely, but only with 
 the lancet, which pushes it back into the innermost 
 part of the eye. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Titan.) 
 
 There is no more potent antidote to low sensu- 
 ality than the adoration of beauty. All the higher 
 arts of design are essentially chaste, without re- 
 spect of the object. They purify the thoughts, as 
 tragedy, according to Aristotle, purifies the pas- 
 sions. Their accidental effects are not worth con- 
 sideration. There are souls to whom even a vestal 
 is not holy. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel 
 
IS 
 
 What a conception of art must those theorists 
 have who exclude portraits from the proper prov- 
 ince of the fine arts ! It is exactly as if we denied 
 that to be poetry, in which the poet celebrates the 
 woman he really loves. Portraiture is the basis 
 and the touchstone of historic painting. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 After all, the noblest and most beautiful monu- 
 ment to the memory of a man, must ever be a like- 
 ness of him. This gives a more perfect idea of 
 what he was than any thing else can; it is the best 
 text to few notes, or to many; only it ought to be 
 taken in his best years, — and this is commonly 
 neglected. Nobody thinks of seizing the living 
 forms; and even when this is done, it is done im- 
 perfectly and inadequately. As soon as a man 
 dies, there is the greatest eagerness to take a cast 
 of him; this mask is set upon a block, and the 
 work is called a bust. How rarely is it in the pow- 
 er of the artist to reanimate it ! 
 
 The likeness of a man is wholly independent ; 
 wherever it may be placed, it speaks for itself. 
 We do not require that it should indicate the place 
 where his body rests. But si all I confess to you a 
 strange feeling of mine ? Even to portraits I have 
 a sort of aversion ; they always appear to me to 
 breathe silent reproaches ; they betoken something 
 
19 
 
 distant, departed, and remind me how difficult it is 
 to estimate the present as it deserves. Let us but 
 reflect how many men we have seen and known, 
 and acknowledge how little they have been to us, 
 how little we to them, — and what must be our 
 feelings ? We meet the man of talent without 
 conversing with him ; the scholar, without learning 
 from him ; the traveller, without seeking to gain 
 information from him ; the kind-hearted man, with- 
 out making one effort to please him. And, alas ! 
 this is not the case in transient intercourse alone. 
 Thus it is tl at societies and families treat their 
 most valuable members, — towns their worthiest 
 citizens, — subjects their best princes, — nations 
 their most eminent men. I have heard it asked 
 why we speak of the dead with unqualified praise ; 
 of the living, always with certain reservations. It 
 may be answered, because we have nothing to fear 
 from the former, while the latter may stand in our 
 way : so impure is our boasted solicitude for the 
 memory of the dead. If it were the sacred and 
 earnest feeling we pretend, it would strengthen and 
 animate our intercourse with the living. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 The critic of art ought to keep in view not only 
 the capabilities, but the proper objects, of art. 
 Not all that art can accomplish, ought she to at- 
 
20 
 
 tempt. It is from this cause alone, and because 
 we have lost sight of these principles, that art, 
 among us, is become more extensive and difficult, 
 less effective and perfect. 
 
 Leasing. 
 
 Every figure fashioned by the hand of art, every 
 character invented by fiction, has more or less of 
 life, and the claims and hopes of life. Galleries of 
 pictures and statues are the dormitories of a future 
 world. The historian, the philosopher, the artist 
 of that world is here at home ; here he forms him- 
 self, — for this he lives. Let him who is unhappy 
 in the actual world, — who finds not what he 
 seeks, — let him go into the world of books and of 
 art, — into Nature, that eternal antique, and yet 
 eternal novelty, — let him live in that Ecclesia 
 pressa of the better world. Here he will be sure 
 to find a beloved and a friend, a Fatherland and a 
 God. They slumber, — but in prophetic, signifi- 
 cant slumbers. At length comes the time when 
 every initiated of that better state sees, like Pyg- 
 malion, the world he has created and combined 
 break upon him with the glories of a loftier and 
 lovelier dawning, and his long fidelity and love 
 requited. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 The finest hair casts a shadow. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
21 
 
 The sun sinks, — and the earth closes her great 
 eye, like that of a dying god. Then smoke the 
 hills like altars ; — out of every wood ascends a 
 chorus ; — the veils of day, the shadows, float 
 around the enkindled, transparent tree-tops, and 
 fall upon the gay, gem-like flowers. And the bur- 
 nished gold of the west throws back a dead gold 
 on the east, and tinges with rosy light the hovering 
 breast of the tremulous lark, — the evening bell 
 of nature. 
 
 Jean Paul. ( Siebenkcts.) 
 
 We are near waking, when we dream that we 
 dream. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 If the world is to be held together by lies, the 
 old, whkih are already current, are just as good as 
 the new. 
 
 Lessing. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE TRADER IN SCIENCE. 
 
 Extract from a lecture, introductory to a course on Universal 
 History, delivered at Jena, 1789. 
 
 The plan of study which the trader in science 
 and literature proposes to himself is one ; that of 
 
22 
 
 the philosopher is another, and a far different. 
 The former, the only aim of whose industry is to 
 fulfil those conditions under which he may become 
 qualified for his post or profession and participant 
 in its advantages, who has set the powers of his 
 mind in activity only for the bettering of his exter- 
 nal circumstances and for the satisfying of a small 
 ambition, — such a man will, on the entrance to 
 his academical career, have no more weighty con- 
 cern than most carefully to sever those studies 
 which he regards as means of subsistence, from all 
 those which delight the mind as mind alone. All 
 the time devoted to these, he would think subtract- 
 ed from his future profession, and would never for- 
 give himself for the theft. He would turn his 
 whole industry in the direction of those acquisi- 
 tious which the future masters of his fortunes 
 wonld be likely to require at his hands, and would 
 think he had accomplished every thing if he could 
 meet these demands without fear. Has he run 
 through his academical course, and reached the 
 goal of his wishes ? He abandons his guide ; for 
 why should he trouble himself further ? His main 
 object is now to bring to view the treasures he has 
 accumulated in his memory, and at the same time 
 to use his utmost endeavours that they may not de- 
 cline in value. Every extension of the boundaries 
 of the science by which he earns his bread, is re- 
 garded by him with anxiety, since it occasions him 
 
23 
 
 fresh labor, or renders his former labors useless : 
 every important innovation or discovery alarms 
 him, for it breaks down those old school-formulse 
 which he had taken so much pains to acquire ; it 
 endangers the entire produce of the toil and trouble 
 of his whole previous life. 
 
 Who have raised so loud an outcry and clamor 
 against reformers as those who turn science and 
 learning into daily bread ? Who so carefully and 
 so effectually obstruct the progress of useful revo- 
 lutions in the empire of science as these men ? 
 Every spark of light which is enkindled by some 
 happy genius, be it in what science it may, renders 
 their barrenness and poverty visible. They fight 
 with bitterness, with malice, with desperation ; for 
 the forms and systems which they defend are iden- 
 tified with their very existence. Hence there is 
 no more implacable enemy, no more envious col- 
 league, no more zealous inquisitor, than the man 
 who has set his talents and knowledge to sale. 
 The less his acquirements reward him in and for 
 themselves, the larger remuneration does he crave 
 from others ; for the merits of the artisan, and for 
 those of the man of science, he has only one 
 standard, — labor: hence there are no greater 
 complainers than such men. Not in the deep and 
 hidden treasures of his own thoughts does he seek 
 his reward ; he seeks it in external applause, in 
 titles and posts of honor or authority. Is he dis- 
 
24 
 
 appointed of these ? Who is more unhappy than 
 the man who has cultivated knowledge with no 
 purer and higher aims ? He has lived, he has 
 watched, he has toiled, in vain ; in vain has he 
 searched for truth, if he cannot barter her in ex- 
 change for gold, for newspaper applause, for court 
 favor. 
 
 Pitiable man ! who with the noblest of all in- 
 struments, — Science and Art, — can design, can 
 execute, nothing higher than the artisan, with the 
 meanest ! who, in the empire of perfect freedom, 
 bears about the soul of a slave ! But still more 
 pitiable is the young man of genius, whose natural 
 disposition is turned aside by pernicious doctrine 
 and example into these miserable by-ways ; who 
 has suffered himself to be persuaded to concen- 
 trate his whole mental force upon this merely pro- 
 fessional perfection. He will soon regard his pro- 
 fessional attainments with loathing, as a mere piece 
 of botch-work ; wishes will arise within him which 
 can never be satisfied ; his genius will rebel against 
 his destination. Every thing he does, now appears 
 to him fragmental ; he sees no aim to his labors, 
 and yet he cannot endure their aimlessness. The 
 irksomeness, the insignificance of his employment, 
 press him to the earth, because he cannot oppose 
 to them that high and cheerful courage which ac- 
 companies only a clear insight into the objects of 
 research, — a confident anticipation of its success. 
 
25 
 
 He feels himself cut off, torn up by the roots, from 
 the universal harmony and connexion of things, 
 because he has neglected to direct his mental 
 activity to the Great Whole. The lawyer abhors 
 law, as soon as a glimmer of better culture throws 
 light upon her nakedness and deformities ; instead 
 of striving, as he ought, to become the creator of a 
 new and more perfect form, and to supply her now 
 discovered wants out of his own internal affluence. 
 The physician becomes disgusted with his profes- 
 sion, as soon as important failures show him the 
 uncertainty of his system ; the theologian loses his 
 reverence for his sacred calling, as soon as his 
 faith in the infallibility of his own system of doctrine 
 is shaken. 
 
 How far different is the philosophical spirit ! Just 
 as sedulously as the trader in knowledge severs his 
 own peculiar science from all others, does the lover 
 of wisdom strive to extend its dominion and restore 
 its connexion with them. I say, to restore ; for the 
 boundaries which divide the sciences are but the 
 work of abstraction. What the empiric separates, 
 the philosopher unites. He has early come to the 
 conviction that in the territory of intellect, as in 
 the world of matter, every thing is enlinked and 
 commingled, and his eager longing for universal 
 harmony and agreement cannot be satisfied by frag- 
 ments. All his efforts are directed to the perfecting 
 of his knowledge ; his noble impatience cannot be 
 
26 
 
 tranquillized till all his conceptions have arranged 
 themselves into one harmonious whole ; till he 
 stands at the central point of arts and sciences, and 
 thence overlooks the whole extent of their dominion 
 with satisfied glance. New discoveries in the field 
 of his activity, which depress the trader in science, 
 enrapture the philosopher. Perhaps they fill a 
 chasm which the growth of his ideas had rendered 
 more wide and unseemly ; or they place the last 
 stone, the only one wanting to the completion of 
 the structure of his ideas. But even should they 
 shiver it into ruins, — should a new series of ideas, 
 a new aspect of nature, a newly-discovered law in 
 the physical world, overthrow the whole fabric of 
 his knowledge, — he has always loved truth better 
 than his system, and gladly will he exchange her old 
 and defective form for a new and fairer one. And 
 even if no external shock should disturb his mental 
 structure, yet is he compelled by an ever-active im- 
 pulse toward improvement, to be the first to pull it 
 down and separate all its parts, that he may rebuild 
 it anew in a mere perfect form and order. The 
 philosophical mind passes on through new forms of 
 thought, constantly heightening in beauty, to per- 
 fect, consummate excellence ; while the empiric 
 hoards the barren sameness of his school attain- 
 ments in a mind eternally stationary. 
 
 There is no more equitable judge of the merits of 
 others than the philosopher. Acute and inventive 
 
27 
 
 enough to take advantage of every kind of active 
 power, he is also reasonable enough to honor the 
 author of the minutest discovery. For him, all 
 spirits labor ; to the empiric, their toils are hostile 
 and ruinous. The former knows how to make all 
 that is done or thought around him, his own ; an 
 intimate community of all intellectual possessions 
 prevails among real thinkers ; whatever one con- 
 quers in the empire of truth, he shares with all ; 
 while the man whose only estimate of wisdom is 
 profit, hates his contemporaries and grudges them 
 the light and sun which illumine them ; he guards 
 with jealous care the tottering barriers which feebly 
 defend him from the incursions of victorious truth ; 
 for whatever he undertakes, he is compelled to 
 borrow stimulus and encouragement from without, 
 while the philosophical spirit finds in its objects, 
 nay, even in its toils, excitement and reward. 
 
 With how much more ardor can the true lover of 
 knowledge set about his work, how much more live- 
 ly is his zeal, how much more persevering his cour- 
 age and activity, since each labor starts in all the 
 freshness of youth from the bosom of its predeces- 
 sor ! The small acquires magnitude under his cre- 
 ative hand, for he keeps the great steadily in his 
 eye, and all his conceptions are tinctured by it ; 
 while the empiric sees only minute details, — the 
 small, even in the greatest. Not what is his pur- 
 suit, but how he handles whatever he pursues, dis- 
 
28 
 
 tinguishes the philosophical mind. Wherever he 
 takes his station, whatever is the field of his activity, 
 he always stands in the centre of the Whole ; and, 
 however widely the object of his pursuit separates 
 him from his brethren, he is near and allied to them 
 by a mind working in harmony with theirs. He 
 meets them on that point where all clear spirits 
 find each other. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 Salt is a very good condiment, but very bad 
 food. This last sentiment comes from my heart. 
 Never do I feel more refreshed by serious passages 
 than when they occur amidst comic ones : as the 
 green spots amid the rocks and glaciers of Switzer- 
 land soothe the eye amid the glare and glitter of 
 snow and ice. Hence it is that the humor of the 
 English, which is engrafted on the stem of lofty 
 seriousness, has grown so luxuriantly and over- 
 topped that of all other nations. 
 
 A satire on every thing is a satire on nothing ; it 
 is mere absurdity. All contempt, — all disrespect, 
 — implies something respected, as a standard to 
 which it is referred ; just as every valley implies a 
 hill. The persiflage of the French and of fashion- 
 able worldlings, which turns into ridicule the ex- 
 ceptions and yet abjures the rules, is like Trinculo's 
 government, — its latter end forgets its beginning. 
 Can there be a more mortal, poisonous consump- 
 
29 
 
 tion and asphyxy of the mind, than this decline and 
 extinction of all reverence ? 
 
 Jean Paul. (Palingenesien.) 
 
 What are the aims which are at the same time 
 duties ? They are, the perfecting of ourselves, 
 the happiness of others. 
 
 Kant. ( Tug en dleh re.) 
 
 Could not a language fettered by convenances 
 like the French, be republicanized by an authorita- 
 tive decree of the universal will ? The dominion 
 of language over mind is manifest, but it does not 
 follow from thence that it is sacred and inviolate. 
 The assertion of such a claim is entitled to no more 
 respect than is now paid to the doctrine of the di- 
 vine origin of governments, which was formerly 
 maintained to be part of the law of nature. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 Among literary men, the gift of bearing to be 
 contradicted is, generally speaking, possessed only 
 by the dead. I will not go so far as to assert that, 
 for the sake of possessing it, we ought to wish our- 
 selves dead, for that is a price at which perhaps 
 even higher perfections would be too dearly pur- 
 
30 
 
 chased. I will only say that it would be well if 
 living authors would learn to be externally some- 
 what dead. The time will come when they must 
 leave behind them a posterity who will sever every 
 thing accidental from their reputation, and will be 
 withheld by no reverence from laughing at their 
 faults. Why can they not learn to endure by an- 
 ticipation this posterity, which every now and then 
 reveals itself, heedless whether they think it envi- 
 ous or unmannerly ? 
 
 Lessing. 
 
 Hate makes us vehement partisans, but love 
 still more so. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 LUTHER TO HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 Grace and peace in Christ Jesus our Lord be 
 with you, dear sirs and friends ! I have received 
 all your letters, and understand therefrom how it 
 fares with you all. That you may be aware how 
 it fares with us, I hereby give you to know that 
 we, namely I, Master Veit and Cyriac, do not go 
 to the Diet at Augsburg : we are, however, here 
 attending another diet. 
 
 For know that just beneath our window is a 
 rookery in a small wood, and there do the rooks 
 and jackdaws hold their diet. There is such a 
 
31 
 
 journeying to and fro, such a cry and clamor day 
 and night without any ceasing, as they were all 
 drunken ; and old and young chatter all at once, 
 that it is a marvel to me how voice and breath can 
 so long hold it ; and I would fain know whether, 
 in your parts, you have any such-like nobles and 
 cavaliers. It seems to me that they are gathered 
 together here from all the ends of the earth. 
 
 Their emperor I have not yet seen, but their no- 
 bles and their great merchants are for ever strutting 
 before our eyes, not, in truth, in very costly gar- 
 ments, but rather simply clad in one color ; they 
 are all dressed in black ; all are gray-eyed, and all 
 sing the same song, save with some petty differen- 
 ces of old and young, great and small. They reck 
 not of vast palace or stately hall, for their hall is 
 roofed with the fair wide heaven. The floor is the 
 bare field, strewed with dainty green twigs, and its 
 walls are as wide as the world's end. Nor do they 
 need steed or harness ; they have feathered wheels 
 wherewith they escape from the fire of their ene- 
 mies and avoid their rage. There are high and 
 mighty lords amongst them ; but what they resolve 
 I know not. Thus much, however, have I gather- 
 ed from an interpreter ; that they have in hand a 
 mighty expedition and war against wheat, barley, 
 oats, rye, and all manner of corn and grain, and 
 herein will many win knighthood, and do great 
 feats of arms. We also sit here assembled in diet, 
 
32 
 
 and hear and see, with great pleasure and delight, 
 how the princes and lords, together with the es- 
 tates of the empire, so gayly sing and make good 
 cheer. But especial joy have we when we see 
 with how knightly an air they strut, clean their 
 bills, and attack the defences; and how they gain 
 conquest and glory against wheat and barley. We 
 humbly salute them all, and wish that they were 
 all spitted on a hedgestake together. 
 
 I hold, however, that they are most like to the 
 sophists and papists, with their preaching and writ- 
 ing; for so would I fain have them all in a heap 
 before me, that I might hear all their sweet voices 
 and preachings, and might see how right useful a 
 folk they are to consume all that the earth brings 
 forth, and to while away the heavy time in chat- 
 tering. 
 
 To-day we have heard the nightingale for the 
 first time; for she would put no trust in April. It 
 has been right glorious weather all day, nor has it 
 rained at all, except yesterday a little. With you 
 it is perchance otherwise. 
 
 Herewith I commend you to God. Fare ye well! 
 
 From the Diet of the Cornturks* April 28, 1530. 
 
 The ideal of ethical perfection has no more dan- 
 gerous rival than the Ideal of the highest strength, 
 
 Malztttrken. 
 
33 
 
 — the most intense vital energy, — which has been 
 called (rightly enough with reference to the literal 
 meaning of the term, but very falsely as regards 
 that which we now attach to it) the Ideal of aesthet- 
 ic greatness. It is the maximum of barbarians, 
 and has, alas ! in these days of wild irregular cul- 
 ture, obtained very numerous adherents, precisely 
 among the feeblest minds. Man, under the influ- 
 ence of this Ideal, becomes an animal spirit, — a 
 combination whose brute intelligence possesses a 
 brute attraction for the weak. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 Ordinary people regard a man of a certain 
 force and inflexibility of character as they do a 
 lion. They look at him with a sort of wonder, — 
 perhaps they admire him, — but they will on no 
 account house with him. The lap-dog, who wags 
 his tail, and licks the hand, and cringes at the nod 
 of every stranger, is a much more acceptable com- 
 panion to them. 
 
 Merkel. 
 
 The heart of man is older than his head. The 
 first-born is sensitive, but blind, — his younger 
 brother has a cold, but all-comprehensive glance. 
 
34 
 
 The blind must consent to be led by the clear- 
 sighted if he would avoid falling. 
 
 Fred. Will. Ziegler. 
 
 The most reckless sinner against his own con- 
 science has always in the background the consola- 
 tion, that he will go on in this course only this 
 time, or only so long, but that at such a time he 
 will amend. We may be assured that we do not 
 stand clear with our own consciences so long as 
 we determine, or project, or even hold it possible, 
 at some future time to alter our course of action. 
 He who is certain of his own conduct, feels per- 
 fectly confident that he cannot change it, nor the 
 principles upon which it is founded ; — that, on this 
 point, his freedom is gone, — that he is fixed for 
 ever in these resolves. 
 
 Fichu. 
 
 One solitary philosopher may be great, virtuous, 
 and happy in the depth of poverty, but not a whole 
 people. 
 
 Isaak Iselin. 
 
 Is it then the involuntary sense of something 
 
 untrue which makes the world distrustful and in- 
 credulous of the genuineness of tender emotions 
 
35 
 
 and deep feelings ? Or is it from a general inca- 
 pacity to understand what love is, that it is gener- 
 ally ridiculed, and never mentioned but with a sort 
 of trivial irony, the vulgarity of which is almost 
 greater than its offensiveness ? The answer I 
 leave. At all events, there is nothing which so 
 cramps every flight of the soul, as the mocking 
 doubt of all that is unusual and elevated. This 
 necessarily begets falsehood, or (what is as bad) 
 that hard pride which contemns public opinion. 
 Offended earnestness, which can never tolerate or 
 forgive frivolous and empty jests, avenges itself on 
 folly and inanity by assuming an attitude of haugh- 
 ty defiance. 
 
 The great world, or, as it is called, polite soci- 
 ety, has put on a countenance of such youthful 
 gayety, that the smallest cloud of deeper emotion 
 necessarily disturbs it. There is nothing by which 
 a man makes himself more tiresome or more ridic- 
 ulous than by allowing what passes within him to 
 appear on the surface ; by suffering his real nature 
 to gleam through the forms of society. Now any 
 interference, whether kindly or offensively intend- 
 ed, with a man's personal relations, causes a sud- 
 den agitation which makes too forcible an appeal 
 to truth ; it cannot remain mute, it betrays itself. 
 In order to avoid the ridicule consequent upon 
 this, he must laugh at his own want of self-com- 
 mand. According as that is done with good sense 
 
36 
 
 or with grace, social hypocrisy acquires a tinge 
 either of the humorous or the attractive. But if 
 timidity and awkwardness are mingled with false 
 shame, and he endeavours to explain away and to 
 apologize for what was perhaps a solitary indication 
 of something really good, nothing remains but the 
 flattest commonplaces of the flattest persiflage. 
 
 Is it to be wondered that men of profound minds 
 withdraw with a contemptuous smile from fashiona- 
 ble society ? 
 
 Must this be so ? Must the higher classes thus 
 detach themselves from all others, like an isolated 
 piece of merely external life, which knows noth- 
 ing, and must know nothing, of the internal ? To 
 wrest things out of their connexion and series, is to 
 destroy them. When the fibres which unite a be- 
 ing are broken, it breathes no living breath, — it 
 becomes a caricature or a lie. 
 
 This state of things everybody has an interest 
 in preventing ; but especially women, whose voca- 
 tion it is to breathe over society a warm and vivi- 
 fying breath, and to render all isolation in it impos- 
 sible. This breath of apprehensiveness and enthu- 
 siasm, which discovers and fans every congenial 
 spirit even before it is conscious of its own exis- 
 tence, ought to pervade society, and to form a 
 more genial atmosphere, in which every bud and 
 flower of feeling is not doomed to instant death. 
 If the influence of the female sex is negative, it is 
 
37 
 
 yet of immense reality and strength, from the mere 
 fact that it acts by removing the barriers opposed 
 to the positive display of the intellectual nature of 
 man. 
 
 Women might at least tolerate the aspirations of 
 a lofty spirit, the developement of enlarged and 
 generous opinions, the kindlings of a living, vigor- 
 ous will. At least they might abstain from throw- 
 ing ridicule on the enthusiasm which is possible : 
 at least they might forgive youth if its quick fire 
 flames up above the low enclosures of the conven- 
 tional. They know not their own power ; they 
 know not how and whence they can elevate exist- 
 ence : they commonly know it not even in ^detail, 
 though they might, it should seem, observe how 
 powerfully one single intelligent glance of sympa- 
 thy, — the silent accompaniment and completion of 
 half-formed thoughts, — may act on the general di- 
 rection of the mind and character ; how the con- 
 viction of being understood and appreciated gives 
 wings to thoughts, and eagle pinions to exertions : 
 what it is to be able to look forward to praise and 
 honor, as a reward for every victory over low de- 
 sires. 
 
 There are eyes which need only to look up, to 
 touch every chord of a breast choked by the stifling 
 atmosphere of stiff and stagnant society, and to 
 call forth tones which might become the accompa- 
 nying music of a life. 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 This gentle transfusion of mind into mind is the 
 secret of sympathy. It is never understood, but 
 ever felt ; and where it is allowed to exert its pow- 
 er, it fills and extends intellectual life far beyond 
 the measure of ordinary conception. 
 
 How many have known and forgotten instances 
 of such awakening ! Why do women present an 
 attitude of cold fashionableness to a world which 
 they might win by their sweetness, and inspire by 
 their virtue ? Their light footsteps ought to touch 
 the earth, only to mark the track which leads to 
 heaven. 
 
 Madame de la Motte Fouque. (Die Fran der vornehmen Welt.) 
 
 There are souls which fall from heaven like 
 flowers ; but ere the pure and fresh buds can 
 open, they are trodden in the dust of earth, and 
 lie soiled and crushed under the foul tread of some 
 brutal hoof. 
 
 Jean Paid. 
 
 The artist belongs to his work, not the work to 
 the artist. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 Monastery of S!a Scolastica, Subiaco. 
 
 Somewhat more than a day's journey from 
 Rome, opposite to the luxuriantly garlanded ruins 
 
39 
 
 of the Therms of Nero, on the barren summit of a 
 rock channelled by primeval waters, stands, in tru- 
 ly claustral solitude, the eldest monastery of wes- 
 tern Christendom, — S. Benedicti ejusque sororis 
 S t3e Scolasticae virginis. Thirteen centuries bear 
 witness to the strength of a young and lowly girl, 
 who, penetrated with a feeling of the vanity of this 
 world even before she could have experienced it, 
 and led by protecting angels, felt herself nearer to 
 God here in her rocky cell, among serpents and 
 young eagles, than amidst all the majestic basilica 
 of Rome. 
 
 Breathing the pure fresh air of the mountains, / 
 under the blue sky of the south, you look down on 
 a valley through which flow the green waters of 
 the Horatian Anio, and beyond it the nearer hori- 
 zon is girded by a fourfold chain of wooded hills, 
 the loftier tops of which are adorned with pictur- 
 esque villages. You see the sun go down behind 
 the sere and barren wall of rocks. Here I have 
 once more had occasion to feel how tranquilly life 
 glides on in a cloister. 
 
 (MS. Letter.) 
 
 Be and continue poor, young man, while others 
 around you grow rich by fraud and disloyalty ; be 
 without place or power, while others beg their way 
 upward ; bear the pain of disappointed hopes, 
 while others gain the accomplishment of theirs by 
 
40 
 
 flattery ; forego the gracious pressure of the hand, 
 for which others cringe and crawl. Wrap yourself 
 in your own virtue, and seek a friend, and your 
 daily bread. If you have, in such a course, 
 grown gray with unblenched honor, bless God, 
 and die. 
 
 Heinzelmann. 
 
 The most agreeable of all companions is a sim- 
 ple, frank man, without any high pretensions to an 
 oppressive greatness : one who loves life and un- 
 derstands the use of it ; obliging, alike at all 
 hours ; above all, of a golden temper, and stead- 
 fast as an anchor. For such an one we gladly ex- 
 change the greatest genius, the most brilliant wit, 
 the profoundest thinker. 
 
 Lessing. 
 
 Of all thieves fools are the worst, they rob you 
 of time and temper. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 VOYAGE DOWN THE DANUBE. 
 
 Vienna, July 20, 1810. 
 I arrived here last Saturday, after a voyage 
 down the Danube from Regensburg which lasted 
 six days. The Danube, especially from Lintz 
 hither, is so rapid that the boat could make the 
 
41 
 
 voyage in three days at most, so that we lay to and 
 rested at night. A common passage-boat is de- 
 tained for days by the custom-house annoyances. 
 From Lintz downwards our boat made thirty miles 
 (German) in two half-days ; but I liked it all the 
 better, as it gave me an opportunity of looking 
 about and enjoying the view at my leisure. If you 
 have careful sailors, the multitude of whirlpools 
 (among which the Saurussel is the most magnifi- 
 cent) make the voyage a treat which I enjoyed like 
 an imperial banquet. 
 
 The build of such a passage-boat is so ludicrous- 
 ly slight that, even before you know the danger, 
 you go on board and look at it to see how the joke 
 is to end. It is all of deal cut with axe and saw, 
 like a sort of model ; without iron, cordage, can- 
 vass, tar, pitch, anchor, or any thing that is gener- 
 ally thought necessary to work a vessel. There 
 is a single cable for mooring ; — mast and sail are 
 out of the question, since the tub imitates the pro- 
 gress of the Israelites into the promised land. 
 The seams are stuffed with moss and regularly 
 sewed together with wire. It is about a hundred 
 tons burthen, a hundred and twenty feet long and 
 sixteen or seventeen broad, and is quite water- 
 tight. Our company consisted of an Irish doctor ; 
 a German engraver, who held extraordinary dis- 
 courses on art, and was bearded about the mouth 
 and chin after the fashion of the middle ages ; an 
 
42 
 
 apothecary, a butcher, a sword-cutler, a capuchin 
 monk, women, children, travelling handicraftsmen 
 and your humble servant. The artisans, who 
 were to pay little or nothing for their passage, 
 bound themselves to stand to the helm two hours 
 at a time in turns, but they were rather lazy about 
 it. In the cool of morning and evening I gave 
 them a hand, which made matters go on better, and 
 at last even the women and girls took a share in this 
 hard labor. A tailor had a dispensation, in consid- 
 eration of sewing on the buttons to our coats and 
 breeches and mending our linings and pockets ; 
 some of the girls washed our stockings and pocket 
 handkerchiefs. 
 
 This motley company was so gay and joyous 
 that the six days flew like six hours. The boatmen 
 had on board some of the best Bavarian beer ; meat 
 and bread and wine we could lay in fresh every 
 morning ; and in short we might have gone on in 
 this way to Peterwardin and wanted for nothing. 
 For my own particular, I was little tormented with 
 custom-house" plagues. 
 
 Zelter. (Briefwechsel mit Goethe.) 
 
 The most perfect specimens of ordinary women 
 have a very acute and distinct perception of all the 
 boundary lines of every-day existence, and guard 
 themselves conscientiously from overstepping them. 
 
43 
 
 Hence their well-known and remarkable uniformity. 
 They cannot bear excess, even in refinement, deli- 
 cacy, truth, virtue, passion. They delight in va- 
 riety of the common and accustomed. No new 
 ideas, — but new clothes. Fundamental monotony, 
 — superficial excitement. They love dancing, on 
 account of its light, vain, and sensual character. 
 The highest sort of wit is insufferable to them, — 
 as well as the beautiful, the great, the noble ; mid- 
 dling, or even bad books, actors, pictures, and the 
 like, delight them. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 This Ranz de Vaches at once awaked his 
 
 blooming childhood, and she arose out of the morn- 
 ing dew and out of her bower of rosebuds and slum- 
 bering flowers, and stepped before him in heavenly 
 beauty, and smiled innocently and with her thou- 
 sand hopes upon him, and said, "Look at me, — 
 how beautiful I am ! We used to play together. I 
 formerly gave thee many things, — great riches, 
 gay meadows, and bright gold, and a fair long para- 
 dise behind the mountains ; but now thou hast 
 nothing of all this left, — and how pale thou art ! 
 O play with me again ! " 
 
 Before which of us has not childhood been a 
 thousand times called up by music ? and to which 
 of us has she not spoken, and asked, — " Are the 
 rosebuds which I gave thee not yet blown ? " Alas ! 
 
44 
 
 blown indeed they are, — but they were pale, white 
 roses. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 Shame is a feeling of profanation. Friendship, 
 love, and piety ought to be handled with a sort of 
 mysterious secrecy ; they ought to be spoken of 
 only in the rare moments of perfect confidence, — 
 to be mutually understood in silence. Many things 
 are too delicate to be thought, — many more, to 
 be spoken. 
 
 JYovalis. 
 
 Extract from a Discourse on the Advantage of Dialects in the 
 Greek Language, spoken at Munich, October 12th. 1808. 
 
 The land of ancient Greece has indeed utterly 
 deserted those boundaries which formerly encircled 
 its free and intelligent inhabitants. The life of the 
 most vivacious and active of all people is extinct. 
 Her cities, once the resort of high and unequalled 
 virtues, the worthy abode of gods, the rich garden 
 of every art, are sunk into melancholy villages, in 
 which an ignorant and needy people heedlessly 
 build their hovels on the ruins of antiquity, without 
 any reverential sentiment, — almost without any 
 recollection of the heroic times of which those 
 stones yet bear witness. The ancient streams, 
 some of which still retain their former names, glide 
 
45 
 
 mournfully through a desert country ; the gods who 
 dwelt on their banks and in their grottos, have de- 
 parted from them, and the wondrous songs which 
 recounted the story of every fount and hill and 
 grove, to the ears of a free and susceptible people, 
 are all hushed. 
 
 Their strong and manly, their tender and grace- 
 ful language survives only in a faint and melan- 
 choly dissonance. But what that ancient land and 
 her degenerate inhabitants no longer afford, the 
 memory of the days of her glory still affords in rich 
 abundance. Still do the deeds of Grecian antiquity 
 live in all hearts ; still are the remains of her art 
 the joy of the world, — the possession of them the 
 pride of the conqueror ; still do the noblest minds 
 drink from the exhaustless fountains of her science ; 
 still are congenial spirits enkindled at the flame of 
 her genius : and as of yore her pious sons sought 
 instruction and comfort at the sanctuary of her ora- 
 cles, so does every noble mind, whose aspirations 
 the present fails to satisfy, seek comfort and tran- 
 quillity in the calm asylum of Hellenic wisdom. 
 Here does her language still bloom in the immortal 
 charms of its youthful and manly beauty ; and as 
 the spirit of Grecian antiquity reigns over the whole 
 domain of modern art and science, so does her lan- 
 guage breathe over us an air of higher and more 
 finished perfection. Wheresoever this vivifying 
 breath has been felt, it has elevated all minds, has 
 
46 
 
 unfolded the blossoms of beauty and ennobled the 
 tones of language. 
 
 Fr. Jacobs. 
 
 ROMAN ART. 
 
 As the whole collective history of civilized man 
 (with the exception of India) was now concentred 
 in Rome, so likewise was that of Art. But this was 
 solely the result of the political supremacy of Rome, 
 not of her artistical talent. The Romans, although 
 intimately allied to the Greeks, were made of 
 a sterner, harder, and less finely-organized stuff. 
 Their minds were constantly turned toward those 
 external relations of men by which their actions 
 are generally regulated and determined (or, as we 
 should say, to practical life) ; at first, more to those 
 which regard the community (that is, political) ; 
 afterwards, when freedom had perished, to those 
 which concern individuals in their intercourse with 
 each other, and especially to those grounded on the 
 relation of men to worldly possessions. To maintain, 
 to increase, to secure the res familiaris, was no- 
 where regarded so strongly in the light of a duty as 
 here. The careless ease, the playful freedom of 
 mind which, abandoning itself absolutely to internal 
 impulses, gives birth to the arts, was a stranger to 
 the Romans. Religion too, in Greece the mother 
 of art, was, among the Romans, both in her earlier 
 
47 
 
 form of an emanation from Etruscan discipline, and 
 in her later, when the deification of ethico-political 
 ideas prevailed, systematically practical. This prac- 
 tical spirit was however connected in the Romans 
 with a grandeur of mind which contemned every 
 thing petty and half-formed, which met all the ne- 
 cessities of life by vast and effective undertakings, 
 and hence maintained the glory of at least one of 
 the arts, — Architecture. 
 
 Ottfried Midler. (Handbuck der Arclidologie.) 
 
 I know not whether deluding spirits haunt 
 
 this spot, or if it be only my own warm and bright 
 fancy that gives every thing around me the hue of 
 paradise. Just before me is a fountain, to which 
 I am spell-bound, like Melusina and her sisters. 
 You go down a little hill and find yourself in front 
 of an arch, to which you descend by about twenty 
 steps, and there a spring of the most limpid water 
 gushes out from between marble rocks. The low 
 wall which forms its enclosure, the high trees that 
 overshadow it, the coolness of the place, — all con- 
 spire to give it the captivation and the solemnity 
 of enchanted ground. Not a day passes in which 
 I do not sit there an hour. Thither come the maid- 
 ens of the town to fetch water, — the most inno- 
 cent of occupations, and the most necessary, — 
 once the employment of kings' daughters. As I 
 
4S 
 
 sit there, the images of patriarchal manners live 
 and move before me. The venerable fathers of the 
 race meet and converse, woo and give in marriage, 
 and every fount and rill is the haunt of beneficent 
 spirits. 
 
 He who cannot sympathize with me can never 
 have known what it is to sit by the cool and gush- 
 ing waters, after the toilsome wanderings of a sum- 
 mer's day. 
 
 Goethe. (Leiden des jungen Werthers.) 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 " The blind Agnes was sitting by a clear brook ; 
 — I can never forget that evening ; the brook 
 glittered along the winding valley, and the stars 
 and the moon played in the pearly waves at the 
 feet of the blind girl, and either bank was fringed 
 with a thicket, the bowery home of the nightin- 
 gales. As I came nearer, — how was it, Her- 
 mione ? " 
 
 "You heard, then, a friend reading to her by 
 moonlight out of Thomson's c Seasons. 5 " 
 
 "And sweetly she read, but soft and low. At 
 my voice, — physiognomy to the blind, — the dark 
 one knew me and presented her friend to me, who 
 immediately lifted up her long veil. I had seen 
 her once before ; you must know where, reverend 
 Sir ? " 
 
49 
 
 " In a convent at which the emperor after- 
 wards suppressed. The recommendation of an 
 abbot, to whom I had introduced a priest who 
 could read mass more rapidly than any other priest 
 living, opened my path to the refectory, where, out 
 of all the nuns, who were generally too fat, only 
 one pleased me ; and she was neither the one nor 
 the other, for she was a novice, — this very friend 
 of the blind girl. I shall never forget that gentle, 
 pale, serene face, with a wooden trencher on 
 which were only lentils, set before it for mortifica- 
 tion's sake." 
 
 " So strange are we men ; I should much more 
 willingly see a lovely creature suffer, sigh, and 
 weep bitter tears from fruitless love of me, for two 
 whole days, than endure that she should have to 
 eat a miserable piece of ashen bread, or wear a 
 garment of humiliation or a girdle of hair-cloth, 
 or do penance by a walk of three miles on my ac- 
 count." 
 
 "Do you relate the rest, Hermione ; you had it 
 from me." 
 
 " You told me, further, that the good Agnes was 
 more cheerful than the nun, and willingly alluded 
 to her misfortune, which you would not have ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " Yes, for women speak, while we men are si- 
 lent, about griefs ; we always turn over the leaves 
 
50 
 
 of the romance of our lives, to get at the pleasant- 
 est pictures and the last chapter. But go on." 
 
 "The good girl hung a black gauze over her 
 dead eyes, out of consideration for others. She 
 always looked at you when you spoke, but it was 
 only the voice she sought. You asked her what 
 the British scene-painter of nature, (that was your 
 expression,) or, indeed, what a fine evening, could 
 be to her ? She said she enjoyed a cheerful day as 
 much as any one ; that the air was purer and fresh- 
 er, the song and call of the birds clearer, and the 
 gurgling and rustling of the brook and leaves more 
 pleasant ; and when all this entered her watchful 
 soul, she rejoiced to its inmost depths without 
 knowing wherefore." 
 
 " Who, then, can help being, as I am, ashamed 
 and repentant at the murmurings in which we often 
 pass a few cloudy days, when he thinks of the 
 contented spirit which is blessed even through all 
 its wholly benighted ones ? But blindness, though 
 a polar winter without day, in this resembles the 
 night, — that it softens and stills ; the blind is a 
 child whom its mother, Nature, has fashioned dark- 
 ling for the deepest tranquillity. Like a man in a 
 balloon, high above the clouds, the hermit-blind 
 knows only voices and sounds ; but the bewilder- 
 ing, gaudy shows of life, the low, hateful and hat- 
 ing forms, full of wounds and scars, are hidden 
 under the thick cloud which enwraps him." 
 
 Jean Paul. {Titan.) 
 
51 
 
 The noble merchant character, — the genuine 
 spirit of commerce, — existed only in the middle 
 ages, especially in the German Hanse towns. 
 The Medici, the Fugger, were merchants ; our 
 merchants, the greatest not excepted, are shop- 
 keepers. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 LETTER FROM JACOBI TO HEINSE. 
 
 " But what I most wish to tell you of, my 
 
 kind-hearted Heinse, and can least find words to 
 describe, is the infinite felicity I felt at being once 
 again in my own Pempelfort. When I drove into 
 the court yard, it was as if the gates of paradise 
 opened to me. In a moment I saw Betty, and be- 
 hind her Frank, Max, and Clara, flying toward me. 
 The two eldest, whom I brought home with me, 
 threw open the carriage-doors on each side and 
 sprang out to meet their mother. There was such 
 a rush and confusion of kisses and embraces, as if 
 we were all blind. In the midst of it however I 
 could hear my children exclaiming to each other 
 between their kisses, Do you know me ? Do 
 you ? and you ? Yes, you are such-an-one, and 
 you such-an-one. My name is Clara, — I am 
 Max. Meanwhile my brother and sister had join- 
 ed us ; and now the whole troop proceeded to 
 greet the old grandfather, who was deeply moved 
 and knew not how to support the joy. 
 
52 
 
 ct My delight increased every hour. For eleven 
 weeks I had had neither peace nor rest ; I had 
 been, — pardon my impudent comparison, — like 
 Orpheus torn in pieces by the Bacchanals. I had 
 longed for freedom and quiet with the most in- 
 tense, passionate longing. Here I find both, — 
 find them, surrounded with every charm. My dis- 
 tracted, exhausted mind is already, as if by a mir- 
 acle, collected, refreshed, strengthened. Yes, my 
 dearest friend, it was just as if I stood on the spot 
 whither all the departed powers of my life had fled, 
 and they thronged around me in a celestial dance. 
 My cheerful dwelling, which admits every ray of 
 sunshine, — my favorite garden, crowded by the 
 care of the sturdy Louis with all the late-blooming 
 plants of the four quarters of the globe, — all, all, 
 enchants me, and the longer I am here the more I 
 am delighted. I have been incessantly reviewing 
 my possessions, and I could not measure them. 
 The whole world was mine. Even the sun and 
 moon in the high heavens shine with so peculiar a 
 lustre on my own dear home, that it always seems 
 to me as if they belonged to it, — as if they were 
 mine, — like the ground, — like the trees I plant- 
 ed, — and as if the rest of mankind borrowed light 
 of me. Dear friend, and thus has it been with 
 me every day since my return ; and thus is it 
 again to-day. Even when my flowers are withered 
 and my trees stripped of their leaves, — when a 
 
53 
 
 gloomy mist clouds air and earth and robs me of 
 half the already shortened day, — even then I am 
 joyous and cheerful : I see in all these only the 
 quick-revolving year, and the approaching spring 
 which returns to me every time in increased beau- 
 ty, — yes, in increased beauty, dear Heinse ; — you 
 shall see it, if you will but come, and you shall 
 find my heart warmer, more frank, more open, 
 stronger, better. O ! what a shout of joy, if I 
 could but once more press you to it, — once more 
 have you and hold you ! " 
 
 Jacobi. 
 
 It is alleged that English and German tragedies 
 contain so many shocks to good taste. French 
 tragedies are one single and entire shock. For 
 what can be more repugnant to good taste than to 
 write and to delineate what is completely out of 
 nature ? 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 THE ARTIST TO HIS PUPIL. 
 
 My Dear Emilius, 
 
 I am anxious before we part to speak with you 
 once more, and to repeat to you in writing what I 
 have such countless times sought to impress upon 
 your heart still more urgently and distinctly by 
 word of mouth. That you were my pupil, sufficed 
 5 
 
54 
 
 to inspire me with a feeling of duty as to your 
 character and conduct generally ; for I cannot 
 separate the Art from the Man, who should learn 
 to reverence the whole of an existence dedicated 
 to her. 
 
 You know how I despise that so-called geniality 
 which regards the life of an artist as a letter of 
 license for every extravagance, for every offence 
 against morality and against what is most venerable 
 in civil society. There is no question but that the 
 rejection of all restraint excites the fancy, or that 
 the intentional and necessary abandonment of the 
 mind to every gay dream but too easily comes to 
 infect the whole of practical life. It is but too 
 sweet to float along unresisting with the stream: 
 But here the true strength of the man must be 
 proved ; it must be seen whether he rules the 
 spirits, and only permits them to display their pow- 
 er and activity within the circle he prescribes to 
 them, or whether he is possessed by them, and 
 whirled about in the frenzied mazes of an Indian 
 fakeer. 
 
 The first and most potent spell by which to ele- 
 vate their promptings into pure aspirations, is per- 
 severing industry. How foolish is it to imagine 
 that the earnest study of means cripples the ge- 
 nius ! It is only from a mastery of them that free 
 creative power can emanate ; it is only when fa- 
 miliar with all the paths which have already been 
 
55 
 
 trodden, and moving with ease in them, that the 
 mind can discover new ones. 
 
 For more than two years I gave you instruction. 
 All the experience that Heaven had permitted me 
 to acquire I have laid bare before you, with that 
 joy with which one spares a friend the labor one 
 has gone through one's self. Can I now part from 
 you with the tranquillizing assurance that you have 
 thoroughly possessed yourself of all this ? Can I 
 say, here stands one who has learnt his business, 
 and who can answer all the demands that the world 
 and circumstances may make upon his productive 
 talent ? Can I feel secure that the ground-work 
 is firm ? 
 
 Dear Emilius, you have so much acuteness, so 
 much ambition, so much talent, — you will sin 
 against God, your parents, art, yourself and me, if 
 you give yourself up longer to this dreamy intoxi- 
 cation ; if you do not learn to live for the world 
 and in the world with steadfast perseverence in 
 good, and with that order which alone gives war- 
 rant of a soul truly devoted to honor. Your uncer- 
 tainty, your disregard of every promise and every 
 engagement, is become proverbial among all your 
 acquaintances. It is the grace and glory of a man 
 to be the slave of his word. Delude not yourself 
 with the notion that you may be untrue and uncer- 
 tain in trifles, and in important things the contrary. 
 Trifles make up existence, and give the observer 
 
56 
 
 the measure by which to try us , and the fearful 
 power of habit, after a time, suffers not the best 
 will to ripen into action. 
 
 My dear Emilius, whatever pain the repetition 
 of all this may give you, it gives me much more. 
 You are become a part of myself, — you are so 
 near to me ; and must I again say such things to 
 you ? 
 
 But I commit you to Him who leads all to good. 
 In every life there are critical turns which deter- 
 mine the color of all the remainder. Let this be 
 such an one. Impose on yourself wants which may 
 call out your art ; place your honor in being inde- 
 pendent, and you will feel yourself richly indemni- 
 fied and rewarded for every privation. 
 
 I embrace you from my heart, and give you my 
 sincerest good wishes as companions of your way. 
 May you give the lie to all my fears, and hereafter 
 be able to reach out your hand to me from above 
 me. 
 
 Heaven's best blessings be upon you. 
 
 Your faithful teacher and friend, 
 
 c. m. v. WEBER. 
 
 (Hintcrlassene Schriften.) 
 
 Enthusiasm is always connected with the sen- 
 ses, whatever be the object that excites it. The 
 true strength of virtue is serenity of mind, combined 
 
57 
 
 with a deliberate and steadfast determination to ex- 
 ecute her laws. That is the healthful condition of 
 the moral life ; on the other hand, enthusiasm, 
 even when excited by representations of goodness, 
 is a brilliant but feverish glow which leaves only 
 exhaustion and languor behind. 
 
 Kant. (Tugendlehre.) 
 
 Every thing that tends to emancipate us from 
 external restraint, without adding to our own pow- 
 er of self-government, is mischievous. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 Was then the migration of tribes and the 
 
 consequent state of society in the middle ages a 
 necessary antecedent of our better times ? 
 
 Asia can resolve us this question. Why did not 
 free Greek states flourish in the track of Alexan- 
 der's expeditions ? Why do we see China, con- 
 demned to a melancholy stability, grow old in 
 eternal childhood ? Because Alexander conquer- 
 ed with humanity : because the small band of his 
 Greeks were lost among the millions of the great 
 king. Because the hordes of Mantchu were im- 
 perceptible in the huge territory of China. They 
 subjected only men ; laws and manners, religion 
 and the constitution of the state, remained victori- 
 ous. For countries despotically governed there is 
 
I 
 
 58 
 
 no salvation save in complete overthrow. Leni- 
 ent conquerors only transplant fresh tribes among 
 them, nourish the sickly body, and perpetuate its 
 disease. That the infected land might not poison 
 the healthful conqueror, — that the German in 
 Gaul might not sink into a Roman, as the Greek 
 in Babylon degenerated into a Persian, it was 
 necessary that the form which might be dangerous 
 to his imitative spirit should be shivered in pieces, 
 and that he should remain in every respect the 
 strongest, on the new theatre which he now trod. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 GERMANY, AS SEEN BY A POET. 
 
 In those days we had more remains of the 
 
 old times before our eyes. The traveller found 
 monasteries, ecclesiastical principalities, free im- 
 perial cities : many ancient buildings were not as 
 yet pulled down or ruined ; many works of elder 
 German art not yet torn away ; many customs 
 handed down from the middle ages yet remaining : 
 the popular festivals had more of character and 
 joyousness ; and at every few miles he found dif- 
 ferent manners, different buildings, a different form 
 of society. To see, to feel all these varieties, and 
 to bring them together into one picture, was for- 
 merly my project. To investigate what peculiar and 
 characteristic remains of painting, sculpture, and 
 
59 
 
 architecture our country possesses ; what are the 
 manners and constitutions of each province and 
 city ; to correct the misrepresentations of our mod- 
 ern, trivial history writers, to show what aspect of 
 nature surrounds each race of men, fashions it, 
 and is fashioned by it; — all this such a work ought 
 to accomplish. 
 
 I would defend, against vulgar jeers and gibes, 
 the noble race of Austrians, who, in their fruitful 
 land and amid their enchanting hills, preserve un- 
 changed their antique joyousness of heart; I would 
 praise the warlike and pious Bavarians ; paint the 
 friendly, sensible, inventive Suabians, in the gar- 
 den of their beautiful country ; the animated, gay 
 Franconians, in the romantic, varied scenery of 
 their province, of which Bamberg was formerly 
 the German Rome ; the intelligent dwellers along 
 the banks of the lordly Rhine ; the brave, honest 
 Hessians ; the handsome Thuringians, whose for- 
 est-clad mountains still wear the character and as- 
 pect of knightly times ; the Low Germans, who 
 resemble the true-hearted Hollander and the ener- 
 getic Englishman : — at every remarkable spot of 
 the land of our fathers would I recall ancient his- 
 tories. And thus did I think to wander amid all 
 the hills and valleys of our noble country, once so 
 flourishing and so great, watered by the Rhine and 
 the Danube, and the stream of old traditions ; 
 guarded by lofty mountains, frowning castles, and 
 
60 
 
 by the brave German heart ; garlanded with green 
 meadows, the abode of love and confidence and 
 single-mindedness. 
 
 Truly he to whom it is given in such a manner 
 to paint the country of his birth and his affections, 
 out of his own most deep and immediate feelings, 
 and wholly without affectation, — such an one will 
 have conceived a work of the most enchanting 
 poetry. 
 
 Tieck. (Phantasns.) 
 
 Modern poets put a great deal of water in their 
 ink. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 Not only is it very difficult to find truth, but 
 when we have found, we are forced to deny it. 
 
 Rahel. 
 
 THE HAKTZ MINERS. 
 
 Quiet and monotonous as the life of these peo- 
 ple appears, it is nevertheless a true living life. 
 The aged, palsied woman who sat by the stove, 
 over against the large cupboard, may have sat 
 there a quarter of a century, and her thoughts and 
 feelings have doubtless grown into every corner of 
 this stove and into every rude carving of this cup- 
 board. And the stove and the cupboard live, for 
 
61 
 
 a human being has infused into them a portion of 
 its own soul. 
 
 It was this life of contemplation, — of immedi- 
 ate perceptions, — that gave birth to the German 
 Miirchen*, the peculiarity of which consists in this, 
 
 — that not only animals and plants, but also ob- 
 jects apparently destitute of all life, speak and act. 
 To the thoughtful and simple people in the quiet, 
 contented privacy of their lowly cottages on moun- 
 tain or in forest, the inward life of such objects 
 revealed itself ; they acquired an indelible and 
 consistent character, a charming mixture of fan- 
 tastic humor and thoroughly human dispositions. 
 And so we see them in the Mdrchen, in which the 
 wildest wonders are told in the easy matter-of- 
 course style of daily occurrences : needles and 
 pins come out of the tailor's shed and lose them- 
 selves in the dark ; straws and bits of charcoal 
 try to cross the brook and are cast away ; the 
 shovel and the broom stand upon the step and 
 quarrel and fight ; the questioned looking-glass 
 shows the face of the prettiest girl, and drops of 
 blood begin to speak mysterious fearful words of 
 anxious pity. 
 
 * Popular story. We have not a corresponding word. Fairy 
 tale is too exclusive, since in those here especially mentioned 
 there are no fairies. Story or tale is, on the other hand, too gen- 
 eral, for the marvellous is a necessary element of the Marchen. 
 
 — Translator. 
 
62 
 
 From the same cause is our life in childhood so 
 infinitely significant ; at that age every thing is 
 of importance to us ; we hear every thing, see 
 every thing, and all our impressions are vivid ; 
 whereas at a later age we do every thing with de- 
 sign, and we lose in depth what we gain in exten- 
 sion of impressions. Now, we are grown up gen- 
 tlemen and ladies ; we frequently change our 
 dwelling, the housemaid daily clears every thing 
 away, and alters at her will the position of the fur- 
 niture, which has little interest for us, as it is either 
 new, or it belongs to-day to John, to-morrow to 
 Peter ; our very clothes are strangers ; we hardly 
 know how many buttons there are on the coat upon 
 our back ; we change our clothes as often as possi- 
 ble, so that not one of them remains connected 
 with our inward or outward history; — scarcely 
 can we recollect the appearance of that brown 
 waistcoat which once brought so much ridicule 
 upon us, and upon whose broad stripes the dear 
 hand of our beloved rested so kindly. 
 
 The old woman by the stove, over against the 
 great cupboard, wore a flowered petticoat of faded 
 stuff, the wedding garment of her mother. Her 
 great-grandson, a fair-haired, bright-eyed boy, 
 dressed as a miner, sat at her feet and counted 
 the flowers on her petticoat ; and she has most 
 likely told him many a grave and pretty story 
 about this petticoat, which the boy will not soon 
 
63 
 
 forget, which will often float before his fancy 
 when, as a full-grown man, he is at his dark and 
 solitary work under ground, and which he will per- 
 haps tell, when the dear old grandmother has been 
 long dead, and he, a silver-haired, feeble old man, 
 sits in the midst of his grandchildren, near the 
 stove, over against the great cupboard. 
 
 Heinrich Heine. (Reisebilder.) 
 
 .... But man is higher than his dwelling-place ; 
 he looks up and unfolds the wings of his soul, and 
 when the sixty minutes which we call sixty years 
 have passed, he takes flight, kindling as he rises, 
 and the ashes of his feathers fall back to earth, 
 and the unveiled soul, freed from its covering of 
 clay, and pure as a tone, ascends on high. Even 
 in the midst of the dim shadows of life, he sees 
 the mountains of the future world gilded with the 
 morning rays of a sun which rises not here below. 
 
 So the inhabitant of polar regions looks into the 
 long night in which there is no sun-rise ; but at 
 midnight he sees a light like the first rosy rays of 
 dawn, gleaming on the highest mountain tops, — 
 and he thinks of his long summer in which it never 
 sets. 
 
 Jean Paid. 
 
64 
 
 Within these few days the Vicar of Wake- 
 field fell accidentally into my hands ; I could not 
 help reading the charming book again from begin- 
 ning to end, — not a little affected by the lively 
 recollection how much I had been indebted to the 
 author seventy years ago. It is not to be describ- 
 ed the effect which Goldsmith and Sterne had upon 
 me, just at the critical moment of mental develope- 
 ment. That lofty and benevolent irony, — that fair 
 and indulgent view of all errors, — that meekness 
 under all calamities, — that equanimity under all 
 changes and chances, — and the whole train of 
 kindred virtues, whatever names they bear, formed 
 my best education ; and, in the end, these are the 
 thoughts and feelings which have reclaimed us 
 from all the errors of life. 
 
 It is remarkable, by the by, that Yorick in- 
 clines to the formless, while Goldsmith is all form ; 
 and accordingly I then gave myself up entirely to 
 him, because the worthy Germans had persuaded 
 themselves that the peculiar characteristic of true 
 humor was formlessness. 
 
 * # # # # 
 
 But I must now lead you into opposite regions ; 
 for I must briefly report, that, in the whirlpool of 
 the literature of the day, I have been dragged into 
 the bottomless abyss of horrors of the recent 
 French romance-literature. I will say in one 
 word, — it is a literature of despair. In order to 
 
65 
 
 produce a momentary effect, the very contrary of 
 all that should be held up to man for his safety or 
 his comfort is brought before the reader, who at 
 last knows not whither to fly or how to save him- 
 self. To push the hideous, the revolting, the 
 cruel, the base, in short, the whole brood of the 
 vile and abandoned, to impossibility, is their Sa- 
 tanic task. One may, and must, say task ; for 
 there is at the bottom a profound study of old 
 times, by-gone events and circumstances, remark- 
 able and intricate plots, and incredible facts ; so 
 that it is impossible to call such a work either 
 empty or bad. And this task even men of re- 
 markable talents have undertaken ; — clever, emi- 
 nent men, men of middle age, who feel themselves 
 damned henceforward to occupy themselves with 
 these abominations. 
 
 # # * # * 
 
 Every thing true, — every thing aesthetical, is 
 gradually and necessarily excluded from this lit- 
 erature. Victor Hugo's " Notre Dame de Paris " 
 strikes by the merit of industrious, well-applied 
 study of old localities, manners, and events ; but 
 in the acting figures there is not a single trace of 
 natural life. They are laymen and women, skil- 
 fully constructed after due proportions ; but, under 
 the skeleton of wood and steel, they are only 
 stuffed dolls, which the author handles most unmer- 
 cifully, — twists and tortures them into the strangest 
 
66 
 
 postures, — racks and flogs them, — tears them, 
 body and mind ; — it is true it is a lifeless, fleshless 
 thing that he mangles so inhumanly. All this is 
 done with extraordinary historical and rhetorical 
 talent and an undeniable vivacity of imagination, 
 without which, indeed, he could not produce such 
 atrocities. 
 
 Goethe. (Brief icechsel mit Zelter.) 
 
 Those who completely sacrifice themselves are 
 praised and admired ; that is the sort of character 
 men like to find in others. 
 
 Rahel ; Madame de Va.rnh.agen. 
 
 ASPECTS OF NATURE. 
 
 We stand in as many and as immeasurably dif- 
 ferent relations to nature as to man : and, as to the 
 child she shows herself childlike and bends be- 
 nignly down to his infant heart, so to the god she 
 shows herself godlike and attunes herself to his 
 high spirit. We cannot say that there is one na- 
 ture, without saying something excessive, exag- 
 gerated ; and all attempts to arrive at truth by dis- 
 cussions and conversations about nature, do but 
 remove us further from the natural. Much is al- 
 ready gained, when the effort fully to understand 
 nature ennobles itself into a longing, — a tender 
 
67 
 
 and humble longing, which even the cold, reserved 
 temper soon learns to delight in, if once it feels 
 secure of a more intimate acquaintance with her. 
 There is a secret attraction toward all points, di- 
 verging from an infinitely deep centre within us. 
 As wondrous nature, sensible and insensible, lies 
 round about us, we think every one of her features 
 an exercise of this attractive power, a manifesta- 
 tion of the sympathy which exists between her and 
 us ; but behind those blue, distant mountains, one 
 man seeks the home which they veil from his sight, 
 the beloved of his youth, parents, brothers, sisters, 
 old friends, dear recollections ; — another thinks 
 that, far on the other side, unknown glories await 
 him ; he believes that a future, full of life and 
 beauty, lies hidden there, and he stretches his 
 hands wistfully toward that new world. Some few 
 stand motionless and serene in the midst of the 
 glorious spectacle ; they seek to embrace it in its 
 fulness and concatenation, but they forget not in 
 the whole that radiant thread which runs through 
 and enlinks its parts, and forms the holy crown of 
 light ; such spirits are blessed in the contemplation 
 of this living and more than midnight depth of all- 
 pervading beauty. 
 
 Thus arise manifold ways of viewing nature ; 
 and if, in some, sensibility to her beauty is a joy- 
 ous sensation, — a banquet, in others we see it 
 transformed into the most reverential religion, giv- 
 
68 
 
 ing direction, support, and significancy to the whole 
 of life. Even in the infancy of nations, such deep 
 and earnest spirits have been found, to whom na- 
 ture wore the countenance of Deity ; while other 
 gay and joyous hearts thought of her only as a 
 host, at whose bounteous table they might freely 
 seat themselves. To them, the free air was a cor- 
 dial drink ; the stars, lamps to illumine the nightly 
 dance ; plants and animals, costly and delicate 
 viands : and thus did nature present herself to 
 their minds, not as a still and awful temple, but 
 as a plenteous kitchen and merry banqueting-hall. 
 
 In an intermediate class between these two were 
 others, whose view of nature, though differing from 
 the last, had yet reference to the senses alone. 
 These saw in actual nature only a vast, but as yet 
 wild and unreclaimed park or pleasure-ground, and 
 were busied, day and night, in creating patterns of 
 a more refined and perfect nature. They divided 
 themselves into companies for the accomplishment 
 of the great work. Some sought to awaken mute 
 and forgotten tones in air and wood ; others stamp- 
 ed their conceptions and images of more beautiful 
 forms on brass or stone ; built up from the rock 
 more stately piles for dwellings ; brought to light 
 hidden treasures from the clefts of the earth ; 
 tamed the wayward and lawless streams ; peopled 
 the inhospitable sea ; carried plants of long-known 
 and excellent virtue into desert zones ; checked 
 
69 
 
 the wild overspread of forests and tended the 
 nobler flowers and herbs ; opened the earth to the 
 life-giving motions of generative air and enkindling 
 light ; taught colors to blend and arrange them- 
 selves in beautiful pictures, and wood and meadow, 
 fountain and rock, to unite in one lovely garden ; 
 breathed tones into the living members, unfolded 
 their mysterious connexion, and taught them to 
 move in livelier and more joyous vibrations ; 
 adopted the defenceless animals which were sus- 
 ceptible of some touch of human culture, and 
 cleared the woods of those noxious beasts which 
 seemed like the monstrous births of a distempered 
 fancy. 
 
 Soon did nature assume a kindlier aspect : she 
 was softer, and more refreshing, and willingly 
 hearkened to all the wishes of man. By degrees, 
 her heart began to have a human motion ; her 
 fancies were brighter ; she became social, and 
 freely replied to the friendly inquirer ; and so the 
 golden age appeared to be gradually returning, 
 when she was the friend, the comforter, the priest- 
 ess of men ; when she lived among them, and her 
 divine society and intercourse raised them into 
 immortals. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 How did he long after the learning and the 
 
 teachers of whose existence he had a dim presenti- 
 
 6 
 
70 
 
 ment ! But so much the better ! It is only hun- 
 ger that digests, it is only love that fertilizes ; the 
 sigh of longing is the aura seminalis which must 
 quicken the Orpheus egg of knowledge. This 
 you bethink not yourselves of, you expeditious 
 teachers, who give your children drink before you 
 give them thirst, — who grant young souls no quiet 
 hours, — but, like unskilful vine-dressers, are ever 
 busy about the young vines, trimming, manuring, 
 and pruning them even in the season of their blos- 
 soming. And now, after having driven them 
 untimely, and with unripe organs, into the great 
 empire of truth and beauty, thus blunting them 
 against lovely nature, can you in any way compen- 
 sate to them for that Great Year which they would 
 have lived, if they had grown up, like the new- 
 created Adam, and looked around the magnificent 
 intellectual world with open, thirsty mind ? Hence 
 is it that your pupils are so like footpaths, which 
 in spring are green the earliest, but afterwards are 
 but a sere and yellow track through the blooming 
 meadow. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 The fact is indisputable. Our popular schools 
 are not only unsatisfactory, and wholly inadequate 
 to the cultivation of those natural powers of which 
 man, in a state of society, stands in need ; they 
 have, in many respects, been positive obstacles in 
 
/ 
 
 71 
 
 the way of the purely psychological developement 
 of those powers. For even the faculties which 
 have been regarded as the most important and val- 
 uable have been subjected to a training, in which 
 knowledge is forced into the mind without any ex- 
 ercise of the powers of thought or feeling ; the 
 superficial acquirement of so-called truths has 
 been preferred to the inculcation of principles, or 
 the practice of the arts of life ; and the true and 
 real developement of the innate faculties of man 
 has been rendered subordinate to useless and 
 showy accomplishments. 
 
 Pestalozzi. 
 
 Notes to a poem are like anatomical lectures on 
 a savorv joint. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 A certain degree of solitude seems necessary 
 to the full growth and spread of the highest mind ; 
 and therefore must a very extensive intercourse 
 with men stifle many a holy germ, and scare away 
 the gods, who shun the restless tumult of noisy 
 companies and the discussion of petiy interests. 
 
 Novulis. 
 
72 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 They went out. The heavens were un- 
 clouded. All the streets of the city of God, 
 lighted with suns, stretched upwards from the 
 narrow crossways of the town to that broad am- 
 phitheatre of night in which we breathe the blue 
 aether and drink the night wind. Every social 
 festival ought to be closed and consecrated by a 
 visit to that wide, cool temple, on whose vaulted 
 roof the star-mosaic forms the mighty and sacred 
 image of the Most Holy. 
 
 They sauntered along, refreshed and elevated 
 by the swift-winged, spring-like breezes which 
 sweep the snow from the mountains. All nature 
 gave the promise of a mild winter ; — such a win- 
 ter as leads the poor gently over the darkest quar- 
 ter of the year without fuel ; such a winter as the 
 wealthy regret, because it furnishes no snow for 
 gay sledge-parties. 
 
 The two men fell into a discourse suited to the 
 sublime aspect of the night. Lenette said nothing. 
 "How near and how small," exclaimed Firmian, 
 " do those pitiful oyster-beds, the villages, lie to- 
 gether ! yet when we travel from one to the other, 
 the way appears to us as long as to a mite which 
 creeps from one name to another on a map ; per- 
 haps to higher spirits our globe is but as a ball 
 
73 
 
 for children, which their tutor turns about and 
 explains." 
 
 " There may, however," said Stiefel, "be still 
 smaller worlds than ours ; and indeed ours must 
 be of some importance, since Christ died for it." 
 
 This remark flowed like warm life-blood into 
 Lenette's heart. Firmain only replied, " For the 
 earth and for them that dwell upon it, more than 
 one redeemer has died ; and I am persuaded that 
 Christ takes many a pious man by the hand and 
 says, 'Thou too hast suffered under Pilate ! ' Nay, 
 many a seeming Pilate is, in truth, a Messias." 
 
 Lenette secretly feared that her husband was an 
 atheist, or at least a philosopher. He led them 
 both through winding ways to the church-yard ; 
 but all at once his eyes were moistened, as if he 
 had passed through a heavy dew. He sought to 
 give vent to his melancholy in philosophical mus- 
 ings, and in this vein he said, " Men and clocks 
 stop if they are wound up too forcibly. It seems 
 to me that the dim intervals by which sleep and 
 death distribute and sever our existence, prevent 
 the too strongly increasing brightness of one idea, 
 the burning of never-cooled wishes, and the vehe- 
 ment conflux of thoughts ; as the planetary sys- 
 tems are divided by wide tracts of dim space, and 
 the solar systems by yet wider. The human mind 
 cannot catch the endless stream of knowledge, 
 which sweeps on through all perpetuity, except it 
 
74 
 
 drink in the pauses and breaks of the current. 
 Those mid-summer-nights which we sometimes 
 call sleep, sometimes death, divide that eternal 
 day which wou'd blind our mental eye, into por- 
 tions of day, and enclose its noontide between 
 morning and evening." 
 
 He opened the small, creaking, rattling wicket- 
 gate, inscribed with the pious verse and the me- 
 mento of the brief span of life. They reached the 
 more considerable graves which lay round the 
 church, — the dike around this fortress. Here 
 stood many an upright stone above the still, mo- 
 tionless body beneath ; further off lay only the 
 trap-doors which had closed over prostrate men. 
 He brought a naked skull into their company, and 
 raised up this last case of a many-housed spirit in 
 both his hands, and looked in at the empty case- 
 ments of the ruined palace, and said, iC At mid- 
 night, one ought to ascend the pulpit there within, 
 and lay this scalped mask of conscious identity on 
 the desk, instead of the Bible and hour-glass, and 
 preach from it to the other heads which are as yet 
 cased in their skins. If they have a mind, they 
 may cut off mine when I am dead, and hang it in 
 the church to the capital of a pillar, like the an- 
 gels' head round a font ; so that foolish mortals 
 may look, some from above and some from be- 
 neath, and see how we float between heaven and 
 the grave. In our hands, my friend, the grub is 
 still at work, but out of this he has taken his flight, 
 
75 
 
 winged and transformed ; for, look ! here are the 
 two holes, and the kernel crumbled to dust* ! " 
 
 Lenette was frightened at this irreverend jesting 
 in the neighbourhood and domain of ghosts : — it 
 was, in reality, only a disguised exaltation of spirit. 
 Suddenly she whispered, " See, something is look- 
 ing at us over the roof of the charnel-house and 
 raising itself up ! " It was only a cloud which the 
 evening wind had driven upwards, and which had 
 rested on the roof in the form of a bier ; and out 
 of it a hand stretched forth, and close above it a 
 star stood in its brightness over the likeness of a 
 body lying on the bier, — just at the heart ; — like 
 a white flower stuck in the breast of a bride. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 As it is in himself alone that man can find true 
 and enduring happiness, so in himself alone can he 
 find true and efficient consolation in misfortune. 
 
 Babo. 
 
 If commonplace men, hurried by vulgar per- 
 plexities into a display of passionate fear, extort 
 from us a pitying smile ; on the other hand, we 
 
 * Two holes in a hazel-nut are said to show that the fly, which 
 in its grub state had eaten away the kernel, has assumed its new 
 form, and taken flight. 
 
76 
 
 regard with awe a spirit in which the seed of a 
 great destiny is sown ; — which can accelerate 
 neither the good nor the evil, neither the happi- 
 ness nor the unhappiness, that will spring up 
 from it. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 PAUPERISM. 
 
 I have known a great deal of the indigent. 
 Some wanted only a plank over which to cross the 
 pool and land on dry ground ; others had for ever 
 done with this life, and sought for nothing more in 
 it but a momentary resting-place for the sickness 
 and feebleness of age. But by far the greater 
 number were rogues and thieves, who instead of 
 reaching the pockets of their neighbours by means 
 of force or fraud, took the far less dangerous way 
 of stealing into their hearts. 
 
 Undoubtedly it is of great importance to assist 
 upright, industrious men who have a sense of honor 
 and independence, wherever it is evident that they 
 are tottering under the blows of fortune ; to save 
 them from breaking down, and from falling into 
 despair and moral destruction. But I doubt 
 whether this be the vocation of the authorities of 
 a country. It is difficult, from the point of view 
 taken by a man in public life, to have an accurate 
 insight into the condition and relations of individu- 
 als. Involuntarily, (I confess it with regard to 
 
77 
 
 myself,) individuals assume the aspect of masses, 
 abstractions, numbers, calculations. I am there- 
 fore inclined to conclude that the relations between 
 man and man, between family and family, must, as 
 a general rule, be left to themselves ; and certain- 
 ly, if the facts were known, millions of the needy 
 and suffering whose sighs and complaints are the 
 less likely to reach the ears of those in power, the 
 more quiet and modest they are, (and therefore the 
 more deserving of respect,) are helped through 
 momentary difficulties by those almost impercepti- 
 ble and transient succours of kinsfolk, friends, or 
 neighbours, which leave no permanent traces. 
 But th-e state has nothing to do with the weak and 
 the failing ; they come within the minus quantity 
 in the calculation of the common weal ; for which 
 reason, I can perfectly explain how in some coun- 
 tries men have fallen into the extreme of putting 
 them entirely out of the way, though, on the other 
 hand, I do not blame individuals, — even rulers, in 
 so far as they act as individuals, — for Contributing 
 whatever they see fit to the rescue of those who 
 are ready to perish. 
 
 On the other hand, the third, and by far most 
 numerous class of the indigent, — the many- 
 headed monster of vagabonds, rogues, and idlers of 
 all kinds, — requires the utmost vigilance and ac- 
 tivity of the government. Whoever has entered 
 this corporation becomes a fit object of the preven- 
 
78 
 
 tive vigilance of the police, and the inflexible se- 
 verity of the magistrate. But as the superfluous 
 interference of the government in the former cases 
 thwarts the salutary operation of individual benev- 
 olence, so in these, the mistaken benevolence of 
 individuals thwarts the wise measures of the gov- 
 ernment. Those who dwell in lonely places give 
 from fear, the inhabitants of towns and villages 
 from weariness or soft-heartedness ; and in this 
 manner sources of subsistence open themselves 
 on every side to the vagabond, which make him 
 disregard the hostilities of the police, and render 
 his lot in many respects truly enviable. 
 
 Rumohr. [Deutsche Denkictirdigkeiten.) 
 
 Not alone to know, but to act according to thy 
 knowledge, is thy destination, — proclaims the 
 voice of my inmost soul. Not for indolent con- 
 templation and study of thyself, nor for brooding 
 over emotions of piety, — no, for action was ex- 
 istence given thee ; thy actions, and thy actions 
 alone, determine thy worth. 
 
 Ficlite. [Bestimmung des Menschen.) 
 
 The true priest of the Highest is he who brings 
 it nearer to those whose minds seldom reach above 
 the finite and the low ; who sets heavenly and 
 
79 
 
 eternal things before them as a source of enjoy- 
 ment and a bond of union, — as the only exhaust- 
 less spring of that to which all their efforts are 
 directed. Thus he strives to waken the sleeping 
 germ of a better humanity, to enkindle the love for 
 the lofty, to transform the meaner into a nobler 
 life, to reconcile the children of earth to the heav- 
 en which is theirs, and to hold the balance against 
 the stupid devotion of the age to mere material 
 good. This is that higher priesthood which reveals 
 the depths of all spiritual mysteries, and whose 
 voice comes down from the kingdom of God ; this 
 is the source of all visions and prophecyings, of all 
 holy works and inspired words which are scattered 
 about, as if at random, that the apt spirit may re- 
 ceive them, and may bring forth fruit. 
 
 O that the day might come when this function 
 of mediator might cease, and the priesthood of 
 humanity receive a fairer destination ! That the 
 day might come, described by ancient prophecy, 
 <c when none shall need that any should teach him, 
 for all shall be taught of God " ! If the sacred fire 
 were everywhere burning, there would be no need 
 of fervent prayer to draw it down from heaven, but 
 only of the calm watching of holy virgins to tend 
 it ; nor would it then break out into those flames 
 which now often strike terror, but the hidden fire 
 would glow with equal warmth in all hearts. Every 
 man would then silently enlighten himself and oth- 
 
80 
 
 ers, and the communication of holy thoughts and 
 feelings would consist only in the easy task of 
 combining or dividing the different rays of this 
 light ; now diffusing it, then again concentrating 
 it on one object. Then would the slightest word 
 be understood, whereas now the clearest expres- 
 sions do not escape misunderstanding. Then would 
 men press together into the penetralia of the sanc- 
 tuary, whereas now they are occupied with the 
 preparations of the outer court. 
 
 Schleiermacher. ( Ueber die Religion.) 
 
 We celebrate nobler obsequies to those we love 
 by drying the tears of others, than by shedding our 
 own ; and the fairest funeral wreath we can hang 
 on their tomb, is not so fair as a fruit-offering of 
 good deeds. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 He who can take advice is sometimes superior 
 to him who can give it. 
 
 Von Knebel. 
 
 The year is dying away like the sound of bells. 
 The wind passes over the stubble and finds nothing 
 to move. Only the red berries of that slender tree 
 seem as if they would fain remind us of something 
 
81 
 
 cheerful ; and the measured beat of the thresher's 
 flail calls up the thought, that in the dry and fallen 
 ear lies so much of nourishment and life. 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandsckaften.) 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 It is impossible to witness the singular and uni- 
 versal gayety and joyousness of the people of Na- 
 ples without the greatest sympathy and delight. 
 The many-colored, brilliant flowers and fruits with 
 which nature decks herself, appear to invite man 
 to adorn his person and all that surrounds him with 
 the brightest possible tints. Silken handkerchiefs 
 and ribbons, and flowers on the hat, are seen on 
 every one who has any means of procuring them. 
 Even in the smallest houses the chairs and sofas 
 are painted with gay flowers on a gold ground ; the 
 one-horse caleches are striped with bright red, the 
 carved work is gilded, the horses are decorated 
 with artificial flowers, scarlet fringes and tassels 
 and gold tinsel. Many wear on their heads plumes 
 of feathers, others little flags, which flutter in every 
 breeze as they move swiftly along. We usually 
 call the love of gaudy colors barbaric and taste- 
 less ; in some cases it may be so ; but under a 
 perfectly clear and blue sky nothing is gaudy, for 
 nothing can outshine the splendor of the sun and of 
 its reflection on the sea. The most brilliant color 
 
82 
 
 is deadened by the intense light ; and as all hues, 
 the greens of trees and plants, and the yellow, 
 brown and red earthly tints, crowd upon the eye in 
 their fullest beauty, gay flowers and dresses blend 
 in a universal harmony. The scarlet bodices and 
 petticoats, trimmed with broad bands of gold and 
 silver, of the women of Nettuno, the other national 
 costumes, the gayly-painted boats, — every object 
 seems to strive to become visible under the daz- 
 zling splendor of sea and sky. 
 
 And as they live, so do they bury their dead. 
 No long sable train there disturbs the harmony of 
 the joyous world. 
 
 I saw a child borne to the grave. A large red 
 velvet pall, richly* embroidered with gold, covered 
 a broad bier, on which stood a carved chest, highly 
 decorated with gold and silver. In this lay the 
 dead, clad in white garments, adorned with rose- 
 colored ribbons. At the four corners of the chest 
 were four angels, each holding a large bunch of 
 flowers over the body. As they were only fasten- 
 ed at the feet by wires, they moved with the motion 
 of the bier, and appeared to scatter odors over the 
 dead child. This tremulous motion of the angels 
 was increased by the rapidity with which the pro- 
 cession hastened through the streets, — for the 
 priests and taper-bearers rather ran than walked. 
 
 Goethe. (Italiclnische Reise.) 
 
83 
 
 One sweet evening of August, he was in a 
 
 mood of gentler melancholy than usual ; over his 
 countenance floated that bright serenity of resigna- 
 tion, that tearless emotion, that smiling gentleness, 
 which we sometimes see when sorrow is rather ex- 
 hausted than elevated, — as the soft reflection of 
 the rainbow falls back upon the blue heaven. He 
 determined to take a lonely farewell of his beloved 
 scenes. 
 
 Over the light landscape hung (to his mind, not 
 to his eye) a thin, undulating mist, like the fine 
 aerial veil thrown over the pictures of Berghem 
 and Wouvermans. He visited, he touched, he 
 gazed upon, — as if to bid farewell, — every bushy 
 shrub, under whjse shadow he had been wont to 
 read ; every small dark whirlpool which foamed 
 and gurgled amid the gnarled and bare-washed 
 roots ; every fragrant mossy rock ; every step in 
 the ascent of hill above hill, on which he had arti- 
 ficially multiplied the rising or the setting of the 
 sun ; every spot where the great creation had 
 drawn tears of enthusiasm from his too happy heart. 
 But amidst the high and full-eared harvest, — 
 amidst the manifold stores of creation, — in the life- 
 teeming nest of brooding nature, — in the seed- 
 ground of the rich boundless garden, — a hollow, 
 long-drawn voice was heard through the trumpet 
 tones of this festival of nature, asking, " What 
 dead thing wanders amid my universal life, and 
 
84 
 
 defiles my fair flowers ? " But the gloomy vision 
 vanished ; and he thought, It is not the green bark 
 which sustains the Dryad, — the spiritus rector, — 
 but, on the contrary, receives from it life and vig- 
 or. The life of the body is as dependent on the 
 spirit as that is subject to corporeal influences. 
 Life and power throng around ; the grave, — the 
 decaying body, — is a world full of active power : 
 we change our part, but we never quit the stage. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Siebenkcls.) 
 
 At the termination of a war and the signing of a 
 treaty of peace, it might not be unbefitting that the 
 proclamation of a day of thanksgiving should be 
 immediately followed by one of fast and penitence, 
 wherein to implore pardon of Heaven for the griev- 
 ous sin which the race of man is continually com- 
 mitting ; inasmuch as no nation will submit to any 
 legal restraint or agreement in relation to other 
 nations, but, proud of its independence, chooses 
 rather to resort to the barbarian expedient of war 
 (by which that which is sought, — viz. the right of 
 each nation, — can never in any case be ascer- 
 tained). 
 
 The thanksgivings and rejoicings on occasion of 
 a victory, the hymns which (in a genuine Judaical 
 spirit) are sung to the Lord of Hosts, stand in the 
 strongest contrast to the moral conception of the 
 
85 
 
 Father of Men ; since they not only show a total 
 indifference to the nature of the means by which 
 nations seek to establish their right respectively, 
 (which is melancholy enough,) but display a posi- 
 tive joy at having destroyed the lives, or ruined the 
 happiness, of multitudes of human beings. 
 
 Kant. (Zum ewigen Frieden.) 
 
 What is there in man so worthy of honor and 
 reverence as this, — that he is capable of contem- 
 plating something higher than his own reason, — 
 more sublime than the whole universe ; that Spirit 
 which alone is self-subsistent, — from which all 
 truth proceeds, — without which is no truth ? 
 
 F. H. Jacobi. 
 
 Character is a perfectly educated Will. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 The institutions of a country depend in great 
 measure on the nature of its soil and situation. 
 Many of the wants of man are awakened or sup- 
 plied by these circumstances. To these wants, 
 manners, laws, and religion must shape and ac- 
 commodate themselves. The division of land and 
 the rights attached to it alter with the soil ; the 
 7 
 
86 
 
 laws relating to its produce, with its fertility. The 
 manners of its inhabitants are in various ways mod- 
 ified by its position. The religion of a miner is 
 not the same as the faith of a shepherd, nor is the 
 character of the ploughman so warlike as that of 
 the hunter. The observant legislator follows the 
 direction of all these various circumstances. The 
 knowledge of the natural advantages or defects of 
 a country thus form an essential part of political 
 science and history. 
 
 Justus Mdser. (OsnabrUckische Geschichte.) 
 
 Master Jacobus Polychorus, who lived in Stras-* 
 burg in the U th century, says, in a little book he 
 wrote, — " The German people is more especially a 
 trustworthy, veracious, constant, bold, and manly 
 people ; likewise liberal, mild, hospitable, undaunt- 
 ed, laborious, temperate, honest, cheerful-minded, 
 and covetous of a good name ; one that in all 
 things seeketh to lead the wits of men, and to be 
 beforehand in all knowledge. And thus Germany 
 yieldeth to no land in all arts, and knowledge of 
 tongues and new inventions. From her have we 
 printing, and the use of fire-arms, and many other 
 arts. And likewise is Germany a right blessed 
 and favored country, lying under a temperate sky, 
 abounding in all manner of grain, and in all the 
 riches of water or wood ; having sufficiency of va- 
 
87 
 
 rious wines, metals, and all materials for useful 
 works. And the Germans are kind-hearted and 
 generous to strangers, gentle and placable to sup- 
 plicants, prompt and forward in war ; neither on 
 foot nor on horse yielding to any." 
 
 handel's Messiah. 
 
 Herder has somewhere or other called Handel's 
 Messiah a Christian Epos, — and this is a perfect 
 description of it in one word ; for this work, in its 
 fragmentary compilation, really expresses the en- 
 tire cycle of Christianity with as much of truth as 
 of intelligence and poetry. 
 
 I have always thought that the whole, consider- 
 ed as an opus, arose accidentally ; nor can I de- 
 part from that opinion. 
 
 The great festivals of the Christian church af- 
 forded the composer in Handel's time an opportu- 
 nity of setting to music verses from the Bible, out 
 of which the finest peculiarities of effect must arise. 
 Handel, who had taste and heart enough to reject 
 the vile versions then in use, collected together the 
 verses which relate to the passion, got some clever 
 man to put the hooks and links which are wanted 
 to connect them (if he did not do it himself), and 
 thus has arisen a cyclical work which I distribute 
 into four or five parts. 
 
88 
 
 Part 1. The annunciation of the Messiah from 
 above, through the mouths of the prophets ; the 
 work or end of redemption ; mysterious, yet like 
 the dawn of morning, — "Comfort ye," Stc, — 
 breathing a spring freshness. 
 
 Part 2. The Nativity ; first known to shepherds. 
 The introduction (Siciliano), a delightful pasto- 
 ral, ought to precede the chorus "For unto us a 
 child is born." In Mozart's score the chorus, very 
 improperly, is put first. The chorus is playful, 
 undulating, childlike, — nay childish, — at the be- 
 ginning; at length, at the words, "And the gov- 
 ernment shall be upon his shoulders," it towers in 
 all its colossal grandeur. 
 
 Pastoral character of life and doctrine : " He 
 shall feed his flock." " Come unto me, ye that are 
 weary," &c. 
 
 Part 3. Suffering and death : denial, mockery, 
 evil intreatment ; " Behold the Lamb of God ; " 
 "Surely he hath borne our griefs;" "All we 
 like sheep have gone astray; " "He trusted in 
 God that he would deliver him ; " " Thy rebuke 
 hath broken his heart ; " "Behold and see," &c. 
 The suffering is ended by death ; and in this death 
 is the victory. The redemption is accomplished. 
 
 Now the consequences : 
 
 Part 4. Resurrection and eternal life : back to 
 the heavenly, — the infinite. Prophecy again pro- 
 
S9 
 
 claims, " Open the gates, that the King of Glory 
 may come in ; " " The Lord gave the word ; " 
 "Why do the heathen;" "Let us break our 
 bonds asunder ; " " Hallelujah ; " "I know that 
 my Redeemer liveth ; " " And as through man 
 came death." 
 
 Part 5. Apotheosis : " Worthy is the Lamb ; " 
 " Glory and honor ; " "Amen." 
 
 The expression of such a work is to be taken as 
 a whole, though good, nay exquisite workmanship 
 be not wanting in the individual parts. 
 
 The overture belongs to the piece only in so far 
 as it is a foreground, — a title-page to the volume, 
 showing the clear blue heaven of prophecy : <c The 
 glory of God, the Lord shall be revealed." Clear- 
 ness, power, truth, pervade the whole first part. 
 
 In the second part, warm, bright night ; — one 
 feels the starlight. Pastoral, sweet, pure, serene. 
 
 In the third part, suffering and death : brief, yet 
 not too condensed ; grand, calm, touching ; no 
 torments, no crucifixion or physical horrors. The 
 suffering of the righteous at the degradation of the 
 good and the beautiful, is the ground, the deepest 
 depth, over which flows a crystal stream ; <c Be- 
 hold and see if there be any sorrow," &c. 
 
 With this the whole passion is silently conclud- 
 ed, and the work of atonement accomplished. 
 
 W'ould you like to procure yourself a singular 
 
90 
 
 pictorial enjoyment ? Look at the chorus, " For 
 unto us a child is born." After the shepherds 
 have, as they kept watch by night in the fields, 
 heard the words of the angels, and have recovered 
 from their alarm, one part begins, "For unto us 
 a child is born," and plays with the thought ; then 
 follows another in the same manner ; then the 
 third, and the fourth ; till at length, at the words 
 "Wonderful, Counsellor," &,c. all join ; the flocks 
 and herds on the fields, the starry host through all 
 the heavens, — every thing awakes, and stirs itself 
 with gladness and strength of heart. 
 
 Now, ye muses, enough, — if not too much. If 
 you have heard the Messiah, I should be glad to 
 know something about it from you. I always learn, 
 when you report any thing of the kind. The wor- 
 thy Rochlitz deserves many thanks, but his history 
 of the rise and progress of the Messiah, a priori, 
 looks to me very like all histories by profession. 
 The history of a work of art (and every work of art 
 has its individual history) is not to be told on the 
 fingers, since nature requires thousands of years to 
 make an artist, — whose existence is itself an ac- 
 cident. 
 
 Zelter. (Briefwecliselm.it Goethe.) 
 
 Last among the characteristics of woman, is that 
 sweet motherly love with which Nature has gifted 
 
91 
 
 her ; it is almost independent of cold reason, and 
 wholly removed from all selfish hope of reward. 
 Not because it is lovely, does the mother love her 
 child, but because it is a living part of herself, — 
 the child of her heart, a fraction of her own nature. 
 Therefore do her entrails yearn over his wailings ; 
 her heart beats quicker at his joy ; her blood flows 
 more softly through her veins, when the breast at 
 which he drinks knits him to her. In every uncor- 
 rupted nation of the earth, this feeling is the same. 
 Climate, which changes every thing else, changes 
 not that. It is only the most corrupting forms of 
 society which have power gradually to make luxu- 
 rious vice sweeter than the tender cares and toils of 
 maternal love. In Greenland, where the climate 
 affords no food fit for infants, the mother nourishes 
 her child up to the third or fourth year of his life. 
 She endures from him all the nascent indications of 
 the rude domineering spirit of manhood, with in- 
 dulgent, all-forgiving patience. The negress is 
 armed with more than manly strength when her 
 child is attacked by savage beasts. We read with 
 astonished admiration the examples of her match- 
 less courage and contempt of danger. But if death 
 robs that tender mother, whom we are pleased to 
 call a savage, of her best comfort, — the charm 
 and the care of her existence, — where is the heart 
 of man that can conceive her sorrow ? Read the 
 lament of the Nadowessee woman, on the loss of 
 
92 
 
 her husband and her infant son. The feeling which 
 it breathes is beyond all expression. 
 
 Herder. 
 
 Formerly, it was the fashion to preach the 
 Natural, now it is the Ideal. People too often for- 
 get that these things are profoundly compatible ; 
 that, in a beautiful work of imagination, the Natu- 
 ral should be ideal, and the Ideal, natural. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 There is a fable of former ages which is grave 
 and solemn, and may to some appear awful and 
 terrible. They figured to themselves their fore- 
 fathers sitting on thrones in a circle around large 
 subterranean halls mutely discoursing. When a 
 new inhabitant entered, if he were worthy, they all 
 arose from their seats and bowed their heads to 
 him in welcome. 
 
 Yesterday, as I sat in the chapel and fixed my 
 eyes on several other carved chairs over against 
 the one on which I was sitting, this thought seem- 
 ed to me most cheerful and agreeable. " Why 
 canst thou not remain thus seated ? " I asked my- 
 self, " Why not calm, motionless, and wholly with- 
 drawn within thyself, remain seated, long, long, — 
 until at length the friends should come, at whose 
 
93 
 
 entrance thou wouldst stand up and motion them to 
 their places with a friendly sign ? 
 
 The many-colored casements turn the day into 
 a dim and solemn twilight, and each must tend an 
 eternal lamp, that the night may not be utterly 
 dark. 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 
 
 Hypotheses are nets, — only he who throws 
 them out will catch any thing. Was not the dis- 
 covery of America the result of an hypothesis ? 
 
 The skeptic has contributed just as little (that 
 is, absolutely nothing) as the vulgar empiric, to 
 the enlargement of the field of knowledge. At the 
 most, the skeptic only shakes the very ground on 
 which the individual hypothesis stands : — a strange 
 way of making progress, — a very indirect service 
 at the best. The true builder of hypotheses is no 
 other than the inventor, before whose eyes the 
 unknown country often dimly floats before its dis- 
 covery ; who carries this faint image into every 
 observation and every experiment, and at length, 
 by means of bold comparison, of repeated contact 
 and collision of his thoughts with experiment, ar- 
 rives at the Idea which stood in a negative relation 
 to positive experience. Both are then eternally 
 connected, and a new and celestial light surrounds 
 the power which is born into the world. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
94 
 
 A man may write very good verses, but in spite 
 of that he must not versify the people's stories if he 
 has not the true ballad-singer's eye, which sees 
 nothing in the wide world but adventures, execu- 
 tions, love, murder, and deeds of violence. We 
 want the naive joy and the naive lamentations of 
 the men and women of the days of knights and 
 fairies, — men and women whose souls were a can- 
 vas for the reception of pictures ; who lived with 
 their bodies, thought with their eyes, and argued 
 with their fists. 
 
 Goethe. (Recensionen.) 
 
 NORWEGIAN LEGEND. 
 
 Two little boys were playing by the side of a 
 river, and they saw the Stromkarl or water-spirit 
 sitting on the shore and playing on his harp. Then 
 the children called out to him, and said, " Strom- 
 karl, why do you sit here playing ? There is no 
 salvation for you." Thereupon the Stromkarl fell 
 to weeping bitterly, threw his harp away, and sank 
 in the deep waters. When the boys returned home 
 they related to their father, who was a godly man, 
 what had befallen them. The father said, " You 
 have sinned against the Stromkarl, — go back and 
 comfort him, and tell him that he too shall be 
 saved." When they went back to the river, the 
 Stromkarl sat on the shore weeping and lamenting. 
 
95 
 
 And the children said, " Weep not so, Stromkarl, 
 our father says that thy Redeemer also liveth." 
 Then the Stromkarl joyfully took his harp and 
 played sweetly till sunset.* 
 
 Jacob Grimm. {Deutsche Mythologie .) 
 
 ' Men find it more easy to flatter than to praise. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 "It was well," said Ernest, "for even in 
 
 our emotion we were glad. I understand not the 
 joy of most men : it seems as if they must keep at 
 a distance all remembrance of real life, in order 
 with toil and travail, to find in blind dissipation 
 what they call amusement and gayety. The ful- 
 ness of life, — a healthful, powerful feeling of ex- 
 istence, — stands in need of a certain melancholy 
 
 * Although the sacrifices offered to water-spirits were forbid- 
 den by Christianity, and these old objects of faith were repre- 
 sented as diabolical, the people retained a certain awe and rev- 
 erence for them, and have not, even now, lost all belief in their 
 power and influence ; they think of them as unblessed beings, 
 who will however in time become partakers of salvation. To 
 this belief we may trace the touching legend that the StrOmkarl 
 or Neck requites those who promise him redemption with his 
 enchanting music. 
 
 I do not know that any legend contains so striking an expres- 
 sion of the need of Christianity to the heathen, or of the mild 
 aspect under which it ought to approach them. 
 
96 
 
 to deepen the sense of pleasure ; as this same 
 sound and vigorous state of mind first gave birth to 
 tragedy, and is still necessary to the enjoyment of 
 it. The more feeble man becomes, — the more 
 weary of life, the less can he find joy in any thing 
 but laughter, or the frivolous comedy of modern 
 times. Shun him who has lost all power and relish 
 for aught but laughter, for with earnestness and a 
 lofty melancholy, all the inward stores of his life 
 have vanished : he is bad, if he is capable of being 
 any thing more than a fool. The more our sense 
 of existence is quickened and exalted by pleasure 
 and by love, the louder our inward shout of triumph 
 in those few and rare moments which a niggard 
 fate deals scantily out to us, the more rich and 
 bounteous ought we in those moments to feel. 
 
 Wherefore then, in these most bright and beau- 
 tiful passages of our lives, should we drive our 
 departed friends and their love away from us ? 
 Has death made them our enemies ? Or is their 
 state, to our apprehension, so utterly afflicting that 
 their image must needs trouble our joy ? In such 
 felicity of mind I would fain exclaim, let them come 
 to us, let them come into our arms, into our hearts, 
 that our riches may be made richer ! But if you 
 can endure the belief that they are forlorn and 
 helpless, driven out into the wide and weary des- 
 ert, O ! let some drops from the overflowings of 
 your joy fall on them. 
 
97 
 
 But no, beloved, departed one ! in such moments 
 I feel myself transported into thy peace and thy 
 joy ; and thou art more mine than in this earthly 
 life thou ever wast ; for together with all my love, 
 my highest and deepest sorrow now belongs to 
 thee, — that nameless and incomprehensible, anx- 
 ious wrestling with the fearful doubt of having lost 
 thee for ever ; then was my love first compelled to 
 call up and to understand all its strength ; then did 
 I first win thee in triumph from death, — never 
 more to lose thee ; and from that time thou art 
 mine, — mine without change, without sickness, 
 without misunderstanding ; and thou smilest in 
 every smile, and swimmest in every tear of mine. 
 
 Tieck. (Phantasus.) 
 
 The less tenderness a man has in his nature, 
 the more he requires from others. 
 
 Rahel. 
 
 There are ideal trains of events which run par- 
 allel with the real ones. Seldom do they coincide. 
 Men and accidents commonly modify every ideal 
 event, or train of events, so that it appears imper- 
 fect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. 
 Thus it was with the Reformation, — instead of 
 Protestantism, arose Lutheranism. 
 
98 
 
 The illusion of a past golden age is one of the 
 greatest hindrances to the approach of the golden 
 age that should come. If the golden age is past, 
 it was not genuine. Gold cannot rust nor decay ; 
 it comes out of all admixtures and all decomposi- 
 tions pure and indestructible. If the golden age 
 will not endure it had better never arise, for it can 
 produce nothing but elegies on its loss. 
 
 A. W. v. SchlegeL 
 
 In youth we think we shall be able to build 
 palaces for men, but when it comes to the point we 
 have our hands full with the business of clearing 
 away their dirt and rubbish. This disgusting work 
 requires great resignation ; but it must be done. 
 
 Goethe. {Brief e an Lavater.) 
 
 FREDERIC THE GREAT ON LAW REFORM. 
 
 Extracted from Prtifung der Gutachten der Konigl: Preuss.: 
 Immediat. Justiz-Commission. By Gravell. 
 
 My dear Grand Chancellor von Carmer ; 
 
 It cannot be unknown to you, that so early as 
 the year 1746, and even earlier, I had labored to 
 remedy the obvious disorders and defects in the 
 administration of justice in my kingdom and stales, 
 and that I especially ordered ; 
 
99 
 
 1. That the courts of justice should be placed 
 upon a better footing, and provided with skilful and 
 honorable men. 
 
 2. That the procedure should be cleared of use- 
 less formalities, the possibility of terminating suits 
 within a year secured ; and 
 
 3. That the hitherto scattered, vague, and am- 
 biguous laws should be defined, and collected with 
 the greatest possible precision and clearness. 
 
 With regard to the first article, I have no doubt 
 that by the introduction of better subordination into 
 the courts ; by more certain and regular order in 
 all branches of business ; and especially by the in- 
 structions, according to which the candidates for 
 judicial offices are first subjected to the strictest 
 examinations, then by acting as referendaries in 
 the court for several years, familiarized with all 
 kinds of judicial labor, and their sentiments and 
 conduct submitted to thorough investigation, suf- 
 ficient competency may be secured. But these 
 regulations, however well adapted to the case, will 
 be fruitless unless the presidents of each court are 
 strictly held to the most exact and thorough execu- 
 tion of my commands. 
 
 It is, then, your business to see to this, in order 
 that my intentions may be in every particular ex- 
 actly fulfilled ; and to this end you must require 
 fron the presidents of the courts of justice a list of 
 the names of all the members and subalterns of 
 
100 
 
 such courts, with an authentic, impartial, and full 
 report of the conduct of each individual, and must 
 desire that the most exact inquiries on these points 
 be made by them at every visitation. For it is not 
 enough that a servant of justice guard himself from 
 gross corruption; in every exercise of his office he 
 must act without the slightest passion, and avoid 
 every appearance of partiality. 
 
 A man of profligate habits and loose morals is 
 easily led to forget his duties : such people must 
 by no means be suffered to have any thing to do 
 with the administration of justice. Neither must 
 you be restrained from the dismissal of such un- 
 worthy persons by any regard to their talents, their 
 family connexions, or any other considerations 
 whatever. 
 
 If I can thus make sure of the purity and integ- 
 rity of my ministers of justice, I, on my part, will 
 leave them the free and unobstructed exercise of 
 their just and honest authority, and will honor and 
 reward each of them according to his worth. On 
 the other hand, I know no punishment too severe 
 to be inflicted on men who are capable of so far 
 disregarding their duty, as to convert an office 
 destined to the protection of innocence and the 
 maintenance of justice into an instrument for the 
 oppression of the one and the destruction of the 
 other. 
 
 Secondly, as to what regards procedure, I am 
 
101 
 
 fully disposed to believe that the abuses which 
 formerly existed have been removed ; nevertheless, 
 the present system of procedure is still, as you 
 must admit, at bottom, the ill-contrived tissue of 
 the canon law, of which all Germany has for cen- 
 turies complained. 
 
 It is contrary to reason that the parties who have 
 complaints and grievances to allege should not be 
 heard by the judge himself, but must make their 
 wants known through hired advocates. These ad- 
 vocates have the strongest interest in the multipli- 
 cation and prolongation of suits, since upon them 
 depend their gains and their whole prosperity. For 
 if the pleadings, with the evidence taken in the 
 course of them, do not find their way into the 
 hands of the judge until the advocates have in 
 writing wire-drawn, obscured, or mutilated the 
 facts at their own pleasure, it is natural enough 
 that he should lose the right point of view, decide 
 on inadequate evidence, and, as he is compelled t 
 follow in their tortuous and delusive track, (often 
 against his own conviction,) be at length necessi- 
 tated to pronounce a sentence manifestly unjust. 
 I can hardly believe that any of the plain, judicious 
 lawgivers of old times devised so unnatural a sys- 
 tem of procedure. I am much more inclined to 
 suspect that the barbarism of later times, and the 
 convenience and ease of judges, gave birth to this 
 monstrous production. I find nothing in the Ro- 
 
102 
 
 man law which leads me to any opposite conclu- 
 sion. The Roman judges were obliged first to in- 
 vestigate the facts of the case themselves, before 
 the advocates appointed by the parties could be 
 heard, or judgment pronounced ; and if it is true, 
 that even the Papal law expressly ordains that the 
 judge shall inquire into the facts, and the advo- 
 cates shall only speak to questions of law, my con- 
 jecture will be converted into a certainty. 
 
 Be that, however, as it may, — it is my decided 
 and express will ; 
 
 That in future the judge himself hear the parties, 
 — their complaints and answers ; that he weigh 
 their statements, and the proofs therewith adduced, 
 one against the other, and thus extract the true 
 concatenation of the affair which gives occasion to 
 the suit ; and that, after having so done, he lay 
 before them proposals of accommodation consistent 
 with fairness and justice. I feel assured that 
 merely by this arrangement, which will secure that 
 the parties are completely instructed as to the true 
 state and posture of the case, by far the greater 
 number of suits will be settled by compromise. 
 Even in those cases which cannot be disposed of 
 by compromise, that elaborate mode of extracting 
 evidence which has hitherto been the principal 
 source of complexity and delay, will be rendered 
 unnecessary. 
 
 I do not mean by this that parties in a legal pro- 
 
103 
 
 ceeding are to be refused legal assistance ; on the 
 contrary, it appears to me necessary both for the 
 plaintiff and defendant, even during the investiga- 
 tion of the facts, to engage an advocate ; in order 
 that if the judge, from negligence, want of penetra- 
 tion, or partiality, do not conduct the investigation 
 satisfactorily, the advocate may remind him of his 
 duty, exercise a general control over him, ascer- 
 tain upon what the rights of the parties are respec- 
 tively founded, and use every possible care and 
 precaution for the security of his client. 
 
 In order, however, that this new sort of advo- 
 cates be not again seduced into the old tortuous 
 path, the matter must be so arranged that they 
 have no interest in the delay and complication of 
 suits, but must look to a totally different source of 
 prosperity and success. The referendaries must 
 therefore, according to my new system, be more 
 especially employed in the investigation of matters 
 of fact, and be called upon to act as assessors 
 to the counsel therein. Those referendaries who 
 show the greatest ability and penetration on these 
 occasions, shall be kept in view for further ad- 
 vancement ; and out of these shall be chosen the 
 advocates, or as they might be more aptly called, 
 assistant-counsellors ; out of these again, in course 
 of time, the principal counsel of the courts of jus- 
 tice. The assistant-counsel, as well as the chief 
 counsel of the courts, must be paid by fixed sala- 
 
104 
 
 ries ; and to that end, the fees which they receive 
 for their functions as advocates must be formed 
 into a common fee-fund. It is possible that very 
 few of the present advocates will qualify them- 
 selves to become counsel under the new system, 
 and will thus be left without the means of subsist- 
 ence. I would, however, make arrangements, that 
 whatever useful and honorable men are found 
 among them should be employed by preference as 
 magistrates, justiciaries, and the like. Men of no 
 merit whatever deserve no attention. 
 
 Lastly, as to the laws. It appears to me per- 
 fectly irrational and absurd, that they should be for 
 the most part written in a language which is not 
 understood by those to whom they ought to serve 
 as a guide and rule. It is not less absurd, that, in 
 a country in which there exists an undisputed legis- 
 lative power, laws should be endured, which, by 
 their obscurity and ambiguity, give continual occa- 
 sion to the tedious disputations of lawyers ; or that 
 lengthy suits should arise upon the question, wheth- 
 er or not such a law or custom has ever existed, 
 or has acquired legal validity. You must there- 
 fore take especial care that all laws for our states 
 and subjects be drawn up in their own language ; 
 that they be perfectly precise and determinate, and 
 collected into one complete and compact body. 
 
 But as almost every one of my provinces has its 
 peculiar constitution, statutes, and customs, which 
 
105 
 
 differ widely from each other, a code or compila- 
 tion of laws proper to each must be framed, where- 
 by the laws and privileges of each province may 
 be distinguished from those of every other. But 
 since such provincial statutes and customs are gen- 
 erally limited to certain topics, and contain no uni- 
 versal or complete rules of law ; and since the 
 Corpus Juris of the Emperor Justinian has for 
 many centuries been used as the subsidiary code 
 of almost all European states, and has been so re- 
 ceived among us, it cannot be left out of account 
 in the measures now projected. It is, however, 
 well known that this Roman code is, for the most 
 part, merely a collection of the opinions and decis- 
 ions of lawyers in particular cases ; that it chiefly 
 refers to ancient Roman institutions and formali- 
 ties, now no longer applicable, and that it contains 
 numerous contradictions. It will be necessary, 
 therefore, to abstract from it only such parts as are 
 consistent with the law of nature, and with the 
 present form of government and society ; to reject 
 the useless ; to insert my own national laws in the 
 proper places ; and thus will be produced a sub- 
 sidiary code to which the judge can recur in all 
 cases for which the provincial law contains no pro- 
 vision. 
 
 I must here remark that, as it appears to me, the 
 Roman legislators, who were not sparing in their 
 decisions on contested questions of law, did not 
 
106 
 
 sufficiently keep in view whatever might serve to 
 obviate doubts in legal cases, and to prevent suits. 
 
 It is, for instance, well known what an infinite 
 number of suits concerning transactions and con- 
 tracts relating to immovables, (real property,) arise 
 out of the haste with which people conclude them, 
 and the want of distinctness and precision in their 
 expressions. Such suits would be entirely avoided, 
 if all contracts relating to immovables were made 
 in the presence of the judge, whose business it 
 would be to see that neither party overreached the 
 other, or took unfair advantages : the contract it- 
 self, for the greater authentication of its contents, 
 should be signed by the judge. For as law-suits 
 must ever be reckoned among the evils of society, 
 — as subtracting from the well-being of the citi- 
 zens, — that is incontestably the best law which 
 contains within itself the prevention of litigation. 
 
 If, which is not to be doubted, I attain my end 
 in the amelioration of the laws and the procedure, 
 it is clear that a vast many lawyers will lose the 
 consideration and authority which they derive from 
 the mystery in which it is now involved, by the 
 simplification of their business ; their subtilty-shop 
 will be ruined, and the whole corps of advocates of 
 the old school be rendered useless. But, on the 
 other hand, I shall free my faithful subjects from 
 no light burden, and may therefore expect to have 
 more skilful and industrious merchants, manufac- 
 
107 
 
 turers, and artisans, from whom the state will re- 
 ceive much better and more useful service. 
 
 Now, as the execution of such a project is not 
 the work of a single man, you must seek out the 
 ablest and honestest men whom you can possibly 
 find ; divide the several sorts of labor among them; 
 form them into a commission, and make all your 
 regulations after common deliberation and agree- 
 ment. Similar law commissions must in future sit 
 permanently, in order that all defects, ambiguities, 
 or vices of the laws may, as they present them- 
 selves, be supplied, interpreted, or corrected in a 
 fundamental manner. 
 
 On the other hand, I will not allow that any 
 judges, courts of justice, or ministers of state what- 
 soever, take upon themselves to stretch or contract 
 the laws, much less to make new ones ; but if, in 
 course of time, doubts or deficiencies in the laws 
 or the procedure arise, notice of the same must be 
 given to the appropriate law commission ; the case, 
 having regard to the signification and intention of 
 the existing laws, must then be laid before you to 
 be fully weighed, and if a positive change or addi- 
 tion be found necessary, a well-considered report 
 must be presented to me. 
 
 I leave it to you then, to think further on the 
 matter, and to devise the means requisite for its 
 execution ; and in return I promise to protect you 
 
108 
 
 most vigorously against all cabals and all opposi- 
 tion, as your well-affectioned king, 
 
 Frederic. 
 
 Potsdam, April 14, 1730. 
 To the Grand Chancellor von Carmer. 
 
 FINNISH LEGEND. 
 
 There was once a giantess who had a daughter, 
 and the child saw a husbandman ploughing in the 
 field. Then she ran and picked him up with her 
 finger and thumb, and put him and his plough and 
 his oxen into her apron, and carried them to her 
 mother and said, " Mother, what sort of a beetle is 
 this, that I found wriggling in the ground ? " But 
 the mother said, "Put it away, my child, we must 
 be gone out of this land, for these people will dwell 
 in it." 
 
 [The giant race was doomed to retire before the tiller of the 
 ground. Agriculture was odious to them as well as to the dwarfs. 
 The rude innocence of the giant child, to whom man appeared a 
 tiny insect, a beetle grovelling in the earth, and the secret alarm 
 which this small being struck into the mother, cannot be more 
 happily depicted than in these few touches,] 
 
 Grimm. (Deutsche Mytkologie.) 
 
 Florence, September 4, 1816. 
 I have seen a great many works of art. My 
 preference for the old masters down to the time of 
 Rafael, is strongly confirmed. Giovanni Bellini, 
 
109 
 
 who was my favorite eight years ago, became so 
 once more at Venice. And at Bologna we saw 
 works of Francia's which amazed us. Masaccio, 
 Mantegna, Vivarini, and Carpaccio can only be 
 known in Italy. I have already seen innumerable 
 things by Giotto, and I now perfectly understand 
 the history of Italian art. What I saw in Nurem- 
 berg and Munich threw great light on what I have 
 seen here. In the fourteenth century, Giotto form- 
 ed himself after the antique ; then again his school 
 took another direction. Masaccio soars at once to 
 the higher regions. Then art sinks again, and 
 during the first sixty years of the fifteenth century, 
 the Germans are far superior to the Italians. Then 
 the other scale rises. After the time of Rafael and 
 Diirer, the spirit is extinct on both sides the Alps ; 
 — the only difference is, that in Italy, art (that is, 
 technical art) survived. In architecture the Ital- 
 ians of the middle ages are not to be compared to 
 the Germans. In sculpture they surpass them. 
 
 B, G. Niebuhr. (Lebensnachrichten.) 
 
 His portfolio contained, indeed, scarcely any- 
 thing but outlines, but, as they were traced through 
 on the pictures themselves, they had perfectly pre- 
 served their antique character ; and how touching 
 was that ! On every figure and countenance rest- 
 ed the spirit of simple, calm existence. It was im- 
 
110 
 
 possible not to feel certain that all, if not great and 
 noble, were gentle and good. A cheerful spirit of 
 union, a willing acknowledgment of an object of 
 reverence above us, a calm surrender of the soul 
 to love and faith, sat on every face and breathed in 
 every gesture. The old bald-headed man, the rich- 
 locked boy, the high-spirited youth, the sedate and 
 earnest man, the glorified saint, the hovering an- 
 gel, all appeared blessed in innocent contentment, 
 in pious acquiescence. The homliest figure bore 
 traces of a heavenly life, and the service and wor- 
 ship of God seemed the occupation fitted to every 
 nature. 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 
 
 Darwin remarks that we are less dazzled by the 
 light at waking, if we have been dreaming of visi- 
 ble objects. Happy are those who have here 
 dreamt of a higher vision ! They will the sooner 
 be able to endure the glories of the world to come. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 There are so many tender and holy emotions 
 flying about in our inward world, which, like an- 
 gels, can never assume the body of an outward 
 act ; so many rich and lovely flowers spring up 
 which bear no seed, that it is a happiness poetry 
 
Ill 
 
 was invented, which receives into its limbus all 
 these incorporeal spirits, and the perfume of all 
 these flowers. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 DINNER, A DRAMATIC POEM. 
 
 The party passed through the large folding- 
 doors into the dining-room, which looked imme- 
 diately on the garden. Before them lay the op- 
 posite hills, with their thickets of varied green, 
 and beautiful clumps of wood ; in the foreground 
 was the lawn, belted and perfumed round with beds 
 of the loveliest flowers, while like the crystal coro- 
 net of the green plain, a fountain sparkled and 
 gushed in the middle, and invited equally to silence 
 or to conversation by its sweet and silvery tones. 
 
 All seated themselves at table. Flowers of all 
 hues arranged in beautiful vases, and fresh, ruddy 
 cherries in pretty baskets, sparkled over the snowy 
 linen. "Why is it," said Emilia, after a pause 
 of some minutes, "that every dinner party be- 
 gins in silence ? People are thoughtful, and look 
 down ; nobody even expects an animated conver- 
 sation ; for it seems that the soup brings with it a 
 certain serious and tranquil tone of feeling, which 
 usually contrasts strongly with the conclusion of 
 the dinner and the dessert." 
 
 " The hunger which is generally excited by the 
 proximity of eatables, will explain a good deal," 
 
112 
 
 said Wilibald, " especially when dinner is served 
 at a later hour than was fixed." 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 " To return to the soup, which we have now 
 despatched," said Lothair ; " I do not think the 
 taciturnity which accompanies it depends so much 
 on our material wants. It seems to me that every 
 meal or feast is a drama, — when at its best, a 
 Shaksperian comedy, — and has its rules and ne- 
 cessities, by which it is in most cases unconscious- 
 ly governed." 
 
 "How can any reasonable man think other- 
 wise ?" said Wilibald, laughing. "How often is 
 the comic poet unconsciously the richest subject 
 for comedy ! " 
 
 "Let him speak," said Manfred; "you may 
 afterwards compare a dinner to a battle, or to the 
 history of the world, if you will. At table, there 
 ought to be the most unqualified freedom of thought 
 and eating." 
 
 "That the changing courses and dishes may 
 most aptly be compared to acts and scenes," con- 
 tinued Lothair, "must strike everybody ; nor is it 
 less obvious to the reflecting and refined eater, (I 
 ignore those lower natures who doubt of every 
 thing they cannot understand, and in their gross 
 and material stupidity adhere to the belief that 
 eating is nothing more than an expedient for al- 
 laying hunger,) that a certain pervading sentiment 
 
113 
 
 should be expressed, with which nothing in the 
 whole composition of the table should be incon- 
 gruous or discordant, — whether it be the dishes, 
 the wines, or the conversation. For out of all 
 these parts should arise a romantic composition, 
 which should at once amuse, satisfy, and delight ; 
 free from all vehement excitement of the curiosity 
 or the sympathy, from all illusion, and from all 
 bitter recollections. Epigrammatic dishes, for in- 
 stance, which have frequently been employed to 
 cheat and delude, are to be condemned as repug- 
 nant to all good taste." 
 
 "In the north of Germany," said Ernest, "I 
 once saw a sweetmeat representing a heap of turf, 
 which appeared to give extreme delight to the 
 guests." 
 
 Ct I have read in Vasari of most romantic feasts," 
 said Clara, "given by the Florentine painters to 
 one another. They would have only terrified me, 
 for they pushed these strange distortions of fancy to 
 the very utmost. Not did only they construct and 
 demolish palaces and temples of various meats, but 
 even hell, with all its awful shades, was pressed 
 into the service of their poetical extravagance. 
 Toads and serpents enclosed the choicest dainties, 
 and the dessert consisted of ghosts and skeletons in 
 confectionary." 
 
 "I should have liked much to be present at 
 these wild, fantastic entertainments," said Man- 
 
114 
 
 fred. " I never could read the description of them 
 without the greatest pleasure. Why should not 
 fear, horror, surprise, be brought into action in 
 our most immediate and every-day life ? All, even 
 the strangest and the wildest, has its time." 
 
 "But, dear Lothair," said Theodore, "go on 
 with your comparison of a dinner with a drama." 
 
 "To satisfy your curiosity," replied Lothair, 
 " I must begin by pointing out how weighty a part 
 of a play is the introduction. This may be con- 
 ceived in three different and principal ways : either, 
 that the situation of affairs be made known in the 
 simplest and most natural manner, by means of a 
 calm narration, as in 'The Comedy of Errors ' ; 
 or that the poet plunge us into tumult and con- 
 fusion, out of which light and distinctness are 
 gradually evolved, as in ' Romeo and Juliet,' which 
 begins with broils ; or, thirdly, that he lead us at 
 once into the midst of the action, but with calm- 
 ness and deliberation, as in 'Twelfth Night.' It is 
 unquestionable that the last method is to be pre- 
 ferred for a dinner ; and that therefore all civilized 
 nations, and people who do not strive to live and 
 to eat after a strange and fantastic manner, open 
 their repast with a strong, but mild, calmly-digested 
 soup. As all men have an innate propensity to 
 the drama, and the perception that all is drama 
 sleeps darkly within them, they take care, with 
 
115 
 
 reason, not to be too witty, too clever, or tco 
 talkative, as long as the soup is before th m. ' 
 
 Emilia laughed and nodded assent, and Lothair 
 continued. "As, in the last-mentioned comedy, 
 after the almost elegiac intioduction, those pleas- 
 ant personages Sir Toby, Maria, and Sir Andrew 
 Aguecheek enter as a gay and stimulating episode ; 
 so, the solid viands are preceded by anchovies, 
 caviar, or something highly flavored, which does 
 not immediately allay hunger. And thus, not to 
 be to diffuse, satisfaction and excitement succeed 
 each other in agreeable alternations up to the time 
 of the dessert, which must be entirely humorous, 
 poetical, and unrestrained ; as the comedy in ques- 
 tion closes with that most delightfully childish, 
 but significant song of the mos delightful of all 
 fools ; — or, as 'Much Ado About Nothing,' and 
 'As You Like It,' end with a dance, or 'The 
 Winter's Tale ' with the living statue." 
 
 "I see clearly," said Clara, "that we ought to 
 learn eating at school, just as much as any other 
 science." 
 
 " Certainly," said Lothair ; "nothing is so un- 
 becoming an accomplished man as to eat in an 
 injudicious, unscientific and tasteless manner ; for 
 as food is a want of our nature, either the utmost 
 simplicity should reign at our meals, or elegance 
 and mirth should enter into them, and diffuse ease 
 and cheerfulness." 
 
116 
 
 "In truth," said Ernest, "nothing troubles one's 
 enjoyment so much as a vacillating mixture of fru- 
 gality and unpleasurable profusion ; — as some- 
 times one is inundated with excellent wine to wash 
 down meagre and ill-cooked viands, — or con- 
 demned to gulp down wretched wine with exces- 
 sively dainty high-flavored dishes, served on splen- 
 did china. These are the true tragi-comedies, 
 such as every well-regulated, accurate mind, which 
 aims at harmony and consistency, will utterly con- 
 demn and eschew." 
 
 "Under the same class," said Antony, "may 
 be ranged immoderate drinking from ambition ; or 
 when some host, with all the animation of semi- 
 drunkenness, forcibly obliges you to drink, as- 
 suring you with ever-increasing loudness and ve- 
 hemence, that the wine deserves to be drunk, — 
 that this cost so much a bottle, and this so much, 
 but that he does not grudge it to good friends, and 
 that he can stand it, if they should drink twice as 
 much. Such a man, in his pride of purse, does 
 not only reckon the cost of the feast, and the con- 
 sumption of each guest, but he has no rest till you 
 know the price of every table and chair in his 
 house. If he happen to possess any works of art, 
 or curiosities, he is wholly intolerable. His high- 
 est enjoyment is, in all friendliness, to make his 
 guests feel that compared to him they are poor 
 and bankrupt.'" 
 
117 
 
 " It must also be observed," continued Lothair, 
 "that as there ought to be a certain keeping and 
 harmony between the viands and the vessels in 
 which they are served, so the former must not be 
 neglected or injured by an over-proportion of con- 
 versation. The introductory soup should, as has 
 already been said, be accompanied by quiet union 
 and attention ; after this, a little gentle politics, or 
 short anecdotes, or light philosophical remarks, 
 are allowable ; if a company is not very sure of its 
 wit and facetiousness, let it not expend them too 
 early, for at the entrance of the sweets and fruits 
 and fine wines, all seriousness must utterly vanish : 
 that which a quarter of an hour sooner was un- 
 seemly and irregular, is now perfectly admissible ; 
 even ladies take courage to laugh out ; love re- 
 veals itself more undisguisedly ; jealousy betrays 
 itself by more open sallies, — everybody throws 
 himself off his guard, and does not shrink from ex- 
 posing himself to the hitting jokes of his friend ; 
 even some pungent and rather severe stories may 
 now circulate. Great lords formerly had their 
 fools and jesters enter with the sweetmeats, that at 
 the close of their meal they might feel themselves 
 men, — gay, merry, and unconstrained." 
 
 " Now," said Theodore, "that is the time se- 
 lected for bringing in all the little children ; if, 
 indeed, they have not been seated, rank and file, 
 at table." 
 
 9 
 
118 
 
 " Yes," said Manfred, " and the conversation 
 rises to the affecting, on the high ideal virtues of 
 the sweet little creatures and their unutterable love 
 for their parents, and that of the parents for them." 
 
 " And when it takes a very lofty flight," said 
 Theodore, "tears are shed, as the last and most 
 precious liquor which is to be produced ; and thus 
 the dinner closes amidst the deepest commotion of 
 heart." 
 
 " It is not enough," resumed Lothair, " that we 
 avoid such absurdity and ill-breeding ; every din- 
 ner-conversation should be a work of art, a suitable 
 accompaniment to the meal, adapted to it accord- 
 ing to the rules of thorough bass. I do not make 
 any mention of those frightfully large parties which 
 are now, alas ! become almost an universal fashion 
 in our country ; where acquaintances and stran- 
 gers, friends and foes, men of talent and fools, 
 young girls and old dowagers, are seated at ran- 
 dom at a long table : those dinners for which the 
 hostess has thought and bustled, and of which she 
 has dreamt, for a week ; where she has arranged 
 every thing with great splendor, and still greater 
 bad taste, only that she may at length be quit of an 
 entertainment long expected from her, in return for 
 the dozen or more similar feasts which she has un- 
 dergone. In addition to these legal claimants, she 
 invites everybody to whom she thinks she owes 
 any civility, and eagerly catches about a dozen 
 
119 
 
 travellers in her net, that she may remain dis- 
 charged of all after-claims to hospitality from them. 
 No ! I do not allude to those tables at which no 
 one speaks, or all talk at once ; at which chaos 
 reigns, and only in few and rare moments some 
 solitary, private pleasantry can struggle into being; 
 where every conversation comes into the world 
 still-born, or must expire in a moment, like a fish 
 on dry land ; those feasts at which the host must 
 set himself on the rack in order to play the host 
 well, to watch every part of the table, to drink 
 wine with everybody, and to whisper frosty jests 
 into the ears of silly, simpering ladies; — let us 
 pass over in silence these barbarisms of our times, 
 this death of all social pleasure and of all hospital- 
 ity, which, like so many other barbarous customs, 
 has been imported and found a place amongst us." 
 
 "The sickly caricature of these great entertain- 
 ments," added Wilibald, " are the still larger tea- 
 parties and cold suppers, in which the pleasure is 
 heightened by the universal bustle and uproar ; — 
 where, in the general confusion of tongues, ser- 
 vants, called and uncalled, balancing trays of all 
 possible refreshments, dance in between the talk- 
 ers ; each sweeps with his load through every 
 room, to seek he knows not what ; and a lover of 
 order is fain to take up a position by the stove or 
 the window, to escape being run down in the uni- 
 
120 
 
 versal flight, or seized and carried along in the 
 stream of some migratory horde." 
 
 " This," said Manfred, " is the true high style 
 of our social life ; Michael Angelo's Last Judg- 
 ment to the miniature picture of old hospitality and 
 intimate friendship ; the final decree of art, the 
 end of the imagination, the fulfilment of time, of 
 which all the prophets have spoken." 
 
 Tieck. (Phantasus.) 
 
 Duclos remarks that few distinguished works 
 have been produced by any but authors by profes- 
 sion. In France, this class has long been held in 
 respect. With us a man used to be esteemed as 
 less than nothing if he were only an author. This 
 prejudice still shows itself here and there, but the 
 force of honored examples must in time crush it. 
 Authorship is, according to the spirit in which it is 
 pursued, an infamy, a pastime, a day-labor, a 
 handicraft, an art, a science, a virtue. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 As to the manner in which history should be 
 studied, the following observations may suffice. 
 
 It must, as a whole, be regarded in the light of 
 an epos, which has no definite beginning nor end. 
 The student must select that point which he re- 
 
121 
 
 gards as the most important or the most interest- 
 ing, and taking his stand on that, must continue to 
 build and to extend in every direction. 
 
 He must avoid those so-called universal histo- 
 ries, which teach nothing ; at present there are no 
 others. A true universal history must be conceiv- 
 ed in the epic style, — that is, in the spirit percep- 
 tible in Herodotus. What are now so called are 
 compendiums, from which every thing extraordina- 
 ry or important is effaced : let even the reader 
 who does not mean to addict himself to history as 
 his peculiar department, recur as much as possible 
 to original sources and particular histories, which 
 will afford him far more instruction. For modern 
 history, let him learn to relish the naive simplicity 
 of chronicles, which make no pretension to elabo- 
 rate delineations of character, nor to a psychologi- 
 cal analysis of motives. 
 
 He who wishes to cultivate and pursue history 
 as an art, must adhere exclusively to the ancients, 
 who, since the decline of that community and pub- 
 licity which distinguished the life of Greece and 
 Rome, can never again be equalled. Putting aside 
 Gibbon, whose work has the advantage of a vast 
 range of subject, and of the whole force of the 
 transition from ancient to modern civilization, (al- 
 though even he is a rhetor and not a historian,) 
 there exist only national historians ; and among 
 these posterity will mention none but Machiavelli 
 
122 
 
 and Johannes v. Miiller. The letters of the latter, 
 written when a young man, will partly enable the 
 aspirant after eminence in this high walk of litera- 
 ture to calculate the steps he has to climb. It may 
 be generally affirmed, that all that science and art, 
 — all that a life rich in experience and versed in 
 public affairs can give, — must combine to form 
 the historian. 
 
 The first archetypes of the historical style are 
 the epos in its primitive form, and the tragedy : for 
 if universal history, — whose rise, like the sources 
 of the Nile, baffles discovery, — loves the epic 
 form and fulness, particular history, on the other 
 hand, requires to be arranged concentrically around 
 one common point ; not to mention that, for the 
 historian, tragedy is the true source of those grand 
 conceptions and of that elevated mode of thinking 
 to which he ought to form himself. 
 
 Schelling. 
 
 ( Vorlesungen titer die 3IetJiode des academischen Studiums.) 
 
 There are two ways of writing history, one for 
 the learned, the other for the unlearned. In the 
 first case, the writer assumes that the reader is 
 thoroughly conversant with the particular facts. 
 His sole purpose is by apt suggestions and in- 
 structive comparisons to remind the reader of what 
 he already knows, and thus, in the place of his own 
 
123 
 
 desultory knowledge of facts, to present him with 
 a grand whole, or at least to impress it more vivid- 
 ly on his mind. 
 
 In the other case, the writer, even while adher- 
 ing to the same unity of design, is compelled to 
 narrate all the particular facts. 
 
 Goethe. (Recensionen.) 
 
 The writer, or even the student, of history, 
 ought if possible, to know all nations in their now 
 tongue. Languages have one inscrutable ori- 
 gin, — as have all national peculiarities, — and he 
 has but an imperfect knowledge of a people who 
 does not know their language. 
 
 B. G. Niebuhr. {Lebensnachrichten.) 
 
 I hate all people who want to found sects. It 
 is not error, but sectarian error, — nay, and even 
 sectarian truth, — which causes the happiness of 
 mankind. 
 
 Lessing. 
 
 Love one human being purely and warmly, and 
 you will love all. The heart in this heaven, like 
 the wandering sun, sees nothing, from the dewdrop 
 to the ocean, but a mirror which it warms and fills. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
124 
 
 THE DROWNED CHILD. 
 
 She sprang into the boat, grasped the oar, 
 
 and pushed off. The boat did not move ; she was 
 compelled to use all her strength, and to repeat 
 the effort. The boat rocked, and floated a little 
 from the shore. On her left arm was the child, in 
 her left hand the book, in her right the oar ; — 
 she tottered with the motion and fell. The oar 
 dragged her towards one side of the boat, and, as 
 she tried to recover herself, the child and the book 
 towards the other ; they fell into the water. 
 
 She grasped the child's clothes, but her own 
 position rendered it impossible for her to rise. 
 Her right hand, now disengaged, was not suf- 
 ficient to enable her to turn or to stand up ; at 
 length she accomplished it ; she drew the child 
 out of the water, but his eyes were closed, — he 
 had ceased to breathe. 
 
 At this moment her whole recollection returned, 
 but the greater was her anguish. The boat had 
 drifted almost into the middle of the lake, the oar 
 had floated far away, she saw no one on the 
 shore, — and what would it have availed her if she 
 had ? Cut off from every thing, she floated on 
 the faithless, pathless element. 
 
 She sought help from herself. She had often heard 
 the means described of restoring those apparently 
 drowned, and had even witnessed their efficacy. 
 
125 
 
 She stripped the child, and dried it with her mus- 
 lin robe. She tore open her bosom, and for the 
 first time laid it bare to the heavens ; for the first 
 time she pressed a living creature to her pure, 
 naked breast. Alas ! it was not living ! 
 
 The cold limbs of the unhappy babe struck a 
 chill to her inmost heart. Streams of tears gushed 
 from her eyes, and gave to the surface of the life- 
 less body an appearance of warmth and life. She 
 would not give over. She wrapped it round and 
 round in her shawl ; she chafed, pressed and 
 breathed on it, and thus, and by tears and kisses, 
 she felt as if she in some measure compensated 
 for the want of those succors which, in her deso- 
 late situation, were denied her. 
 
 All in vain ! Motionless lay the child upon her 
 arm, — motionless lay the boat on the surface of 
 the water. But even now her sweet spirit left her 
 not utterly helpless. She turned to the Helper 
 above. She sank on her knees in the boat, and 
 raised the lifeless babe with both arms across her 
 innocent breast, — as white, and, alas ! as cold, 
 as marble. With tearful eyes she looked upward, 
 and called for help from thence, where a tender 
 heart hopes to find it in the greatest abundance 
 when its need is the greatest. 
 
 And not in vain did she turn to the heavens, 
 whence already the stars began to look forth. A 
 
126 
 
 soft breeze arose, and wafted the boat close to the 
 landing-place at the plane trees. 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandlschaften.) 
 
 Concerning nothing do we come to more false 
 conclusions and make more false steps, than con- 
 cerning woman's cheerfulness. Ah ! how many 
 of these affectionate creatures are there who pine 
 unknown, despond smiling, and wither jesting ; 
 who with bright, joyous eyes, flee into a corner, 
 as if behind a fan, that there they may right gladly 
 break out into the tears which oppressed them ; 
 who pay for the day of smiles by a night of tears, 
 — just as an unusually transparent, clear, and 
 mistless day surely foretells rain ! 
 
 Jean Paul. (Campaner-Thal.) 
 
 LETTER FROM AN OLD MARRIED WOMAN TO A 
 SENSITIVE YOUNG LADY. 
 
 You do your husband injustice, dear child, if 
 you think he loves you less than formerly. He is 
 a man of an ardent, active temper, who loves la- 
 bor and exertion, and finds his pleasure in them ; 
 and as long as his love for you furnished him with 
 labor and exertion he was completely absorbed in 
 it. But this has, of course, ceased ; your recipro- 
 
127 
 
 cal position, — but by no means his love, as you 
 imagine, — has changed. 
 
 A love which seeks to conquer, and a love which 
 has conquered, are two totally different passions. 
 The one puts on the stretch all the virtues of the 
 hero ; it excites in him fear, hope, desire ; it leads 
 him from triumph to triumph, and makes him think 
 every foot of ground that he gains, a kingdom. 
 Hence it keeps alive and fosters all the active 
 powers of the man who abandons himself to it. 
 The happy husband cannot appear like the lover ; 
 he has not like him to fear, to hope, and to desire ; 
 he has no longer that charming toil, with all its 
 triumphs, which he had before, nor can that which 
 he has already won be again a conquest. 
 
 You have only, my dear child, to attend to this 
 most natural and inevitable difference, and you will 
 see in the whole conduct of your husband, who 
 now finds more pleasure in business than in your 
 smiles, nothing to offend you. You wish, — do 
 you not ? — that he would still sit with you alone 
 on the mossy bank in front of the grotto, as he 
 used to do, look in your blue eyes, and kneel to 
 kiss your pretty hand. You wish that he would 
 paint to you in livelier colors than ever those de- 
 lights of love which lovers know* how to describe 
 with so much art and passion ; that he would lead 
 your imagination from one rapture to another. My 
 wishes, at least for the first year after I married 
 
128 
 
 my husband, went to nothing short of this. But it 
 will not do; — the best husband is also the most 
 useful and active member of society ; and when 
 love no longer demands toil and trouble, — when 
 every triumph is a mere repetition of the last, — 
 when success has lost something of its value along 
 with its novelty, — the taste for activity no longer 
 finds its appropriate food, and turns to fresh objects 
 of pursuit. The necessity for occupation and for 
 progress is of the very essence of our souls ; and 
 if our husbands are guided by reason in the choice 
 of occupation, we ought not to pout because they 
 do not sit with us so often as formerly by the sil- 
 ver brook or under the beech tree. At first I too 
 found it hard to endure the change. But my hus- 
 band talked to me about it with perfect frankness 
 and sincerity. "The joy with which you receive 
 me," said he, "does not conceal your vexation, 
 and your saddened eye tries in vain to assume a 
 cheerful look ; I see what you want, — that I 
 would sit as I used to do on the mossy bank, hang 
 on all your steps, and live on your breath ; but 
 this is impossible. I would bring you down from 
 the top of the church steeple on a rope ladder, at 
 the peril of my life, if I could obtain you in no other 
 way ; but now, as I have you fast in my arms, as 
 all dangers are passed and all obstacles overcome, 
 my passion can no longer find satisfaction in that 
 way. What has once been sacrificed to my self- 
 
129 
 
 love, ceases to be a sacrifice. The spirit of in- 
 vention, discovery, and conquest, inherent in man, 
 demands a new career. Before I obtained you I 
 used all the virtues I possessed as steps by which 
 to reach you ; but now, as I have you, I place you 
 at the top of them, and you are the highest step 
 from which I now hope to ascend higher." 
 
 Little as I relished the notion of the church 
 tower, or the honor of serving as the highest step 
 under my husband's feet, time and reflection on 
 the course of human affairs convinced me that the 
 thing could not be otherwise. I therefore turned 
 my active mind, which would perhaps in time have 
 been tired of the mossy bank, to the domestic busi- 
 ness which came within my department ; and when 
 we had both been busy and bustling in our several 
 ways, and could tell each other in the evening what 
 we had been doing, he in the fields, and I in the 
 house or the garden, we were often more happy 
 and contented than the most loving couple in the 
 world. 
 
 And, what is best of all, this pleasure has not 
 left us after thirty years of marriage. We talk with 
 as much animation as ever of our domestic affairs ; 
 I have learned to know all my husband's tastes, 
 and I relate to him whatever I think likely to please 
 him out of journals, whether political or literary ; 
 I recommend books to him, and lay them before 
 him ; I carry on the correspondence with our mar- 
 
130 
 
 ried children, and often delight him with good news 
 of them and our little grandchildren. As to his 
 accounts, I understand them as well as he, and 
 make them easier to him by having mine of all the 
 yearly outlay which passes through my hands, 
 ready and in order ; if necessary, I can send in a 
 statement to the treasury chamber, and my hand 
 makes as good a figure in our cash-book as his ; 
 we are accustomed to the same order, we know the 
 spirit of all our affairs and duties, and we have one 
 aim and one rule in all our undertakings. 
 
 This would never have been the case if we had 
 played the part of tender lovers after marriage as 
 well as before, and had exhausted our energies in 
 asseverations of mutual love. We should perhaps 
 have regarded each other with ennui, and have 
 soon found the grotto too damp, the evening air too 
 cool, the noontide too hot, the morning fatiguing. 
 We should have longed for visitors, who when they 
 came would not have been amused, and would have 
 impatiently awaited the hour of departure, or, if 
 we went to them, would have wished us away. 
 Spoiled by effeminate trifling, we should have 
 wanted to continue to trifle, and to share in pleas- 
 ures we could not enjoy ; or have been compelled 
 to find refuge at the card-table, — the last place at 
 which the old can figure with the young. 
 
 Do you wish not to fall into this state, my dear 
 child ? Follow my example, and do not torment 
 
J31 
 
 yourself and your excellent husband with unreason- 
 able exactions. Don't think, however, that I have 
 entirely renounced the pleasure of seeing mine at 
 my feet. Opportunities for this present themselves 
 far more frequently to those who do not seek, but 
 seem to avoid them, than to those who allow them- 
 selves to be found on the mossy bank at all times, 
 and as often as it pleases their lord and master. 
 
 I still sometimes sing to my little grandchildren, 
 when they come to see me, a song which, in the 
 days when his love had still to contend with all 
 sorts of obstacles, used to throw him into raptures ; 
 and when the little ones cry, "Ancora! ancora ! 
 grandmamma," his eyes- fill with tears of joy. I 
 asked him once whether he would not now think it 
 too dangerous to bring me down a rope-ladder from 
 the top of the church steeple, upon which he called 
 out as vehemently as the children, "O, ancora! 
 grandmamma, ancora ! " 
 
 P. S. — One thing, my dear child, I forgot. It 
 seems to me that you trust too entirely to your 
 good cause and your good heart, (perhaps, too, a 
 little to your blue eyes,) and do not deign to try to 
 attract your husband anew. I fancy you are at 
 home, just as you were a week ago in society at 
 our excellent G — 's, where I found you all as stiff 
 and silent as if you had met only to tire each other 
 to death. Did you not observe how soon I set the 
 whole company in motion ? This was merely by a 
 
132 
 
 few words addressed to each, on the subject I 
 thought most agreeable or most flattering to him. 
 After a time the others began to feel more happy 
 and at their ease, and we parted in high spirits and 
 good humor. 
 
 What I did there, I do daily at home. I try to 
 make myself and all around me agreeable. It will 
 not do to leave a man to himself till he comes to 
 you, to take no pains to attract him, or to appear 
 before him with a long face. But it is not so diffi- 
 cult as you think, dear child, to behave to a hus- 
 band so that he shall remain for ever in some meas- 
 ure a lover. I am an old woman, but you can still 
 do what you like ; a word from you at the right 
 time will not fail of its effect. What need have you 
 to play the suffering virtue ? The tear of a loving 
 girl, says an old book, is like a dewdrop on the 
 rose ; but that on the cheek of a wife is a drop of 
 poison to her husband. Try to appear cheerful and 
 contented, and your husband will be so ; and when 
 you have made him happy, you will become so, not 
 in appearance, but in reality. 
 
 The skill required is not so great. Nothing 
 flatters a man so much as the happiness of his 
 wife ; he is always proud of himself as the source 
 of it. As soon as you are cheerful, you will be 
 lively and alert, and every moment will afford you 
 an opportunity of letting fall an agreeable word. 
 Your education, which gives you an immense ad- 
 
133 
 
 vantage, will greatly assist you ; and your sensi- 
 bility will become the noblest gift that nature has 
 bestowed on you, when it shows itself in affection- 
 ate assiduity, and stamps on every action a soft, 
 kind, and tender character, instead of wasting itself 
 in secret repinings. 
 
 Justus Moser. (Patriotische Fantasien.) 
 
 The poet must have the power of bringing 
 before himself the thoughts of others ; likewise 
 thoughts in every kind of series, and in every 
 variety of expression. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 There are in certain heads a kind of established 
 errors against which reason has no weapons. There 
 are more of these mere assertions current than one 
 would believe. Men are very fond of proving 
 their steadfast adherence to nonsense. 
 
 Von Knebel. 
 
 Innocence and ignorance are sisters. But there 
 are noble and vulgar sisters. Vulgar innocence 
 and ignorance are mortal, they have pretty faces, 
 but wholly without expression, and of a transient 
 beauty ; the noble sisters are immortal, their lofty 
 10 
 
134 
 
 forms are unchangeable, and their countenances 
 are still radiant with the light of paradise. They 
 dwell in heaven, and visit only the noblest and 
 most severely tried of mankind. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 Both love of mankind and respect for their rights 
 are duties ; the former however only a conditional, 
 the latter an unconditional, purely imperative duty, 
 which he must be perfectly certain not to have 
 transgressed, who would give himself up to the 
 sweet emotions arising from beneficence. 
 
 Kant. (Zum ewigen Frieden.) 
 
 As no censor can found his prohibitions on the 
 exclusive possession and protection of truth, he 
 must maintain his right to a dominion over inquiry 
 on some other ground than the worth or worthless- 
 ness of its results. This other ground is, their in- 
 fluence on ike people. The poor people ! Every- 
 where are they invited into the court of the palace 
 when the heaviest burdens of war or of peace are 
 to be carried away ; everywhere are they driven 
 out of it when the greatest treasures are to be dis- 
 tributed, for example, light, art, pleasure, Sic. 
 
 With what right does any one class demand the 
 exclusive possession of light ? — unless indeed it 
 
135 
 
 means also to claim exclusive possession of the in- 
 iquitous power of ruling more absolutely from its 
 own light over others' darkness. 
 
 Can a state permit the developement of the facul- 
 ties of human nature only to certain individuals, as 
 it grants titles and orders ? On the contrary, the 
 claim on a state for the means of culture is the 
 stronger, the smaller its actual amount ; the de- 
 mand for the primary and simplest education, more 
 urgent than for the highest. 
 
 But upon this matter the old arguments, — the 
 hoary satellites of despotism, — still exist ; namely, 
 that the people, like horses and birds in the mill 
 or the fowling-floor, serve both their own interests 
 and the interests of the state much better when 
 blinded. 
 
 But these decrepit servants of tyranny knavishly 
 assume that the same sunlight which is useful on 
 mountains, is mischievous in valleys ; and that 
 want of education, though it will not protect the 
 high against error and corruption, will the low ; 
 that truth misunderstood can never become truth 
 misused except among the people. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 .... Such are the desponding conclusions as to 
 human affairs to which we are inevitably driven if 
 we do not cherish a firm conviction that the pure 
 
136 
 
 abstract principles of right have an objective reali- 
 ty, — that is, are susceptible of execution ; and that 
 the transactions either of the people of a state, or 
 of states with one another, must be in accordance 
 with those principles, let empirical policy oppose to 
 them what it may. True policy can therefore take 
 no step without first doing homage to morality ; 
 and although policy is certainly in itself a difficult 
 art, yet. its union with morality is no art at all ; 
 since, wherever they are opposed, the latter cuts 
 the knot which the former cannot untie. Justice 
 must be held sacred by men, let the sacrifices it 
 may cost the sovereign power be what they may. 
 There can be no acting by halves, nor contriving 
 that intermediate thing between justice and expedi- 
 ency, — a justice subject to conditions of narrow 
 and partial utility ; but all policy, to have any per- 
 manent strength, must bow the knee to justice. 
 
 Kant. (Zum eicigen Frieden.) 
 
 RELIGION AND ART. 
 
 The Greeks were in a certain sense fortunate, 
 that long before art had a visible existence, the 
 genius of the people had prepared the way for the 
 artist and had prefigured the whole world of art. 
 That mystical element which is so essential a part 
 of religion, — in which we dimly conceive and feel 
 the divine nature as infinite and absolutely different 
 
137 
 
 from the human, — as incapable of all representa- 
 tion and the subject only of faint and imperfect 
 suggestions, — this element was not wholly exclud- 
 ed indeed, — for that were impossible, — but thrown 
 into the back-ground, especially by poetry. The 
 ancient legends which describe the secret influ- 
 ences of the universal powers of nature, had, even 
 as early as the Homeric age, nearly lost all mean- 
 ing to the Greeks ; the festal rites which sprang 
 from this root continued to be observed as venera- 
 ble and traditional ceremonies ; but poetry fol- 
 lowed her inevitable course, — to fashion every 
 thing after the analogy of human life ; and with 
 this a simple piety, which conceived the Deity as a 
 human protector and counsellor, a father and friend 
 in every time of need, was perfectly consistent. 
 The bards, who were themselves only the organs 
 of the universal sentiment, gradually rendered their 
 descriptions more individual and precise ; as we 
 see that Homer did not attain to the same degree 
 of sensible distinctness which characterized the 
 poets of the most flourishing age of plastic art. 
 When, however, plastic art had succeeded in rep- 
 resenting the outward forms of life in all their truth 
 and significancy, there remained only for her to 
 give substance to the ideal images which the im- 
 agination had already individualized. And although 
 this could never be done without an entirely origi- 
 nal conception, without inspiration, and an exertion 
 
138 
 
 of genius on the part of the artist, yet the general 
 conception of the god entertained by the whole 
 nation was there, and served as a criterion of the 
 accuracy of the representation. If the established 
 and distinct conception of the god, and the exqui- 
 site sense of the Greeks for the character of forms, 
 were completely satisfied, a normal image arose, to 
 which all succeeding artists conformed, though 
 with the living freedom of genius ; evincing that 
 peculiar taste and judgment of the Hellenic nations, 
 equally removed from oriental stiffness and servil- 
 ity, and from the modern rage for originality, which 
 is the mere offspring of vanity. Statues of gods 
 and heroes were produced, which possessed not 
 less internal truth and distinctness than if the gods 
 and heroes had actually set to the artists. This 
 state of things the world has beheld but once, be- 
 cause it was only in Greece that art was the busi- 
 ness of the nation. 
 
 The foregoing remarks are illustrated chiefly by 
 the statues of those gods who were in the highest 
 degree individualized : that is, whose nature was the 
 least susceptible of being reduced to an elemental 
 idea. It is not as significant symbols, but as actual 
 existences, that we consider them ; which arises 
 not from their having been the objects of outward 
 perception, but from their ideal character having 
 lived through the whole history of the Greek races 
 by which they were worshipped, and received a 
 
139 
 
 thousand impressions from it. Hence they are in 
 the highest degree corporeal, — they possess the 
 most intense personality. 
 
 They are, the gods of Olympus ; the supreme 
 Zeus, with his children and kindred. 
 
 Ottfried Mllller. 
 
 BERLIN SINGING-SCHOOL. 
 
 My main reason for wishing for you now, is 
 purely ideal. Our chorus is now nothing less than 
 a vast organon, which I can set a-playing or stop, 
 with a movement of my hand ; and can make it, 
 like a telegraph, denote and express great thoughts. 
 
 An organ, every pipe of which is a rational, vol- 
 untary agent, may realize our highest conceptions, 
 but then it demands the highest mind to govern it. 
 Here are the most promising youth of a large and 
 not wholly corrupted capital, gathered together, 
 eagerly receiving every good suggestion, and qui- 
 etly following it out ; — a school, whose end is wis- 
 dom, whose means, poetry, harmony, and song. 
 
 Zelter. 
 
 God preserve us the use of our senses, and 
 
 send every beginner a competent master ! But as 
 these are not always and everywhere to be had, we 
 wish that every artist or lover of art would give 
 
140 
 
 us a tisqI eavxoii of his attempts ; of the difficulties 
 which he found it the hardest to overcome ; of the 
 powers by which he surmounted those difficulties ; 
 of the accidents which helped him ; of the inspira- 
 tion that in certain moments came over him and 
 enlightened him as to his own being, till at length, 
 gradually advancing in strength, he gained posses- 
 sion of the mighty empire, and compelled the neigh- 
 bouring arts, — nay, universal nature, — to pay 
 tribute to him as king and conqueror. 
 
 Thus, — proceeding from the mechanical to the 
 intellectual, from the grinding of colors and the 
 stretching of strings to the true influence of the 
 arts on heart and mind, — we might collect a living 
 theory, which might delight and encourage the 
 lover of art, and perhaps afford no inconsiderable 
 help to genius. 
 
 Goethe. (Recensionen.) 
 
 It is as if women made every thing with, their 
 hands, and men with tools. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 True hope is based on energy of character. A 
 strong mind always hopes, and has always cause to 
 hope, because it knows the mutability of human 
 affairs, and how slight a circumstance may change 
 
141 
 
 the whole course of events. Such a spirit, too, 
 rests upon itself; it is not confined to partial views, 
 or to one particular object. And if at last all 
 should be lost, it has saved itself, — its own integ- 
 rity and worth. 
 
 Hope awakens courage, while despondency is 
 the last of all evils ; it is the abandonment of good, 
 — the giving up of the battle of life with dead 
 nothingness. He who can implant courage in the 
 human soul is its best physician. 
 
 To seek to govern men by their fears and their 
 wants is an unworthy purpose ; the desire to rule 
 by means of cowardice is itself cowardice. Love 
 inspires courage and hope, and thus is doubly the 
 giver and the preserver of life. 
 
 Whatever teaches us boldly to combat the mani- 
 fold doubts and assaults of life, enables us to win 
 the crown of victory. Special care ought there- 
 fore to be taken in education to teach what true 
 courage is, — as well in social and domestic, as in 
 public affairs, — and by what means it may best be 
 sustained. 
 
 Von Knebel. 
 
 The censor of political and religious books 
 should remember the Cayba spider Don Antonio 
 de Ulloa talks of, which gives out a mortal poison 
 if seized and crushed, but is perfectly innoxious 
 when blown off the skin. 
 
 Jean PauL 
 
142 
 
 LETTER TO GOETHE. 
 
 March 5th, 1808. 
 
 Frankfort is wet, cold, odious. If it were not 
 for your mother, winter here would be intolerable, 
 — so utterly without consistency, — nothing but 
 eternally melting snow. 
 
 I have a rival in her good graces, a squirrel 
 which a handsome French soldier left here in 
 quarters. She lets it do whatever it likes. She 
 calls it Jack (Hanschen), and Jack may gnaw the 
 chairs and tables, — nay, he has even had the 
 audacity to sit upon her state cap, and bite the 
 feathers and flowers. 
 
 A day or two ago I called in the evening, and 
 the maid let me in, saying that she was out, but 
 would soon return. The room was dark, — I sat 
 down by the window and looked out. Suddenly 
 it seemed to me as if something rustled. I lis- 
 tened, and thought I heard breathing ; I was 
 half afraid ; I heard something move again, and 
 asked, willing to put it on the squirrel, "Jack, are 
 you there?" "It's not Jack, it's John," an- 
 swered a sonorous bass voice in the background, 
 to my great surprise and consternation, and there- 
 on the ubique mains spiritus cleared his throat. 
 Awestruck, I did not venture from my place ; the 
 spirit gave no other indications of his presence 
 than his breathing and an occasional sneeze. I 
 
143 
 
 now heard your mother ; she entered with Miss 
 Lieschen behind her, bearing the scarcely lighted 
 candles. " Are you there?" said she, taking off 
 her cap, which she deposited on its nocturnal 
 stand, — a green wine bottle ; "Yes," exclaimed 
 both of us at once, and a bestarred gentleman ad- 
 vanced out of the corner, and said, " Frau Rath,* 
 will you let me eat a ham salad and some pancakes 
 (Eierkuchen) with you to-night ? " Hereupon I 
 concluded that John was no other than a prince 
 of Mecklenburg ; for who has not heard your moth- 
 er tell the pretty story, how, at the emperor's cor- 
 onation, the present Queen of Prussia, then a 
 little princess, and her brother saw the Frau Rath 
 going to eat this identical supper, and how their 
 appetite was so inflamed by the sight that they ate 
 it all to the last leaf ? 
 
 She now related the whole history over again with 
 great glee, and many others besides ; for instance, 
 how she procured for the princesses the pleasure 
 of pumping water till they were tired, at the pump 
 in her yard ; how she tried by every possible argu- 
 ment to prevent the governess from calling them 
 away, and at last, finding she could not prevail, 
 used force, and locked her up in a room. "For," 
 said your mother, "I had rather have got into the 
 most serious scrape, than that the dear children 
 
 * Mrs. Councillor, — the title by which Goethe's mother was 
 universally known, and peculiar to her. — Translator. 
 
144 
 
 should have been disturbed in their innocent en- 
 joyment, which they would never have been al- 
 lowed anywhere but in my house ; and indeed they 
 told me when they took leave, that they should 
 never forget how happy and merry they had been." 
 
 I could write you sheets full of such reminis- 
 cences. 
 
 Bettina. (Frau v. Arnim.) 
 (Briefwechsel Goethes mit einem Kinde.) 
 
 PESTALOZZI. 
 
 Pestalozzi places himself before us in his own 
 writings with the most genuine and touching frank- 
 ness. I might cite him, like Luther, as exhibiting the 
 distinctive features of the German heart, and might 
 draw the cheering inference, that this heart, with 
 all its wonder-working powers, still beats within 
 the wide circle where the German tongue is spoken. 
 Pestalozzi, too, lived a whole life of toil, struggling 
 with every possible obstacle ; internally, with his 
 own obstinate confusion and awkwardness of mind, 
 and his very slender stock of the ordinary ap- 
 pliances furnished by a learned education ; exter- 
 nally, with unceasing misapprehensions ; he strug- 
 gled forward towards a dim and shadowy object, of 
 which he had no distinct knowledge whatever, yet 
 was sustained and borne along by an unconquer- 
 able and all-powerful impulse, — love for the poor, 
 
145 
 
 destitute, neglected people. This all-powerful love 
 made him, like Luther, (only in another manner, 
 and one more suited to his age,) its instrument ; it 
 was the life of his life ; it was unconsciously to 
 himself, the strong and unbroken clue which guid- 
 ed his whole course through all the clouds that 
 surrounded it, and which crowned its evening, — 
 for it was impossible that such a love should depart 
 from earth unrequited, — with a triumph of what 
 may be truly called his intellectual discovery, far 
 beyond his most daring hopes. He had wished 
 only to help the people ; but his discovery, taken in 
 its widest extension, abolishes the people, — abolish- 
 es the distinction between them and the educated 
 classes ; gives, instead of popular education, (which 
 was the object of his efforts,) national education, 
 and may in time become the instrument of raising 
 the masses, and the whole human race, out of the 
 depths of that misery in which he found them. 
 
 Fichte. (Reden an die deutsche Nation.) 
 
 Siebenkas pored over a fatal iron-mould, — 
 
 a pock-mark or wart in his wife's heart ; he could 
 never raise her to a lyrical enthusiasm of love, in 
 which she might forget heaven and earth and all 
 things. She could count the strokes of the clock 
 between his kisses, — and listen to the pot boiling 
 
146 
 
 over and run to take it off, with the big tears, 
 which he had drawn forth by a beautiful story or a 
 discourse from the outpourings of his heart, yet 
 standing in her eyes. She sat in the adjoining 
 room and sang to herself quavering psalms, and 
 in the middle of a verse she interpolated the pro- 
 saic question, " What shall I cook this evening ? " 
 And he could never get it out of his head, that 
 once, in the midst of the most moved attention to 
 a closet-sermon of his on death and eternity, she 
 looked thoughtful downwards, and at length said, 
 " Don't put on your left stocking to-morrow morn- 
 in ; I must first mend a hole in it." 
 
 The author of this history hereby asserts that 
 he has often gone nearly out of his mind in con- 
 sequence of such-like feminine interludes. It is 
 in truth to be wished that the said author, in case 
 he enter into the estate of matrimony, may find a 
 woman to whom he can read the most essential 
 principles and dictata of metaphysics and astrono- 
 n y, and who will not, in his most towering flights, 
 cast up his stockings at him. He will however be 
 satisfied if one fall to his lot who has humbler 
 merits, but' who is c; pable of soaring with him to 
 a certain height ; — one on whose opened eyes and 
 heart the flowery earth and beaming heavens strike 
 not in infinitesimals, but in large and towering mass- 
 es ; for whom the great Whole is something more 
 than a nursery or a ball-room ; one who, with a 
 
147 
 
 feeling at once tender and discriminating, and with 
 a heart at once pious and large, for ever improves 
 the man whom she has wedded. This it is, and 
 no more, to which the author of this history limits 
 his wishes. 
 
 Jean Paul. ( SiebenkUs. ) 
 
 To have freedom, is only to have that which is 
 absolutely necessary to enable us to be what we 
 ought to be, and to possess what we ought to pos- 
 sess. This is clear, if we ask ourselves what are 
 the grounds and objects of our aspirations and 
 wishes, and reflect what are the obstacles to their 
 fulfilment. This inquiry leads us to the root of all 
 lying. The first privation of freedom consists in 
 this, — that we must not say what we wish, nor 
 what we think. In the secrecy of prayer we say it 
 to our Heavenly Father, indeed he knows it with- 
 out our confessions ; but in the world we lie and 
 conceal. Yet he alone is worthy to be called a 
 friend, to whom we dare to show ourselves as we are. 
 If lies are told us, we must look to ourselves as the 
 cause ; we must not only deserve confidence by 
 our integrity, but inspire and invite it by our kinc'- 
 ness and indulgence. To repose such confidence 
 is the profoundest of all social wants ; the end and 
 the foundation of speech. 
 
 Rahel. 
 
148 
 
 .... Many among you may think it inexpedient 
 to speak frequently, or indeed ever, except on oc- 
 casions of great solemnity, of religion, — and to 
 this I shall not attempt to reply. But the world 
 cannot forbid you to manifest the spirit of religion 
 in a holy life. You may therefore show forth its 
 essence in every act and deed ; even the most or- 
 dinary and trivial affairs and relations of life need 
 not be devoid of- the expression of a pious heart. 
 Let the deep and sacred feeling which inspires 
 and governs all your actions, show that even in 
 those trifles over which a profane mind passes with 
 levity, the music of a lofty sentiment echoes in 
 your heart ; let the majestic serenity with which 
 you estimate the great and the small, prove that 
 you refer every thing to the Immutable, — that 
 you perceive the Godhead alike in every thing ; 
 let the bright cheerfulness with which you encoun- 
 ter every proof of our transitory nature, reveal to 
 all men that you live above time and above the 
 world ; let your easy and graceful self-denial prove 
 how many of the bonds of egotism you have al- 
 ready broken ; and let the ever quick and open 
 spirit from which neither what is rarest nor most 
 ordinary escapes, show with what unwearied ardor 
 you seek for every trace of the Godhead, — with 
 what eagerness you watch for its slightest manifes- 
 tation. If your whole life, and every movement 
 of your outward and inward being, is thus guided 
 
149 
 
 by religion, perhaps the hearts of many will be 
 touched by this mute language, and will open to 
 the reception of that spirit which dwells within you. 
 
 Schleiermacher. (Ueber die Religion.) 
 
 As to the value of conversions, God alone can 
 judge. God alone can know how wide are the 
 steps which the soul has to take before it can ap- 
 proach to a community with Him, to the dwelling 
 of the perfect, or to the intercourse and friendship 
 of higher natures. 
 
 Goethe. (Recensionen.) 
 
 PROGRESS AND PERMANENCY. 
 
 Breslau, Dec. 23rf, 1805. 
 
 Your letter of the 20th, which I have just read 
 a second time, contains something which I cannot 
 for a moment leave unanswered ; for I cannot bear 
 to be misunderstood by a man like you on so im- 
 portant a point. 
 
 That " I hate intellectual progress," I never 
 said, or at least never meant. How could I do 
 myself such injustice ? What I meant is nearly as 
 follows : — 
 
 Two principles govern the moral and intellectual 
 world. One is perpetual progress, the other, the 
 necessary limitations to that progress. If the for- 
 11 
 
150 
 
 mer alone prevailed, there would be nothing stead- 
 fast and durable on earth, and the whole of social 
 life would be the sport of winds and waves. If the 
 latter had exclusive sway, or even if it obtained a 
 mischievous preponderancy, every thing would pet- 
 rify or rot. The best ages of the world are always 
 those in which these two principles are the most 
 equally balanced. In such ages every enlighten- 
 ed man ought to adopt both principles into his 
 whole mind and conduct, and with one hand devel- 
 ope what he can, with the other restrain and up- 
 hold what he ought. 
 
 But in wild and stormy times, when this balance 
 is destroyed by attacks on the conservative princi- 
 ple ; or in dark and barbarous times, when the 
 principle of progress is unduly checked, it appears 
 to me that every individual should take a part, and 
 should become to a certain extent one-sided, in 
 order to form a sort of counterpoise to the disorder 
 that reigns around him. When fear of truth, per- 
 secution for opinions, and stupid persistency weigh 
 down the human mind, the best men of their age 
 must strive, even unto martyrdom, for progress. 
 When, on the other hand, — as in our times, — 
 destruction of every kind is become the ruling and 
 preponderant tendency, all distinguished men must 
 attach themselves obstinately to old opinions and 
 institutions. 
 
 Thus alone did I understand the question. And 
 
151 
 
 even now, even in these times of dissolution, very 
 many must of course labor at the mental culture 
 of the human race ; but some must devote them- 
 selves to the more difficult, the more thankless, the 
 more dangerous task of struggling against the ex- 
 cessive tendency to change. That these men must, 
 above all things, be highly cultivated, I assume as 
 indispensable. 
 
 # * * * * 
 
 I am as little inclined to extremes as you. The 
 difference between us lies mainly in this : you 
 have the principle of progress, as aim, constantly 
 before your eyes ; but, too great and too wise to 
 rush blindly forward, you have learned and have 
 admirably taught others, how necessary it is to 
 hold the rein even while you urge forward. I have 
 chosen the conservative principle as my polar star; 
 but I never forget that we must urge onward, even 
 while we keep a steady rein. 
 
 In tranquil times we should stand precisely on 
 the same line ; even in the storms of these tremen- 
 dous days we are in a state of perpetual approxi- 
 mation ; both extremely near to the centre, though 
 starting from a different point of the periphery. 
 
 Greidz. {Briefe an Johannes v. Midler.) 
 
 They came, saw, and conquered, — all who 
 were at table expecting them. Heavens ! they 
 
152 
 
 were enlightened, eighteenth-century men. They 
 stood up stoutly for moderate freedom, and good 
 amusing reading, and moderate deism, and moder- 
 ate philosophy. They delivered themselves most 
 clearly against the apparition of spirits, — against 
 all illusions and all extremes. They liked very 
 well to read their poets, — as models of style to be 
 advantageously used in business, and as relaxa- 
 tions from solid affairs ; they relished nightingales, 
 — roasted ; and liked myrtles, as Spanish bakers 
 do, — to heat their ovens with ; they had killed 
 the great sphynx, who sets us the riddle of life, 
 and carried off the stuffed hide, and they held it 
 for a wonder that anybody else would now submit 
 to be puzzled. Genius, said they, we would cer- 
 tainly not throw away ; we would keep it for sale. 
 And their icy souls burn but for one object, — for 
 the body ; this is solid and real ; this is the true 
 state, and religion, and art. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Titan.) 
 
 THE HARTZ. 
 
 The mountains were here steeper, the pine 
 
 forests waved beneath like a deep green sea, and 
 white clouds floated across the blue heavens. The 
 wildness of the scene was, as it were, tamed by its 
 unity and simplicity. Nature, like a good poet, 
 loves no abrupt transitions. The clouds, however 
 
153 
 
 fantastic be their forms, have a pure and tender 
 coloring which harmonizes with the blue sky and 
 the green earth, so that all the hues of a region 
 melt into each other like soft music, and nature, 
 under each of her aspects, has a tranquillizing and 
 soothing influence. 
 
 Like a great poet too, nature can produce the 
 greatest effects with the fewest means. There are 
 only a sun, trees, flowers, water, — and love. It 
 is true, if this is wanting in the heart of the specta- 
 tor, the whole may present but a poor uninterest- 
 ing spectacle ; and the sun is then only so many 
 miles in diameter, and the trees are good for fire- 
 wood, and the flowers are classified according to 
 the number of their stamina, and the water is wet. 
 * # # * # 
 
 A little boy, who was gathering brushwood in 
 the forest for his sick uncle, pointed out to me the 
 village of Leerbach. He seemed to be upon a 
 footing of the greatest intimacy with the trees ; he 
 greeted them as old acquaintances, and they rustled 
 their greetings in reply. He whistled like a linnet, 
 and the other birds all around answered him ; and 
 before I was well aware, he had disappeared in the 
 thicket with his naked feet and his bundle of brush- 
 wood. 
 
 Children, thought I, are younger than we, and 
 can still remember the time when they were trees 
 or birds, and can therefore understand and speak 
 
154 
 
 their language ; but we are grown old, and have 
 too many cares, and too much jurisprudence and 
 bad poetry in our heads. 
 
 Heinrich Heine. (Reisebilder.) 
 
 It is indifferent in what condition we are, if we 
 are not in that we wish for. 
 
 Rahel. 
 
 Liane stood in the moonlight behind the plashy 
 water. Albano tore asunder the branches which 
 obstructed his view, and looked, uncovered and 
 breathless, on the holy beauty of the vision. With 
 the unearthly station and look of a Grecian god, 
 Liane stood resplendent in the moonbeams, and 
 the entranced youth beheld the young, open, se- 
 rene Madonna brow, on which none of the world's 
 sorrows and disturbances had traced a furrow or 
 thrown a shade, — and the small, delicate, scarcely 
 arched eyebrow, — and the face like a perfect 
 pearl, oval and white, — and the loosened locks 
 lying on the lilies of the valley at her heart, — and 
 the slender, graceful form, which, with her white 
 garments, gave a diviner air to her beauty, — and 
 the ideal stillness of her whole being, as she stood 
 laying only her fingers, and not her arm, on the 
 balcony, as if the Psyche only hovered over the 
 
155 
 
 lily-bell of her body, and shook or bowed it never, 
 — and the large blue eyes, which, while her head 
 sank a little, unclosed with inexpressible beauty, 
 and seemed to lose themselves in dreams, and in 
 distant plains glowing in the evening red. 
 
 Thrice happy man ! The only visible goddess, 
 Beauty, appears to thee suddenly in all her might 
 and majesty, and accompanied by all her heavens. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Titan.) 
 
 How rarely do men accurately weigh what they 
 have to sacrifice against what they have to gain ! 
 How hard is it to will the end, and not to turn 
 with repugnance from the means ! Many transpose 
 them, and delight themselves in the means, while 
 they lose sight of the end. They seek to cure 
 every disease topically on the spot where it first 
 shows itself, and take no care to discover the point 
 where it really has its origin, and whence it acts. 
 Hence is it so difficult to profit by advice, — espe- 
 cially for the many, who are intelligent enough 
 about their every-day affairs, but seldom see be- 
 yond the morrow. Thus it happens, that when, in 
 any popular institution or scheme, one man loses 
 and another gains, it is impossible to come at a fair 
 comparison of the respective portions of good and 
 evil. All truly common good must be the result of 
 an act of the uncontrolled sovereign will. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
156 
 
 LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA, TO HER FATHER, THE 
 DUKE OF MECKLENBURG STRELITZ. 
 
 Memel, June Ylth, 1807. 
 
 With the deepest emotion and tears of the ten- 
 derest gratitude, I have read your letter of April 
 last. How can I thank you, best and kindest of 
 fathers, for all the proofs I have received of your 
 love, your favor, your indescribable goodness to 
 me ? What a consolation, what a support are they 
 to me in my afflictions ! The object of such love 
 cannot be utterly unhappy. 
 
 Another enormous calamity has overtaken us, 
 and we are now on the point of leaving the king- 
 dom. You may think what is my state, — what are 
 my feelings. Yet in the name of God I conjure 
 you, do not misunderstand your daughter ! Be- 
 lieve not that any pusillanimous sorrow bows down 
 my head. There are two main sources of courage 
 that raise me above all that fate can do : the first 
 is the thought that we are no sport of a blind 
 chance, but that we abide in God's hand, and 
 under the guidance of his providence ; the second, 
 that we fall with honor. The king has proved, — 
 to the whole world he has proved, — that he prefers 
 honor to a shameful submission. Prussia will not 
 wear the chains of a voluntary slavery. Nor is 
 there a single point on which the king could have 
 acted otherwise, without being false to his own 
 
157 
 
 character, and a traitor to his people. What 
 strength the consciousness of this gives, he alone 
 can know through whose whole being the feeling 
 of honor flows like life-blood. 
 But to the point. 
 
 By the disastrous battle of Friedland, Konigs- 
 berg has fallen into the hands of the French. The 
 enemy presses hard upon us, and if this danger ap- 
 proaches but a little nearer, I shall be compelled to 
 leave Memel with my children. The king will 
 rejoin the emperor. I go, as soon as the peril be- 
 comes imminent, to Riga : — God will help me to 
 endure the moment when I must pass the frontier 
 of Prussia. There I shall stand in need of strength; 
 but I look up to Heaven, whence come both good 
 and evil, and my fast faith is that it sends not more 
 than we can bear ! Once more, best of fathers, 
 we fall with honor, respected by other nations, and 
 we shall never cease to have friends, because we 
 deserve them. How tranquillizing this thought is, 
 it is impossible to say. I bear all with a calmness 
 and composure which only a peaceful conscience 
 and pure intentions can give. 
 
 Be assured therefore, dearest father, that we can 
 never be completely unhappy, and that many who 
 are loaded with crowns and successes are not so 
 cheerful as we. God send every virtuous man 
 peace in his own breast, and he will ever find cause 
 of rejoicing. Yet one thing more for your conso- 
 
15S 
 
 lation, — nothing will ever be done on our side that 
 is not consistent with the strictest honor, and with 
 fidelity to the common cause. Think not of the 
 possibility of any pitiful concessions for our own 
 peculiar interest. This will be a comfort to you, I 
 know, and to all who belong to me. 
 
 I am ever* your true, dutiful, and most loving 
 daughter, and, God be thanked, I can say, — since 
 your gracious kindness permits me, — 
 
 Your Friend, 
 
 Louisa. 
 
 Extracts from Niebuhr's letters, during the retreat of the Prussian 
 Court before the French. 
 
 Stettin, Oct. 20th, 1806. 
 I hope, my dearest parents, you received the 
 letter in which I informed you of our arrival here. 
 This will have tranquillized you as to our personal 
 safety. Concerning our future destiny you must 
 not be uneasy. We regard it without dismay ; and 
 for this I have, in these awful times, to thank the 
 education which you gave me, my dearest father, 
 and the principles which I have ever followed out 
 in my subsequent life. I shall always be able to 
 gain a subsistence. If, as is probable, all those 
 brilliant prospects which lately seemed to open be- 
 fore us have for ever vanished,* I shall be able to 
 
 * Niebuhr's career under the Prussian government. 
 
159 
 
 make my way as a man of letters or a merchant, 
 and if I cannot succeed in one country, I shall not 
 fail to do so in another. A place of refuge and 
 bread we shall always find ; and I entreat you to 
 be persuaded that the thought that the horrible ca- 
 lamities which overwhelm the country have also 
 ruined our own flattering prospects, does not for 
 one moment mingle with our profound affliction for 
 the fate of Prussia and of Europe. My social po- 
 sition would, in happier times, have become very 
 fortunate. I might, under a most excellent minis- 
 ter.* have been able to introduce and to execute 
 many beneficial measures. I should have worked 
 with satisfaction and pleasure, and might have 
 reckoned on all those honors and advantages which 
 are the rewards of a life devoted to public business. 
 All this is over ; but even for all this I should not 
 lament. 
 
 We set out to-morrow for Danzig. As the 
 French have entered Berlin, and will probably 
 soon proceed hither, we can no longer postpone 
 our departure. It is a long way to Danzig, and 
 the season is far advanced. In Lower Pomerania 
 we shall be wretchedly off for the accommodations 
 or even the necessaries of life. For me this is 
 nothing ; may God only preserve my Amelia's 
 health ! 
 
 Whether Danzig will be the end of our flight, 
 
 *Von Stein. 
 
160 
 
 or whether we shall have to go yet further to the 
 northeast, time will show. I endeavour not to 
 think of it ; but we will bear whatever comes with 
 fortitude. Do not fear that we should be in want 
 of money ; we are abundantly provided. 
 
 You will probably have a tolerably correct idea 
 from the Hamburg papers of the frightful condition 
 of our army. A light now begins to break upon 
 us, and gradually to illumine the dreadful chaos ; 
 it exhibits a picture which I must summon courage 
 to contemplate. 
 
 Adieu ! best of parents ! I say it with a heavy 
 heart. Perhaps even our correspondence will be in- 
 terrupted. Farewell, — once more farewell, dear- 
 est parents, dear sister, kind aunt ! 
 
 Barthold G. Niebuhr. 
 
 Oct. 23rf, 1806. 
 
 If you knew this people, you would find 
 
 them worthy of your love. I never expected in 
 our days to find so much vigor, earnestness, truth, 
 and kindliness combined. Led by a great spirit, 
 they would have remained unconquerable by the 
 whole world ; and even now, though the torrent 
 overspread the land with the rapidity of a whirl- 
 wind, yet such a spirit might drive it back again. 
 
 But where is it, — that great spirit ? 
 
 # # # * # 
 
161 
 
 Konigsberg, Nov. \2th. 
 
 Our life here is a cheerless one, from the 
 
 time of year, the impassable roads, and the gener- 
 al confusion. We are almost prisoners, — without 
 tidings of you, of our other friends, or of threaten- 
 ed Denmark. 
 
 Farewell ! Perhaps a long farewell. We will 
 neglect no opportunity of writing. An interchange 
 of thoughts and feelings will subsist between us, 
 even should all means of embodying them in words 
 be denied us. 
 
 # # i # # 
 
 Bartenstein, May 5th, 1807. 
 
 Our journey from Konigsberg hither was 
 
 very interesting, but the most melancholy of my 
 life. Even close to Konigsberg you see some ru- 
 ined and deserted houses ; in the villages more 
 than half are uninhabited ; there are no cattle in 
 the fields, — here and there, but very rarely, a 
 scanty flock of sheep or swine ; scarcely any peo- 
 ple to be seen ; — every thing bespeaks misery 
 and fear. 
 
 Landsberg an der Warthe, Dec. 13th, 1807. 
 
 My worst fears could not have pictured to 
 
 me a more melancholy and painful journey, accom- 
 panied with all the distressing anxieties caused by 
 the season and the circumstances 
 
 Late at night of the 28th we reached Brauns- 
 
162 
 
 berg, and could not get post-horses till the follow- 
 ing day at noon. We now reached a part of the 
 country which has suffered the most grievously 
 from devastation and disease. The country from 
 Braunsberg to beyond the Prussian march is for 
 ten miles (German) magnificent, stretching away 
 in hills of considerable height ; a very fruitful soil, 
 inhabited, before these disastrous times, by opu- 
 lent peasants in pretty villages, scarcely exceeded 
 by those of the finest parts of Holstein. But the 
 roads are in the most deplorable state, from the 
 passage of troops and the transport of artillery, 
 since which it has been impossible to mend them. 
 For there are scarcely any men, and still less hor- 
 ses, to be found in the country. The land all lies 
 fallow, and bears, as our hostess sadly said, only 
 flowers. 
 
 Barthold Georg Niebuhr. (Lebensnachrichten.) 
 
 I would fain know what music is ; I seek it as 
 man seeks eternal wisdom. Yesterday evening I 
 walked late in the moonlight in the beautiful ave- 
 nue of lime-trees on the banks of the Rhine, and I 
 heaid a tapping noise and soft singing. At the 
 door of a cottage, under the blossoming lime tree, 
 sat a mother with her twin babes ; the one lay at 
 her breast, the other in a cradle, which she rocked 
 with her foot, keeping time to her singing. 
 
163 
 
 In the very germ then, when the first trace of 
 life scarce begins to stir, music is the nurse of the 
 soul ; it murmurs in the ear, and the child sleeps ; 
 the tones are the companions of his dreams, — they 
 are the world in which he lives. He has nothing ; 
 the babe, although cradled in his mother's arms, is 
 alone in the spirit ; but tones find entrance into 
 this half-conscious soul, and nourish it as the earth 
 nourishes the life of plants. 
 
 Betlina. (Briefivechsel Goetkes mit einem Kinde.) 
 
 The plays of natural lively children are the in- 
 fancy of art. Children live in the world of imagin- 
 ation and feeling. They invest the most insignifi- 
 cant object with any form they please, and see in 
 it whatever they wish to see. 
 
 Oehlenschlctger. 
 
 Sebastian Bach is esteemed the greatest of 
 harmonists, and with justice. That he is a poet of 
 the highest order, one can scarcely venture to as- 
 sert ; and yet he belongs to those who, like your 
 Shakspeare, are elevated far above childish clap- 
 traps. As a servant of the church, he wrote for 
 the church alone, and yet not in what is commonly 
 called a church style. His style, like all that is 
 his, is Bachish. That he used the common signs 
 
164 
 
 and names, sonata, concerto, &c, is no more than 
 that a man is called Joseph or Christopher. Bach's 
 native and prime element is solitude ; and this you 
 instinctively felt, when you said, " I lie down in 
 my bed and get our organist from Berka to play 
 Sebastiana." Such is he ; he will be hearkened 
 to with silent watchfulness. # * * But he ought to 
 be followed on the organ. This is the living soul, 
 into which he breathes the immediate breath of 
 life. His theme is the new-born thought or feeling 
 which, like the spark from the flint, springs out of 
 the first accidental pressure of the pedal ; by de- 
 grees he works himself into it, till he abstracts 
 himself from the whole world, and then an exhaust- 
 less stream flows onward to the infinite ocean. 
 His great organ compositions leave off, but they 
 are not done ; in them is no end. 
 
 Zeller. 
 
 (answer.) 
 
 Well do I remember the good organist of 
 Berka ; for then, for the first time, — in perfect 
 tranquillity of mind and free from outward inter- 
 ruptions, I gained an idea of your great master, 
 Sebastian Bach. I expressed it to myself thus ; — 
 that it was as if the Eternal Harmony held con- 
 verse with itself, as it might be imagined to have 
 done in the bosom of the Deity just before crea- 
 tion. Thus, too, it moved in my inmost being ; 
 and it seemed to me as if I had no ears, still less 
 
165 
 
 eyes ; and that I neither had, nor wanted, any out- 
 ward sense. 
 
 Goethe. {Brief weclisel.) 
 
 Friendship requires actions : love requires not 
 so much proofs, as expressions, of love. Love de- 
 mands little else than the power to feel and to re- 
 quite love. 
 
 Jean Paul. {Paling enesien.) 
 
 The style of writing required in the great world 
 is distinguished by a free and daring grace, a care- 
 less security, a fine and sharp polish, a delicate 
 and perfect taste ; while that fitted for the people is 
 characterized by a vigorous natural fulness, a pro- 
 found depth of feeling, and an engaging naivete. 
 We do not now speak of a still higher region, — 
 that of genius, — for which there exist no bounda- 
 ries of high and low ; which embraces the most pol- 
 ished cosmopolitanism and the homeliest nationality. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 ARABIA. 
 
 Arabia, the land of the West, was so called by 
 the Chaldeans because its higher deserts lie to the 
 west, while the Syrians called its inhabitants Sara- 
 12 
 
166 
 
 cens, — easterns. The name Barbar, son of the 
 desert, was of native origin, and a title of honor ; 
 they looked with disdain on the dwellers in cities. 
 
 Two deep gulfs define the peninsula of Arabia ; 
 the desert stretches from the ancient empire of Per- 
 sia to that of Rome. The whole country is said to 
 contain fifty-five thousand square miles. Nature 
 in the desert seems dead. The sun glares fiercely 
 in an ever dry and cloudless sky ; the naked hills 
 appear flayed and seared by the winds, and dis- 
 close boundless plains where no shadow refreshes 
 the wanderer, where no object affords a resting- 
 place for his eye. Between him and all living 
 creatures lies a space across which the sight cannot 
 travel ; at far intervals a spring rises under the 
 shade of a solitary cluster of palms, and soon is lost 
 again in the sand. The Arab alone knows these 
 resting-places ; he dwells alone in their shades ; 
 free, and possessed of more than enough to satisfy 
 his few and simple wants, hither he bears the slaves 
 and treasures, the spoil of caravans which had im- 
 prudently entered into conflict with the followers of 
 the Great Emir of the desert. 
 
 These islands in the sandy ocean are connected 
 only by the camel. Like the inhabitants, this ani- 
 mal learns from his earliest days to bear thirst, 
 hunger, and watching ; he traverses three or four 
 hundred leagues without drinking more than once 
 in eight or ten days, — without eating more than a 
 
167 
 
 few thistles, roots of wormwood, and nettles ; he 
 carries a burden of twelve or thirteen hundred 
 pounds for a week together without ever being un- 
 loaded ; in him is the Arab's safety, wealth, and 
 most faithful companion ; a nod directs his steps, 
 and a song renews his vigor. 
 
 Johannes v. Mttller. 
 
 I have been very industrious during the last 
 
 few weeks, and have studied much. You may 
 think of me at my writing-table during the greater 
 part of the day. I know not by what train of cir- 
 cumstances a great thirst for knowledge suddenly, 
 and as if afresh, has been awakened within me, but 
 it is very long since I have felt it in an equal de- 
 gree. I abandon myself to this inclination so much 
 the more readily, as I have no heart, so long as I 
 am away from you, to produce any thing of value. 
 And my views and purposes are generally too 
 firmly established for me to fear that I should fall 
 into the vague and desultory reading for which I 
 have a peculiar contempt. Every thing that I set 
 about has a definite purpose, and I never quit it 
 without drawing from the materials I have collected 
 the results answerable to that purpose. With this 
 condition, I can scarcely resist my desire to en- 
 deavour to see, to know, to examine as much as is 
 possible. 
 
168 
 
 Man appears to me to be here in order that he 
 may make all that surrounds him his own, — the 
 property of his understanding ; — and life is short. 
 I would fain, when I must depart hence, leave be- 
 hind me as little as possible which I have not 
 brought into contact with my own mind. This de- 
 sire has always been part of my nature, and has, 
 alas ! often led me astray, so as to defeat its own 
 ends. In knowledge, as well as in life, I have 
 ever suffered for too wide a dispersion of myself. 
 I have grasped at every thing, and have forgotten, 
 that, while steady application to one object leaves 
 permanent results, attention to many consumes the 
 mental vigor and faculties in vain. 
 
 With life, I have arrived at greater tranquillity ; 
 and with knowledge, the conflict is, God be praised, 
 less perilous. ^ 
 
 Wilhelm v. Humboldt. (Brie/wechsel mit Schiller.) 
 
 justinian's attempt to, prevent comments on 
 his compilations. 
 
 The means resorted to by Justinian with a view 
 to put an end to all the difficulties and controver- 
 sies arising on the application of scientific law, 
 were as new as they were arbitrary. He caused 
 all that was necessary to a complete view of the 
 existing law and especially to the administration of 
 the law, to be extracted from the whole mass of 
 
169 
 
 jurisprudential literature, without reference to the 
 limits prescribed by Valentinian the Third. The 
 matter so extracted was collected in a book and 
 promulgated as law, while all the rest was abro- 
 gated. But he entirely forbade the rise of a new 
 jurisprudential literature for the future. Only 
 Greek translations of the Latin text, and (by way 
 of mechanical aid) short sketches of the contents 
 of the title, were to be allowed ; if any book prop- 
 erly so called, any commentary on these laws, 
 were written, it was to be destroyed, and the author 
 subjected to the punishment inflicted on forgery. 
 
 The only means for insuring the maintenance 
 and propagation of legal knowledge, was therefore 
 oral teaching in the schools of law, which were 
 consequently provided with a new plan of instruc- 
 tion. If, however, we consider this plan in con- 
 junction with the abovementioned prohibition, the 
 design of it cannot be doubtful. It was unques- 
 tionably not intended as a means of subjecting those 
 books to the free investigation and discussion of 
 the teacher, which would have excited a kindred 
 activity of mind in the learner, and thus have per- 
 petuated a science of law independent of the matter 
 they contained ; for such a proceeding would have 
 been obviously at variance with the purpose of the 
 prohibition. The instruction must, on the contrary, 
 have consisted in a mechanical learning by rote, 
 and the functions of the teacher must have been 
 
170 
 
 restricted to helping the learner over those difficul- 
 ties which are inherent in new matter of such enor- 
 mous extent. One thought, therefore, lay at the 
 bottom of all these edicts ; viz. that this selection 
 from the legal science and wisdom of former ages 
 was adequate to all the wants of society, and could 
 only be impaired by any new work. 
 
 To many, such a thought, thus literally ex- 
 pressed, may appear extravagant, and they may 
 therefore seek to give it a figurative or a milder 
 interpretation ; — erroneously, as I think. 
 
 When Justinian came to the throne, he probably 
 heard as loud complaints of the disastrous confu- 
 sion of the law, and the urgent need for a thorough 
 reform, as Frederic the Second of Prussia, in the 
 year 1740. A happy accident surrounded him with 
 jurists of such perspicacity as had not appeared for 
 more than a century, nor was he himself deficient 
 either in legal knowledge, or in energy and desire 
 of fame. He endeavoured, therefore, to apply a 
 remedy to the evil which was felt to be the most 
 pressing, — the unmanageable mass of jurispruden- 
 tial literature and the numerous contradictions it 
 contained. There was no example of any under- 
 taking of a similar nature by which to measure 
 that now contemplated, and hence the opinion 
 might honestly be entertained at the imperial court, 
 that an admirable state of the law might thus be 
 produced, and that there was no other way of 
 
171 
 
 effectually preventing a relapse into the old evil, 
 but by legal prohibition. Nor was there the small- 
 est ground for fearing that any existing intellectual 
 activity would be crushed by this prohibition (as 
 was the case when Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius 
 entertained a similar project) ; for the degree of 
 vigor and intelligence which the present time had 
 to offer were obvious to every one, and were man- 
 ifestly little susceptible of deterioration. The threat 
 of criminal punishment, and even the prohibition to 
 write books, is indeed wholly alien from our man- 
 ners ; and, since the invention of printing, and the 
 active intercourse of the several states of Europe, 
 all such schemes would be absurd and extravagant. 
 But if we pass over this despotical manner of exe- 
 cuting the project, as merely accidental, the fun- 
 damental idea which prompted it is, in fact, the 
 same self-delusion which, deeply rooted in human 
 nature, is continually recurring in every part of 
 the domain of opinion, and especially in the reli- 
 gious part : that is, we believe ourselves permitted 
 to impose on others, as exclusively right and au- 
 thoritative, that particular formula of thought which 
 we have constructed by the honest and conscien- 
 tious exertion of our own powers, thus (as we 
 think) for ever banishing error ; — and with it, it is 
 true, freedom of thought. 
 
 Justinian established this sort of jurisprudential 
 concordat, and no one was to dare to disturb the 
 
172 
 
 peace which it was intended to secure. Shall we 
 judge him severely for this ? Our mental horizon 
 is extended by the experience of nearly two thou- 
 sand years, and yet the essence of this idea of Jus- 
 tinian's still dwells in those who entertain visionary 
 hopes from the construction of new codes ; though 
 they are without the power, and indeed without the 
 will, to execute their project by the stern compul- 
 sion resorted to by Justinian. 
 
 Von Savigmj. (System des heutigen romischen Rechls.) 
 
 There are days in which we are in a most feli- 
 citous vein for the conception of new images and 
 projects, but can neither communicate nor mature 
 any of them. These are not thoughts, they are 
 only the ghosts of thoughts. 
 
 A. W. v. Schlegel. 
 
 And so he stayed, — as he would, — as he 
 must. But the delight of being with her, near 
 her, was like no other delight. And in her, also, 
 this same feeling remained unchangeable ; she too 
 could not withdraw herself from the dominion of 
 this sweet necessity. After the resolution which 
 for ever divided them, no less than before it, an in- 
 describable, almost magical power of attraction, 
 exerted itself in each towards the other. If they 
 
173 
 
 were in the same room, it was not long ere they 
 stood, they sat, near each other. Nothing but the 
 nearest nearness could tranquillize them, — and 
 this tranquillized them fully. It was enough that 
 they were near : not a look, — not a word, — not 
 a gesture, — not a movement was needed ; — noth- 
 ing, — but to be together. For they were not two 
 human beings ; they were one, — one, lapped in 
 an unconscious, absolute delight, satisfied with it- 
 self and with the world. Nay, had one of them 
 been forcibly detained at a remote part of the 
 house, the other would have followed, step by step, 
 without plan or premeditation. To them, life was 
 a riddle, whose solution they could only find when 
 they were together. 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 
 
 Many men live better with past or with future 
 ages than with the present. 
 
 Novalis. 
 
 In the bloom of youth and beauty, on the pinna- 
 cle of victory, of strength, and of pleasure, man is 
 often seized by a profound feeling of the fleeting 
 nothingness of this state, which he calls his life. 
 
 Fred. Schlegel. 
 
174 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 
 
 In a sort of mental death, Firmian seated him- 
 self in the old chair, and covered his eyes with his 
 hands. The mist was now withdrawn from the fu- 
 ture, and discovered a long arid tract covered with 
 the traces and ashes of burnt-out fires ; full of sear 
 and withered bushes, and scattered with bones 
 whitening in the sand. He saw that the chasm 
 which divided his heart from hers would become 
 wider and wider ; — he saw it distinctly and deso- 
 lately ; his old, beautiful love would never return. 
 Lenette would never lay aside her obstinacy, her 
 sullenness, her habits ; the narrow enclosures of 
 her heart and of her head would remain impene- 
 trably shut ; she could as little learn to understand 
 him as to love him. On the other hand, the ab- 
 sence of his friend aggravated the bitterness of her 
 coldness ; he looked mournfully along the dreary 
 vista of long silent days, full of stifled sighs and 
 mute accusations. 
 
 Lenette sat silently at work in the chamber, for 
 her wounded heart shrank from words and looks as 
 from chill and cutting winds. It was already very 
 dark, — but she wanted no light. 
 
 All at once a wandering ballad-singer with a 
 harp, and her little boy with a flute, began to play 
 under the window. 
 
 It was with our friends as if their swollen and 
 
175 
 
 tightened hearts received a thousand punctures, 
 and then gently collapsed. As nightingales sing 
 sweetest when 1 there is an echo, so do our hearts 
 speak most audibly where music is around them. 
 O ! as the many-stringed tones brought back to 
 him his old hopes, — hopes, the very aspect of 
 which he could scarcely recognise ; as he looked 
 down into the Arcadia now lying deep, deep be- 
 neath the stream of years, and saw himself there 
 with his young fresh wishes, his long-lost joys, his 
 glad eyes which gazed around full of confidence, 
 and his expanding heart which husbanded and fos- 
 tered all its love and truth for some future loving 
 one ; and as he now cried in a deep inward dis- 
 cord, "And such an one have I not found, and all 
 is over ; and as the sounds passed like the shifting 
 pictures of ga meadows, flowery thickets and lov- 
 ing groups in a camera obscura, before this lonely 
 one who had nothing, — not one soul in this land 
 that loved him ; — his firm spirit fell prostrate with- 
 in him, and laid itself down upon the earth as if to 
 its eternal rest, — and now nothing had power to 
 heal or to soothe it but its own sorrows. 
 
 Suddenly the tones, wandering on the night- 
 wind, died away, and the pauses, like a burial in 
 silence and darkness, struck deeper into the heart. 
 In this melodious stillness he went into the cham- 
 ber, and said to Lenette, " Take this trifle down to 
 them." But he could only falter out the last 
 
176 
 
 words, for in the light reflected from the opposite 
 house, he saw her flushed face covered with 
 streaming unregarded tears : at his entrance she 
 had affected to be busied in wiping off the mist 
 which her warm breath had left upon the window- 
 pane. 
 
 He said, in a still softer tone, " Lenette, take it 
 directly, or they will be gone." She took it ; her 
 heavy eyes turned away as they met his, no less 
 tear-swollen than her own, yet they met dry and 
 tearless, — so severed, so estranged were their 
 souls already. They had reached that wretched 
 state in which the hour of common emotion no 
 longer reconciles or warms. His whole breast 
 swelled with a torrent of love, but hers no longer 
 belonged to him ; he was oppressed at the same 
 moment by the wish and the impossibility of loving 
 her, — by the certainty of the barrenness and cold- 
 ness of her nature. He seated himself in a win- 
 dow recess, and leaned down his head and touched, 
 by chance, the pocket handkerchief she had left. 
 The afflicted creature, after the long constraint of 
 a whole day, had refreshed herself by this gentle 
 overflowing, — as a hurt by pressure is relieved by 
 opening a vein. 
 
 At the touch of the handkerchief a cold shudder 
 ran through his frame, like a sting of conscience. 
 And now the voice and the flute without the harp 
 were heard again, and flowed on together in a 
 
I 
 
 177 
 
 slow, mournful ditty, every verse of which ended, 
 " Gone is gone, dead is dead ! "* Grief clasped 
 him round like the mantle-fish in its dark stifling 
 shroud. He pressed Lenette's tear-steeped hand- 
 kerchief hard upon his eyeballs, and in darkness 
 he felt, "Gone is gone, dead is dead!" Then 
 suddenly his whole spirit melted within him at the 
 thought that his throbbing heart would perhaps be 
 at rest before the entrance of any other year than 
 that which was to break upon him on the morrow ; 
 and he fancied himself departing, and the cold 
 handkerchief lay steeped in double tears on his 
 burning face ; and the notes marked every point 
 of time, like the beats of a clock, and he felt, 
 sensibly, the passage and motion of time, and he 
 saw himself at length sleeping in the quiet grave. 
 
 The music ceased. He heard Lenette go into 
 the room and light a candle. He went to her and 
 gave her the handkerchief. But his inner man 
 was so bruised and bleeding that he felt as if he 
 longed to embrace any outward being, — be it 
 what it would. He felt as if he must press, if not 
 his present, yet his former, — if not his loving, 
 yet his suffering Lenette to his fainting, famished 
 heart. But he neither wished nor tried to utter 
 the word love. Slowly, and without bending down, 
 he folded his arms around her, and drew her to his 
 heart ; but she turned her head coldly and abruptly 
 
 * See Burger's Leonore. 
 
178 
 
 from his offered kiss. This pained him acutely, 
 and he said, "Am I happier than thou ? " and he 
 laid his face down on her averted head, and pressed 
 her once more to him, and then released her. And 
 as the vain embrace was over, his whole heart ex- 
 claimed, " Gone is gone, dead is dead ! " 
 
 As he laid himself down to rest, he thought, the 
 old year closes, as if for ever, in sleep ; out of 
 sleep the new one arises, like the beginning of 
 existence, and I slumber over a fearful, formless, 
 thickly shrouded future. Thus do we go to sleep 
 at the very gateway of imprisoned dreams, and we 
 know not, although our dreams lie but at the dis- 
 tance of a few minutes, a few steps from the gate, 
 whether when they issue forth, they will surround 
 us in the likeness of crouching, glaring beasts of 
 prey, or of fair children, smiling and sporting in 
 their little sinless night; — whether we ought to 
 strangle or to embrace the compacted air. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Siebenkils.) 
 
 Those extraordinary and violent measures which, 
 when put in execution, so easily become atrocious, 
 whether they spring from the principle of liberty 
 or from the principle of absolutism, are invariably 
 characterized by the impossibility of arresting their 
 progress : — crime once established and active, 
 assumes the character of an independent power ; 
 
179 
 
 it no longer depends on the will of the tyrant, 
 whether he shall be a tyrant or not ; an invisible 
 force, like an inexorable destiny, hurries him for- 
 ward. 
 
 F. Schlegel. 
 
 EDUCATION OF WOMEN. 
 
 "In this secluded situation," said the mistress, 
 " I have been obliged to dispense entirely with the 
 instruction of masters." 
 
 "Perhaps," thought I, "because they some- 
 times insinuate themselves into the good graces 
 of their unsuspecting pupils." 
 
 But the Domina, who read this suspicion in my 
 eyes, had totally other reasons in her mind. 
 
 "No," said she, "that excessive anxiety to 
 keep young girls from the flatteries of men is far 
 more dangerous than the most reprehensible heed- 
 lessness. It is as if one were to rear in a hot- 
 house, plants which are afterwards to be exposed 
 to the open air. As the vigorous plant can resist 
 the assaults of the weather, so a sound judgment, 
 and feelings not pampered into mawkish sensibility, 
 can offer a steady resistance to the suggestions of 
 folly or vice." 
 
 It was, therefore, not any moral timorousness 
 which determined her to dispense with the lessons 
 of masters, but the superficiality of their teaching, 
 
180 
 
 and the entire uselessness of most of the so-called 
 accomplishments, the only tendency of which is to 
 rob young women of valuable time, and to inspire 
 them with ludicrous and tiresome pretensions. 
 
 "The formation of the moral character," she 
 continued, " is the main thing in female education, 
 and I have therefore to object to so-called accom- 
 plishments, that they afford dangerous food to 
 vanity and egotism. But my chief objection to 
 masters is their superficiality. If one finds in the 
 world a half-honest teacher who has something like 
 a profound and accurate knowledge of language 
 and science, he will not devote himself to the in- 
 struction of women ; — or, if wished to do so, 
 people will not have him. The pride of men re- 
 gards our sex as unworthy of serious and profound 
 studies. But how does this determination to con- 
 demn us to indistinctness of ideas and frivolity of 
 mind, avenge itself on them ! Have you ever 
 happened to be a witness of domestic brawls ? — 
 of genuine feminine altercations ? Where do you 
 hear a single argument ? Where is a particle of 
 reason evinced in the replies ? Senseless contra- 
 diction, endless repetitions, are, to the despair of 
 all belonging to them, the arguments of obstinate 
 and shrewish women. Whence is this, if it does 
 not arise from the superficiality of their education ? 
 Believe me, if women were taught to think, reason 
 would not be so entirely thrown away upon them. 
 
181 
 
 " This tyrannical denial of solid instruction re- 
 coils, however, in various ways on men, with whom 
 it originates. For the nature of the lot they draw 
 when they marry, depends not on the principles of 
 their wives, but solely on their temperament, which 
 it is very difficult to ascertain beforehand. Now a 
 man educates even his domestic animals ; he will 
 have his dog intelligent, his horse docile, his ox 
 steady ; — how can it then be a matter of such in- 
 difference to him, whether his wife, in the conduct 
 of her household, in the early education of his 
 children, in the intimate conversation of domestic 
 life, displays reason, reflection, and clearness of 
 mind ? Married people want to talk with each 
 other in a reasonable manner on various subjects, 
 and of these, many can only be brought to any con- 
 clusion by inferences clearly deduced from princi- 
 ples. Now talk of principles with women, as they 
 are generally educated ! 
 
 "And then domestic life, — what resources of 
 happiness might it afford if women were capable of 
 furnishing more food to the conversation of in- 
 structed men ! Is it not melancholy to see that 
 each sex has its own separate society ? Really, as 
 I have a taste for whatever is decided, I should 
 prefer the harem of the Turks to these assemblies 
 of both sexes, in which the women talk scandal in 
 one corner and the men politics in another ; — as 
 13 
 
182 
 
 if there could be no community of interests or 
 pleasures between them. 
 
 " These things would arrange themselves nat- 
 urally if the groundwork were put upon a good 
 footing. In order to accomplish this, I have de- 
 vised a new system, in which the reason is con- 
 stantly exercised. You will not deny, that without 
 grammar there is no such thing as logic. Now let 
 any one try to teach the grammar of the modern 
 tongues without the help of the ancient. My young 
 pupils certainly learned the most colloquial phrases 
 of French, they tortured German after the fashion 
 of our part of the country ; but in all this there was 
 no precision, clearness, nor coherence, any more 
 than in the books which we are forced to use in 
 education. But as I perceived the meaning of 
 what learned men have more than once explained 
 to me, as to the causes of the want of all distinct- 
 ness and accuracy in women's language, I es- 
 teemed myself fortunate in the discovery that my 
 excellent assistant is a schoolmaster's daughter and 
 a good Latin scholar. To avoid frightening my 
 young girls with leaining, or exciting the derision 
 of men, I gave out that the Latin was only subsidi- 
 ary to music, — for this too we study fundamentally 
 or not at all, and therefore we sing the old Corali 
 with the Latin text. This pretext answers very 
 well ; and, to give my young ladies courage, I put 
 
183 
 
 my own hand to the work, and learned my musa, 
 musce like the least of them. 
 
 "But you are going to ask what I mean to do as 
 to Latin books, to most of which I believe some 
 objections may justly be urged. 
 
 " I answer, that the important matter for us 
 women is not so much to read Latin books, as to 
 learn a language which possesses so many forms, 
 so much certainty and precision." 
 
 Rumohr. (Deutsche Denkwiirdigkeiten.) 
 
 What is the best government ? That which 
 teaches us to govern ourselves. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 WILHELM V. HUMBOLDT AND SCHILLER. 
 
 Rome, October 21d, 1803. 
 
 From one passage in your letter, my dear 
 
 friend, it appears to me that you imagine my situa- 
 tion different from what it really is. You seem to 
 think that it has withdrawn me from my former 
 accustomed pursuits. This is not the case ; the 
 nature of my post here gives me little to do with 
 politics. If I have hitherto worked but little, it is 
 because Rome is itself a long and singular study. 
 
 I do not despair therefore, — nay, I confidently 
 hope to be as industrious in my scientific pursuits 
 
184 
 
 here as elsewhere, and at least, my dear friend, be 
 persuaded that my tastes, my inclinations can never 
 change. The standard of things within me remains 
 firm and unaltered ; the highest subjects of con- 
 templation and of interest are and must ever be — 
 ideas. For these I have hitherto lived, to these I 
 will now and ever remain true ; and had I a sphere 
 of action as vast as that of him who now virtually 
 rules over Europe, I should always regard it as 
 subordinate to that higher sphere. I will not, how- 
 ever, deny that a man who accepts a post of public 
 business sacrifices something. But I did so not 
 without deliberation. For some years I had not 
 been in a felicitous state of mind for production ; I 
 had acquired a vast variety of knowledge, I knew 
 many things better than most men, and yet all this 
 did not combine firmly to form any result, and I 
 could by no means be satisfied with the active part 
 of my existence. It appeared to me, therefore, 
 better to give to my activity a determinate, even 
 though an ordinary course, and I only sought for 
 one which might lead me to some interesting place 
 of abode. And I think I have not miscalculated. 
 Rome has already had an awakening, animating 
 effect on me, and I feel greater fertility of mind 
 than before I came. 
 
 These are confessions, dear friend, which I am 
 always ready to make to you, yet which I should 
 not have made but for a passage in your letter. 
 
185 
 
 For even to the most intimate friend I do not wil- 
 lingly speak of myself, since it is so much easier to 
 judge obliquely of one's self than of another. Con- 
 tinue, kind and dear friend, to be to me what you 
 are ; and be assured, that whatever distance may 
 separate us, my interest is ever near you, and that 
 the slightest pursuit of yours is more important in 
 my eyes than all that I shall ever have power to 
 attempt. 
 
 For, — I must close as I began, — you are the 
 happiest of men ; you have grasped the highest, 
 and you have strength to hold it fast. It is become 
 your region ; and not only has ordinary life no 
 power to trouble you in it, but you bring down from 
 that empyrean a kindness, a gentleness, a clear- 
 ness, and a warmth into this lower world, which 
 renders it impossible to mistake your descent. For 
 you, one has nothing to pray for but life. Strength 
 and youth are yours beyond the power of change. 
 
 Wilhelm v. Humboldt. 
 
 (answer.) 
 
 Weimar, April 2d, 1805. 
 
 In spite of the time which has passed since I 
 
 sent you even a line, it seems to me as if our spirits 
 had always been together, and it rejoices me to 
 think that I can throw myself on your heart with 
 the same confidence after this long silence as I did 
 when we lived together. For our union there is 
 
186 
 
 no time and no space. Your sphere of action can- 
 not so distract you, and mine cannot render me so 
 one-sided and narrow, that we should cease to meet 
 in the region of the noble and the true. And, 
 come what may, we are both of us idealists, and 
 should be ashamed to allow it to be said of us, 
 that circumstances formed us, and not we circum- 
 stances. 
 
 You know that, during the long period of inter- 
 ruption to our correspondence, I have been busy 
 after my fashion. I wish to hear from yourself how 
 you like my Tell, — a justifiable wish, for whatever 
 I do, I think how it will please you. You are still, 
 to my thoughts, the counsellor and the judge you 
 so often were ; and whenever I endeavour to get 
 out of my subject, and put myself in the place of a 
 critic of my own works, it is in your person and in 
 your spirit that I wish to do so. 
 
 In my poetical labors I hope I have not gone 
 back, — sidewards, perhaps I have, — for I may 
 perhaps have conceded something to the material 
 demands of the world and the age. The dramatic 
 poet is more readily hurried along by the stream of 
 the time than any other. He comes, even against 
 his will, into contact in various ways with the mass, 
 and then it is impossible to escape some contamina- 
 tion. At first it gratifies one to play the ruler of 
 spirits ; but what ruler does not find himself com- 
 pelled to become the servant of his servants, in 
 
187 
 
 order to preserve his sovereignty ? And so it may 
 easily have happened, that while I filled the Ger- 
 man stage with the noise of my tragedies, I have 
 caught something from that stage in return. 
 
 I embrace you a thousand times, my dear friend, 
 and wish that this letter may bring me before you 
 exactly such as you knew me formerly. 
 
 Schiller. ( Brief weclisel.) 
 
 Origen says that his contemporaries believed 
 warm springs to be fed by the hot tears of fallen 
 angels. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 When the heart of man is serene and tranquil, 
 he wants to enjoy nothing but himself ; every 
 movement, — even corporeal movement, — shakes 
 the brimming nectar-cup too rudely. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Titan.) 
 
 There were once some birds who lived in a spa- 
 cious aviary. A bullfinch said to his neighbour the 
 goldfinch, who was gayly fluttering from bush to 
 bush, " Do you know, friend, that we are shut up 
 in a cage ? " " What do you talk of a cage ? " 
 said the goldfinch ; " see how we fly about ! That 
 is a cage indeed in which my neighbour canary is 
 
188 
 
 sitting." "But I tell you we are in a cage too. 
 Don't you see there, the wire grating ? " " Yes, I 
 see one there, certainly ; but look, as far as I can 
 see on every side there is none." "You cannot 
 see to all sides." "No more can you." "But 
 consider then," continued the bullfinch, " does not 
 our master bring us water every morning, and put 
 it in our trough, and strew seed on the ground ? 
 Would he do that if he did not know that we are 
 shut up and cannot fly where we will ? " " But," 
 said the goldfinch, " I tell you I can fly where I 
 will." 
 
 Thus they disputed for a long time, till at length 
 the canary called out from his corner, " Children, 
 if you cannot settle it whether you are in a cage or 
 not, it 's just as good as if you were not in one." 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 The system of freewill satisfies, the contrary 
 deadens and annihilates my heart. To stand by, 
 cold and dead, a mere spectator of the change of 
 events, an idle mirror of the forms which fleet 
 across its surface, — such an existence is intolera- 
 ble to me. I despise and loathe it. I will love, I 
 will lose myself in sympathy, I will rejoice and be 
 sad. The highest object of this sympathy to me, is 
 myself, and the only means by which I can perpetu- 
 ally satisfy it are my actions. I will do my best in 
 
1S9 
 
 all things. I will rejoice when I have acted aright ; 
 I will lament over myself when I have done wrong ; 
 and even this sorrow shall be sweet to me, for it 
 is sympathy with myself, and a pledge of future 
 amendment. 
 
 Fichte. (Bestimmung des Menschen.) 
 
 To regard a whole people and a whole country 
 only as a source of amusement for one's self, — to 
 see nothing in the world and nature but a vast and 
 varying scenery and decoration for the drama of 
 one's own miserable life, — to look on all intellec- 
 tual and moral greatness, on all that speaks to the 
 heart, with the polished indifference of a mere 
 spectator, or, when it is crushed and overpowered 
 by folly and baseness, to make merry with the lu- 
 dicrous side which these present, — to me this is 
 revolting ; — perhaps more so to me individually 
 than I can expect it to be to others ; but the spirit 
 which it betrays I can tolerate in no man. I know 
 very well that I go into the other extreme ; that 
 my politico-historical taste is satisfied with what 
 would have no interest for the merely curious ob- 
 server ; and that not only in the divine Tyrol, but 
 on moor or heath, I could live happy, and feel no 
 want of the arts, among a free peasantry who had 
 a history. But the truth, though it certainly lies 
 
190 
 
 between two extremes, d"es not always lie in the 
 middle. 
 
 I maintain too that there can be no such 
 
 thing as a genuine and unerring sentiment for art 
 without that for history, — for the arts have no 
 separate existence ; that the feeling for historical 
 truth will reveal itself where it really exists, with- 
 out any erudition, — as, for example, in our paint- 
 er Cornelius ; that even Carlo Maratta, — nay 
 more, even Mengs, — is not without relative beau- 
 ties which correspond to the times in which they 
 lived, — only that those times are utterly worth- 
 less, and the works they produced belong to an 
 absolutely bad whole. 
 
 Were I but " qualis Praeneste sub alta," I would 
 write much more at length on this subject. 
 
 B. G. Niebnhr. (Lebensnachrichten.) 
 
 " Dream out your lovely dream," said An- 
 tony ; " intoxicate yourself with your happiness, 
 for you belong not now to the earth : hereafter we 
 shall find each other again ; for, sooner or later, 
 poor man must awake and become sober." 
 
 " No, my dear, timorous-hearted friend," ex- 
 claimed Frederic, with sudden animation, " suffer 
 not yourself to be persuaded by the prate of this 
 shallow, pretended wisdom, for it is despair itself. 
 Can that love die which now shines in the deepest 
 
191 
 
 depth of my existence, and enlightens the darkest 
 chambers and all the strange treasures of my 
 heart ? It is not the beauty alone of my beloved 
 that transports me ; it is not alone her gentle en- 
 gaging character, but, above all, her love ; and 
 this my love, which goes forth to meet her, is my 
 most holy and imperishable will, — my soul itself, 
 which in this feeling breaks loose from the bonds 
 of darkening matter. In this love, I see and feel 
 faith and immortality, nay, even the Nameless 
 himself and all the wonders of his manifestation, in 
 the very centre of my being. Beauty may fade 
 and vanish ; it only goes before us, thither where 
 we shall find it again ; but faith abides with us. 
 O ! my brother, Isalda and Syguna are, as men 
 say, long since dead : you smile, — well, they nev- 
 er existed ; — but the race of man lives on ; and 
 every spring, and every love, kindles anew the ce- 
 lestial fire ; and therefore in all ages have the ho- 
 liest tears been shed for the most beautiful, which 
 in appearance only has withdrawn itself from us, 
 and still looks forth and smiles upon us (calling up 
 some dim and secret recollections) out of the eyes 
 of children, out of the lips of young virgins, out of 
 the flowers and brooks ; and therefore is that po- 
 etical fiction undying. In this holy state did I first 
 find myself ; and I must lose myself again, I must 
 be annihilated, if this rapture can at any time, die. 
 
 Tieck. (Phanlasus.) 
 
192 
 
 We may try to fancy ourselves as we will ; we 
 think of ourselves always as seeing. I think we 
 dream only that we may not cease to see. Is it 
 not possible that the inward light may in time 
 break forth, so that we should no longer stand in 
 need of the outer ? 
 
 Goethe. ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 
 
 ANCIENT FORM OF HOMAGE IN CARINTHIA. 
 
 When a new lord of Austria comes to reign, the 
 Carinthians have the following customs. 
 
 There is a block of marble set up in the toll-field 
 not far from the town of St. Veit ; upon this stands 
 a peasant, one of the race called the Edlinger, or 
 noble, to whom belongs the office of hereditary 
 right, and around him stand the people and the 
 whole peasantry. 
 
 And then comes the prince towards him with all 
 his nobles ; these are richly clad, and carry a ban- 
 ner on which are the prince's arms. But the count 
 of Gortz goes foremost between two small banners, 
 and the rest of the nobles follow after, richly and 
 bravely adorned, — only the prince comes in the 
 fashion of a peasant, with a peasant's coat, shoes 
 and hat, and a shepherd's staff in his hand, and 
 with him come an ox and a plough-horse. And as 
 soon as the peasant on the marble seat sees the 
 prince, he calls out in the Wendish language and 
 
193 
 
 says, " Who is he that comes hither with such high 
 and stately bearing ? " Then answer the people 
 around, "The prince of the land conies." Then 
 says the peasant, "Is he an upright judge, and a 
 lover of the welfare of our land, and of our free 
 customs ? Is he also a defender of the Christian 
 faith ? " Then they answer, "Yes, such he is and 
 will be ! " Then must the prince promise him 
 these two things by his faith and honor ; that he 
 will maintain justice, and for that cause, if need be, 
 become so poor that he must support himself by 
 means of these cattle, the ox and the plough-horse. 
 Thereupon asks the peasant again, " How, and by 
 what right will he move me from this seat ? " Then 
 answers the lord of Gortz, " He will buy thee away 
 from thence with sixty pfennigs ; the two chief 
 among cattle, the ox and the horse, shall be thine, 
 and thou shalt take the prince's garment, and thy 
 house shall be free and untaxed." 
 
 Upon that the peasant gives the prince a light pat 
 on the cheek, and bids him that he be an upright 
 judge. Therewith he arises and drives his cattle 
 away with him, and the prince steps up on the 
 stone with a naked sword, turns himself round, and 
 promises the people good and equal justice. After 
 this the prince goes to St. Peter's church, which 
 stands hard by upon a hill, and, after God's wor- 
 ship, he takes off his peasant's clothing, puts on the 
 princely raiment and ornaments, holds a feast with 
 
194 
 
 his nobles and knights, and then rides back into 
 the field, seats himself in a chair of judgment, and 
 allows each and every one of the people to come to 
 him, that he may hear and allow claims, grant fiefs, 
 and the like. The lord of Gortz seats himself be- 
 hind the prince as hereditary count palatine of Ca- 
 rinthia, and also makes such grants as lie within 
 his competence and jurisdiction. The lord mar- 
 shal takes the duke's horse, the lord high butler 
 the golden cup, and the lord high sewer the silver 
 dish. And as long as the prince sits on the chair 
 of state and hears petitions, the Gradnecker have 
 from old times the right and power to take posses- 
 sion of as much hay as they can m< w within the 
 time, and this the owners must redeem from them 
 as they can. 
 
 These privileges and customs were maintained 
 by king Ottocar of Bohemia, by count Meinhard of 
 Tyrol, by all his sons, and by duke Ernest of Au- 
 stria, emperor Frederic's father, in 1423. Empe- 
 ror Frederic would not take his seat or give audi- 
 ence on the chair of state, by reason of his being 
 emperor ; but he gave a writing, sealed with his 
 own seal, to the country, that their privileges and 
 usages should not thereby suffer any detriment. 
 Emperor Henry the Holy was he who established 
 these ceremonies. 
 
 Miinster's Kosmographie. 
 
195 
 
 VIENNA. 
 
 Saturday, immediately after my arrival, I went 
 to the theatre at the Karnther Thor (Carinthian 
 gate) ; the opera was Rossini's "Otello," — new, 
 brilliant music, which I now heard well got up and 
 executed for the first time. The composer did not 
 trouble himself about Shakspeare, but has set to 
 music a poem which one can manage to connect 
 together by means of that music. He is unques- 
 tionably a man of genius, and knows how to use 
 the means he has at hand, without, like Gluck, 
 first setting to work to invent instruments to play 
 his music. Rossini has crescendos that reach even 
 to grandeur ; he gives himself the rein, and at last 
 the thought comes out with great success. He 
 plays with sounds, and sounds play with him. 
 
 Sunday, in the Marinelli theatre : there were 
 three pieces, — first " Die Werber;" second " Die 
 Damenhiite im Theater;" and third, a pantomime, 
 " Schulmeister Beysirich, oder das Donnenvelter ." 
 My sides are still sore with laughing. The pieces 
 were somewhat of the vulgar sort ; the actors and 
 the people together are what constitute the per- 
 formance. The slightest success finds loud ap- 
 plause, and what won't succeed is scrambled over. 
 The players are in continual motion and enjoy as 
 much as the audience, and more. Such a gypsy 
 frolic is not to be described ; the children begin to 
 
196 
 
 screech and clap, and all join in and screech and 
 clap too. After the piece, everybody that has a 
 leg to stand on is called for ; meanwhile a fresh 
 piece begins ; the players make their obeisances 
 and thanks while they go on with their parts, and 
 openly appear in their individual, proper persons. 
 The theatre is always full ; if not at first, certainly 
 toward the end, when everyboby leaves the Prater. 
 
 The first comic actor is called Signor Schuster, 
 — a man made expressly for his art, from head to 
 heel. In this fellow there is not a word that does 
 not tell ; a voice as broad as a plank, as sharp as 
 vinegar, and as smooth as an eel. 
 
 It is easily seen here why these people are not 
 political ; what they want is, to live every minute 
 and to enjoy every minute, — and that they do. 
 Politics begin in ennui, and in ennui they end. 
 From the theatre they go to supper, — next morn- 
 ing to mass, — then to work, every man his own 
 way, — then out of one play into another. Wiser 
 they will never be, and never were. 
 
 # # # # # 
 
 The Prater is a pleasure-garden ; — indeed, this 
 whole land is a pleasure-garden : they tell me it is 
 not what it was, — and what was it then ? A for- 
 eigner brings with him no senses nor understand- 
 ing for such views of things, and I am glad when I 
 can shake off the Berliner. * * * 
 
 Mondaij, July 26//i. — Yesterday, I saw the Pra- 
 
197 
 
 ter in its Sunday glory. Four rows of the finest 
 chestnut trees form three avenues, which begin 
 from the Leopold-stadt and lead along the side of 
 the Danube a league and a half. The middle one, 
 for carriages, is forty-five feet wide ; the two sides, 
 for walkers, are twenty-four feet. You see several 
 hundred equipages, some of them extremely splen- 
 did, and fiacres, all in motion in the centre ; and 
 at the sides groups, couples, or solitary walkers in 
 such pretty confusion, that it is a pleasure to see 
 so many handsome, well-dressed men and women, 
 with the greatest variety of character and counte- 
 nance, flitting by you like colored shadows. At the 
 sides are coffee-houses and seats under the shade 
 of the most beautiful clumps of trees, all exquisitely 
 neat and clean. You sit down. Out of the thicket 
 behind you comes the sound of music. You are 
 now at the opera, — now at a ball, — now on the 
 parade. Coffee comes, and cakes with it. A child 
 presents flowers ; a pretty girl offers crystal water; 
 an old woman toothpicks : all these are fee'd with 
 copper kreuzers, which you are glad to get rid of 
 in so pleasant a way, for they are as heavy as a 
 bad conscience, and weigh your pockets down to 
 your heels. 
 
 But these avenues by no means constitute the 
 whole Prater. A second and a third of the same 
 kind extend like a fan, from the Leopold-stadt to 
 the Danube (it is properly an arm of the Danube). 
 14 
 
198 
 
 Here is the other pole of the planet ; — here is the 
 real genuine people. The spaces between the 
 trees grow wider as they approach the river, and are 
 filled with places of refreshment, where beer, wine, 
 eatables and (except coffee) drinkables of all sorts, 
 ice, &c. may be had. (The three coffee houses, 
 par excellence, in the grand avenue have the exclu- 
 sive privilege of selling coffee.) These places of 
 refreshment are in such number and so near to- 
 gether, that you cannot distinguish the customers 
 of one host from those of another, and you run a 
 risk of eating what your neighbour has paid for. 
 
 This, then, is the true Vienna. Here, in the 
 midst of all this serving, and sitting, and pouring, 
 and smoking, and carousing, and fiddling, the uni- 
 versal stream and movement flow gayly and com- 
 fortably on. People go or stay, come, speak to 
 one another, — it is unbroken quiet and ceaseless 
 motion at the same time. No enclosures, no im- 
 pediments ; for though the houses are the prop- 
 erty of the inhabitants, the ground is the Emperor's 
 and nobody may enclose it. The impression made 
 by this moving scene, — tumult I can't call it, — 
 is an easy, gentle forgetfulness. I could not recol- 
 lect what I had thought or observed ; and though I 
 write all this, I can hardly affirm, so it is, — so it 
 was. What makes the thing a real sunshine, is the 
 multitude of happy faces of every kind, which, 
 
199 
 
 to-day reconciled with their Maker, see the world 
 as they wish to see it. 
 
 Zelter. {Brief weclisel mit Goethe.) 
 
 When princes weep, their people bleed. Rulers 
 should remember that tears are more easily staunch- 
 ed than wounds. 
 
 Jean Paul. 
 
 The affections and the will know nothing of a 
 future; the mind, — the judgment, — calls it up 
 and gives it the force and life of the present. The 
 mind alone is free, self-acting, and directed toward 
 the unknown ; the heart is bound to what is be- 
 fore it. 
 
 Rahel. 
 
 In busy, troublous times, amid the eagerness of 
 pursuit and the storm of conflicting passions, the 
 bright stars of supermundane hopes are veiled from 
 sight, — as the starry firmament is hidden from us 
 by the glare of day. It is in peace and in silence 
 alone that Religion, that gentle divinity, opens her 
 lips and her heart. This comforter and guardian 
 angel of the unhappy must now herself seek refuge 
 with the unhappy. 
 
 To thy heart, which she has so often refreshed 
 and soothed, thou patient sex ! does she now lie 
 
200 
 
 closely pressed ; and as the drawn swords, and 
 glaring eyes, and blood-stained hands of men, and 
 the whole long storm of the times, sweep by before 
 thy solitude, thy immortal guest weeps and con- 
 doles with thee, and ye cling more closely to each 
 other. 
 
 Jean Paul. (Palingenesien.) 
 
 BOOKS FOR THE PEOPLE. 
 
 <c How can you women," continued Manfred 
 with great vehemence, " endure to have your ma- 
 ternal affection, your love, your tender devoted- 
 ness, your conjugal virtues, your chastity, stuck 
 up or hawked about like bad pictures ? For that 
 is the plain truth, however these gentlemen may 
 affect to exalt and glorify your ' vocation.' And 
 look at the novels ! 
 
 " I will suffer no ' Book for Mothers,' or c Book 
 for Wives,' or ' Whole Duties of Woman,' or any 
 trash of that kind, engendered by the absurdity of 
 our views, and nurtured by the vanity of the age, 
 to come into my house. And the very people who 
 write and praise this really immoral stuff, are those 
 who want to take from the working man his Sieg- 
 fried, his Octavian, and his Eulenspiegel, that the 
 morals of the lower classes may not be corrupted ! 
 Can there be any thing sillier or more preposter- 
 ous ? " 
 
 Tieck. (Phardasus.) 
 
201 
 
 ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 I am extremely struck with what you say of ar- 
 chitecture. It appears to me, however, that this 
 art, unlike all others, contains something in its na- 
 ture which prevents it from being, properly speak- 
 ing, Art, — or any thing more than decoration in 
 the highest sense of the word. Architecture alone, 
 of all the arts, has no subject furnished by nature. 
 To what end the most beautiful building, if it were 
 not for use ? In whatever way you consider it, 
 the idea of utility, in the most extensive sense, is 
 inseparable from this art ; yet this is an idea utter- 
 ly at variance with art. 
 
 On the other hand, buildings give a pleasure 
 which we should seek elsewhere in vain. As co- 
 lossal works of man, the enormous mass of which 
 is invested with a beautiful and intelligible form, 
 they stand midway between the productions of na- 
 ture, — mountains, rocks, &c, and the mere off- 
 spring of the human fancy, — statues, and com- 
 bine the advantages of both. Even the idea of 
 utility, which instantly attracts men, perhaps con- 
 spires to produce this result. So mixed, it appears 
 to me, is the common impression which a building 
 makes. The artistical impression is, indeed, very 
 different ; but even this cannot be perfectly pure ; 
 and the question remains, whether architecture is 
 to be treated as a perfectly pure art, and utility to 
 
202 
 
 be sacrificed. Hardly, I think. The utmost it can 
 attain to is, as it seems to me, the aesthetic treat- 
 ment of a subject belonging to a totally different 
 domain. This however applies only to ornamental 
 architecture. 
 
 Wilhelmv. Humboldt. ( Brief wechsel mit Schiller.) 
 
 SICILY. 
 
 Palermo, Monday, April 2d, 1787. 
 
 At length, with great exertion, at three o'clock 
 in the afternoon, we got into the harbour, where 
 the most lovely and enchanting view mef our eyes. 
 The city lying to the north, at the foot of a high 
 mountain, beneath a sun just past its meridian lus- 
 tre ; the side of the buildings opposite to us in 
 shadow, clearly defined and illumined by the re- 
 flected lights. On the right, Monte Pellegrino, 
 with its graceful forms, in the most intense light ; 
 on the left, the wide, outstretched shore, with its 
 bays, promontories and headlands. What further 
 gave the most delicious character to the scene, 
 was the young green of the graceful trees, whose 
 tops, lit up from behind, waved to and fro, spark- 
 ling over a background of dark gray buildings, like 
 large clusters of vegetable glow-worms. A trans- 
 parent atmosphere gave a blue tone to all the shad- 
 ows. 
 
 Instead of hastening impatiently on shore, we 
 
203 
 
 remained on deck till we were driven from it ! 
 where could we have found such a point of view ? 
 when could we have hoped again for so favorable 
 a moment ? 
 
 We were conducted into the city through its 
 wonderful gates, supported by two enormous door- 
 posts, which are left open at the top, to let the 
 tower-like car of Santa Rosalia pass through on 
 the day of her celebrated festival. We were then 
 conducted to the inn, which lay on our left. The 
 host, a hearty, cheerful old man, accustomed to 
 see strangers of all nations, led us into a large 
 room, from the balcony of which we looked over 
 the sea, the strait, the mountain of Santa Rosalia, 
 and the shore : we could distinguish our vessel, 
 and judge of the position from which we first be- 
 held Palermo. 
 
 We were so delighted with the situation of our 
 room that we scarcely remarked a raised alcove, 
 concealed by curtains, at one end of it. In it 
 stood a most spacious bed, decorated with a splen- 
 did silken canopy, with which the remains of a 
 somewhat antiquated, but magnificent furniture, 
 fully corresponded. The sight of such a state- 
 chamber rather startled us, and we thought it de- 
 sirable to make some preliminary conditions. The 
 old man replied that no conditions were necessary, 
 — that he only wished we might be satisfied with 
 our reception ; and that we might also have the 
 
204 
 
 use of the anti-room. This was a cool, airy room, 
 enlivened by several balconies, and immediately 
 adjoining our apartment. 
 
 We enjoyed the infinitely varied prospect, and 
 sought to sever and dissect it into parts suited to 
 the draughtsman or the painter ; for we saw before 
 us a boundless harvest for every variety of art. In 
 the evening the bright moonlight allured us out 
 again to the straits, and after our return, still de- 
 tained us for a long while lingering on the balco- 
 ny. The light was most extraordinary, — there- 
 pose most profound and delicious. 
 
 Palermo, April 3d, 1787. 
 
 A few more words, after reflection and an at- 
 tempt to collect these scattered images 
 
 We sailed on the 29th of March, at sunset, from 
 Naples, and landed at three o'clock on the 2nd of 
 April at Palermo. I never felt such tranquillity 
 when travelling, — even in my narrow bed, to 
 which I was confined by violent sickness. Now 
 my thoughts wander silently back to you. If any 
 thing was ever eventful, decisive in my life, it is 
 this journey. 
 
 A man who has never looked out upon an un- 
 broken horizon of sea, has no conception of the 
 world, and of his own connexion with the world. 
 As a landscape painter, this vast, simple line awa- 
 kened in me a completely new train of thoughts. 
 
 In this short voyage we have had many vicissi- 
 
205 
 
 tudes, and have experienced the fate of sailors on a 
 small scale. 
 
 No words can express the aerial brilliancy which 
 floated around the coasts, as, on the loveliest after- 
 noon, we approached Palermo. The clearness of 
 contour, the softness of the whole, the tender blend- 
 ing of tones, the harmony of heaven, earth, and 
 sea, — he who has once seen it possesses it for life. 
 Now I understand Claude Lorraine, and have some 
 hope, even in my northern home, of being able to 
 bring before my mind some faint shadowy images 
 of this delicious abode. Were but every thing 
 mean effaced from it as completely as the meanness 
 of our thatch-roofed hovels from my pictorial con- 
 ceptions ! We shall see what this queen of islands 
 will do. 
 
 How she received us no words can express ; with 
 fresh-budding mulberry-trees, evergreen oleanders, 
 hedges of orange and lemon, &c. In a public gar- 
 den there are wide beds of ranunculuses and ane- 
 mones, the air is soft, warm, and fragrant ; the 
 wind tepid and balmy. To add to the enchantment, 
 the moon stood at her full, behind a headland, and 
 threw her bright reflection in the sea ; and all this 
 after rocking four days and nights on the waves. 
 Forgive me for scrawling to you with a stump of a 
 pen out of a shell of Indian ink, with which my 
 companion is tracing his outline. Receive it as a 
 mere lisping, till I can prepare some better memo- 
 
206 
 
 rial of these happy hours for all who love me. 
 What it will be I shall not say, nor can I say when 
 you will receive it. 
 
 # * # # # 
 
 When I seek to write words, pictures crowd be- 
 fore my eyes; — the fruitful land, the expanded 
 sea, the fragrant, balmy islands, the smoking moun- 
 tain : — and I want the organ necessary to bring 
 all these before you. 
 
 Goethe. {Italiclnische Reise.) 
 
 FEMALE DOMINION. 
 
 Jirmidoro. — I think, Eulalia, you have 
 
 taken great pains in your writings to defend your 
 sex from the reproach of love of power. 
 
 Eulalia. — In so far as that is a reproach, I had 
 rather that my sex would answer it by their con- 
 duct ; but, in so far as we have a right to power, I 
 would not willingly renounce it. We desire power 
 only inasmuch as we are human beings ; for what 
 is power, in the sense in which it is so often applied 
 to women, but the liberty to employ one's faculties 
 in one's own way unobstructed, — the liberty to 
 make the best of one's existence ? Of this power 
 every uncivilized man demands the arbitrary, every 
 civilized, the regulated exercise ; and perhaps the 
 struggle for it in women appears the more vehe- 
 ment, because nature, law, and custom seem to op- 
 
207 
 
 press us as much as they favor men. What they 
 possess, we must acquire ; and one contends more 
 strenuously for what one has labored for, than for 
 what one has inherited. 
 
 Seylon. — And yet women now-a-days cannot 
 complain, for they inherit as much or more than 
 men ; and I maintain that it is far more difficult to 
 become an accomplished man than an accomplished 
 woman. The expression, "He shall be thy mas- 
 ter," is the formula of a barbarous age, which is 
 long past. Men could not make any great advance 
 in civilization without conceding the same right to 
 women ; from the time women were educated, the 
 balance stood even ; and since they are more sus- 
 ceptible of education than men, the balance has, as 
 experience shows, inclined in their favor. 
 
 Jlrmidoro. — There is no question that in all civ- 
 ilized nations the women must on the whole gain 
 the ascendency ; for the effect of the mutual influ- 
 ence of the sexes is to render the man more effemi- 
 nate, and then he loses, — since his preeminency 
 consists, not in diminished, but in compressed 
 force ; on the contrary, if the woman borrows 
 something from the man, she gains ; for when her 
 other gifts and graces are exalted by energy, a 
 being is formed than which it is impossible to con- 
 ceive one more perfect. 
 
 Seylon. — I have not gone into such profound 
 speculations ; it is, however, I think, well known 
 
208 
 
 that women rule and must rule ; when, therefore, 
 I make the acquaintance of one, I only observe 
 where she rules ; — somewhere, I assume before- 
 hand. 
 
 Amelia. — And do you find what you seek ? 
 
 Seyton. — Why not ? Experiments in physical 
 science are not much more easy to make. I find, 
 universally, that the active woman, formed to ac- 
 quire and to uphold, is master in the house ; the 
 beauty, with her light and superficial graces and 
 talents, master in large circles ; the more pro- 
 foundly instructed, in small ones. 
 
 Amelia. — So we are divided into three classes. 
 
 Sinclair. — Which are all, I think, honorable 
 enough ; but they do not exhaust the subject. 
 There is a fourth, of which we had better not 
 speak, that you may not reproach us with ending 
 our praise with blame. 
 
 Henrietta. — Our first three classes contain in- 
 fluence in the house, in large, and in small cir- 
 cles. What room remains for the exercise of our 
 activity ? 
 
 Sinclair. — Abundance. But I have the con- 
 trary in my head. 
 
 Henrietta. — Inactivity ? And how ? An inac- 
 tive woman rule ? 
 
 Sinclair. — Why not ? 
 
 Henrietta. — But how ? 
 
 Sinclair. — By passive resistance. Any one who, 
 
209 
 
 either from temper or from system, stubbornly 
 maintains an attitude of negation, has a greater 
 power than people think. 
 
 Amelia. — I am afraid we are falling into the 
 usual tone in which men speak of women. 
 
 Henrietta. — Let him alone, Amelia ; nothing is 
 more innocuous than such opinions, and one always 
 gains by hearing what others think of one. Well 
 then, — the negationers, — what of them ? 
 
 Sinclair. — I may speak here without reserve. 
 In our dear Fatherland there are few ; in France, 
 none ; and precisely because both with us and our 
 gallant neighbours, women enjoy a rational free- 
 dom ; but in countries where they are greatly con- 
 strained, where external proprieties are anxiously 
 and timorously observed and public recreations 
 rare, they are more common. 
 
 The sort of woman I mean is mistress of 
 
 the art of completely embittering the life of the 
 person on whom she depends, by mere indifference, 
 coldness, and reserve, which are often clothed with 
 an air of languor and illness. 
 
 Goethe. (Die guten Weiber.) 
 
 A sky resplendent with stars hung over the land- 
 scape. The gushing of the fountains, the rustling 
 of the woods, resounded in the calm solitude of the 
 garden, in which Theodore sauntered up and down, 
 
210 
 
 and admired the effects which the light of the stars 
 and the last golden streaks of the western horizon 
 produced in the dancing waters. And now Man- 
 fred's bugle was heard from the window of his 
 chamber, and its melancholy, penetrating notes 
 came trembling back from the distant mountains, 
 as Ernest, who came down from the hills behind 
 the garden, opened the gate and joined the solitary 
 Theodore. 
 
 " How beautifully," he began, "does this serene 
 and brilliant night close the enjoyments of the day! 
 The sun and our sweet friends are gone to rest ; 
 the woods and waters rustle and gush in the night- 
 breeze ; the earth dreams ; and Manfred pours 
 forth an affectionate farewell to slumbering nature. 
 
 "See, my dear friend, how the lamps of those 
 frail, fleeting beings flicker in the balmy air ! how 
 they sparkle like diamonds through the deep green 
 of the bushes, and now in quivering clouds, now in 
 solitary brilliancy, awaken such feelings in us as 
 soft tones excite. — And then above us, the splen- 
 dor of the everlasting firmament ! Does not the 
 sky hang over the dusky earth like a friend from 
 whose eyes beam love and confidence ? — whom 
 one would trust with one's whole heart in all the 
 dangers and vicissitudes of life ? 
 
 " This sacred, sober calm awakens all our slum- 
 bering sorrows, and turns them to serene, sedate 
 joys. And even thus grand, thus mild, does the 
 
211 
 
 noble Novalis seem now to look upon me with his 
 mortal glance ; and he recalls to me that night in 
 which, after a gay festival, I wandered over the 
 mountains with him in the loveliest scenery, and 
 we, little anticipating so near a separation, dis- 
 coursed of all that is beautiful in nature and godlike 
 in friendship. Perhaps even now, while I think of 
 him with such deep and intense remembrance, his 
 heart hangs over me lovingly like that starry heav- 
 en. Sleep sweetly. I will lay me down to rest 
 that I may meet him in my dreams." 
 
 Tieck. (Phantasm.) 
 
 Exalted and living Will, whom no name can 
 express and no idea embrace, I yet may raise my 
 heart to thee ! for thou and I are not divided. Thy 
 voice is audible within me. In thee, the Incompre- 
 hensible, my own nature and the whole world be- 
 come intelligible to me ; every riddle of my exist- 
 ence is solved, and perfect harmony reigns in my 
 soul. I veil my face before thee, and lay my hand 
 upon my lips. Such as thou really art, — such as 
 thou appearest unto thyself, — I can no more be- 
 hold thee than I can become like thee. After 
 thousands of thousands of lives such as superior 
 spirits live, I should be as little able to understand 
 thee as in this house of clay. What I understand 
 is, from my very understanding it, finite, and by no 
 
212 
 
 progression can ever be transformed into the infi- 
 nite. Thou differest from the finite, not in degree, 
 but in kind. I will not attempt that which my finite 
 nature forbids. I will not seek to know the nature 
 and essence of thy being. But thy relations to my- 
 self and to all that is finite lie open before my eyes. 
 Thou createdst in me the consciousness of my 
 duty, — of my destination in the series of rational 
 beings ; how, I know not, nor need I to know. 
 Thou knowest my thoughts and acceptest my inten- 
 tions. In the contemplation of this thy relation to 
 my finite nature, I will be tranquil and happy. Of 
 myself I know not what I ought to do. I will do it 
 simply, joyfully, and without cavil, for it is thy 
 voice that commands me, and the strength with 
 which I perform my duty is thy strength. I am 
 tranquil under every event of the world, for it is 
 thy world. Whatever happens forms part of the 
 plan of the eternal world and of thy goodness. 
 What in this plan is positive good, and what only 
 means of removing existing evil, I know not. In 
 thy world all will end in good, — this is enough for 
 me, and in this faith I stand fast ; but what in thy 
 world is mere germ, what blossom, and what the 
 perfect fruit, I know not. The only thing which is 
 important to me, is the progress of reason and of 
 morality through all the ranks of rational beings. 
 
 When my heart is closed to all earthly desires, 
 the universe appears to my eye in a glorified as- 
 
213 
 
 pect. The dead cumbrous masses which served 
 only to fill space, disappear, and in their place the 
 eternal stream of life and strength and action flows 
 on from its source, — primeval life ; from thy life, 
 thou Everlasting One ! 
 
 Fichte. (Bestimmung des Menschen.) 
 
 OLD ITALIAN ART. 
 
 These old severe masters are succeeded by some 
 whose pictures bloom on the canvass like flowers on 
 their stalk. They are radiant with the glory of a 
 transparent, golden, blessed world, — with an un- 
 earthly expression of love and brightness and felicity. 
 But one must see the pictures of Giovanni da Fie- 
 sole, and Gentile da Fabriano, to understand what 
 I mean ; now-a-days we have no conception of 
 such painting, — which is nothing else than a soul 
 rendered outwardly visible, — -for the very simple 
 reason that we have no conception of such souls, 
 whose hope was never clouded by despondency, 
 whose faith never troubled by doubt. I can never 
 help smiling when I look at Fiesole's pictures, — 
 as a child smiles in its sleep at the splendor of its 
 dreams. Fra Giovanni was a Dominican monk in 
 the monastery of St. Mark, Florence. Even dur- 
 ing his life he was called Angelico, and after his 
 death Beato. He painted incessantly, and never 
 for money ; painting was with him but another 
 15 
 
214 
 
 form of prayer. He commonly painted on a gold 
 ground, and ornamented the walls and carpets of 
 his pictures with graceful arabesques, which have 
 a charming effect on the bright colors he so loved. 
 His heads are like miniatures for delicacy ; they 
 have not much variety, — for of passion he knew 
 nothing, and even sorrow lost its sting by the con- 
 soling foresight <>f ihe blessedness to come. Into 
 the anxieties of life, into the restless troubles of 
 the world, into the longing of infinite unappeased 
 desires, he had never even looked, far less ven- 
 tured ; he knew heaven, but not earth ; hence his 
 pictures are monotonous, and he succeeds best in 
 those of paradise, of the coronation of the Virgin, 
 and the like. There is a "Paradise" in the 
 Academy, glowing in a rosy light, like the dawn, 
 in which float countless beautiful little angels. He 
 painted the whole history of Christ on four small 
 panels. But where any violent movement of mind 
 or body is required, — as, for instance, in the 
 wrathful Christ in the last judgment, passing sen- 
 tence on the wicked, — it is a frightful mask ; he 
 understood only the benign Christ. 
 
 Grttfin Ida Hahn-Hahn. (Jenseits der Berge.) 
 
 COUNT BERNSTORF. 
 
 Bernstorf did not please at the first moment ; 
 his eye was clouded with care, and deep thought 
 
215 
 
 sat upon his brow ; but as soon as you approached 
 him, you saw the soul which beamed through 
 every feature, the philanthropy which glowed in 
 his eye, and the cordial affability which played 
 around his mouth. You perceived that he was a 
 good, and, as soon as he began to speak, a great 
 and a brilliant man. His eloquence flowed like a 
 soft stream, and won its way through rocks, — the 
 expression was always exactly fitted to the end, 
 the word to the thing ; his whole presence beamed 
 with truth, and stood before you in the visible 
 colors of nature. 
 
 He spoke with peculiar force on affairs of gov- 
 ernment, on revolutions in the history of mankind, 
 on the future effects of causes as yet scarcely in 
 existence, and on the expectations to be formed from 
 various political systems. He painted men and 
 states to the life, and drew from history with light 
 but distinct sketches, whose resemblance struck, 
 and whose arrangement, light, and shadow showed 
 the creative hand of a master. Examples of vir- 
 tue animated him ; every noble action, every 
 thought of benevolence or of patriotism, struck a 
 kindred chord in his heart. 
 
 A man who to brilliant endowments unites power 
 and influence, generally predominates over silent 
 and obsequious crowds ; they listen and admire, 
 and the charm of conversation vanishes with its 
 equality. But Bernstorf did not humble or op- 
 
216 
 
 press by his intellectual superiority ; he invited to 
 reply by his affability, and knew how to choose 
 his subject according to the talents and acquire- 
 ments of his company. He understood the art. of 
 asking a welcome question, of giving an encoura- 
 ging answer. He had a word, a look, a mark of re- 
 spect ready for all, so that even the timid were 
 inspired with courage. Every man found the fit 
 opportunity to display his peculiar talent, the arena 
 on which he could appear to advantage. In this 
 alone consits true courtesy, which is never suc- 
 cessful when it is accompanied by a visible con- 
 sciousness of the gracious condecension with which 
 the great man waves his claims to superiority. 
 
 Bernstorf was master even of his natural dis- 
 positions. He was of a warm temper, and so 
 peculiarly sensible to the ridiculous, that satire 
 often rose to his lip and sparkled in his eye, but 
 he gave it no utterance. He was too kind to be 
 sarcastic. 
 
 The last hour of evening was the most agreeable 
 time of his day. He spent it amidst his family and 
 intimate friends, and a few men of letters. Here 
 he unfolded all the treasures of his heart and mind ; 
 the veil of dignity fell, and his soul beamed forth 
 in all its native beauty ; we never left him without 
 feeling a warmer love of virtue, without being in- 
 structed, improved. 
 
 Seldom does a man who has taken a share in im- 
 
217 
 
 portant public affairs wish to live over again his 
 whole life without the omission of a single period 
 or event ; but Bernstorf often acknowledged with 
 gratitude that he would receive back from the 
 hands of Providence all his past days, without ex- 
 ception or condition, were he not travelling toward 
 a better futurity. 
 
 His life was illustrated by every sort of 
 
 fame. When at the helm of state, he was success- 
 ful, and beloved by all virtuous men ; when strip- 
 ped of power, he was still the object of their rev- 
 erence. 
 
 Helfrich Peter Sturz. 
 (Erinnerungen des Graf en J- H. E. von Berjistorf.) 
 
 ON THE SUPERSTITIONS OF OUR. FOREFATHERS. 
 
 So much is said about the superstitions of our 
 forefathers, and so many inferences unfavorable to 
 the strength of their understandings are drawn from 
 them, that I cannot resist saying a few words, if 
 not of justification, yet of apology. According to 
 my view of the matter, the only object of their so- 
 called superstitious fictions was to express certain 
 truths in figures or symbols, (which have still a pe- 
 culiar name in popular language, — Wahrzeichen, 
 — sign or token,) as aids to the memory ; just as 
 they tied a bit of wood to a key to distinguish it. 
 
 Thus, for example, they told a child who laid his 
 
218 
 
 knife with the edge upwards, or in such a manner 
 as to be perilous to himself or his neighbours, that 
 the holy angels would wound their feet when they 
 walked upon the table ; not that they actually be- 
 lieved this, but that they wished to impress the 
 child's memory through his imagination. They 
 taught that everybody would have to wait at the 
 gates of paradise as many hours as he had wanton- 
 ly scattered grains of salt ; by which they gave 
 their children or their servants a lively and lasting 
 impression of the evil effects of carelessness and 
 waste in trifles, the total amount of which would 
 become considerable. 
 
 They told a vain girl who could not pass the 
 looking-glass without casting a furtive glance into 
 it, that the devil peeped over the shoulder of those 
 who looked at themselves in a glass at night ; and 
 many other things of the same kind, by which they 
 endeavoured to imprint a good precept on the mind 
 by the aid of imagery. In a word, they drew from 
 the world of spirits, as we do from the animal 
 world, instructive fables, as a means of making a 
 deep impression on the minds of children. 
 
 Justus Mdser. 
 
 To the toiling Englishman, unremittingly occu- 
 pied with worldly business and worldly cares, the 
 strict observance of the Sunday must be most salu- 
 
219 
 
 tary ; the less busy Catholic (especially in the 
 South) requires not only this day as a day of rest, 
 but also holydays to give variety and interest to life. 
 The German Protestant, who, whatever be his ob- 
 vious duties or his outward calling, is ever prone 
 to reflection on inward things, stands less in need 
 of such a frequently returning day of rest, since 
 his creed enjoins upon him the duty of devoting a 
 portion of every day to serious and spiritual con- 
 templation. Hence it happens that the institution 
 of the Sabbath is observed in a totally different 
 spirit in different countries. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 In a sound sleep the soul goes home to recruit 
 her strength, which could not else endure the wear 
 and tear of life. 
 
 Rakel. 
 
 PLATO AND ARISTOTLE. 
 
 The principal sources from which we derive our 
 knowledge of the most ancient Greek philosophy 
 are Plato and Aristotle ; although no books on that 
 subject have come down to us from the hand of the 
 former, and only a few fragments from that of the 
 latter. But, as it was the vocation of each of them 
 to collect together the previous isolated efforts of 
 speculative minds, and, after excluding such as led 
 
220 
 
 to no result, to give to these materials the unity 
 and completeness of a philosophical system, both 
 were compelled to begin by examining what had 
 already been produced by the light of criticism, 
 which each employed according to his own pecu- 
 liar views ; so that in this respect, as well as in 
 their several systems, each reciprocally forms, as 
 it were, the complement of the other. 
 
 Aristotle introduces his own researches by his- 
 torico-critical discussions, whose comprehensive- 
 ness and accuracy we shall have frequent occasion 
 to admire ; besides which, he also treated in sep- 
 arate and special books, of the Pythagorean phi- 
 losophy, — of Archytas, — of Alcmaeon, — of the 
 Eleatic school, — of Gorgias, — of the Platonic 
 ideas, — of the doctrines of Plato on the Supreme 
 Good ; and, in his books on the republic and on 
 laws, of Speusippus and of Xenocrates. 
 
 From Plato we learn more especially the spirit 
 and tendency of the earlier philosophical theories, 
 and gain glimpses of the personal characteristics of 
 the speculators, painted with the dramatic talent 
 peculiar to himself. From Aristotle we obtain 
 many details of earlier opinions and methods. 
 
 The reason why Plato often does not reproduce 
 the doctrines of earlier philosophers with the same 
 distinctness in which they are to be found in their 
 original authors, was, not that he was deficient in 
 historical impartiality and faithful apprehension of 
 
221 
 
 the recorded past, but that his plan required him 
 rather to describe the spirit and aim of any given 
 philosophical tendency, than the exact manner in 
 which that tendency exhibited itself. Hence his 
 representations may sometimes require to be com- 
 pleted and filled out, but never to be corrected. 
 
 The industry and the power displayed by Aris- 
 totle in comprehending with precision what was 
 before him, are not less conspicuously displayed in 
 his sketches of the doctrines of the elder philoso- 
 phers, than in his other works. It is by the com- 
 parison with them that he tests his own conclu- 
 sions ; starting from the supposition that later phi- 
 losophical inquiries are essentially predetermined 
 by earlier, and that these, even when they have 
 failed of their end, have materially contributed to 
 the discovery of truth, were it only by the exercise 
 they have given to the faculties. For this reason 
 we ought to verify the accuracy of our own as- 
 sumptions by those of our predecessors ; but, for 
 the purpose of thoroughly eliciting all the truth 
 embodied in them, we must proceed like impartial 
 arbitrators, not in the style of antagonists.* Aris- 
 totle has been most unjustly reproached with pre- 
 tending in every case to be himself the first dis- 
 coverer of the truth, and with misrepresenting 
 preceding speculators, in order to conceal his own 
 
 * De Coelo, 1, 10. 
 
222 
 
 plagiarisms. There is some ground for the accusa- 
 tion that Aristotle was too much inclined to gener- 
 alization, and to referring all preceding opinions 
 and systems to his own ; — but a corrective to any 
 misunderstanding is generally to be found in his 
 own statements. 
 
 C. A. Brandis. 
 
 ( Handbuch der Geschichte der Griechisch-Romischen Philosophie. 
 
 ROMAN JURISTS. 
 
 The method of treating law which was pursued 
 by the Roman jurists had a certain degree of uni- 
 formity. Proceeding from positive legal rules, they 
 combined them in the most skilful and refined 
 manner with that part of every system of law which 
 is not positive, and worked up both elements into 
 one coherent and consistent whole. Sometimes 
 analyzing a given maxim of law, sometimes supply- 
 ing its defects by implication from itself, and some- 
 times creating new legal maxims by the process of 
 scientific construction, they dealt with their mate- 
 rials after the manner of a logician or mathema- 
 tician, and thus elevated their science into a logic 
 applied to the matter of law. Notwithstanding their 
 decided fondness for the subtile developement of an 
 assumed fundamental principle, their sound practi- 
 cal sense preserved them from useless refinements. 
 To rigorous philosophical forms they attached no 
 
223 
 
 great value : hence in their general definitions and 
 divisions, and in the arrangement of their materials, 
 they often exhibit some inaccuracy and careless- 
 ness ; but in the analysis of the matter itself, they 
 never failed to hit the right idea and expression. 
 Their language and style, like that of men of varied 
 acquirements and experience in life, was pure, 
 simple, distinct, dignified, free from all tincture of 
 pedantry, suggestive, and vivid ; and it escaped 
 the common degeneracy for a longer time than that 
 of any other class of writers. The Greek philoso- 
 phy, by means of its general influence upon their 
 mental cultivation, indirectly influenced the juris- 
 prudence of the Romans ; but so far was it from 
 exercising any direct or special influence, that the 
 Roman jurists, in their enthusiasm for their study, 
 showed an inclination to exalt it into a science em- 
 bracing ethics as well as law. 
 
 Walter. (Geschichte des Rdmischen Rechts.) 
 
 SCENE ON THE VISTULA. 
 
 Sixty or seventy years ago, Danzig might be re- 
 garded as the terminal stone of the civilized world ; 
 since then the march of civilization has trodden all 
 such boundaries into the dust ; but my paternal 
 city, independently of its singular style of building, 
 has still enough of its earlier originality remaining 
 to interest the intelligent stranger. One of the 
 
224 
 
 most striking features is the arrival of the vessels 
 laden with corn, which still present a strange spec- 
 tacle, though not so much so as formerly. 
 
 In our northern clime, spring starts up, and at 
 one bound throws off the white shroud, and breaks 
 the crystal covering, under which she lay con- 
 cealed. Then the waters in the interior of Poland 
 swell, and, towards the end of May, the Vistula, 
 which is often too shallow even for the flat Polish 
 craft which navigate it, becomes deep enough to 
 bear on its bosom the golden gifts of Ceres to my 
 native city, which in former times was justly called 
 the granary of Europe. 
 
 The small sea craft lying at anchor by the Long 
 Bridge over the Mottlau, like the return carriages 
 in Frankfort, with the place of their destination 
 written on a black board, — " God willing, to Kon- 
 igsberg," (Will's Gott, nach Konigsberg,) "God 
 willing, to Petersburg," " God willing, to Memel," 
 and so forth, are forced to crowd more closely to- 
 gether to make room for the strange fleet which 
 now covers the Mottlau. 
 
 Boats or barges these ill-built craft can hardly be 
 called ; their appearance is so shapeless and rick- 
 ety, that one wonders how they can have made 
 their long voyage in safety ; at the end of it they 
 are broken up and sold as timber, and the crews 
 find their way home on foot, over moor and heath, 
 and through primeval forests. They are most like 
 
225 
 
 a small raft, only that they taper to each end like a 
 boat, and have a sort of low deck, at the end of 
 which is a hut, serving as the cabin of the master ; 
 they have no masts or sails, but are steered by a 
 clumsy sort of rudder, and rowed down stream by 
 more than a hundred sturdy arms of Schimkys, 
 seated on benches, and keeping time with their 
 oars. The whole of the remaining space is filled 
 with wheat or rye. The enormous heap, piled up 
 as high as possible, lies open, without the smallest 
 shelter from wind or weather. 
 
 Before the first partition of Poland, when the 
 corn-trade was almost a monopoly of Danzig, in 
 years when the crops were abundant and the waters 
 high, the whole surface of the broad stream was 
 often covered with these vessels, steering their dif- 
 ficult course as through a crowded street. If a 
 stranger could suddenly have been placed on the 
 Long Bridge, he must have thought himself on one 
 of the South Sea Islands, which had just then been 
 discovered, in the midst of the canoes of savages ; 
 so thoroughly un-European was the appearance of 
 the Schimkys and the whole flotilla. That such a 
 scene should still exist in a civilized country so 
 near to Germany, seems incredible ; a galerien of 
 Toulon, compared with a Schimky, is a dandy. 
 
 Spite of their wild aspect, there is however noth- 
 ing disgusting or hideous in these large-boned, 
 bronzed, and meagre forms ; a fat, thriving Schim- 
 
226 
 
 ky is an idea beyond the region of possibility. 
 With the exception of the national mustachio, 
 bleached to a sort of yellow by sun and rain, the 
 whole head is close shorn, and covered with a large 
 straw hat of home manufacture, or a flat fur cap ; 
 the back of the neck and breast are bare. The 
 dress consists of trowsers girt round the waist, and 
 a slop (kittel) of the very coarsest unbleached 
 linen. Wooden soles, thickly studded with strong 
 iron nails, and bound under the naked foot, are the 
 general substitutes for shoes. 
 
 The horrible clatter made by this chaassure, 
 when a party of Schimkys came down the street, 
 always drove us childr in into the house ; and even 
 when almost grown up, I never came near them 
 without a beating heart. I was frightened at their 
 wild looks, but without cause ; they harmed no- 
 body, nor did I ever hear of a Schimky being ac- 
 cused of theft or any other crime. 
 
 They were serfs, and are mostly so still, except 
 in the part of Poland subject to Prussia. Their 
 life is hardly rated so high as that of a dog or a 
 horse. The nobleman who from recklessness or 
 anger killed one, paid a fine of ten dollars, without 
 any legal proceedings, and so the matter was con- 
 cluded and forgotten. And yet there existed not a 
 more contented, I might say joyous, people than 
 these serfs in their deepest depth of poverty ; they 
 
227 
 
 missed not what they never had, — what they hard- 
 ly knew by name. 
 
 How they get through the winter I know not ; in 
 summer their life is nearly that of a savage. Day 
 and night under the open sky, they lie on the shore 
 of the river near the enormous heaps of wheat, 
 which they watch and constantly turn over to keep 
 it from damage till it is housed in the granaries. 
 
 A thick porridge of pease or buckwheat, which 
 they cook in a huge pot hung on a stake laid over 
 two crotched sticks, is their daily food ; if a party 
 has been so fortunate as to get possession of two or 
 three tallow candles to flavor the unsavory mess, 
 they think their meal delicious. At midday they 
 may be seen sitting in picturesque groups around 
 the smoking pot, dipping in their large wooden 
 spoons, (which are also a favorite article of manu- 
 facture and commerce with them,) and swallowing 
 down vast quantities, accompanied with an inces- 
 sant chatter. 
 
 A draught of brandy is a still greater treat to 
 them than a tallow candle ; but even when the in- 
 tellects of these poor half-human childien are a 
 little clouded, they retain their good nature, and 
 never is such a thing heard of as violence or 
 murder. 
 
 Johanna, Schopenhauer. 
 {Jugendteben und Wanderbilder.) 
 
228 
 
 WHAT IS ENLIGHTENMENT ? # 
 
 A man is enlightened when he emerges from a 
 state of self-imposed pupilage. Pupilage is the in- 
 ability to use one's own understanding without the 
 guidance of another. This state is self-imposed 
 when the cause of it lies, not in a deficiency of un- 
 derstanding, but of determination and courage to 
 use it without the guidance of another. Sapere 
 aude ! — have the courage to use your own under- 
 standing, is therefore the motto of enlightenment. 
 
 Indolence and cowardice are the causes why so 
 large a portion of mankind, long after nature has 
 emancipated them from the guidance of others, {na- 
 turaliler majorennes,) voluntarily remain in a state 
 of pupilage during their whole lives ; and why it is 
 so easy for others to assume the character of their 
 guardians. It is so convenient to be under guar- 
 dianship. If I have a book that possesses an un- 
 derstanding for me, a guardian of souls that has a 
 conscience for me, a physician that prescribes my 
 diet, and so forth, I need take no trouble myself. 
 So long as I can pay, I need not think ; others will 
 undertake that toilsome business for me. By far 
 
 * It is impossible, without greater deviation from the original 
 than I feel myself justified in making, to avoid the use of this 
 very awkward word, which is the exact translation of Avfklcirung. 
 A more significant title would be, " A plea for the liberty of phi- 
 losophizing." — Translator. 
 
229 
 
 the larger half of the human race (including the 
 whole of the fair sex) regard the step to majority 
 not only as laborious and difficult, but also as ex- 
 tremely dangerous ; an idea which the guardians 
 who have so benevolently taken upon themselves 
 the supervision and guidance of their conduct, 
 have assiduously inculcated. After they have first 
 made their domestic animal sufficiently stupid, and 
 have carefully prevented the quiet creature from 
 venturing to set a step without the go-cart into 
 which they have put it, they next proceed to point 
 out the danger which threatens it, if it should at- 
 tempt to go alone. Now in truth this danger is not 
 so very great ; it would learn to go alone at the 
 expense of a few tumbles ; but one fall generally 
 makes it timorous, and frightens it from any fur- 
 ther attempt. 
 
 It is difficult for any individual human being to 
 apply the labor necessary to extricate himself from 
 the pupilage which is become a second nature. 
 He has grown to like it, and is really incapable of 
 using his own understanding at once, because he 
 has never been permitted to try. Maxims and for- 
 mulae, — those mechanical tools of the use or rath- 
 er abuse, of his natural faculties, — are the gyves 
 which keep him in a perpetual pupilage. He who 
 throws them away will make but a feeble and un- 
 steady leap over the narrowest ditch, because he is 
 wholly unaccustomed to unrestrained movement. 
 16 
 
230 
 
 Hence there are but few who have succeeded in 
 extricating themselves from pupilage by their own 
 efforts, and have yet retained a steady gait. 
 
 But that a public should enlighten herself is far 
 more possible, — indeed, if freedom be granted it, 
 is nearly inevitable : for there will always be some 
 few independent thinkers, even among the guardi- 
 ans of the multitude, who, when they themselves 
 have thrown off the yoke of pupilage, will diffuse 
 around them a rational sense of individual dignity, 
 and of the obligation which lies on every human 
 being to think for himself. It is remarkable that 
 the public (at the instigation of some of its guardi- 
 ans, who are themselves incapable of enlighten- 
 ment) forces the very men who at first placed it 
 under the yoke to continue to bear it ; so mis- 
 chievous is it to implant prejudices, since they re- 
 coil on those, or on the successors of those, who 
 were their authors. Hence it is that a public at- 
 tains slowly to a state of enlightenment. A deliv- 
 erance from personal despotism, or from rapacious 
 or domineering oppression, may be brought about 
 by revolution : but a real reform in opinion will 
 never be effected by such means ; new prejudices 
 will only take the place of the old, leading-strings 
 of the unthinking, unreasoning mass. 
 
 In order to enlightenment nothing is wanted but 
 liberty ; the safest and most innocuous that can be 
 called by that name, — that is, liberty to make a 
 
231 
 
 public use of one's reason on all subjects. But I 
 hear exclamations from every side against the use 
 of reason. The officer says, "Don't reason, but 
 obey orders ; " the financier, " Don't reason, but 
 pay ; " the priest, " Don't reason, but believe." 
 These are so many restrictions of freedom. It is 
 therefore necessary to inquire, what restrictions 
 are adverse to enlightenment ; what, not only not 
 adverse, but favorable to it. I answer, the public 
 exercise of reason must be constantly and invaria- 
 bly free ; this is the sole means by which mankind 
 can be enlightened : but the private exercise of it 
 may often be subjected to very rigorous restric- 
 tions, without much prejudice to the progress of 
 enlightenment. It is necessary to explain, that by 
 the public use which each man makes of his own 
 reason, I understand that which every man of sci- 
 ence, in that capacity, makes of it in addressing 
 the whole reading public. By the private use, I 
 mean that which a man makes of his reason in any 
 civil post confided to him, or as member of a po- 
 litical community. 
 
 Now in order to the interests of the community, 
 it is necessary that such a degree of consentaneity 
 of action should prevail among its members, as 
 that each should promote, or at least should not 
 obstruct, the accomplishment of certain ends ; and 
 that he should, as regards those ends, be a passive 
 instrument of the government. It is clear that, 
 
232 
 
 considered as a part of the great machine of politi- 
 cal society, a man must not reason, but obey. 
 
 So far, however, as any one part of this machine 
 is to be regarded as simply one of the units com- 
 posing the community, (and even the community of 
 the whole human race,) and so far as, in his quality 
 of man of science, he addresses himself to the pub- 
 lic at large, he may unquestionably use his reason, 
 without prejudice to the business which is commit- 
 ted to him. 
 
 Thus, it would be very mischievous if an officer 
 were to question the utility of an order of his su- 
 perior ; he must obey. But no one can justly 
 contest his right, as a man of science, to criticize 
 errors in the military art, or to submit his criticisms 
 to the judgment of the public. 
 
 The citizen cannot refuse to pay the taxes im- 
 posed on him ; nay, any indiscreet censure of such 
 taxes at the time of their collection, calculated to 
 excite general resistance, may be punished as dan- 
 gerous to the public peace. But the same individ- 
 ual does nothing inconsistent with the character 
 of a good citizen, if he publicly expresses his 
 thoughts on the inexpediency or the injustice of 
 such taxes 
 
 In the same manner, a clergyman is bound to in- 
 struct his catechumens and parishioners according 
 to the creed of the church of which he is a minis- 
 ter ; for this was the condition upon which he was 
 
233 
 
 received into it as such. But, as a theologian and 
 a scholar, he has full liberty, — indeed it is his vo- 
 cation, — to communicate to the public the results 
 of his careful examination and conscientious opin- 
 ion of what is erroneous in that creed, together 
 with suggestions tending to a reform in the affairs 
 of the church and of religion. There is nothing in 
 this which needs oppress the conscience ; for that 
 which he teaches in pursuance of his office as min- 
 ister of the church, he represents as something 
 which he is not at liberty to teach according to his 
 own way of thinking, but which he is appointed to 
 teach according to the prescription and in the name 
 of others. He says, our church teaches this or 
 that ; these are the proofs it adduces. He then 
 extracts for his hearers all the practical utility pos- 
 sible, from premises which he could not himself 
 subscribe with full conviction, but to the exposition 
 of which he may pledge himself, because it is not 
 entirely impossible that truth may lie concealed in 
 them, and at all events they contain nothing repug- 
 nant to the essence of religion. If, indeed, he 
 thought he discovered in them any thing having 
 this tendency, he could not conscientiously con- 
 tinue to perform his function, — he must resign it. 
 The use therefore that an appointed teacher makes 
 of his reason before his flock, is a private use ; 
 since he is not, in his character of priest, free, and 
 ought not to be so, being charged with a commis- 
 
234 
 
 sion. On the other hand, as a theologian and 
 scholar addressing the public properly so called 
 (that is the world), the clergyman, in this the pub- 
 lic use of his reason, enjoys, in common with other 
 men, an unlimited freedom to use his own reason 
 and to speak in his own person. For, that the 
 guardians of the people in spiritual things, should 
 be themselves in a state of pupilage, is an absurdi- 
 ty which goes to the perpetuation of all absurdities. 
 
 But is not an association of clergymen, — a 
 church assembly, or a venerable classis (as they 
 call themselves in Holland), — justified in binding 
 itself by oath to certain immutable articles of faith, 
 in order to exercise a perpetual supreme guardian- 
 ship over each of its members, and, indirectly 
 through them, over the people ? I answer, such a 
 thing is totally inadmissible. A compact of this 
 kind, which is entered into with a view to conclude 
 the human race from all further enlightenment, is 
 simply null and void, even though it be confirmed 
 by the sovereign power, by diets and the most sol- 
 emn treaties. One age cannot bind itself ; nor 
 can it conspire to place the following one in a con- 
 dition in which it would be impossible for it to ex- 
 tend its knowledge, to purge itself from error, and 
 to advance in the career of enlightenment. This 
 were a crime against human nature, whose highest 
 destination consists emphatically in intellectual 
 progress ; and posterity is therefore fully justified 
 
235 
 
 in rejecting all such attempts to bind it, as invalid 
 and mischievous. 
 
 A combination to maintain an unalterable re- 
 ligious system, which no man should be permitted 
 to call into doubt, would, even for the term of one 
 man's life, be wholly intolerable. It would be to 
 blot out, as it were, one generation in the progress 
 of the human species towards a better condition ; to 
 render it barren, and hence noxious to posterity. 
 A man can indeed retard his own intellectual pro- 
 gress, though even then only for a time, as regards 
 things which it is incumbent on him to know ; but 
 utterly to renounce it for himself, and far more for 
 posterity, is an outrage on the most sacred rights 
 of humanity. Now what a people ought not to de- 
 termine for itself, a monarch ought still less to de- 
 termine for it ; for his legislative character and 
 dignity rests on his being the depositary and organ 
 of the collective will of his people. If he does but 
 ascertain that every real or supposed spiritual im- 
 provement consists with the existing order and 
 tranquillity of society, he may safely leave his sub- 
 jects to do what they think necessary for the good 
 of their own souls : in that he has no right to inter- 
 fere ; his business is to take care that none of them 
 forcibly obstruct their neighbours in their endeav- 
 ours to settle their own opinions, or to promote 
 their own spiritual welfare by any means within 
 their reach. It is even derogatory to his majesty 
 
236 
 
 to occupy the attention of his government with the 
 writings by means of which his subjects are striving 
 to adjust their opinions ; whether he does this of 
 his own judgment, (in which case he subjects him- 
 self to the reproach, "Caesar non est supra gram- 
 maticos,") or so deeply degrades his sovereign 
 power, as to sustain the spiritual despotism of a few 
 tyrants in his state against the rest of his subjects. 
 
 If it is asked, Is the age we live in an enlight- 
 ened one ? the answer is, No ; but it is an age of 
 enlightenment. That, as things now stand, the mass 
 of mankind are capable, or can be rendered capa- 
 ble, of using their own understandings safely and 
 usefully, without the guidance of another, is far 
 from being the fact. But that the road to self- 
 culture is now opened to them, and that the obsta- 
 cles to an universal enlightenment, or to an eman- 
 cipation from a self-imposed pupilage, are gradually 
 becoming fewer, we have clear and abundant indi- 
 cations. In this sense this is the age of enlighten- 
 ment, — the age of Frederic. 
 
 A prince who does not disdain to declare that he 
 esteems it his duty to prescribe nothing to men in 
 matters of religion, and who, leaving them full free- 
 dom of opinion, rejects the arrogant name of tol- 
 eration, is himself enlightened : he deserves to be 
 esteemed by a grateful world and by posterity as 
 the first who released the human race from pupilage 
 (in so far, at least, as it is in the power of govern- 
 
237 
 
 ments to do so), and left every one free to follow 
 the guidance of his own reason in matters of con- 
 science. Nor is the benefit confined to his own 
 subjects ; the spirit of free inquiry has much less 
 opposition to encounter, now that men have before 
 them a proof that the public tranquillity and the 
 union of society are not in the slightest degree en- 
 dangered by its diffusion. Men gradually extricate 
 themselves from a state of barbarism, if they are 
 not purposely and artificially kept in it. 
 
 In considering the enlightenment by which men 
 emerge from their self-imposed pupilage, I have 
 insisted mainly on religion ; because in science 
 and art rulers have no interest in assuming the 
 part of guardians over their subjects ; and because 
 pupilage in this matter is not only the most mis- 
 chievous, but the most degrading of any. But the 
 views of an enlightened ruler go still further, and 
 tend to this, — that even as regards his govern- 
 ment, there is no danger in allowing his subjects to 
 make a public use of their own reason, and frankly 
 to lay before the world their opinions as to any 
 practicable improvements in it, or their criticisms 
 of its present state and acts ; — of this we have 
 before us a splendid and hitherto unequalled ex- 
 ample. 
 
 But it is only a monarch too enlightened to trem- 
 ble at shadows, and having at his disposal a well- 
 disciplined army as a security for the public peace, 
 
238 
 
 who can say, — what a popular government could 
 not venture to say, — "Reason as much as you 
 will, and on what you will, — but obey." And 
 here we find a strange and unexpected contradic- 
 tion in human affairs, which indeed, when regarded 
 as a whole, are full of paradoxes. A higher degree 
 of civil freedom would appear favorable to freedom 
 of opinion, yet does, in fact, impose insuperable 
 barriers to it ; while a lower degree, on the con- 
 trary, gives opinion room to diffuse itself. But 
 when, under the protection of a strong government, 
 the desire and the duty of free thought has devel- 
 oped itself, it gradually renders the people more 
 capable of political freedom. Finally, it influences 
 the principles of the government itself, which finds 
 it conducive to its own interest and prosperity to 
 treat men in a manner consonant to the dignity of 
 their nature. 
 
 Kant. (Kleine Schriften.) 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY 
 OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 
 
 The establishment of freedom in the Netherlands 
 appears to me one of the most remarkable of those 
 political events which distinguished the sixteenth 
 century. If the glittering deeds inspired by the 
 lust of fame and dominion claim our admiration, 
 
239 
 
 how much more does a conflict, in which oppressed 
 humanity strove for its noblest rights ; in which 
 the good cause was sustained by unequalled vigor, 
 and the weapons of resolute despair prevailed, in 
 an unequal struggle against the fearful arts of tyr- 
 anny ! Grand and tranquillizing is the thought, 
 that there exists a check to the arrogant preten- 
 sions of princes ; that their best-laid plans are 
 wrecked on the steadfast love of freedom ; that the 
 intrepid resistance of a people can beat down the 
 outstretched arm of a despot, and heroic persist- 
 ency can exhaust his most formidable resources. 
 
 Never have I been so forcibly struck with this 
 truth as in contemplating the history of that memo- 
 rable revolt which for ever severed the United 
 Netherlands from the crown of Spain ; and there- 
 fore I have thought the attempt not unprofitable, to 
 place before the world this noble monument of civil 
 strength, with a view to awaken in the breast of 
 my reader an animating feeling of his own dignity, 
 and to exhibit a new and incontestable example of 
 what men can dare for the good cause, — of what 
 they can accomplish by union. 
 
 It is not the romantic or the heroic character of 
 this event which has led me to describe it. The 
 annals of the world contain records of similar 
 achievements which appear still more daring in 
 conception, still more brilliant in execution. Many 
 states have fallen with a sudden and splendid ruin ; 
 
240 
 
 others have risen with a no less rapid and brilliant 
 elevation. Nor are we here to expect any of those 
 prominent and colossal figures, any of those as- 
 tounding deeds, which the history of ancient time 
 presents us with. Those times are past, — those 
 men exist no longer. The people whom we shall 
 here behold on the scene were the most peaceful in 
 the world, and less capable than their neighbours 
 of that heroic spirit which gives a loftier character 
 even to the most trivial action. The pressure of 
 circumstances surprised them with its own peculiar 
 might, and forced upon them a transient greatness 
 which they did not seem formed to display, and 
 will probably never display again. It is therefore 
 precisely the want of heroic grandeur which renders 
 the event so singular and so instructive ; and while 
 others make it their aim to show the superiority of 
 genius to accident, I design to exhibit a picture in 
 which necessity created genius, and accident made 
 heroes. 
 
 Were it ever allowable, in treating of human 
 things, to assert the interposition of a higher provi- 
 dence, it would be so with regard to this passage 
 of history, so completely does it seem to contradict 
 reason and experience. Philip the Second was the 
 mightiest sovereign of his time : his dreaded power 
 threatened to overwhelm all Europe ; his treasures 
 outnumbered those of the combined monarchs of 
 Christendom ; his fleets rode triumphant over every 
 
241 
 
 sea ; his tyrannous and ambitious projects were 
 seconded by countless armies, — armies which, 
 hardened by long and bloody wars and by a Ro- 
 man discipline, intoxicated with national pride and 
 heated with the memory of successful battles, 
 thirsted for glory and for plunder, and obeyed ev- 
 ery impulse given to them by the daring genius of 
 their leader, — that formidable man devoted to the 
 execution of a relentless project which formed the 
 unwearied labor of his long regency. All these 
 resources were directed to a single object, and this 
 object Philip was compelled in the evening of his 
 days to abandon. 
 
 Philip the Second in conflict with a few feeble 
 provinces and unable to terminate that conflict ! 
 
 And with what provinces ? Here, a peaceful 
 population of fishermen and shepherds, in a forgot- 
 ten corner of Europe, which it had laboriously won 
 from the waves ; — the sea at once its occupation, 
 its wealth, and its calamity, — a free poverty its 
 highest good, its glory and its virtue. There a 
 good-natured and orderly trading people, revelling 
 in the fruits of successful industry, watchful in the 
 maintenance of beneficent laws. In the happy 
 leisure of competence they emerged from the nar- 
 row circle of anxious cares, and learned to thirst 
 after higher enjoyments. The new truth, whose 
 glad dawn now broke over Europe, cast a fructify- 
 ing ray on this favoring soil ; — free citizens joy- 
 
242 
 
 fully received the light from which slaves averted 
 their eyes 
 
 Simple in their policy as in their manners, 
 
 they ventured to point to an antiquated contract, 
 and to remind the lord of both Indies of their rights. 
 A name decided the whole issue of the thing. That 
 which in Brussels was called lawful petition, in 
 Madrid was called rebellion ; the troubles in Bra- 
 bant demanded a prudent mediator, — Philip sent 
 an executioner, and the signal for war was given. 
 A tyranny without example assailed life and prop- 
 erty. The despairing citizen, to whom nothing 
 was left but the choice of a death, preferred the 
 nobler on the field of battle. An opulent luxu- 
 rious people loves peace, but in proportion as it is 
 impoverished it becomes warlike ; it ceases to 
 tremble for a life robbed of every thing which can 
 render life desirable. The fury of rebellion ex- 
 tends to the remotest provinces, manufactures and 
 commerce are prostrate, the ships disappear from 
 the ports, the artisan from his workshop, the hus- 
 bandman from the untitled fields. Thousands flee 
 to foreign lands, thousands fall victims on the scaf- 
 fold, and thousands press again to fill the vacant 
 ranks, persuaded that the doctrine for which men 
 can die so triumphantly must needs be divine. 
 
 There is yet wanting the last hand to complete 
 the work, — the cle^r and enterprising spirit which 
 watched for the great political moment, and im- 
 
243 
 
 proved the offspring of chance into the plan of 
 wisdom. 
 
 William the Taciturn * 
 
 # # * # # 
 
 The history of the world is consistent with itself 
 as the laws of nature, and single as the soul of 
 man. 
 
 The same conditions bring back the same events. 
 On this very soil, where the Netherlander now of- 
 fered resistance to their Spanish tyrant, fifteen 
 hundred years before did their ancestors, the Ba- 
 tavi and the Belgae, engage in fierce and stubborn 
 conflict with those of Rome. Like them the un- 
 willing subjects of a haughty ruler, like them a 
 prey to rapacious satraps, they cast away their fet- 
 ters with the same disdain, and tempted the fortune 
 of as unequal a field. The same pride of conquest, 
 the same assumption of superiority in the Spaniard 
 of the sixteenth century and in the Roman of the 
 first ; the same valor in either army, the same ter- 
 ror of their invading troops. Then, as now, we 
 see cunning contend with despotism, and constan- 
 cy sustained by union weary out a gigantic power 
 enfeebled by dispersion. Then, as now, private 
 hate armed a nation ; a single man, born for his 
 age, revealed to her the awful secret of her 
 strength, and gave to her mute discontent a bloody 
 utterance. 
 
 " Say, Batavi," said Claudius Civilis to his 
 
244 
 
 countrymen in the sacred grove, " are we still 
 treated by these Romans as allies and friends, or 
 rather as useful slaves ? We are given over to 
 their officers and agents, and these, when they are 
 sated with our spoils and our blood, are replaced 
 by others, who repeat the same acts of violence 
 and rapacity under new names. If it ever hap- 
 pens that Rome sends us a governor, he oppresses 
 us with a pompous and costly retinue and with a 
 yet more insufferable arrogance. The levies are 
 at hand again, which tear children from their pa- 
 rents, and brothers from brothers for ever. Now, 
 Batavi, the moment is yours. Never was Rome 
 so enfeebled as now. Let not the name of legions 
 strike terror into you, — their camp contains only 
 old men and booty. We have foot-soldiers and 
 horsemen. Germany is ours, and Gaul burns to 
 throw off her yoke. Let Syria serve them, and 
 Asia, and the East, .patient of kings. There are 
 still among us many who were born before Gaul 
 paid tribute to Rome. The gods are on the side 
 of the bravest." * 
 
 Peaceful sacraments sanctified this conspiracy, 
 as they did that of the Gueux, and like that, it art- 
 fully sheltered itself under the veil of subordination, 
 under the majesty of a great name. The cohorts 
 of Civilis on the Rhine took the oath to Vespasian 
 in Syria, as the Compromissi did to Philip the Sec- 
 
 * Tacitus, Hist., IV. V. 
 
245 
 
 ond in Spain. The same field of warfare produced 
 the same plan of defence, — the same last refuge of 
 despair. Both committed their desperate fortunes 
 to a succouring element. Civilis saved his island, 
 as, fifteen hundred years later, William of Orange 
 saved the city of Leyden, by an artificial inunda- 
 tion. The valor of the Batavi revealed the impo- 
 tence of the ruler of the world, as the magnificent 
 courage of their posterity disclosed to the eyes of 
 all Europe the decay of the Spanish power. The 
 same fertility of mind in the leaders of either age 
 rendered the war equally obstinate, and its close 
 equally doubtful. One difference, however, strikes 
 us : the Romans and the Batavi warred with hu- 
 manity, for they warred not for religion. 
 
 Schiller. (Abfall der Niederlande.) 
 
 SCENES FROM THE TRAGEDY OF EGMONT. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE H. 
 
 The Regent's Palace 5 Margaret of Parma in a hunting-dress 5 
 Courtiers, Pages, Servants. 
 
 Regent. — Send away the horses and huntsmen ; 
 I shall not ride to-day. Tell Machiavelli to come 
 to me. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 The thought of these dreadful events leaves me 
 no peace. Nothing gladdens me, — nothing amus- 
 es me. Fearful images and anxious forebodings 
 are ever with me. The king will say that these 
 17 
 
246 
 
 are the consequences of my leniency, — my con- 
 nivance ; and yet my conscience tells me that I 
 did what was most expedient and best. Ought I 
 to have fanned these flames, and scattered them 
 abroad with the tempest of wrath ? I hoped to turn 
 their course, — to allow them to burn out. Yes, 
 
 — the reasons which have swayed me, the facts 
 which have come to my knowledge, justify me to 
 myself ; but how will my brother view them ? For 
 it cannot be denied that the insolence of the for- 
 eign teachers has daily increased ; they have blas- 
 phemed our holiest rites, they have bewildered the 
 stupid and the ignorant, and have turned the heads 
 of the populace. Unclean spirits have mingled 
 with these troublers of the peace, these preachers 
 of sedition, and deeds have been committed which 
 are fearful to think upon, and of which I must now 
 report some to the court, promptly and distinctly, 
 that common fame may not outrun my messenger, 
 
 — that the king may not think there is yet more 
 behind which I seek to conceal. I can discover no 
 means, — neither severe nor mild, — to remove or 
 avert the evil. O what are we great ones on this 
 stormy sea of life ? We think we rule its tides, — 
 and we are but its sport, tossed hither and thither 
 by every wave. 
 
 (Enter Machiavdli.) 
 Regent. — Are the letters to the king written ? 
 Machiavelli. — In an hour they may be signed. 
 
247 
 
 Regent. — Have you made the report sufficiently 
 distinct and circumstantial ? 
 
 Machiavelli. — Circumstantial and minute, — as 
 the king likes to have them. I have related how 
 the iconoclast fury first broke out at St. Omer ; 
 how a fierce multitude with staves and hatchets, 
 hammers, ladders and cords, accompanied by a few 
 armed men, first attacked the chapels, churches, 
 and convents, drove out the pious worshippers, 
 broke open the doors, tore down the altars, de- 
 stroyed the statues of the saints, defaced the pic- 
 tures ; ruined, dashed in pieces, and trod under 
 foot whatever fell in their way that was consecrated 
 and holy ; how the crowd increased as it proceeded 
 on its course, and the inhabitants of Ypres opened 
 their gates to it ; how they laid waste the cathedral 
 and burned the library of the bishop with incredible 
 rapidity ; how a great multitude of people, inflamed 
 with a like madness, spread themselves abroad 
 through Menin, Comines, Verwich, and Lille, and 
 found no resistance ; and how throughout nearly 
 the whole of Flanders the monstrous conspiracy 
 burst forth, and was in activity in a moment. 
 
 Regent. — O, how are all my griefs renewed at 
 your recital ! And now they are aggravated by the 
 fear that the evil will become greater and greater. 
 Tell me your thoughts, Machiavel. 
 
 Machiavelli. — Your highness will excuse me. 
 My thoughts are too like dreams, — fancies ; and 
 
248 
 
 though you have ever been satisfied with my ser- 
 vices, you have seldom been willing to follow my 
 advice. You have often said in jest, "You see too 
 far, Machiavel, — you should be a writer of his- 
 tory ; people who have to act must provide for the 
 emergency of the moment." And yet did I not 
 foretell all this tremendous history ? Did I not 
 foresee it all ? 
 
 Regent. — I can foresee many things which I can 
 neither alter nor avert. 
 
 Machiavelli. — In one word then, — you will not 
 suppress the new religion. Tolerate it, — recog- 
 nise it, — sever its professors from those of the true 
 faith ; give them churches, include them within the 
 pale of civil order and authority, and you will at 
 once reduce the rebels to quiet. All other expedi- 
 ents are vain, and you devastate the land. 
 
 Regent. — Do you forget with what horror my 
 brother rejected the very question whether the new 
 religion might be tolerated ? Do you not know 
 that every letter of his contains the most earnest 
 exhortations to me to uphold the true faith ? that 
 he will not hear of peace or unity which are to be 
 purchased at the expense of religion ? Does he 
 not maintain, even in the provinces, spies whom we 
 know not of, to report to him who inclines to the 
 new opinions ? Has he not, to our amazement, 
 named to us individuals living here under our own 
 eye, who were privily guilty of heresy ? Does he 
 
249 
 
 not enjoin severity and rigor ? And am I to be in- 
 dulgent ? Am I to offer him counsels of leniency 
 and toleration ? Should I not lose all his confi- 
 dence in me, — all his reliance upon me ? 
 
 Machiavelli. — I know it well. The king com- 
 mands, and informs you fully of his views. You 
 are to restore peace and tranquillity by means 
 which must increase the general exasperation, — 
 which must inevitably kindle war in every corner 
 of the land. Think what you are doing. The great 
 merchants are infected, — the nobles, the people, 
 the soldiers. What boots it to cling pertinaciously 
 to our own opinion when all changes around us ? 
 O, that some good spirit would but whisper to 
 Philip, that it is nobler for a king to rule over sub- 
 jects of two different religions, than to convert them 
 into instruments of mutual annoyance and destruc- 
 tion ! 
 
 Regent. — Let me never hear a word like that 
 again. I know full well that policy can seldom hold 
 faith and truth ; that it banishes frankness, kindli- 
 ness, forbearance, and generosity from the heart. 
 In temporal affairs this is, alas ! too true ; but are 
 we to sport with God as we do with each other ? 
 Are we to be indifferent to our established faith, 
 for which so many lives have been sacrificed ? Are 
 we to yield it up to these intruders, these uncertain 
 and self-contradicting innovators ? 
 
250 
 
 Machiavelli. — Do not think the worse of me, I 
 beseech you. 
 
 Regent. — I know you and your fidelity, and I 
 know that a man may be honest and intelligent, 
 even though he may have missed the straight and 
 better way to secure the salvation of his soul. 
 There are other men beside you, Machiavel, whom 
 I am compelled at once to respect and to blame. 
 
 Machiavelli. — To whom do you allude ? 
 
 Regent. — I must confess that Egmont has to-day 
 inflicted on me the severest pain. 
 
 Machiavelli. — By what ? 
 
 Regent. — By nothing new, — by the indifference 
 and levity of his manner. I received the most 
 fearful tidings just as I left the church, accompanied 
 by him and by many others. I could not restrain 
 my grief ; I gave way to complaints loud and deep, 
 and turning to him, I said, " See what is taking 
 place in your province ! Do you suffer this, Count, 
 you, in whom the king placed such boundless 
 trust ? " 
 
 Machiavelli. — And what did he reply ? 
 
 Regent. — As if it were nothing, — a trifling in- 
 cident, — he said, " I wish the Netherlanders were 
 but tranquillized about your government ! All the 
 rest would be easily settled." 
 
 Machiavelli. — Perhaps he spoke with more truth 
 than prudence or piety. How is it possible that 
 confidence can arise or endure while the Nether- 
 
251 
 
 lander sees that it is his suhstance rather than his 
 welfare or his salvation that is so eagerly coveted ? 
 Do the souls saved by the new bishops outnumber 
 the fat benefices they have clutched and revelled 
 in ? And are they not almost all foreigners ? The 
 lieutenancies of all the provinces are as yet filled 
 by Netherlanders ; let not the Spaniards show too 
 clearly their greedy, insatiable longing for those 
 places. Will not a people rather be governed ac- 
 cording to its own usages, and by its own country- 
 men, than by strangers to the soil, who seek to 
 possess themselves of it at the cost of all, — who 
 try every thing by a foreign standard, and who rule 
 without kindliness or sympathy ? 
 
 Regent. — You take the side of our enemies. 
 
 Machiavelli — My heart is certainly not on their 
 side ; would that my reason were wholly on ours ! 
 
 Regent. — If you counsel, or necessity enjoins it, 
 I will resign my regency, for both Egmont and 
 Orange cherish high hopes of obtaining that post. 
 They would then be rivals ; now they are allied 
 against me, and are become friends, — inseparable 
 friends. 
 
 Machiavelli. — A dangerous pair. 
 
 Regent. — To be plain with you, I fear Orange, 
 — I fear for Egmont. Orange meditates no good. 
 His thoughts are too far-reaching ; he is secret, 
 appears to assent to every thing, never contradicts, 
 and with the profoundest respect, with the most 
 
252 
 
 infinite care not to offend, he does what pleases 
 him. 
 
 Machiavclli. — Egmont, on the contrary, walks 
 with as free and firm a tread as if the world were 
 his own. 
 
 Regent. — He bears his head as high as if the 
 hand of majesty were not above him. 
 
 Machiavelli. — The eyes of the people are all 
 turned to him ; on him hang all their hearts. 
 
 Regent. — Never did he abstain from an act be- 
 cause its appearance might offend others or preju- 
 dice himself ; — as if there lived not the man who 
 could call him to account for aught he did. He 
 still retains the name of Egmont, — Count Egmont, 
 he loves to hear himself called, — as if he disdained 
 to forget that his ancestors were possessors of Guel- 
 dres. Why does he not call himself Prince of 
 Gaure, — his proper title ? What is his purpose in 
 this ? Does he mean to revive forgotten claims ? 
 
 Machiavelli. — I hold him for a faithful servant 
 of the king. 
 
 Regent. — How valuable he might render himself 
 to the government, if he would ! instead of which 
 he has given us unspeakable vexation, and without 
 profit to himself. His festivals and banquets have 
 knit the hearts of the nobles to him in stronger 
 bonds than all the perilous oaths of secret societies. 
 His guests have drunk in with his toasts a perpetual 
 excitement, — a lasting intoxication. How often 
 
253 
 
 does he move the hearts of the people by his jests ! 
 How the mob were startled at the new liveries, and 
 the absurd badges of his people ! 
 
 Machiavelli. — I am persuaded he had no evil 
 design. 
 
 Regent. — Be that as it may, the thing is bad 
 enough. As I said, it injures us and does not serve 
 him. What is serious he treats as a jest, and we, 
 not to appear supine and negligent, must treat his 
 jests as serious. Thus does the one irritate the 
 other, and what we seek to avert becomes fixed and 
 inevitable. He is more dangerous than a declared 
 head of a conspiracy, and I am greatly mistaken if 
 all that has happened is not attributed to him at 
 court. I cannot deny that he is very rarely long 
 without giving me some fresh cause of bitter irri- 
 tation. 
 
 Machiavelli. — He seems to me to act in all 
 things according to his conscience. 
 
 Regent. — His conscience has a very flattering 
 mirror. His manner is often offensive. His very 
 look often seems to bespeak an entire and intimate 
 persuasion that he is master, and abstains from 
 making us feel it only out of condescension and 
 politeness ; as if he would not absolutely drive us 
 out of the country, but that it must come to that. 
 
 Machiavelli. — I entreat you, interpret not his 
 frank carriage, his joyous and debonnaire nature, 
 that treats every thing lightly, too perilously. You 
 injure him and yourselves. 
 
254 
 
 Regent. — I interpret nothing. I speak only of 
 inevitable results, and I know him. His high 
 Netherland blood and the Golden Fleece upon his 
 breast, increase his confidence and audacity. Both 
 may protect him from any sudden capricious dis- 
 gust of the king's. Examine well into the facts, — 
 you will find that he alone is responsible for all the 
 misery that has befallen Flanders. He first con- 
 nived at the presence of the foreign teachers, treat- 
 ed their proceedings lightly, and perhaps rejoiced 
 that we had so much employment on our hands. 
 Let me speak freely ; — on this occasion I will 
 give vent to all I have on my heart, and I will not 
 shoot my arrow in the air. I know his sensitive 
 point, — he is sensitive. 
 
 Machiavelli. — Have you convened the Coun- 
 cil ? Will Orange attend ? 
 
 Regent. — I have sent to Antwerp for him. I will 
 throw their full share of the responsibility upon 
 them ; they shall either lend me their earnest aid 
 to resist this evil, or openly join the rebels. Make 
 haste to finish the letters and bring them to me to 
 sign. Then despatch the trusty Vasca to Madrid ; 
 he is as faithful as he is indefatigable, and it is im- 
 portant that my brother should learn the intelli- 
 gence first from him, that common fame may not 
 outstrip him. I will speak to hiirf myself before he 
 departs. 
 
 Machiavelli. — Your highness's commands shall 
 be promptly and punctually obeyed. 
 
255 
 
 ACT III. SCENE II. 
 Clara's House 5 Clara and her Mother. 
 Mother. — Such a love as Brackenburg's I nev- 
 er saw. I did not believe there were such, except 
 in romance books. 
 
 ( Clara walks up and down the room, humming 
 an air between her lips.) 
 " Happy alone 
 Is the soul that loves." 
 Mother. — He suspects your love for Egmont, 
 and yet I do believe, if you would but appear a 
 little kind to him, he would marry you, if you 
 would have him. 
 Clara (singing), 
 « To be full of joy, 
 And of sorrow, 
 
 And of thick-coming thoughts ; 
 To float painfully 
 From passionate longing 
 To anxious fear; 
 
 Now sending shouts of exultation to the skies, 
 
 Now sad unto death, — 
 
 Happy alone 
 
 Is the soul that loves."* 
 
 Mother. — Leave off that rockaby-baby stuff. 
 Clara. — Don't despise it ; it is a song of won- 
 
 *I had hoped, by the kind assistance of some poetical friend, 
 to be able to enrich my pages with a metrical translation of this 
 song 3 but it has as yet eluded every hand, however practised and 
 successful, that has tried to grasp it. I am therefore forced to 
 content myself with the most accurate version I can give. — 
 Translator. 
 
256 
 
 derful virtue. Many 's the time I have lulled a 
 great child to sleep with it. 
 
 Mother. — Ay, you have nothing in your head 
 but your love ; I wish you did not forget all for 
 one. You ought to have more respect for Brack- 
 enburg, say I. He may make you happy some 
 day or other. 
 
 Clara. — He ? 
 
 Mother. — O, yes ! there '11 come a time ; — 
 you children don't look forward, and you turn a 
 deaf ear to our experience. Youth and bright 
 love, — all come to an end, and the time comes 
 when we thank God if we have any hole to creep 
 into. 
 
 Clara (shudders, is silent, and walks away). — 
 Mother, let that time come, — when it must, — like 
 death. To think of it beforehand is horrible ! And 
 if it should come, — if we must, — then, — we will 
 bear ourselves as we may. Egmont, I live with- 
 out thee ? (Weeping.) No, never, — never. 
 
 {Enter Egmont in a soldier's cloak, with his hat 
 slouched over his face.) 
 
 Clara ! 
 
 (Clara cries out and steps back.) — Egmont ! 
 (she flies to him,) Egmont ! (embraces him and rests 
 her head on his boso7n.) O you kind, dear, sweet 
 one ! Are you come ? Are you there ? 
 
 Egmont. — Good evening, good mother. 
 
 Mother. — God bless you, noble Sir. My poor 
 
257 
 
 child has nearly fretted herself to death because 
 you have stayed away so long. She has been talk- 
 ing and singing about you again, the live-long day. 
 
 Egmont. — But you will give me some supper, 
 won't you ? 
 
 Mother. — You do us too much honor. If we 
 had but any thing to offer you, — 
 
 Clara. — Be at ease about that, mother. I have 
 taken care of all that already. I have prepared 
 something. [Aside.) Don't betray me, mother. 
 
 Mother. — (Aside.) There 's little enough. 
 
 Clara. — (Aside.) Stay. — And then, — when 
 he is with me I am never hungry, so that I think he 
 cannot have much appetite when I am with him. 
 
 Egmont. — What are you saying ? 
 
 ( Clara stamps with her foot, and turns away 
 pettishly.) 
 
 Egmont. — What is the matter with you ? 
 
 Clara. — How cold you are to-day ! You have 
 not offered me one kiss yet. Why do you keep 
 your arms swathed in your mantle, like those of a 
 babe a week old. It ill becomes either soldier or 
 lover to have his arms muffled. 
 
 Egmont. — Sometimes, darling, sometimes; when 
 the soldier stands in ambush, watching to fall upon 
 the enemy, he gathers himself together, folds his 
 arms, and ruminates on his attack. And a lover, — 
 
 Mother. — Won't you be seated ? won't you 
 make yourself comfortable ? I must go into the 
 
258 
 
 kitchen. Clara thinks of nothing when you are by. 
 You must take the will for the deed. 
 
 Egmont. — Your good will is the best sauce. 
 
 [Mother goes. 
 
 Clara. — And what then is my love ? 
 
 Egmont. — Whatever you please. 
 
 Clara. — Come, liken it to something, if you 
 have the heart. 
 
 Egmont. — First, — there, — (throws off his man- 
 tle and stands disclosed in his splendid dress). 
 
 Clara. — Ah me ! 
 
 Egmont. — Now my arms are free ! (Clasps her 
 to his heart.) 
 
 Clara. — Don't ; you will spoil yourself. (Steps 
 back.) How splendid ! I dare not touch you now. 
 
 Egmont. — Well, are you satisfied ? I promised 
 you that I would come once dressed in the Spanish 
 fashion. 
 
 Clara. — I have never reminded you of your 
 promise. I thought you did not like it. Ah ! and 
 the Golden Fleece ! 
 
 Egmont. — Ay, now you see it. 
 
 Clara. — And did the Emperor hang that round 
 your neck ? 
 
 Egmont. — Yes, dear child ; and this chain and 
 device invest their wearer with the noblest privile- 
 ges. I acknowledge no judge of my actions on 
 earth, save the Grand-master of the Order, and the 
 assembled chapter of knights. 
 
259 
 
 Clara. — O, you might let the assembled world 
 judge you ! How magnificent the velvet is ! and 
 the fringe-work ! and the embroidery ! One can't 
 tell where to begin. 
 
 Egmont. — Well, now look your fill. 
 
 Clara. — And the Golden Fleece ! You told me 
 the whole story ; and you said it was a badge of 
 every thing grand and precious, — every thing that 
 man can deserve or win by labor and industry. It 
 is very precious. It seems to me like your love. I 
 bear that, just so, upon my heart, — and yet, — 
 
 Egmont. — Well, — what ? 
 
 Clara. — And yet, — again it is not like. 
 
 Egmont. — How so ? 
 
 Clara. — It is not by labor or pains that I have 
 won your love, — nor deserved it. 
 
 Egmont. — In love the case is different. You 
 deserved it, because you did not strive for it ; those 
 people are generally most sure to win love, who do 
 not hunt about for it. 
 
 Clara. — Did you learn that from yourself ? Was 
 it from yourself you drew that proud reflection ? 
 yourself, whom all the people love ? 
 
 Egmont. — O ! that I had, indeed, done some- 
 thing for them ! that I could do something for them ! 
 It is their good pleasure to love me. 
 
 Clara. — You have been with the Regent to-day 
 doubtless, — have you not ? 
 
 Egmont. — I have. 
 
260 
 
 Clara. — Are you on good terms with her ? 
 
 Egmont. — It seems so. We are friendly and 
 civil to each other. 
 
 Clara. — And in your heart ? 
 
 Egmont. — I like her. Every one has his own 
 peculiar views, — but that is nothing. She is an 
 excellent woman, knows the people she has to deal 
 with, and would see deeply enough if she were not 
 somewhat suspicious. I give her plenty of occu- 
 pation ; for she always searches for some mystery 
 behind my conduct, and I have none. 
 
 Clara. — What, none at all ? 
 
 Egmont. — Why, true, dear, — one little excep- 
 tion. All wine leaves lees in the cask, if it stands 
 long enough. Orange is, however, a more inter- 
 esting study to her, and an ever new problem. He 
 has got credit for having always some secret de- 
 sign, and now she is constantly trying to read on 
 his brow what he is thinking, — in his step, whither 
 he is going. 
 
 Clara. — Does she dissemble ? 
 
 Egmont. — A regent, — and you ask that ? 
 
 Clara. — Pardon me, I meant is she false ? 
 
 Egmont. — Neither more nor less so than every 
 one who seeks to obtain his ends. 
 
 Clara. — I should not know what to do in the 
 great world. But she has a manly spirit ; she is 
 another sort of woman than we seamstresses and 
 housewives. She is great, brave-hearted, resolute. 
 
261 
 
 Egmont. — Yes, perhaps a little too much so ; 
 she is a perfect Amazon. 
 
 Clara. — A majestic woman ! I should dread to 
 come into her presence. 
 
 Egmoni. — And yet you are not generally so tim- 
 id ! It would not be fear, — only maidenly shame. 
 (Clara casts down her eyes, takes his hand, 
 and leans her head upon him.) 
 
 Egmont. — I understand you, dear girl! — you 
 may raise your eyes. (He kisses her eyes.) 
 
 Clara. — Let me be silent! — let me hold you 
 fast ! — let me gaze in your eyes, and find in them 
 every thing, — comfort, and hope, and joy, and sor- 
 row. (She embraces, and looks at him.) Tell me, 
 — tell me, — I cannot conceive it, — are you Eg- 
 mont ? — Count Egmont ? — the great Egmont, who 
 is so famous, whose name is in every newspaper, on 
 whom the provinces place their whole reliance ? 
 
 Egmont. — No, my Clara, I am not. 
 
 Clara. — What ? 
 
 Egmont. — Look you, Clara, — let me sit down. 
 (He sits down, — she kneels before him on a Jootstool, 
 leans her arms on his knees, and looks up in his face.) 
 That Egmont is a morose, unbending, cold Eg- 
 mont, compelled to shut himself up, and to assume 
 now one aspect, and now another, — fretted, mis- 
 understood, — constrained, when people think him 
 gay and joyous, — beloved by a people which 
 knows not what it wishes, — honored and exalted 
 18 
 
262 
 
 by an impracticable multitude, — surrounded by 
 friends to whom he dares not commit himself unre- 
 servedly, — watched by men who would avail them- 
 selves of any means to rival him, — laboring and 
 toiling, often without aim, generally without re- 
 ward, — O, let me not say how it fares with him, 
 what are his feelings ! But this Egmont, Clara, the 
 tranquil, open, happy, — beloved and understood 
 by the best of hearts, that heart which he fully un- 
 derstands, and with entire love and confidence 
 presses to his own — (embracing her) — this is your 
 Egmont. 
 
 Clara. — So, — let me die ! The world has no 
 joy after this ! 
 
 Goethe. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 AUTHORS. 
 
 ARNDT (MORITZ ERNST). — Page 5. 
 
 Professor Arndt was born in 1768, in the island of 
 Riigen. He distinguished himself by the ardor and elo- 
 quence with which he incited his countrymen to throw off 
 the French yoke. Some of his " Vaterlandslieder " are 
 very noble and spirited lyrics. They breathe a hatred to the 
 French which was justifiable then, but of which it is to be 
 hoped we shall hear no more. In 1818 he was appointed 
 Professor of History at Bonn ; but in the following year 
 was suspended from the exercise of his functions on the 
 ground of 4 ' demagogical intrigues." He continued, how- 
 ever, to live there, and to receive his salary. 
 
 One of the first liberal acts of the present king of Prus- 
 sia (among the many which have raised high the hopes 
 of his subjects) was to reinstate Arndt in his chair. This 
 gave rise to great rejoicing at Bonn, especially among that 
 singular Volkchen, the students, who greeted him with the 
 honors always decreed to popular professors, — the Fack- 
 elzug (torch procession), &c. &c. 
 
 I had the pleasure of seeing the venerable man again at. 
 Bonn last year in undiminished vivacity and vigor. His 
 chief works are " deist der Zeit " (Spirit of the Age), and 
 
264 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 "Reisen durch Deutschland, Ungarn. Italien. und Frank- 
 reich " (Travels through Germany. Hungary. Italy, and 
 France). He published last year his recollections of the 
 part he took in stirring up Europe, and especially Russia, 
 to that combined effort which ended in the emancipation 
 of Prussia ( ,; Erinnerungen aus dem ausseren Leben"). 
 It seemed to a cursory glance very entertaining. 
 
 BABO (JOSEPH MARIA). — Page 75. 
 
 A dramatic writer of merit, born at Ehrenbreitstein in 
 1756. Professor of -Esthetics, and director of the Theatre 
 at Munich. Died in 15*2:2. 
 
 BETTINA FRAL" VON ARNIM . — Pages 142, 162. 
 
 Frau von Arnim is sister of Clemens Brentano. and wife 
 of Achim von Arnim, two distinguished poets and romance 
 writers. Frau von Arnim translated her correspondence 
 with Goethe into English herself, and it might therefore 
 seem unnecessary for me to give any extracts from it ; but 
 as I do not think the book is extensively known, nor very 
 well suited to the English palate, nor, lastly, that Frau 
 von Arnim can handle our language with sufficient skill 
 to do justice to her mastery over her own. I have ven- 
 tured on a few passages. The scene with the squirrel 
 and prince John of Mechlenburg, — the poor little prin- 
 cesses, disenchanted by the "Frau Rath's " powerful wand 
 from the bonds of court ettiquette and the tyranny of the 
 cruel Hormeisterin, and restored to the charming liberty 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 265 
 
 of pumping to their heart's content, — the " Frau Rath's " 
 cap-stand, — the ham salad eaten by the little royalties 
 with the naivete and heartiness of a German appetite, — 
 all this forms a picture intensely national ; ludicrous to 
 people who believe themselves and their manners the 
 standard of human excellence, and in whom the rein 
 menschlich (the purely human element) is fairly crushed 
 under rules as factitious and narrow us those of the Celes- 
 tial Empire ; but to those who delight in glimpses of gen- 
 uine human nature, as agreeable as it is new. The prin- 
 cesses were, I conclude, Louisa, Queen of Prussia, and 
 the present Queen of Hanover ! Let the reader turn to 
 the letter of the beautiful and unfortunate Louisa to her 
 father, and he will find matter for moralizing. 
 
 Of the general character of Frau von Arnim's book it 
 is unnecessary for me to speak, as it is accessible to the 
 English public. Frau von Arnim has more recently pub- 
 lished the correspondence of Fraulein von Gunderode, the 
 young nun, or chanoinesse, whose tragical death is men- 
 tioned in her letters to Goethe. 
 
 BRANDIS (CHRISTIAN ALBERT). — Page 219. 
 
 Professor Brandis was born at Copenhagen. His father, 
 who is still living at a very advanced age, is physician to 
 the king of Denmark. Professor Brandis was one of 
 Niebuhr's secretaries at Rome, and was valued and loved 
 by that illustrious man, as he must be by all who have the 
 happiness of knowing him. On this subject I shall say no 
 more, because I do not think it fair either to one's friends 
 
266 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 or one's readers to make a book the channel for effusions 
 of private friendship. 
 
 Professor Brandis has for many years held the chair of 
 philosophy at Bonn. In the year 1836 he was invited to 
 Athens to superintend the institutions for public education 
 in that city, and also to read with the young king. In 
 1839 he returned to his chair at Bonn. He has published 
 a short but interesting pamphlet on the present state of 
 the Christian Church in Greece. His edition of Aristotle 
 is well known to scholars. 
 
 The work from which the passage in the text is taken 
 is not yet completed. 
 
 FICHTE (JOHANN GOTTLIEB). - Pages 4, 34, 78, 144, 
 188, 216. 
 
 Born in Upper Lusatia, in 1762. He lived some years 
 in Prussia, where he enjoyed the advantage of personal 
 intercourse with Kant. In 1792 he published his " Kritik 
 aller OfTenbarung," which excited the attention of all Ger- 
 many, and led to his appointment to the chair of Philoso- 
 phy at Jena, which he quitted in consequence of differen- 
 ces with the government, arising from the supposed heter- 
 odoxy of his opinions. He was afterwards professor at 
 Erlangen, and during the war, at Konigsberg. To ele- 
 vate the mind above sensual enjoyments, to represent a 
 spiritual life as the only true life, and every other as a 
 mere semblance, and thus to excite his hearers to the 
 highest purity, virtue, and self-denial, was his daily en- 
 deavour ; his eminent success in which on youthful minds 
 was not the effect only of his singular vigor of thought 
 and language, but of the force of his whole character ; for 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 267 
 
 he was what he told others to be. The crown of his ex- 
 traordinary genius was a heart true, pure, and susceptible 
 of every thing great and good ; an inviolable integrity, a 
 fervent love of truth, and heroic courage in its defence. 
 His Address to the German nation, (Reden an die Deutsche 
 Nation,) published in Berlin, while that capital was in the 
 possession of the French (1808), proved the intrepidity 
 of his patriotism, and gave presage of the struggle which 
 was afterwards so gloriousy maintained. In 1809 he was 
 appointed Professor in the newly-formed University of 
 Berlin, which was henceforward the scene of his labors. 
 His lectures were partly delivered to mixed audiences. 
 
 Fichte's death was worthy of his life. His wife, partly 
 of her own will, partly at his suggestion, devoted her- 
 self to the service of the military hospitals at Berlin ; she 
 was attacked by the hospital fever, of which she re- 
 covered ; but her husband caught it of her, and died in 
 the 51st year of his age. 
 
 The few fragments I have given from the only works 
 of Fichte which I have read, are, I think, in harmony 
 with the description of him. His eloquence is grave and 
 lofty, and at the same time ardent; his exhortations to 
 high thoughts and a holy life are like those of a prophet. 
 
 His philosophy succeeded in public estimation to that of 
 Kant and was succeeded by that of Schelling and Hegel. 
 
 FOUQUE (BARONESS DE LA MOTTE). — Page 34. 
 
 Baron de la Motte Fouque's romances are pretty exten- 
 sively known in this country, especially the wild, grace- 
 ful, and touching Undine. Madame de la Motte Fouque 
 
268 
 
 BIOGRAPHIGAL SKETCHES 
 
 also wrote romances of considerable merit, I believe, but 
 they never fell in my way. My extract is from a little 
 book called the " Woman of the Fashionable World," or 
 "of High Society." 
 
 I think it is not too much to say, that it is impossible to 
 write in a better tone. The thoughts are elevated and 
 refined, the language free from exaggeration or affectation, 
 yet ardent and spirited. Though soaring out of the flat 
 and barren regions of commonplace and narrow conven- 
 tion, there is nothing that is not strictly practical ; nothing 
 extravagant or startling, or inconsistent with unaffected 
 delicacy and dignified repose of manner. 
 
 The only wonder is that anybody could write this 
 passage who had not seen England. It seems, however, 
 that " Vornehmheit " manifests itself by the same symp- 
 toms in all countries. So much the better. Madame de 
 la Motte Fouque's graceful earnest eloquence may be of 
 wider application than she intended. 
 
 The influence of women on society, however, will never 
 be worth much as long as the reign of the sneerers, whose 
 express business (mission, to use a fashionable word) it is 
 to crush aspirations and to keep society at a dead-level, 
 lasts. Women of the leisure classes, unfortunately for 
 them, come within the department of aesthetics rather 
 than of ethics. They are objects of taste. This evil is 
 inseparable from their nature and destiny. But it might 
 be extremely mitigated if the taste by which they are tried 
 were elevated, refined, and subjected to reason. At pres- 
 ent it operates as a check on all the higher qualities of 
 the mind. The poor bird must not spread its wings, for 
 fear the free winds and the fertilizing rains of heaven 
 should ruffle its pretty plumage. Whenever women are 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 269 
 
 permitted to think justly and to feel truly; whenever they 
 are taught to consider that, whatever their station or their 
 gifts, they are bound to pay in, each her own particular 
 contribution to the great fund of human improvement and 
 human happiness; whenever they cease to regard "the 
 Great Whole as a nursery or a ball-room," then, and not 
 till then, they will become the nurses of great thoughts 
 and noble actions in men, — they will really refine and ele- 
 vate, and harmonize society. 
 
 Then, too, the world will hear no more of the " emanci- 
 pation of women," or of preposterous schemes for bringing 
 them into a sort of competition with men, — God knows at 
 what disadvantage! The completeness of the human be- 
 ing rests upon that "most unlike resemblance" which 
 Jeremy Taylor speaks of. Hitherto men have delighted 
 to cultivate the "unlike" qualities, to the almost entire 
 exclusion of the resembling. Now, by one of those re- 
 actions which are in the common course of human affairs, 
 there are indications of a desire to obliterate the unlike- 
 ness, and to try to force an unnatural resemblance. 
 
 Whenever the equipoise is found, the great problem of 
 social life will, I think, be solved. But that can only be 
 effected by the consent of reason ; and not by the conflict 
 of love of power with vanity, of a determination to main- 
 tain established rights with a passionate sense of supposed 
 wrongs ; and, in short, by the conflict of those who have, 
 with those who want to have, power, which is now stirring 
 society in all its deepest depths. 
 
270 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 FREDERIC THE GREAT. — Page 98. 
 
 This very remarkable document is, I believe, little 
 known ; yet it is one of the most characteristic letters that 
 ever was written, and interesting enough in that point of 
 view, independently of the importance of the subject. Dr. 
 Gravell calls it " one of the most curious and important 
 documents to be found in history." 
 
 In England little is known of that part of Frederic's 
 character and reign which he himself regarded as estab- 
 lishing by far his highest and strongest claim to the ad- 
 miration and reverence of mankind. "Frederic's chief 
 greatness," says Johannes von Miiller, in his Universal 
 History, " lies in qualities scarcely known to the foreigner ; 
 one thing distinguishes him from the herd of heroes, — he 
 gains by the nearest approach, the nicest scrutiny. His 
 power," adds he, "was like his glance, — quick, firm, 
 resolute ; his government the despotism of a father, severe 
 and formidable to idle children alone." 
 
 Frederic carried on a struggle with the hydra of legal 
 corruption, which would have worn out any man less in- 
 tensely and resolutely bent on ameliorating the condition 
 of those whose servant, no less than sovereign, he was. 
 He was descended of a family in which a strong percep- 
 tion of the duty of sovereigns as legislators seems to have 
 been almost hereditary. " There is no sovereign family in 
 the world," says Dr. Gravell, "the members of which 
 have so fully and earnestly recognised the duty of rulers to 
 provide for their subjects a prompt, impartial, and effective 
 administration of justice, or have so zealously labored to 
 fulfil that duty, as the house of Hohenzollern." 
 
 t 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 271 
 
 The Elector John Cicero, in his will, admonished his 
 son and successor as follows : — 
 
 " Take the poor under your especial protection : you 
 cannot better strengthen your throne than by succouring the 
 oppressed, by never conniving at any attempt of the rich to 
 overbear the lowly, and by seeing that right and justice 
 are done to every man." 
 
 King Frederic William the First, in his edict for accel- 
 erating the progress of law reform, published in the year 
 1713, makes use of these remarkable words : 
 
 " A bad administration of justice cries to Heaven, and if 
 I do not remedy it, I make myself answerable for it." 
 
 The work of law reform went on, though slowly, under 
 Frederic's predecessors ; but it was reserved for his pene- 
 trating acuteness, unwearied energy, and immovable firm- 
 ness to complete it. It is much to be regretted that the 
 part of Lord Dover's life of this illustrious man, relative to 
 his law reforms, is inaccurate and defective. No mention 
 whatever is made of Suarez, one of the most extraordinary 
 men that ever lived. The Code compiled under the super- 
 vision of Von Carmer, which Lord Dover calls the Code 
 Frtderique, was and is called the Allgemeines Landrecht, 
 or General Law of the Land. The project framed by 
 Cocceji was indeed called the Corpus Juris Fredericianum, 
 but this never had the force of law. In 1780, when Von 
 Carmer proposed to retain that title, Frederic wrote in the 
 margin these remarkable and characteristic words, "The 
 title is indifferent, so the thing itself be but useful." 
 
 The Code was not promulgated with the force of law 
 till 1794. 
 
 Frederic is accused by his biographer of dismissing his 
 chancellors capriciously. The truth is, he was greatly 
 
272 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 irritated at the various pretexts invented by the successors 
 of the illustrious Cocceji for defeating or delaying meas- 
 ures of general utility. "He was," says Dr. Gravell, 
 " resolved rather to be harsh to a few individuals, than to 
 risk the welfare of his people." Surely such motives are 
 not to be confounded with the personal caprices and resent- 
 ments of princes. 
 
 An edict published by Von Carmer, then minister of 
 justice in Silesia, showed that, in some details of procedure, 
 he had actually effected the simplification and abbrevia- 
 tion which the king had so long been striving at. Fred- 
 eric, whose vigilance nothing escaped, commanded him to 
 undertake a project for a complete reform of the laws. 
 The following year, 1775, Frederic held a personal con- 
 ference with Von Carmer, Von Fiirst, then chancellor, 
 and Von Rebner, President of the Council of Justice, at 
 which both the latter strenuously opposed the king's pro- 
 ject. It was however followed by an edict commanding 
 that oral pleadings should be received. Still Frederic was 
 far from attaining his end. On the contrary, his dissatis- 
 faction continued to increase, and in the year 1779 he 
 dismissed Von Fiirst and appointed Von Carmer his chan- 
 cellor. This distinguished man immediately set about 
 amending the system of procedure. The satisfaction with 
 which Frederic viewed his labors soon manifested itself 
 in the Cabinets-Ordre, which I have improperly called a 
 letter, authorizing him to undertake a complete reform of 
 the laws. 
 
 I have thought it necessary to give an outline of the 
 facts, abstracted from Dr. Gravell's work, to throw light 
 on this singular document, than which few perhaps can be 
 found more striking, from the union of acute perspicacity, 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 273 
 
 large, unprejudiced views, benevolent intentions, and un- 
 conquerable will which it displays. 
 
 The world may well look with interest to the result of 
 the labors of the Commission appointed by the present 
 king of Prussia for arranging and publishing the works 
 and papers of his illustrious predecessor. The names of 
 A. v. Humboldt, Ranke, Raumer, and Boeckh are suffi- 
 cient guarantees that the enlightened views of the king 
 will be punctually carried out. 
 
 GENTZ (FRIEDRICH). — Page 149. 
 
 Gentz (Friedrich v.) was born at Breslau, in 1764. He 
 studied at Konigsberg, obtained a post under the govern- 
 ment at Berlin, and soon distinguished himself as a jour- 
 nalist. In 1793, he published a translation of Burke's 
 remarks on the French revolution, and of some works of 
 Mallet du Pin and Monier. His essay " On the Adminis- 
 tration of the Finances of Great Britain " (1801), attracted 
 the attention of Mr. Pitt. His essay " On the state of 
 Europe before and after the French Revolution," was also 
 translated into English ; and he accompanied Mr. Elliot, 
 then minister at the court of Dresden, to England. He 
 returned to Dresden, and published other political works, 
 among which was one on the relations between England 
 and Spain. He was a constant opponent of peace with 
 France. At the Congress of Vienna, and at the Confer- 
 ences at Paris in 1815, he drew up the protocols, as also 
 at the succeeding Conferences, the last of which was held 
 at Verona. In 1818, articles from his pen appeared in the 
 "Wiener Jahrbiicher der Literatur," on the freedom of 
 
274 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 the press in England, and on the author of Junius's 
 letters. 
 
 My extract is from some letters of Gentz to Johannes v. 
 Muller. Some of them are striking, from the vivacity and 
 passion with which they are written. His despair at see- 
 ing Austria fall under the reiterated blows of France, is 
 expressed with a vehemence that carries the reader along 
 with him. From his account of the matter, it seems that 
 the government and army of that country were thoroughly 
 rotten, and their fall inevitable. He says he warned Mr. 
 Pitt of what would happen if Austria took the field with- 
 out Prussia, but that the English government was intense- 
 ly ignorant of continental affairs. 
 
 Gentz had talents and eloquence ; but there is nothing 
 in his moral character to inspire the smallest respect, nor, 
 I believe, is he held in any, in Germany. 
 
 I believe he enjoyed a pension from this country, granted 
 him by Mr. Pitt, up to the time of his death. 
 
 GOETHE (WOLFGANG von). — Pages 3,10,15, 18, 20, 
 30, 40, 47, 57, 60, 64, 75, 80, 81, 92, 94, 98, 109, 122, 124, 
 139, 149, 155, 164, 172, 183, 187, 192, 202, 206, 218, 245. 
 
 These extracts will give some idea of Goethe's endless 
 variety, though a very imperfect one. There still remain 
 untouched the whole of his productions as a poet, and as 
 a man of science (using these two words in the improperly 
 restricted sense in which we use them). What I especial- 
 ly wished to show, was his good sense and practical wis- 
 dom ; the acuteness and clearness of his judgment when he 
 chose to exert it. There are a sort of people in this coun- 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 275 
 
 try who continue to speak, and even write, about Goethe 
 and Kotzebue, which to a German ear sounds very much 
 as Shakspeare and Colman would to ours. Others talk 
 of Werther, that fruitful subject of ridicule, as if Goethe 
 had written nothing else. Others, again, think of him 
 only as the author of Faust, — that untranslatable poem 
 which every Englishman translates. But in order to form 
 any idea of Goethe's merits, it is necessary to read his 
 criticisms on literature and art, and his remarks on men 
 and events. How perfectly, for example, does he charac- 
 terize Goldsmith in a few words, and how striking the 
 transition to the equally true and vivid description of mod- 
 ern French literature ! But it is no part of my plan to 
 pronounce an eulogium on the pieces I have chosen, — 
 they must speak for themselves. I only meant to say that 
 my choice had often been determined, not by the merit of 
 a passage alone, but by its presenting the author in some 
 less familiar light. This is no place for entering into the 
 question of Goethe's merits generally. Some of his works 
 are open to serious objections, and though they do not 
 want able and conscientious defenders, it is a discussion in 
 which I have no desire to engage. My own impression is, 
 that there are none from which a mature and disciplined 
 mind may not draw lessons of wisdom of a very high order; 
 but I am aware that the question is not answered so, — 
 nor do I mean it as an answer. 
 
 The letters from Sicily give some faint idea of his power 
 of painting by words. To those who have seen that en- 
 chanting island, the picture will, I think, appear at once 
 true and ideal as the finest of Claude's. 
 
 I must likewise beg my readers to look at the passage 
 
276 
 
 BIOGRAFHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 quoted at page 124, though no words that I could find can 
 do justice to its melancholy beauty. 
 
 I have ventured on two scenes from his noble tragedy 
 of Egmont : the one for its sagacity and calm wisdom, the 
 other for its grace, pathos, and passion. The reader will 
 not fail to perceive that Sir Walter Scott borrowed the 
 idea of a passage in " Kenil worth " from the scene be- 
 tween Egmont and Clarchen. But the resemblance is 
 only external. The incident is copied, but the characters 
 are totally different. Amy Robsart has no resemblance to 
 Clara, who, though of the humblest birth and the sweetest 
 and tenderest nature, is a creature of proud, heroic spirit, 
 and loves in Egmont not only her lover, but the champion 
 of the freedom of her country. The closing scene of Eg- 
 mont is one of the grandest efforts of Goethe's genius. 
 I had thought of attempting a translation of the whole 
 play, and indeed have partly completed it, but better 
 judges than I tell me it will not succeed. Yet I cannot 
 help thinking that faithful translations of Egmont, Gotz of 
 Berlichingen, and Clavigo, would be worth the notice of 
 the English public. 
 
 I shall have to speak of the difficulties of translating 
 Jean Paul. They are great, and I think obvious ; for 
 they arise from the uncouthness, irregularity, and oddness 
 of his style (sometimes, I ought to add, from its powerful 
 eloquence) — the chaotic profusion and confusion of ima- 
 ges and the deep-dyed local color, — to borrow a French 
 phrase. But in Goethe's style it is not quaintness or sin- 
 gularity that reduces his translator to despair ; it is its per- 
 fection ; one sees that every change of form must be for 
 the worse. He was, I think, the most consummate mas- 
 ter of form the world has seen since the days of Virgil 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 277 
 
 and Catullus ; and how difficult is it to reproduce form ! 
 The perfectly apposite words, which hang together like a 
 string of pearls ; the ease, the euphony ; the adaptation 
 of the style to each of the innumerable subjects he wrote 
 on, — these are merits which elude the hand of the most 
 scrupulous or the most successful translator. 
 Clara's song is as follows : 
 
 " Freud vol], 
 Und leidvoll, 
 Gedankenvoll seyn ; 
 Langen, 
 Und bangen, 
 In schwebender Pein, 
 Himmelhoch jauchzend, 
 Zum Tode betrubt, — 
 Gliicklich allein 
 1st die Seele die liebt." 
 
 To analyze the merits of this beautiful song would re- 
 quire an essay ; and, after all, who can define that name- 
 less grace, that exquisite fitness of expression, which 
 makes it what it is, — Clarchen's song, — just as the still 
 more beautiful " Meine Ruh ' ist run,'' in Faust, is Gret- 
 chen's ? Both are the utterance of simple, earnest passion 
 in the homely language of low-born girls. Yet how 
 different ! 
 
 GRIMM (JACOB). — Pages 94, 108. 
 
 Born at Hanau in 1785. The brothers Grimm are 
 known to this country chiefly by the lightest of their 
 works, their charming collection of stories {Kinder- und 
 19 
 
278 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 Haus-Marchen), and by the proceedings of the king of 
 Hanover which led to their expulsion from the University 
 of Gottingen, together with five other of its most illustri- 
 ous professors. The two Grimms have recently been in- 
 vited to Berlin by the present king, who has munificently 
 provided them with the means of pursuing their labors. 
 Jacob Grimm's " German Grammar," "German Legends 
 and Stories," "German Mythology," "German Legal 
 Antiquities," a number of dissertations on various points 
 of early German literature, and, lastly, the " German 
 Dictionary," which is to crown this vast structure, will 
 form such a complete body of philological, archaeological, 
 and antiquarian science as never before proceeded from 
 the same hand. His literary reputation rests, in Germany, 
 chiefly on his admirable " Deutsche Grammatik," which 
 throws the whole light of historical and philological re- 
 search on the original structure and gradual developement 
 of the German language, and, collaterally, of all the Teu- 
 tonic tongues. He published, in conjunction with his 
 brother Wilhelm Karl, the "Deutsche Sagen," and the 
 abovementioned "Kinder- und Haus-Marchen," which 
 have been so admirably translated by the late Mr. Edgar 
 Taylor. 
 
 The "Deutsche Mythologie," from which my extracts 
 are taken, is a work of vast and profound learning, and 
 these little legends occur only as illustrations. I was 
 greatly tempted to take others ; but I regretted still more 
 not to have room for the whole introduction. The grad- 
 ual recession of the primitive religion before Christianity ; 
 the degree to which the new religion was colored by the 
 old ; the tenacity with which old superstitions clung to 
 the hearts and imaginations of the people ; the vestiges of 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 279 
 
 them that still remain ; analogies with other countries 
 where a similar process went on ; — all this is traced in 
 the most interesting- manner. The book itself presents a 
 mass of erudition such as no country but Germany can 
 produce or tolerate. 
 
 HAHN-HAHN (GRAFIN IDA von). — Page 213. 
 
 Countess Hahn-Hahn is one of the most popular of 
 living German authoresses. She has written some novels, 
 a volume of poems, which are highly spoken of, and the 
 little book on Italy, called "Across the Alps" (Jenseits 
 der Berge), from which this extract is taken. Her de- 
 scriptions of the cities of Italy have remarkable individu- 
 ality and life. The aspect and character of each is dis- 
 tinctly and vividly traced. The account of the poverty of 
 Naples is one of the most striking things of the kind I 
 ever read, and does credit to the author's humanity, as 
 well as to the accuracy of her observation. 
 
 The faults of the book seem to arise from an excessive 
 dread of commonplace or imitation. By way of avoiding 
 this, the lively writer sometimes runs into daring singulari- 
 ties, which nothing short of genius and acquirements of 
 the very highest order can justify. The affectation of 
 differing from everybody is certainly less tiresome, though 
 less safe, than the affectation of echoing thousand-times- 
 reechoed raptures ; but while we admire the intrepidity 
 with which Countess Hahn-Hahn judges for herself, and 
 even avows her heresies of taste, undismayed by great 
 names, we may be permitted to wish that this trampling 
 on received opinions were done with a less peremptory 
 
280 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 air. The tone of the work is rather (to use a German 
 distinction) "subjective" than "objective"; — in other 
 words, things seem to be described, not so much for their 
 own sakes, as for their effect in eliciting some peculiarity 
 in the character or circumstances of the writer. This is 
 so much the fashion of the times, that perhaps it hardly 
 demands a comment. 
 
 HEINE (HEINRICH). — Pages 60 and 152. 
 
 Born at Diisseldorf in 1799. Author of" Reisebilder," 
 and several other works. Some of his songs are beauti- 
 ful, especially those written in Heligoland, the imagery 
 of which is drawn from the northern seas and their various 
 aspects. Their lyrical sweetness is not surpassed by any 
 thing in the German language, except by some of Goethe's 
 s'ongs. Heine's prose style is also regarded in Germany as 
 admirable, even by those who the least admire the matter 
 of his writings. As a proof of his artistical merit, I might 
 mention the pretty sort of echo of the beginning with 
 which the " Hartz-miners " closes. 
 
 HEINZELMANN. — Page 39. 
 
 HERDER (JOHANN GOTTFRIED von). — Page 90. 
 
 Born 1744. Was the son of a poor schoolmaster and 
 cantor (parish-clerk) in the little town of Morungen, in 
 East Prussia. His father would not allow him to read 
 any other book than the Bible and hymn-book , but, urged 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 281 
 
 by an insatiable desire of knowledge, he contrived to read 
 by stealth. At length a clergyman, named Frescho, took 
 him as secretary, and struck with his moral and intellect- 
 ual qualities, allowed him to profit by the instructions in 
 Greek and Latin which his son was receiving. Here 
 Herder became acquainted with a Russian surgeon, who 
 offered to take him to Konigsberg and teach him his pro- 
 fession, and, as he had no hope of prosecuting his favorite 
 studies, he accepted the proposal. Having fainted, how- 
 ever, at the first dissection he was present at, he aban- 
 doned surgery and determined to study theology. He 
 became known to some distinguished men who helped him 
 to prosecute his studies, and enjoyed the acquaintance of 
 Kant and the friendship of Hermann. He now pursued 
 the study of theology with that elevation of thought and 
 feeling which characterized his whole life, and rendered 
 tributary to it his vast and profound acquirements in 
 philosophy, science, and history, his knowledge of various 
 nations and tongues. In 1764 he went to Riga as usher 
 at the cathedral school. Both in the pulpit and the school 
 he inspired enthusiastic attachment. His eloquence as a 
 preacher was characterized by evangelical simplicity, earn- 
 estness, and purity. He was appointed travelling tutor to 
 the Prince of Holstein Oldenburg, and had reached Stras- 
 burg, when a disorder of the eyes prevented him from 
 pursuing his journey. This accident led to his acquaint- 
 ance with Goethe, over whom he acquired great influence. 
 He had already gained considerable reputation by his 
 " Fragmente uber die deutsche Literatur," his " Kriti- 
 schen Walder," &c. In 1775 he was invited (through 
 Goethe's means) to Weimar, as chaplain to the Court, 
 general superintendent, and councillor of the Consistory. 
 
282 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 If there was a place in the whole world favorable to the 
 developement of all the treasures of Herder's mind, a place 
 where his useful labors would be not only unimpeded, but 
 encouraged and aided, it was Weimar, during the regency 
 of the Grand-Duchess Amelia, and the reign of her son 
 Charles Augustus. The fairest fruits of his genius were 
 matured here ; and his memory will long be held in grate- 
 ful veneration as a most persuasive preacher, as the pro- 
 moter of public education, the fosterer of talent, and the 
 founder of many useful institutions. Beloved and honored 
 both by the people and their enlightened rulers, he con- 
 tinued his career of beneficent activity till his death, in 
 1803. His works fill forty-five octavo volumes, and em- 
 brace theology, philosophy, history, literature, and the fine 
 arts. Among them we may mention his beautiful Ro- 
 mances of the Cid, from the Spanish, and his "Spirit of 
 Hebrew Poetry." But his great work is the " Ideas 
 towards a Philosophy of the History of the Human Race," 
 a book full of the genuine, fervent, sincere expression of 
 love to God and man. His views of the nature and desti- 
 nies of man are benign, indulgent, consolatory. Those 
 who read only to be informed or amused will be disap- 
 pointed in the book ; but those who wish to cultivate all 
 the most elevating and soothing sentiments, to attain to a 
 state of mind serene, hopeful, and benevolent ; to be recon- 
 ciled to the world and to life, will return to it for repose 
 and for comfort when disturbances, perplexities, and sor- 
 rows beset them. 
 
 It has been translated into English, I believe from a 
 French translation, — at any rate badly enough, as I am 
 told. But as it may be known to the English reader, even 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 283 
 
 through this imperfect medium, I have not been solicitous 
 to give many extracts from it. 
 
 HUMBOLDT (WILHELM FREIHERR von).— 
 Pages 167, 183, 201. 
 
 Of the two bearers of this illustrious name, Alexander, 
 the younger and surviving brother, is so much the best 
 known to the English public, that I the less regret not 
 having adorned my pages with any passages from his 
 works. I had fully intended to insert a charming essay of 
 his, called the "Physiognomy of Plants," but unfortu- 
 nately it is too long for my little volume, and I could not 
 bear to mutilate it. I know nothing like it in our language. 
 It combines the views of the man of science and the artist, 
 in a new and very agreeable manner. 
 
 I am not aware that any of Baron Wilhelm von Hum- 
 boldt's works have been translated into English ; yet he 
 is one of the men of whom Germany has most reason to be 
 proud. The noble simplicity of his character, his consci- 
 entious and ardent zeal for truth and knowledge, the fidel- 
 ity and tenderness of his friendship, are apparent in the 
 few little fragments I have given. His learning was as 
 profound as it was extensive. His career as a statesman 
 was honorable to himself, and useful to his country. In 
 short, his reputation, either as a scholar or a statesman, 
 would have sufficed to constitute him a great man. 
 
 He was born at Berlin, in 1767, and received a careful 
 and profound education. In 1799, he published a criticism 
 on Goethe's poem of Hermann and Dorothea, {JEsthetische 
 Versuche,) than which I believe it would be hardly possi- 
 
284 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 ble to point out a more finished piece of criticism. It 
 contains not only a refined analysis of the poem, but is full 
 of profound and acute remarks on poetry in general. He 
 was likewise author of "Inquiries into the Basque Lan- 
 guage," which threw light on that obscure subject, and a 
 translation of the "Agamemnon" of ^Eschylus, which 
 contain the results of the most abstruse researches into the 
 Greek language and metres. Wilhelm v. Humboldt lived 
 for many years in Jena, where he contracted that friend- 
 ship with Schiller which is so nobly and touchingly ex- 
 pressed by these great men in the letters I have quoted. 
 
 Chancellor v. Miiller, in his little essay called " Goethe 
 considered as a Man of Action," says, "Wilhelm and 
 Alexander von Humboldt were long domesticated at Jena. 
 Affectionate regard, unconquerable zeal in investigating 
 and establishing facts and principles, and in advancing the 
 noblest interests of civilization, bound them firmly and 
 closely to Goethe and Schiller, who, on the other hand, 
 found refreshment and reward in a free interchange of 
 ideas with the noble brothers. 
 
 " It is well known how much the world is indebted to 
 that harmonious cooperation, in which every thing that 
 was attained called forth fresh and more ardent desire for 
 further attainment, and every triumph of the one was most 
 deeply and intensely enjoyed by the other." 
 
 He began his diplomatic career as Prussian resident in 
 Rome, where he was afterwards ambassador extraordi- 
 nary. In 1810 he was sent as ambassador to Vienna, at 
 that momentous period when Europe was like an ava- 
 lanche, which needed only some slight shock to make it 
 fall with annihilating force on the power which oppressed 
 it. Humboldt's services were so highly estimated by his 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 285 
 
 sovereign, that he sent him as his plenipotentiary to the 
 Congress at Prague. He was also one of those who signed 
 the treaty of peace at Paris, in 1814, and that between 
 Prussia and Saxony, at the Congress of Vienna, in 1815. 
 In 1816 he was minister at Paris, and in 1818 at London, 
 whence he was recalled to occupy a distinguished post in 
 the Prussian ministry. He died in the year 1834, and has 
 left a reputation for learning, wisdom, and virtue, such as 
 has seldom been equalled in any age or country. 
 
 ISELIN (ISAAK). — Page 34. 
 
 JACOBS (FRIEDRICH CHRISTIAN WILHELM).— 
 Page 44. 
 
 Born at Gotha, 1764. Studied theology at Jena and 
 afterwards at Gottingen. In 1785 he was chosen teacher 
 of the gymnasium in his native city, and soon began to 
 distinguish himself in the literary world. In conjunction 
 with some friends he published " Characters of the Poets 
 of all Nations," and subsequently " Exercitationes critics 
 in Scriptores veteres," the " Greek Anthology," and other 
 works, chiefly on Greek literature. He received from 
 Duke Ernest the Second that support and encouragement 
 which the princes of Germany are so remarkable for afford- 
 ing to letters. While there, he published, among other 
 works, " Elementarbuch der griechischen Sprache." In 
 1807, he was invited by the king of Bavaria to become 
 professor of Ancient Literature in the Lyceum at Munich, 
 
286 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 and member of the newly established Academy of Sciences, 
 where he delivered the eloquent discourse from which the 
 passage in the text is extracted. In three years he re- 
 turned to Gotha as chief librarian and director of the nu- 
 mismatic cabinet. Here he published the " Anthologia 
 Grasca ad fidem Codicis Vaticani edita." The chances of 
 war, and the altered situation of the Pope, which had 
 brought back to Heidelberg the invaluable manuscripts 
 given by the Emperor Maximilian to Gregory the Fif- 
 teenth,* greatly aided his labors. 
 
 Jacobs was a favorite disciple of Heyne, and belongs to 
 his school of philology, the main difference between which 
 and the later critico-historical school is adverted to in the 
 notice of Otfried Miiller. 
 
 Jacobs's philological works would appear full occupa- 
 tion for a life ; but he has also produced numerous works 
 of fiction, which are in the hands of all persons of educa- 
 tion, and are unexceptionable in their moral tendency. 
 
 He has recently published some account of his life, 
 called " Personalien, gesammelt von F. Jacobs:" Leip- 
 sig, 1840. 
 
 JACOBI (FRIED. HEINRICH) . — Pages 51 and 85. 
 
 Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, born at Diisseldorf in 1743. 
 He went to school at Frankfurt, where his deep feeling of 
 religion manifested itself even at that early age, and often 
 rendered him an object of ridicule to his companions. 
 From Frankfurt he went to Geneva, where he remained 
 three years. During this time his mind had made such 
 
 * See Ranke's " History of the Popes/ 7 ii. 482, and Appendix. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 287 
 
 progress, that he returned home with heavy heart, to en- 
 ter on the management of his father's business. He car- 
 ried it on for several years, without, however, neglecting 
 literature. He became acquainted with many of the most 
 distinguished persons of his time. His brother Johann 
 Georg, the poet, introduced him to Wieland ; but Goethe 
 produced a still stronger effect upon his mind. He mar- 
 ried a wife richly endowed in body and mind, and inherit- 
 ing a fortune which rendered him independent. In 1799, 
 he was invited to Munich, and appointed privy councillor, 
 but soon fell into disfavor, on account of the frankness 
 with which he commented on the Bavarian customhouse 
 system. He retired from public life and lived in the 
 bosom of his amiable family, at his beautiful residence at 
 Pempelsfort, happy in his intercourse with the greatest 
 spirits of the age. A severe illness, and the death of his 
 beloved wife, interrupted this felicity. He devoted himself 
 with the more ardor to science ; a journey to Weimar, 
 where he saw Goethe, and formed a friendship with Her- 
 der, tended to recruit his spirits. His earlier works, 
 "Allwill" and " Woldemar," were a sort of philosoph- 
 ical novels. In 1785, he published his "Letters on Spi- 
 noza/' {Brief e iiber Spinoza,) and from that time devoted 
 himself chiefly to metaphysical and religious speculations. 
 Among these may be mentioned " David Hume on Belief, 
 or Idealism and Realism," and his "Letter to Fichte." 
 The French Revolution drove him from Diisseldorf to 
 Holstein. In 1804, he was invited to the newly-formed 
 Academy of Sciences at Munich, of which he was after- 
 wards appointed president. On attaining his seventieth 
 year he relinquished this post, the salary of which was 
 
288 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 continued to him till his death, which took place in 
 1819. 
 
 As a writer of fiction he is distinguished for vigorous 
 painting-, admirable delineation of nature and the human 
 heart, warmth and depth of feeling, and a lively, bold, yet 
 correct turn of expression. As a philosopher, he is ad- 
 mired for his rare depth of thought, for the fervor of his 
 religious feelings, and the originality and beauty of his 
 style. At the same time, there are few authors concern- 
 ing whom opinions vary more, than concerning Jacobi. It 
 seems as if his works of imagination injured him with the 
 philosophers, and his philosophy with the poets. 
 
 Jacobi's polemical merits were great. He pointed out 
 the chasms, the unconnectedness, and the mischievous re- 
 sults of the prevalent opinions, with critical acuteness, and 
 with all the eloquence of a just aversion. With his pecu- 
 liar modes of thinking, it was natural that he should not 
 become the disciple of any other philosopher, and that he 
 should come into conflict, alternately, with the dogmatic 
 Mendelssohn, the critical Kant, the idealistical Fichte, and 
 the pantheistical Schelling ; against the latter of whom, 
 indeed, he expressed himself with too much bitterness. 
 Jacobi's place among the pure searchers after truth must, 
 however, remain for ever uncontested, and his character 
 is rich in all that can attract the wise and the good. He- 
 gel has given a character of him in the Heidelberger Jahr- 
 biicher, 1817. 
 
 Jacobi's correspondence, published about ten years ago, 
 is very interesting. 
 
 There is a good deal of information about him in Goe- 
 the's " Dichtung und Wahrheit." * 
 
 * For a translation of this, see " Characteristics of Goethe," 
 vol. ii. 189, and vol. iii. 265. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 289 
 
 KANT (IMM ANUEL) . — Pages 15, 29, 56, 84, 134, 135, 228. 
 Born in 1724, at Konigsberg. 
 
 Kant is one of those writers whose name has become a 
 representative of a class. In this country and in France 
 there is scarcely a writer who does not feel himself on 
 firm ground in talking of " the cloudy metaphysics of 
 Kant." "Kant's philosophy," with a part of the world 
 so large that the other is not worth talking of, stands for 
 German philosophy ; and that again for unintelligible, 
 mystical jargon, which everybody is at liberty to laugh at, 
 and nobody bound to attempt to understand. This view 
 of the matter will not be controverted here. Nevertheless, 
 as the wildest lunatic has lucid intervals, it may not be 
 wholly uninteresting to the curious reader to see that Kant 
 could write like a man of this world if he liked. The 
 little passages extracted from his " Tugendlehre," (Doc- 
 trine of Virtue,) and his " Zum Ewigen Frieden," (On 
 the Possibility of Permanent Peace,) are surely intelligible 
 enough. And is it possible to find sentiments more noble, 
 pure, just, and humane? 
 
 The essay " What is enlightenment?" is entire, and is 
 almost the only thing in the volume to which the name 
 "fragment" does not apply. It was chosen not only for 
 its intrinsic value, but as peculiarly characteristic of the 
 author. 
 
 The compatibility between the duty of the individual 
 human being to use his reason freely and intrepidly, and 
 the duty of the citizen, or member of a social community, 
 to conform to established laws and rules, is very clearly 
 and happily shown. Perhaps the conviction of this com- 
 patibility, on the part of the great Frederic, stamped its 
 
290 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 peculiar character on Prussia, where freedom of thought 
 is combined with obedience to, and respect for, authority, 
 in a degree rarely, if ever, witnessed. 
 
 Kant's personal character was singular. He was the 
 son of a cooper at Konigsberg, in which place he passed 
 the whole of a life exclusively devoted to science. He 
 lived to the age of eighty, never having been more than 
 thirty miles from home ; yet his knowledge was of the 
 most varied and extensive kind. Nor did his pure and 
 severe morality impair his social cheerfulness. Reichardt 
 says he was as dry in body as in mind. A more attenu- 
 ated, withered frame perhaps never existed ; nor perhaps 
 did ever eastern sage live a life more pure and passionless. 
 Yet he loved a good table in cheerful society, where his 
 extensive reading, the fund of amusing anecdotes which 
 he told in his own grave, dry manner, and the genuine 
 humor of his repartees and observations, rendered him a 
 most entertaining and diverting companion. Kant's soci- 
 ety was sought in the most distinguished houses ; not only 
 on account of his unblemished honor and superior intelli- 
 gence, but because he had that proper sense of his own 
 preeminent merit which enabled him to claim the respect 
 due to him, and to bear himself with dignity. He loved 
 cards, which he maintained were the only unfailing means 
 of abstracting and quieting the thoughts after severe study ; 
 and he did not like to pass an evening without his game at 
 ombre. He had neither skill in, nor taste for, the fine 
 arts. His memory was prodigious, and enabled him to 
 give singular interest to his lectures. He generally de- 
 livered them in a morning, leaving himself twenty minutes 
 between each. The subjects on which he lectured were 
 logic and metaphysics, and occasionally the law of nature, 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 291 
 
 morals, anthropology, physics, and physical geography. 
 The latter were peculiarly amusing and instructive to 
 young people, from the boundless range of his reading in 
 history, travels, biography, romances, and in short every 
 branch of literature that could afford materials with which 
 to enrich his elucidations of those sciences. Here his 
 memory displayed all its strength ; for though he had his 
 lecture written before him, he seldom looked at it, and 
 often repeated long series of names and dates from his 
 head. Even his lectures on abstract philosophy were ren- 
 dered clear and distinct by the treasure of illustrations and 
 examples with which his memory furnished him ; and the 
 obscurity which many have found in his writings arose, 
 in great measure, from his omission of these, which he 
 thought superfluous. His principal works are, " Kritik 
 der reinen Vernunft," " Kritik der praktischen Vernunft," 
 "Kritik der Urtheilskraft," " Metaphysische Anfangs- 
 griinde der Naturwissenschaft," " Metaphysische An- 
 fangsgriinde der Rechtslehre," " Anthropologic in prag- 
 matischer Hinsicht," " Physische Geographie," " Vorle- 
 sungen der Religionslehre," &c. &c. 
 
 I am not aware that any of these have been translated 
 except the " Critic of Pure Reason," the title of which, it 
 is to be feared, is not very attractive or intelligible to the 
 English reader. Indeed hardly any of the above titles 
 can convey any meaning to the mind through a literal 
 translation, and I have therefore not attempted to give 
 one. 
 
 Among Kant's chief antagonists were Herder and Ja- 
 cobi, whose names we have just mentioned. 
 
 Kant's life and philosophy form the subject of several 
 works : Borowski's " Life and Character of Kant ;" Wa- 
 
292 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 sianski's "Kant during the last years of his life ;" Jach- 
 mann's "Kant portrayed in letters," &c. &c. 
 
 He was unquestionably one of the most remarkable and 
 interesting men the world ever produced, — perhaps, for 
 the absolute devotion of a mind untroubled by passion to 
 the advancement of science, he is without an equal. 
 
 KNEBEL (KARL LUDWIG von).— Pages 133, 140. 
 
 Born in 1744, at Wallerstein, in Franconia ; he was 
 descended of an old Netherland family, driven into exile 
 by religious persecution. His father was chancellor of the 
 Margravate of Anspach. Knebel studied law at Halle, 
 but was disgusted by the dryness of the pursuit ; and be- 
 ing invited by his brother, who was page to Frederic the 
 Second, he went to Potsdam, where he entered the regi- 
 ment of the Prince of Prussia. Here he formed intimacies 
 with many distinguished men, Ramler, Gleim, Moses 
 Mendelssohn, Nicolai, &c. Knebel's health induced him 
 to quit the service, and to return to his home. Weimar, 
 which lay but little out of his way, was then the residence 
 of Wieland, the charm of whose works attracted Kne- 
 bel. He was favorably received by that distinguished pa- 
 troness of learning, the Grand-Duchess Amelia, then re- 
 gent, and by the whole court, and a proposal was soon 
 made to him, to fix himself there as tutor to the second 
 prince, Constantine. After some hesitation, arising from 
 a feeling of his unfitness for a court life, he accepted the 
 offer, and became a resident at Weimar, at the time of 
 its remarkable brilliancy. In 1774, he accompanied the 
 Hereditary Prince in the journey mentioned by Goethe in 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 293 
 
 his life.* At Karlsruhe he became acquainted with Klop- 
 stock. At Paris he fell into the society of young men, 
 among whom he heard much talk of a revolution in the 
 state, which he could then but obscurely and imperfectly 
 understand. After his return, and the early death of his 
 princely pupil, he received a pension for life. He re- 
 mained in Weimar, an ornament of the circle which then 
 rendered that little court the most eminent resort of intel- 
 lect and genius in Europe ; a friend of Wieland and 
 Herder, a daily and welcome guest of their illustrious 
 patroness, an acute observer of the signs of a time big with 
 mighty events ; living in philosophical serenity in his little 
 garden, a stranger to artificial wants, a contented sage of 
 the school of Aristippus. Herr von Knebel married late 
 in life, and retired to the romantic village of Umenau ; 
 afterwards, when his children grew up, he removed to 
 Jena, where he continued, to the time of his death, to 
 occupy himself with classical literature, and retained to the 
 last his frank good-humor, and his true sense of every 
 thing good and noble in human nature. 
 
 He published but little original poetry. His transla- 
 tions of Propertius and Lucretius are much esteemed. 
 He died in 1834. 
 
 LESSING (GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM). — Pages 19,21, 
 29, 40. 
 
 Lessing is, in every sense of the word, so admirable a 
 writer, that it is with great regret I see how few extracts 
 from his works I have found place for. But I have been 
 
 * Dichtung und Wahrheit, 15ter Buch. 
 20 
 
294 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 less anxious to give specimens of those writers already 
 well known to the English public by translations, criti- 
 cisms, or quotations, than of others less familiar and acces- 
 sible. There is a full and interesting account of Lessing's 
 life and works in Mr. William Taylor's " Survey of Ger- 
 man Poetry," which also contains his excellent translation 
 of "Nathan der Weise." There is also along note on 
 Lessing in another place, which I should only repeat my- 
 self by inserting here. The "Laocoon," a work which 
 has done perhaps more than any other toward introducing 
 clearer and sounder views on art than had ever before 
 been expounded, has been recently translated. Lessing, 
 as a critic, occupies the first place in literature, — as a 
 poet, a secondary one ; indeed it may be doubted whether 
 the nice and accurate spirit of analysis which characterized 
 him, are often found combined with the imagination and 
 fervor of a poet. 
 
 Lessing first opened to his country the treasures of 
 English, Spanish, and Italian literature, and delivered it 
 from the shackles of French taste and criticism by which 
 it had been cramped. 
 
 His style may be regarded as a model of German 
 prose, — pure, luminous, easy, and vigorous. He appears 
 rather to impart his speculations to the reader, as they 
 arise in his own mind, than to put them into a didactic 
 form ; and this gives to his style great vivacity, and a 
 suggestiveness which stimulates to independent thought. 
 Lessing's polemical writings are regarded as a perfect 
 model as to form. He may be called an artist in po- 
 lemics. 
 
 Lessing was born in 1729, at Kamenz, in Upper Lusa- 
 tia, of which place his father was Lutheran minister. He 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 295 
 
 went to school at Meissen, and thence to the University of 
 Leipsig, whence he was recalled by his parents in conse- 
 quence of his taste for the theatre, and for society and 
 pursuits which, to their severely religious minds, appeared 
 corrupting and ruinous. He, however, returned to Leip- 
 sig, and thence removed to Berlin, (1750,) where he en- 
 tered into a correspondence with Voltaire. At the request 
 of his parents he went to Wittenberg, where he pursued 
 his studies in company with his younger brother, and took 
 a degree of M. A. From this time he led an unsettled 
 life, but continued to produce numerous works, among 
 which are his dramas ' 1 Miss Sara Sampson," "Emilia 
 Galotti," and " Minna von Barnheim," and his " Treatise 
 on the Laocoon;" till, in 1767, he removed to Hamburg, 
 where the manager of the theatre had made him advan- 
 tageous offers. Here he produced his admirable " Drama- 
 turgic," and his essays " On the Study of the Ancients," 
 and " On the Use of Antique Gems." He became dis- 
 gusted with his situation, and had resolved to go to Italy, 
 when an invitation to undertake the post of librarian at 
 Wolfenbiittel caused him to abandon his design. The 
 court of Brunswick was then almost the only one in Ger- 
 many where German literature was cultivated, as well as 
 French. Here he published the celebrated "Wolfen- 
 biittel Fragments." He accompanied Prince Leopold of 
 Brunswick to Italy, in 1775, and, in passing through Vi- 
 enna, had an interview with the Empress Maria Theresa. 
 
 On his return, his theological controversies subjected 
 him to suspicion and persecution, which destroyed his 
 cheerfulness and serenity. To this circumstance, how T - 
 ever, the world owes the noble play of " Nathan the 
 Wise." 
 
296 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 His health had been for some time declining, and in 
 1781 he ended his active life. 
 
 LUTHER (MARTINUS). — Page 30. 
 
 It would be worse than superfluous to say any thing 
 about the character of this remarkable man. It is easy to 
 understand the irresistible effect of his naive, robust, viva- 
 cious style on the people. He spoke their language, but 
 with tenfold force. He is without an equal, that I know 
 of, in vernacular freedom and energy, which of course it is 
 most difficult to represent in another language. 
 
 LOUISA (QUEEN OF PRUSSIA). — Page 156. 
 
 Born Princess of Mecklenburg Strelitz, A. D. 1776. 
 The beauty and grace of the late Queen of Prussia, her 
 virtues, sorrows, and early death, are too well known to 
 need further mention here. It is said, that the singular 
 grace which adorned her person was not less conspicuous 
 in the turn of her expressions, and that she has transmitted 
 this gift to her eldest son. 
 
 There is a little volume called "Louise die Konigin," 
 by Frau v. Berg, (Berlin, 1814,) which contains several 
 of her letters, and the history of her eventful life. 
 
 I insert the extracts from Niebuhr's letters immedi- 
 ately after this striking and heroic letter of the queen's, 
 as illustrating the state of Prussia during the French 
 invasion. Such is war! "When princes shed tears," 
 says Jean Paul, "their subjects shed blood." And here, 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 297 
 
 by the side of the sorrows of the queen, we behold the 
 desolation of the peasant. 
 
 MERKEL. — Page 33. 
 
 MOSER (JUSTUS). — Page 85. 
 
 The writings of Moser are little known in this country ; 
 yet they are distinguished by a vigorous, homely good 
 sense, a freedom from all affectation, a knowledge of the 
 condition of the laboring classes, and a zeal for their im- 
 provement and happiness, which obtained for him, not 
 unjustly, the name of the Franklin of Germany. He was 
 born in 1720, at Osnabriick, where his father filled high 
 offices under the government. He early gave proofs of 
 great talents, which were judiciously cultivated by his 
 mother. He studied law at Jena and Gottingen ; but the 
 open book of human life was his favorite and most impor- 
 tant study. As a man of business, he was the able and 
 zealous defender of oppressed innocence, and resisted alone 
 the arbitrary will of the then ruler of Osnabriick. The 
 confidence of his countrymen raised him, in 1747, to the 
 honorable post of " Advocatus Patriae," and the Land- 
 stande appointed him Secretary and Syndic of the Order 
 of Knights. His noble character was put to the test 
 during the troubles of the Seven Years' War, and secured 
 him the respect of Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick. He 
 was employed for eight months in London in transacting 
 the affairs of the troops sudsidized by England, and his 
 
298 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 residence in this country added much to his practical ex- 
 perience. He was for twenty years, (during the minority 
 of the English prince, who, in 1761, was acknowledged 
 protestant bishop and sovereign of Osnabriick,) virtually, 
 though not nominally, chief-councillor of the regent. Noth- 
 ing but Moser's great talents, knowledge of business, and 
 industry, united to his unswerving integrity, fairness, and 
 disinterestedness, would have enabled him to steer his 
 course, free from all suspicion or reproach, between the 
 conflicting interests of the sovereign and the states, both 
 of whom he served. For six years he was justiciary of 
 the criminal court of Osnabriick; and on his resignation, 
 was appointed privy referendary of the government, which 
 post he held till his death. 
 
 Moser's objects in writing were far higher than the 
 gratification of the vanity, or the acquisition of the fame, 
 of an author ; yet there is no writer whose works have a 
 more enduring reputation. They may serve as a model 
 for all who are inspired with the noble desire of rendering 
 intelligible to the people their own true interests; — the 
 highest office in which genius, wit, learning, or eloquence 
 can ever be employed. 
 
 Gifted in an eminent degree with a sound mind in a 
 sound body, he devoted both to the service of his country 
 and of mankind, and he closed a happy, useful, and hon- 
 orable life at the age of 74, "having had much to re- 
 joice, little to sadden, and nothing to offend him," as he 
 himself thankfully acknowledged. There is a beautiful 
 passage in Goethe's life,* of which I subjoin an abridged 
 translation. 
 
 * Dichtung und Wahrheit, book xiii. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 299 
 
 "The little essays or papers of this admirable man, re- 
 lating to matters of social and political interest, had been 
 printed some years before in the Osnabriick newspaper, 
 and had been pointed out to me by Herder, who suffered 
 nothing of merit to pass unobserved. Moser's daughter 
 was now occupied in collecting them. 
 
 " They were all conceived in one spirit, and are all dis- 
 tinguished for their intimate knowledge of the condition of 
 the middle and lower classes, and indeed of the whole 
 fabric of society. The author, with a perfect freedom 
 from prejudice, analyses the relations of the several classes 
 to each other, and also those existing between the several 
 towns and villages of the country. The public revenues 
 and expenditure, the advantages and disadvantages of the 
 various branches of industry, are brought distinctly before 
 us, and old times compared and contrasted with new. 
 
 "The internal condition of Osnabriick, and its relation 
 to other countries, particularly England, are clearly stated, 
 and practical consequences deduced. Though he calls 
 them ' Patriotic Fantasies,' their contents are in fact true 
 and practicable. 
 
 "And as the whole structure of society rests on the 
 basis of family, he devotes his especial attention to that. 
 He treats, seriously or sportively, of the changes in man- 
 ners and habits, dress, diet, domestic life, and education. 
 It would be necessary to make an inventory of every inci- 
 dent of social life, if we would exhaust the subjects which 
 he handles. And how inimitable is the handling ! It is 
 a thorough man of business speaking to the people in a 
 weekly paper, in order to render intelligible to all the in- 
 tentions and projects of a wise and benevolent govern- 
 ment ; by no means in a merely didactic style, but in a 
 
300 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 variety of forms, which we might almost call poetical, and 
 which certainly deserve to be called rhetorical, in the best 
 sense of the word. He is always master of his subject, 
 and has the art of giving a lively color to the most serious ; 
 sometimes assuming one mask, sometimes another, some- 
 times speaking in his own person, with a gay and tem- 
 pered irony ; vigorous and true, sometimes even rough 
 and almost coarse ; but in every case so appropriate, that 
 it is impossible not to admire the talents, the good sense, 
 the facility, lightness, taste, and originality of the writer. 
 In the choice of his subjects, his profound knowledge of 
 them, enlarged views, skilful and appropriate handling, 
 deep and yet gay humor, I can compare him to none but 
 Franklin." 
 
 Nothing can be added to this just and beautiful descrip- 
 tion of Moser's " Patriotische Fantasien." It remains 
 only to say, that his "History of Osnabriick " is equally 
 remarkable for the accurate antiquarian knowledge it ex- 
 hibits. He left some other works, among which is a de- 
 fence of the German language and literature, in answer to 
 Frederic the Great. 
 
 In the paper I have given, the author's admirable good 
 sense is applied to one of the points in human life on 
 which the greatest dearth of it has hitherto been displayed. 
 How many a heart-ache, how many a misunderstanding, 
 how much disgust and alienation, how much secret and 
 blank despair, — nay, even despairing guilt, — may be 
 traced to the want of sane notions, chastised hopes, and 
 rational expectations, at the beginning of married life ! 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 301 
 
 MULLER (JOHANNES von). — Pages 1, 1G5. 
 
 Was born in 1752, at Schaffhausen, where his father 
 was pastor and teacher in the Latin school. Miiller is one 
 of the most remarkable examples on record, of the force 
 and value of early impressions. From his mother, who 
 was a woman of superior understanding, he imbibed the 
 piety which never deserted him ; and from her father, a 
 clergyman, who had a great knowledge of history, the 
 taste which decided the occupation and pursuit of his 
 whole future life. Before the child could read, he had 
 learned from the lips of his kind grandfather all the most 
 remarkable events in the history of Switzerland ; and from 
 him he inherited his expansive benevolence, his cheerful 
 view of the destinies of mankind, and his passionate love 
 of historical research. His short sight and slight, fragile 
 body unfitted him for the society and sports of boys of his 
 own age ; but his active mind and eager desire of knowl- 
 edge excited the hopes of his parents and teachers. At 
 nine years old he gave proof of his singular gifts of rapid 
 and just apprehension, faithful memory, and admirable 
 power of compilation, in an attempt he made to write the 
 history of Schaffhausen. At thirteen he began to read by 
 stealth the ancient classics, to whom he was indebted for 
 the enthusiasm for freedom and for moral grandeur, the 
 clearness and order of his thoughts, and the elegance and 
 vigor of expression which distinguished him. In 1772, 
 he wrote his "Bellum Cimbricum," and about the same 
 time preached successfully as candidate for holy orders, and 
 became professor of Greek in the gymnasium at Schaff- 
 hausen. He had already begun to devote his attention to 
 the original sources of Swiss history, and had entered into 
 
302 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 correspondences with several learned men, above all, with 
 Bonstetten, to whom he addressed his admirable " Letters 
 of a Student to his Friend." At Bonstetten's request, 
 he went to Geneva as private tutor; but he soon ex- 
 changed this for a freer and more congenial situation in 
 the house of Francis Kinloch, of South Carolina. In the 
 society of this young man, with whom, and with whose 
 relations in England, he formed a lasting friendship, he 
 passed what he always regarded as the happiest years of 
 his life. In 1776, when Kinloch returned to America, 
 Muller became an inmate in the house of Bonnet, the cele- 
 brated naturalist. With a view to realize a small inde- 
 pendence, he afterwards gave lectures on history, which 
 were attended principally by young Englishmen, among 
 whom was Charles Abbott (afterwards Lord Colchester). 
 
 These lectures formed the substance of his "Twenty- 
 four Books of Universal History," and were much admired 
 by his hearers for their vivid descriptions and historical 
 impartiality. In 1779, he published the first volume of his 
 "History of Switzerland," and after a short residence at 
 Berlin removed to Cassel, where he was appointed pro- 
 fessor of history. Here he published several essays, 
 among which were the " Reisen der Papste," a small but 
 valuable work, showing the protection afforded by the 
 hierarchy against the violence of temporal princes. In 
 1785, he was invited by the Elector Friedrich Karl Joseph 
 to Mainz, where he published several works relating to 
 the events of the times. Here he remained, in spite of the 
 most advantageous offers from the courts of Vienna and 
 Berlin, the former of which conferred on him the dignity 
 of noble and knight of the empire. In 1792, Mainz fell 
 into the hands of the French, and Muller was invited by 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 303 
 
 Custine to take part in the new administration. He re- 
 fused, and afterwards went to Vienna, where he again 
 employed his pen on subjects of present interest, in which 
 he displayed great eloquence. In 1804 he left Vienna, 
 and passing through Geneva, where he saw for the last 
 time his friend Kinloch, went to Berlin. He assisted in 
 the publication of Herder's works, to which he contrib- 
 uted notes on the history of the Cid, and published the 
 fourth volume of his " History of Switzerland," which he 
 had worked at during eight troubled years. He was in 
 Berlin when the French enlered it, and was treated with 
 great kindness and consideration by Napoleon. He was 
 not insensible to this, and in 1807 accepted the invitation 
 of the conqueror to Fontainbleau, and was appointed sec- 
 retary of state in the new kingdom of Westphalia, and 
 decorated by king Jerome with the Order of the Lion. 
 He was ill at ease and unhappy in his new situation, lost 
 his health, and on some occasions his memory and utter- 
 ance. The king accepted his resignation, but made him 
 councillor of state and minister of public instruction. Here 
 he had the same vexations to endure, till at length the 
 spectacle of what was passing around him broke down the 
 powers of his mind, the last sparks of which gleam forth in 
 the introduction to the fifth volume of his "History of 
 Switzerland," (1808.) His letters written at this time are 
 touching proofs of the conflict going on in a heart once so 
 joyous. In 1809 he died. 
 
 Opinions are divided as to the merits of Johannes v. 
 Miiller, both as a citizen and as a writer. His reputation 
 suffered, as well as his peace of mind, from taking office 
 under the French. 
 
 He belongs to a class of historians who deal rather in 
 
304 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 philosophical speculations, than in that intimate knowledge 
 of all the sources of history, which enables the writer to 
 present a period to the mind of the reader as an organic 
 whole. The new historical school has introduced a mode 
 of studying and writing history so far more profound and 
 comprehensive, that writers of Muller's class are in some 
 respects superseded. Yet nobody can deny him the merits 
 of a strong love of truth, an eloquent style, stately cadence, 
 and singular power of description. His battle-scenes are 
 highly dramatic, and all the local incidents and coloring 
 are portrayed with great vividness and fidelity. I had 
 translated one of the most celebrated, the battle of Sem- 
 pach, and intended to add it to my little collection, but I 
 found it would occupy too much space. 
 
 Muller has been called the German Tacitus. 
 
 MULLER (KARL OTFRIED). — Pages 46, 136. 
 
 The death of this eminent scholar and historian, last 
 year, was the subject of deep and universal regret in Ger- 
 many. Even in places far from his home, and among 
 persons to whom he was known only by reputation, his 
 loss was spoken of as a national calamity. Such a senti- 
 ment did honor not only to the man who could inspire it, 
 but to the people sufficiently enlightened to appreciate the 
 value of men engaged in pursuits necessarily beyond the 
 comprehension of the mass. 
 
 Muller was professor at Gottingen, and married a 
 daughter of the venerable and eminent jurist Hugo. His 
 name was, I believe, first made known to the English pub- 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 305 
 
 lie by the translation of his "History of the Dorians."* 
 The history of Greek literature, published by the Useful 
 Knowledge Society, was also by him. It was written ex- 
 pressly for that society, and sent over to this country in 
 manuscript. It is unfortunately incomplete. 
 
 A friend who knew him at the University of Berlin says, 
 " Miiller worked from fifteen to seventeen hours a day. 
 His only recreation was change of pursuits, or learned 
 discussions with Boeckh and Buttmann. What Tieck 
 says of Novalis, applies to him, " Never was he seen lan- 
 guid or exhausted, never out of spirits or out of humor." 
 Study did not corrode his strength or impair his bloom. 
 Goethe's maxim, "Always to attend to the thing immedi- 
 ately before him," enabled him so soon to reach the sum- 
 mit. He was extremely attached to Boeckh. From him 
 he learned to make Herodotus the basis of his study. " I 
 devote all my leisure minutes to him," he used to say, for 
 he seldom reckoned by hours. 
 
 He went to Greece, so long the subject of his research 
 and meditation, last year. Though warned by his friends 
 of the dangers of that treacherous climate during the heats, 
 nothing could induce him to suspend his labors ; he trusted 
 to his robust constitution, which unhappily afforded him no 
 security, and fell a victim to fever in the prime of life, and 
 in all the vigor of his faculties. 
 
 The following is an extract from one of the last letters 
 he wrote, dated June 27, 1840. 
 
 " We have terminated our ramble over the Peloponne- 
 sus, which occupied forty days, without any disaster, and 
 
 * Translated by H. Tufnell and G. C. Lewis. First edition 
 published in 1830. Second edition published in 1839. 
 
306 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 with great enjoyment. We saw snow-covered mountains, 
 smiling valleys, romantic glens, all full of gushing brooks 
 and of the richest vegetation, and discovered some ruins 
 of temples and cities, of which no mention has been made 
 (as far as I know) by others. The main thing, however, 
 to me, was the clear perception one gains of the conforma- 
 tion and natural predestination of the most remarkable 
 districts and spots of Greece ; the features of nature 
 are here so sharply defined, that they stamp this percep- 
 tion on the mind in a manner which I hope can never be 
 effaced. . . 
 
 "I spent the whole of this morning with Mr. Fellows, 
 an Englishman, who has made two successive tours in 
 Lycia, and has brought the most interesting inscriptions 
 and drawings from that small country, which has hitherto 
 been a terra incognita. Happy is the classical traveller 
 who can limit his researches to so narrow a region and so 
 virgin a soil! For me, the East, is all in the future." 
 
 A "future" which was not granted him. He had be- 
 gun excavations at Delphi, and had discovered the roof of 
 a Greek temple. A few days after, he was carried to 
 Athens, where he expired. 
 
 It is a curious coincidence that his will was dated Aug. 
 1, 1839; on that day twelvemonth he expired. On the 
 map of Athens, which he used in his lectures at Gottingen, 
 he made a cross to mark the Academy, where he now lies 
 buried. 
 
 The funeral oration pronounced over his coffin by Phil- 
 ippos Joannou breathes the eloquence of genuine grief. 
 Tt concludes with these words : 
 
 " Too soon has inexorable death torn him from us, — 
 torn him from the country and the university of which he 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 307 
 
 was the pride and ornament. Hellas, which through his 
 whole life had occupied his mind, was destined to receive 
 and to enshrine within her bosom his mortal remains. He 
 was doomed to sleep the last sleep in glorious Athens, 
 and to rest from his labors on the hill of Plato's Academy, 
 around which, when living, his spirit so often hovered, 
 and where his ashes are mingled with the ashes of the 
 great and the wise, who were the objects of his imitation. 
 Accept, O departed spirit ! the tears of this assembly ; 
 accept this last farewell ; and live on to eternity ! The 
 just live for all times, and their recompense is in the Lord, 
 and their spirit abideth with the Most High." 
 The following epitaph was written upon him : 
 
 " He lies on the earth of Greece, as a hero on his shield." 
 
 His intimate friend Jacob Grimm wrote thus : 
 " Miiller stands before my mind's eye all day long, — 
 his person, his voice, and all the old recollections which 
 were kept alive by his letters, are always present to me. 
 It may indeed be said, that he died a beautiful death, and 
 lies gloriously interred ; — nay, that even the delirium of 
 fever brought before him only the magnificent and lovely 
 images of Greece, and spared him all the pain of longing 
 after home. But what slender comfort is this for the great 
 calamity of his death ! And what a sorrow is ours, that 
 he returns no more ! After the lapse of years, when we 
 too are no more, this may seem a sufficient consolation, 
 and he most fortunate ; but to us, and to the just grief of 
 the present, what avails it ? I would rather his grave had 
 been dug in barbarian earth, after he had lived to enlighten 
 the world by his labors, and to earn the full harvest of his 
 fame." 
 
308 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 Otfried Miiller was a pupil of Boeckh, and belongs to the 
 same school, — a school entirely the growth of this age. 
 Formerly the province of the historian and the philolo- 
 gist were perfectly distinct ; nobody thought of reading 
 the works of Bentley or Heyne with a view to obtain a 
 knowledge of the institutions, character, or history of the 
 Greeks; while, on the other hand, historians like Rollin, 
 Gillies, and others, were content to compile from the more 
 direct and obvious sources, to arrange traditional facts in 
 an interesting narrative, or to use them plausibly in the 
 support of preconceived theories. Histories of this kind 
 may now be said to have completely lost their authority 
 among scholars, especially in Germany. The German 
 school, of which Otfried Miiller was one of the brightest 
 ornaments, has introduced far more extensive views of his- 
 torical criticism and research. 
 
 Miiller was remarkable for the comprehensiveness and 
 accuracy of his knowledge of antiquity : it was not con- 
 fined to the languages and institutions of the ancients, 
 but extended to every branch of ancient art. The grand 
 object of his labors was to gain a distinct view of antiquity 
 as an organic whole, endowed with all the warmth of in- 
 dividuality. 
 
 " That the author," say his translators, " has by long, 
 patient, and sober investigation penetrated into the depths 
 of ancient Grecian history ; that he has removed much 
 which was false, and substituted what is true ; and fre- 
 quently found the master-key to the windings and intrica- 
 cies of mythology, must be acknowledged, even by those 
 who will not assent implicitly to all his conclusions." * 
 
 * Translator's Preface to the " History and Antiquities of the 
 Doric Race." 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 309 
 
 His principal works are " iEginetica," " Orchomenos 
 und die Minyer," " Die Dorier," " Prolegomena zu einer 
 wissenschaftlichen Mythologie," "Die Etrusker," and 
 " Handbuch der Archaologie der Kunst," from the last of 
 which my extracts are taken. It is much to be wished, 
 that this and the " Etrusker " (a work of much originality 
 and learning) were rendered into English. Miiller's edi- 
 tion of the " Eumenides " of JEschylus, with copious 
 notes, is translated into English. 
 
 Miiller was born in Silesia, in 1797. He visited France 
 and England in 1822, in the prosecution of his studies. 
 
 NIEBUHR (BARTHOLD GEORG). — Pages 108, 123, 
 158, 189. 
 
 There is perhaps no German writer whose character 
 and works are so well known in England as those of Nie- 
 buhr. It is therefore the less necessary for me to attempt 
 to describe them. The translation of his Roman history, 
 by the Rev. Connop Thirlwall # and the Rev. Julius Hare, 
 had already excited the attention and admiration of the 
 instructed part of the public, when the melancholy cir- 
 cumstances attending his death, and the singular way in 
 which that event was said to be connected with the great 
 convulsions then agitating the political world, awakened 
 a strong interest in his personal history. This feeling was 
 gratified by the appearance of the three volumes of biog- 
 raphy and letters from which the foregoing extracts are 
 taken. A notice of them appeared a short time ago in the 
 
 * Now Bishop of St. David's. 
 21 
 
310 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 Athenaeum, and another in the Quarterly Review. To 
 these I refer my readers. 
 
 From my own recollection of him I may venture to add 
 a few words. His person was diminutive, almost to mean- 
 ness, but his presence very imposing, — so at least I felt 
 it. His head and eye were grand, austere, and command- 
 ing. He had all the authority of intelligence, and looked 
 and spoke like one not used to contradiction. He lived a 
 life of study and domestic seclusion, but he conversed 
 freely and unreservedly. 
 
 He had a singular attachment to the place of his birth, 
 and a profound reverence for his father, and for the race 
 from which he sprang, — the free peasants of Ditmarsch. 
 Though no man had more the art of keeping at an im- 
 measurable distance those whom he regarded as the vulgar, 
 and though I do not remember ever to have seen an air 
 more expressive of conscious superiority, he had a lively 
 sympathy with the people, and a disdain of those petty 
 distinctions behind which men of inferior merit entrench 
 themselves. Niebuhr neither needed nor desired any but 
 what he could confer on himself. His manner of living 
 was the most simple possible. He was untitled, and left 
 to his children only that "more enduring nobility," of 
 which he so proudly speaks in his memoir of his father.* 
 On the 1st of January, 1828, he brought me that little 
 pamphlet as a new year's gift, and I hardly saw him after. 
 
 The present king of Prussia has erected a monument, 
 to record his attachment to his former instructor and 
 friend. 
 
 * Published in English by the Useful Knowledge Society. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 311 
 
 NOVALIS (FRIEDRICH von HARDENBERG). — Pages 
 20, 21, 33, 38, 43, 44, 51, 66, 71, 85, 93, 97, 110, 133, 
 173. 
 
 Novalis is not likely to be popular in England ; he left 
 little more than fragments, — beginnings of undertakings 
 which he did not live to complete. He deserves, perhaps 
 more than any other writer, the character of mystical, 
 which we are so fond of applying indiscriminately to Ger- 
 man writers. Some of his poems are extremely beautiful, 
 and even sublime, particularly one called " The Dead to 
 the Living," and some of the " Hymns to Night" ; but I 
 confess that he does not appear to me free from affected 
 cloudiness and mysticism, or from far-fetched conceits and 
 obscurantist prejudices. 
 
 The moral tone of his writings is throughout pure and 
 lofty; the feeling of religion (Religiositat) is profoundly 
 impressed on every sentence, but in characters unintelli- 
 gible to persons in whose minds dogmatical and polemical 
 theology take the place of that sentiment. In short, 
 neither the merits nor the faults of Novalis fit him for 
 England. 
 
 Friedrich von Hardenberg, for that was his name, was 
 born in 1772, at the seat of his family, in the territory 
 of the Counts of Mansfeld, and died at Meissenfels, in 
 1801. 
 
 Mr. Carlyle's article on Novalis, in the Foreign Quar- 
 terly Review, makes it unnecessary for me to go into any 
 details concerning his life and works. The reader may 
 also find a biographical and critical notice of him, trans- 
 lated from the German, in a compilation on German litera- 
 
312 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 ture, published some time ago.* Above all, I may refer 
 the reader of German to the beautiful memoir prefixed to 
 his works by his friend Tieck. 
 
 OEHLENSCHLAGER (ADAM). — Page 163. 
 
 Oehlenschlager is a native of Denmark, and most of his 
 works are written both in Danish and in German. He is 
 chiefly known as a dramatic poet, and especially by his 
 beautifnl tragedy of " Corregio." This is one of the ro- 
 mances and dramas of art which followed the appearance 
 of Goethe's " Wilhelm Meister," and " Torquato Tasso " ; 
 their purpose was to trace not only the external incidents 
 in the life of an artist, but his artistical developement, — a 
 kind of literature nearly confined, I believe, to Germany. 
 
 " Coreggio " is among the very best specimens of it. 
 Though Oehlenschlager's genius is decidedly northern, it 
 has been tinged by the South, in which he travelled. His 
 " Coreggio " breathes the warm and melancholy repose of 
 an Italian night, combined with the most pure and lofty 
 tenderness. There is no fierce passion, still less any vio- 
 lent action. The tragedy is the silent and unequal conflict 
 of genius with the world. But the reader will do well to 
 refer to an account, and, I think, a translation of it, which 
 appeared in Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 Oehlenschlager has likewise written " Aladdin," " Ha- 
 kon Jarl," "Axel und Walburg," and several other 
 dramas. 
 
 * Characteristics of Goethe ; i. 307. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 313 
 
 PESTALOZZI (JOHANN HEINRICH). — Page 70. 
 
 Fichte's noble eulogium on Pestalozzi,* which I have 
 inserted in the text, renders it unnecessary to say more of 
 the merits of that singular man. He was the most origi- 
 nal and efficient of the leaders in the great movement, 
 which is now almost universally recognised as irresistible, 
 in favor of the moral and mental culture of the people. 
 What was done in this country by Joseph Lancaster, is 
 by no means to be undervalued ; he called attention to the 
 subject. But though he saw the necessity for doing some- 
 thing, he had not the smallest idea what to do, and his 
 methods are almost universally superseded by better. 
 Pestalozzi, on the contrary, was a man of genius, as well 
 as of boundless benevolence, and threw out a vast quantity 
 of the most prolific suggestions, on which all succeeding 
 laborers in the same field have continued to work ; — and 
 must continue, since they are founded on the nature of the 
 human mind. 
 
 Pestalozzi was born at Zurich, in 1746, and died in 1827. 
 His long life was one of ceaseless struggle, — an unbroken 
 series of ill-requited services to mankind. 
 
 His chief works are " Leonhard and Gertrude," " Chris- 
 topher and Else," " Evenings of a Recluse," "Inquiries 
 into the Course of Nature in the Developement of the 
 Human Race," " How Gertrude teaches her Children," 
 "The Mother's Book," and many other elementary 
 works. 
 
 Page 144. 
 
314 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 RAHEL (FRAU von VARNHAGEN). — Pages 60, 66,97, 
 147, 154, 199, 219. 
 
 There is an article of Mr. Carlyle's on this remarkable 
 woman, which of course leaves me little to say. 
 
 She ought not to be regarded as an authoress, for it 
 does not appear that she ever wrote for the press. Her 
 letters, together with a memoir of her, were published by 
 her husband, Varnhagen von Ense, one of the most dis- 
 tinguished German writers now living. The works by 
 which he is chiefly known are his biographical sketches, 
 or rather, I should say, finished portraits, for they have 
 not only striking resemblance, but skilful handling and 
 appropriate color. It is strange that some of them have 
 not found their way into the English language ; though 
 indeed it would be difficult to do justice to the correctness 
 and finish with which Herr von Varnhagen writes his own. 
 Not less perfect in their way are his criticisms. They 
 have exactly the qualities which both author and public 
 ought to desire. They are written in the most courteous 
 and gentlemanlike tone, entirely superior to all the vul- 
 garities of personal spite or party warfare, yet with a con- 
 scientious determination to point out whatever either the 
 author or the public ought to be told. I have always re- 
 garded them as models of that kind of writing, and ex- 
 tremely useful as studies. 
 
 Rahel's writings cannot be disjoined from her life. They 
 are letters, and chiefly filled with outpourings of the 
 thoughts and feelings of the moment. 
 
 She was unquestionably a woman of great talents and 
 extraordinary qualities, as the influence she exercised over 
 the eminent men who formed her circle abundantly proves. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 315 
 
 1 must confess, however, that her letters do not appear to 
 me entirely to justify her fame. They contain profound 
 and sagacious reflections ; but there is a sort of parade of 
 originality and depth which wearies and puzzles. In or- 
 der to seem new, things are said unintelligibly. The style 
 is disjointed, even beyond all precedent in these days of 
 dashes. The letters contain evidence of an active and 
 vigorous mind ; but they are deficient in nature, repose, 
 simplicity, and ease. Mr. Carlyle's test of genius, — un- 
 consciousness, could certainly not be successfully applied 
 in this case. But Rahel had suffered much, and pondered 
 much on her sufferings. A woman who does this, comes 
 at length to regard her own feelings as an artist does his 
 subject. They are an ever present material, on which her 
 imagination works. This is apt to lead to all manner of 
 voluntary and involuntary exaggerations, from which men 
 in active life are saved by the necessity they lie under of 
 attending strenuously to external things. 
 
 RICHTER, JEAN PAUL FRIEDRICH (commonly called 
 JEAN PAUL). — Pages 4, 16, 21, 28, 38, 43, 48, 63,69, 
 72, 80, 83, 95, 110, 126, 134, 145, 151, 154, 165, 174, 187, 
 199. 
 
 I have perhaps given an undue portion of my small 
 space to Jean Paul ; but there is no author who offers so 
 many passages which it is easy and tempting to detach, as 
 the innumerable selections from him published in Germany 
 will bear witness. Whether this is praise or censure, I 
 leave it to the reader to decide. 
 
 Jean Paul is so popular a writer in his own country, 
 
316 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 that it seemed desirable to give something like an adequate 
 sample of his manner, — the more so, as few of his works 
 will, I should think, be translated entire. They require 
 far too much familiarity with German life, far too much 
 toleration for oddness and extravagance, to be popular in 
 England. 
 
 Among his countrymen, Jean Paul's humor is extremely 
 admired. Comparing it with the genuine, unconscious 
 humor of Cervantes and of several English writers, I con- 
 fess it seems to me often forced and grotesque. The 
 charm of Jean Paul lies in the ardor of his philanthropy, 
 his minute knowledge of the human heart, his tender in- 
 dulgence for human weakness, his scorn and detestation of 
 Pharisaical pretensions and hardness ; in a sympathy as 
 excitable and as boundless as his fancy ; I should venture 
 to add, — what sounds like a paradox, — in the good 
 sense, the soundness of judgment and feeling, which lie 
 at the bottom of his rhapsodies. The most unsound and 
 fantastic views of human life may, as we daily see, be ex- 
 pressed in the most prosaic and common-place language ; 
 and so Jean Paul has overlaid a world of genuine and hu- 
 mane wisdom with bewildering conceits, and far-fetched, 
 unintelligible illustrations. But the reader who will look 
 below the surface will, I think, find that his knowledge of 
 actual human nature was profound, and his views as to 
 what human nature should be, benevolent, elevated, and 
 consistent with the soundest reason and morality. 
 
 The novel of "Siebenkas," from which I have quoted 
 so largely, seems to me to afford evidence of this. Noth- 
 ing can be more true, just, and of every-day application, 
 than his view of the sufferings of an ill-assorted union, and 
 of the illusions which lead simple and virtuous hearts into 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 317 
 
 that abyss of misery. There is no resort to the vulgar ex- 
 pedient of crime or vice ; the whole evil lies in the unequal 
 compass and culture of their minds. If any thing deserves 
 to be called practical, surely it is this. 
 
 Firmian, the hero, is a man of great genius and learn- 
 ing, and of the gentlest and noblest nature ; living in pov- 
 erty, not in English poverty, — the privation of certain 
 articles of splendor and luxury, but in that destitution of 
 all but absolute necessaries, and precarious possession even 
 of them, which, in Germany, it is not uncommon to find 
 combined with the highest moral and intellectual culture. 
 His wife, our unhappy Lenette, he has loved and married, 
 for her innocence, simplicity, agreeable person, tranquil 
 temper, and for the possession of those arts and qualities 
 most needful in the helpmate of a poor man. Unfortu- 
 nately he has, in the housewife, forgotten the wife ; and 
 though it is the habit of his countrymen to require from 
 women the virtues rather of attached and industrious ser- 
 vants, than of equal, intelligent, and sympathizing friends, 
 Firmian gradually wakes to the dreariness and misery of 
 his most ill-matched companionship. It is thus we see 
 him in the scene called the " Last Night of the Year." 
 The character of Lenette is drawn with inimitable truth 
 and finish. The inveterate prejudice, the irremediable ob- 
 tuseness and contraction of mind and heart, the machine- 
 like return to one set of associations and thoughts and 
 feelings, are all drawn from the life. 
 
 " Siebenkas " is one of Jean Paul's shortest as well as 
 best novels, and perhaps the most characteristic, both of 
 the individual author and of his country. It is partly be- 
 cause it is so, that it has been so largely drawn upon for 
 
318 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 specimens ; though I fear they will be hardly intelligible 
 to readers unacquainted with Germany. 
 
 I have ventured to omit some of the allusions with 
 which Jean Paul superabounds. The multitude, variety, 
 and strangeness of his illustrations form one of the pecu- 
 liarities, and, I think, the defects, of his style. There is no 
 language, art, or science, no region or history, that does 
 not furnish him with images and allusions. They prove 
 the vast extent of his reading, and the readiness and ex- 
 cursiveness of his fancy ; but a pure taste would have en- 
 joined a far more sparing use of them. 
 
 Occasionally he works up a picture by minute touches 
 with singular felicity (as for instance that of poor Lenette, 
 p. 145) ; and then, after this Dutch painting, how doubly 
 striking is the eloquence to which he rises at the close ! 
 
 His works are so numerous, that I should fill a page 
 with their strange, untranslatable titles. The English 
 public are indebted to Mr. Carlyle for a translation of the 
 novel of "Quintus Fixlein," (the only one, I believe, at 
 present translated,) and for an account of Jean Paul, 
 worthy of the subject, in his " Miscellanies," to which I 
 refer the reader who wishes to appreciate so singular and 
 popular a writer. 
 
 RUMOHR (KARL FRIEDRICH FELIX, FREIHERR 
 
 von). — Pages 6, 76, 179. 
 
 Is descended from an ancient family of Holstein, pos- 
 sessed also of estates on the confines of Saxony and Bohe- 
 mia, where he was born in 1785. His education was as 
 narrow and defective as that of most young nobles of his 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 319 
 
 time, and seemed little fitted to produce the extensive 
 learning and accurate taste for which he is so remark- 
 able. 
 
 Baron von Rumohr early turned his attention to Art, 
 for which he was gifted by nature with a delicacy and 
 accuracy of perception that no education can supply. 
 When only fifteen, and without any historical knowledge, 
 he is said to have detected a Coreggio, the genuineness of 
 which had been denied by high authorities ; and other 
 examples might be given of his extraordinary accuracy of 
 eye and judgment. During the French domination he 
 gave some offence to the authorities, and withdrew to a 
 voluntary exile at his estates in the North, till the fall of 
 Napoleon. After the deliverance of Germany, he went to 
 Italy, and in 1827 gave to the world the result of his in- 
 quiries. His great work, " Italianische Forschungen," 
 (Italian Researches,) is now universally recognised as pos- 
 sessing the highest authority in Art. It contains, in the 
 first place, a most valuable discussion on the principle of 
 the beautiful and the ideal in Art. He maintains that it is 
 from individual objects only that the artist can derive his 
 forms ; and provided those forms are properly selected, 
 with reference to the subject treated, the closer the imi- 
 tation is to nature the better. He then passes from the 
 theoretical to the historical part of his subject, and in that 
 he gives some most accurate and striking details as to the 
 remains of early Italian sculpture. The light thrown on 
 the works of the Sienese painters, and on the character of 
 Giotto, is also most important. The real merit and value 
 of the school of Siena has been obscured by the subsequent 
 renown of that of Florence, and by the fact that the histo- 
 rians of Art were principally Florentines. The third 
 
320 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 volume mostly treats of the works and genius of RafTael : 
 this is published separately, and is excellent. Rumohr's 
 acuteness as a connoisseur of pictures gives great weight 
 and authority to his remarks. 
 
 Herr v. Rumohr is author of several other works, 
 among which the most remarkable are the " Geist der 
 Kochkunst," (Spirit of the Art of Cookery,) and the 
 "Deutsche Denkwiirdigkeiten " (German Memorabilia), 
 from which the foregoing extracts are taken. 
 
 The former I have not seen ; it is said to be extremely 
 amusing, and full of wit. The latter is a singular book, 
 both in plan and execution. The hero is a German old 
 bachelor, naif, pedantic, and formal, with a great deal of 
 good sense, and a sort of benevolent quixotism, which 
 leads him into a variety of strange situations. The book 
 presents a minute picture of German life in the middle of 
 the last century, and a glimpse of that of France. It 
 may easily be imagined how many interesting subjects 
 come under discussion. 
 
 The passages I have chosen show the clearness and 
 soundness of the author's understanding, and his superior- 
 ity to popular prejudice or sentimental cant. His opinions 
 on the education of women are, I am sorry to say, very 
 un-German. The intellectual place assigned to them, not 
 only by common opinion, but by great writers, is the bar- 
 barian spot on the high civilization of Germany. 
 
 It cannot perhaps be affirmed that the women who have 
 come forward as representatives of the intelligence of 
 their sex have always made the most discreet use of that 
 much-abused instrument, the pen ; or that reasonable men 
 might not fairly enough object to intrust the business of 
 their households to " des etres exceptionelles." But this 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 321 
 
 is one of those vicious circles in which human affairs are 
 apt to revolve for ages. A woman who finds herself re- 
 garded either as a paria or a wonder, naturally falls into 
 affectations of a still bolder singularity, and loses all 
 sobriety in her views of herself and of her social position. 
 But when she sees that the modest and conscientious ap- 
 plication of her faculties and industry to letters is regarded 
 simply as the performance of one of the various duties 
 variously allotted, she learns to think herself by no means 
 an extraordinary person ; by no means exempted from the 
 homeliest business, or the most ordinary proprieties and 
 observances, of life ; by no means superior to her neigh- 
 bour who employs her time and understanding on other 
 and not less useful occupations ; in short, as neither de- 
 serving to be stared at, contemned, nor admired ; but as 
 entitled to just so much indulgence as her inferior means 
 of acquiring knowledge may fairly crave, and just so 
 much respect as the excellence and utility of her work 
 may deserve. Things are approaching to this sane and 
 sober state in England. In no country, I believe, do wo- 
 men enjoy more of the highest, purest, safest, and most 
 precious of all liberties, — that out of which all others 
 which they ought to desire must grow, — the liberty to 
 use their faculties without other control than what good 
 taste, reason, morality, and religion impose on all; in the 
 way, and for the purposes, which they may deem most 
 useful to themselves, to those to whom they owe their first 
 and most sacred duty, and to society at large. It is true, 
 an immense deal remains to be done for the culture of 
 those faculties ; but the door is open, — there is no lion 
 in the way. 
 
 Rumohr shows his sagacity in pointing out the vague 
 
322 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 and incorrect use of language as leading, by inevitable 
 consequence, to vague and incoherent thinking. It is so 
 easy to dtraisonner in words to which no precise ideas are 
 attached. His remedy is good, as far as it goes ; but far 
 from complete, as melancholy experience shows. 
 
 The "Deutsche Denkwiirdigkeiten " reminds me more 
 of the best of Gait's novels than of any other work in the 
 English language. There is the same dry, quiet, natural 
 humor, the same formality and naivete, the same shrewd- 
 ness and good sense. Rumohr's range of subjects is, 
 however, much wider. The work is written in the purest 
 and most vernacular German. The numerous Germanized 
 foreign words, which are found in even the best writers, 
 are entirely excluded from Rumohr's style, which accord- 
 ingly affords an admirable study in the language. 
 
 Baron Rumohr is still living, and resides, I believe, 
 chiefly at Berlin. 
 
 SAV1GNY (FRIEDR1CH KARL von). — Page 168. 
 
 Born at Frankfurt a.M., February 21st, 1779, is de- 
 scended from a respectable French family, which settled 
 in Germany early in the seventeenth century. At the age 
 of thirteen he became an orphan, and was taken under the 
 protection of Herr v. Neurath, an intimate friend of his 
 father, and assessor of the Reichskammergericht at Wetz- 
 lar. He was educated by him with his own son ; and at 
 the age of fifteen, made to learn, by question and answer, 
 long treatises on the Roman law and that of other na- 
 tions. This barren and dry mode of instruction was ill- 
 suited to the mind of young Savigny, and he was glad to 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 323 
 
 substitute for it the lectures on the Pandects, which he 
 attended, in 1795, at the University of Marburg. About 
 this time he seems to have acquired that love for the study 
 of the Civil Law, for which he has since been so dis- 
 tinguished. 
 
 In October, 1796, he went to the University of Gottin- 
 gen, and attended the lectures of Spittier on Universal 
 History, and of Hugo on Roman Law. During 1799 and 
 1800 he travelled over Germany, visiting, among other 
 universities, those of Leipsig and Jena. In 1800 he took 
 the degree of doctor, at Marburg, and became Privat- 
 docent at the same place. From this year to 1804 he de- 
 livered lectures, as professor extraordinary, on the Pan- 
 dects, Ulpian, and Hugo's "History of Roman Law." 
 Among his pupils were Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, who 
 speak in terms of great admiration of his powers and skill 
 as a teacher. Wilhelm Grimm, in his "Autobiography," 
 says, "It appears to me, that what so powerfully attract- 
 ed and captivated his auditors was, the facility and vivaci- 
 ty of his language, united to his singular calmness and 
 moderation. Savigny spoke with great fluency, and rare- 
 ly consulted his notes. His clear style, the profoundness 
 of his convictions, and, at the same time, a sort of reserve 
 and caution in his language, made an impression which no 
 eloquence would have produced ; an impression which his 
 whole aspect and character contributed to strengthen." 
 
 He began at this time to devote himself more than ever 
 to his favorite pursuit, directing his attention entirely to 
 the sources of the Roman law and forming his opinions 
 without the aid of commentators. The fruit of these la- 
 bors was the essay on the " Right of Possession " {Recht 
 des Besitzes), published in 1803. In 1804, after leaving 
 
324 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 Marburg, he married Cunigunda Brentano, sister of Bet- 
 tina and Clemens Brentano. Having refused the liberal 
 offers made to him by the Universities of Heidelberg and 
 Greifswald, he visited the libraries of Heidelberg, Stutt- 
 gart, Tubingen, Strasburg, and, finally, Paris; examin- 
 ing all the authors they contained relating to his research- 
 es. In 1808 he accepted an invitation to the University 
 of Landshut, where he was universally beloved, and be- 
 came intimate with Sailer, the great theologian. 
 
 He quitted this place * after a short stay of a year and 
 a half; wishing to withdraw himself from the French 
 power, and having been invited to the newly-formed Uni- 
 versity of Berlin by Wilhelm v. Humboldt, then minister 
 of public instruction in Prussia. Here he commenced the 
 lectures on the Pandects and the Institutes, which he con- 
 tinues to give to this day. The most eminent jurists of 
 Germany have been among his pupils. At Berlin, Sa- 
 vigny became acquainted with Niebuhr, and the friendship 
 of these two eminent men, "engaged in kindred studies, was 
 of the most intimate kind. In 1811 he was appointed 
 member of the Berlin Academy, and contributed some in- 
 teresting articles to their memoirs. In 1813 he assisted 
 his friend Eichhorn in the organization of the Landwehr 
 and Landsturm of Berlin. In 1814 he gave instructions 
 in law and political science to the Crown Prince of Prus- 
 sia, and in that year published his treatise " On the Vo- 
 
 * An interesting account of his parting-scene at Landshut, and 
 of the enthusiasm of the students on that occasion, is given by 
 Frau von Arnim in her " Correspondence with Goethe." — Goe- 
 the's Brief 10 echsel rait einem Kinde, vol. ii. pp. 171 - 188. 2nd edi- 
 tion. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 325 
 
 cation of our Age for Legislation and the Science of 
 Law."* 
 
 In the following year appeared the first volume of the 
 " History of the Roman Law in the Middle Ages," a sixth 
 edition of which was published in 1831. 
 
 The first volume of the work from which the extract 
 in the text was taken was published last year, the second 
 and third have been published since. 
 
 The number of Englishmen who interest themselves in 
 the subjects of which Herr von Savigny is so eminent a 
 master, is so extremely small, that his reputation is not 
 likely to be very widely diffused in this country ; but the 
 few who are competent to judge of his proficiency, enter- 
 tain the highest admiration for his ability and learning. 
 
 His style, both as a lecturer and a writer, is regarded 
 by his countrymen as a model of purity, clearness, and 
 elegance. 
 
 SCHELLING (FRIEDRICH WILHELM JOSEPH von).- 
 Page 120. 
 
 Born at Leonberg, in Wiirtemberg, in 1775. He stud- 
 ied at Leipzig and Jena, was a disciple of Fichte, and his 
 successor in the chair of philosophy in the latter universi- 
 ty. He was appointed secretary of the Academy of Arts 
 at Munich, and ennobled by the King of Bavaria ; and in 
 1827 he was appointed professor of philosophy in the 
 newly-established university at Munich. Schelling's sys- 
 tem of philosophy is opposed to that of Fichte, and dis- 
 placed it in popular estimation. As a lecturer, his elo- 
 quence is of the highest order. The greater part of his 
 
 * Translated by Mr. Hayward. 
 
 22 
 
326 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 writings are controversial, and have appeared in various 
 philosophical journals, or as detached essays. His " Phil- 
 osophische Schriften," in one volume, were published at 
 Landshut in 1809. His doctrines have been attacked as 
 pantheistical, a charge from which he defended himself in 
 his treatise " Uber die Freiheit." Schelling has given 
 occasion to many misunderstandings, by using forms of 
 speech peculiar to himself, without explanation. His phi- 
 losophy is said to have had a great influence on the actual 
 state of natural science, its tendency being to lead inquir- 
 ers to regard nature as an organic and living whole, and 
 to investigate the connexion between the various phenom- 
 ena subject to our observation. On the other hand, its 
 ethical side is said to be weaker, and his admirers regard 
 his system as still incomplete. 
 
 Schelling has recently received an invitation to Berlin, 
 from the munificent patron of letters and art now on the 
 throne, which it is understood he means to accept. 
 
 SCHILLER (FRIEDRICH von). — Pages 21, 57, 185, 23S. 
 
 Schiller is, of all German writers, the one best known 
 to Europe. It is unnecessary, therefore, for me to extend 
 this note. The English reader who wishes to know more 
 of him has only to refer to Mr. Carlyle's life, of which 
 Goethe thought so highly, that he caused it to be trans- 
 lated into German. The nobleness and earnestness of 
 Schiller's character, his zeal for knowledge, his pure taste 
 and conscience, and his affectionate heart, are beautifully 
 revealed in his correspondence with Wilhelm von Hum- 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 327 
 
 boldt, which indeed inspires love and veneration for both 
 these remarkable men. 
 
 Schiller is emphatically the poet of the German nation. 
 Goethe is, both as a man and a writer, too difficult a prob- 
 lem for the many. Schiller's merits are far more within 
 the compass of popular apprehension ; his genius never 
 soars out of reach, and his character presents no difficulties 
 or stumblingbloeks. 
 
 One of Schiller's most remarkable characteristics was 
 his progressiveness. I cannot resist again quoting the 
 striking words which Goethe uttered to Mr. Felix Men- 
 delsohn, from whom I had them. 
 
 " Er hatte ein furchtbares Fortschreiten. Wenn ich 
 ihn einmal acht Tage lang nicht gesehen hatte, so staunte 
 ich, und wusste nicht wo ich ihn anfassen sollte, und 
 fand ihn schon wieder weiter geschritten. Und so ging er 
 immer vorwarts bis sechs und vierzig Jahre ; — da war er 
 denn freilich weit genug." 
 
 [" He strode forward with awful rapidity. If I was a 
 week without seeing him, when we met I was astounded, 
 and knew not where to lay hold on him, I found him so 
 much further advanced. And so he went on, — ever for- 
 wards, for forty-six years; — then indeed he had gone far 
 enough."] 
 
 SCHLEGEL (A. W. von). — Pages 4, 10, 17, 29, 53, 71, 92, 
 98, 120, 140, 172. 
 
 SCHLEGEL (FR1EDRICH von).— Pages 172,178.^ 
 
 These two eminent brothers came of a family remark- 
 able for poetical talent and literary attainments. Their 
 
328 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 father, Johann Adolf, was distinguished for his eloquence 
 in the pulpit, and wrote fables in verse and hymns of con- 
 siderable merit. He translated from the French a work 
 of criticism on art, — the department of literature which 
 his son was destined to carry to such perfection. Another 
 brother, Johann Heinrich, was • professor of history at 
 Copenhagen, and left some works on Danish history; he 
 was the successful translator of some English plays, — 
 another line, in which his nephew is without a rival. A 
 third, Johann Elias, was the oldest and most highly gifted 
 of this elder generation of poets. When a boy, he at- 
 tempted a translation of Horace and of Xenophon's " Cy- 
 ropasdia," and wrote a tragedy called "The Trojan Wo- 
 men." He settled in Copenhagen, and the services he 
 rendered to the literature both of his native and adoptive 
 country were very great. He is almost the first German 
 dramatic writer worthy of mention. It would perhaps be 
 difficult to find a family which, in two generations, had 
 furnished five such industrious and able laborers in the 
 field of art and literature. 
 
 August-Wilhelm, the only surviving member of this 
 distinguished race, has done so much for the diffusion and 
 illustration of English literature, that it would be strange 
 if it were necessary to recount his services here. His 
 translations of Shakspeare's plays are consummate works 
 of art. Such is Herr von Schegel's masterly handling of 
 his own language, and the exquisite nicety of his ear, that 
 he has in many cases (for example, Hamlet's soliloquy) 
 caught the very cadence of the original. With no other 
 living language than the German, perhaps, would this be 
 possible ; and even in that it is a wonderful achievement. 
 This translation was begun in 1797. Nine volumes have 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 329 
 
 been published, and Tieck has undertaken a revision of it, 
 and the addition of the wanting plays. Calderon pre- 
 sented still greater difficulties of a metrical kind; these 
 Herr von Schlegel has triumphantly overcome ; he has ad- 
 hered to the original even in metre, rhyme, and assonance, 
 and has combined this exact imitation of form with an 
 equally faithful interpretation of the meaning. The trans- 
 lation of the two greatest dramatic poets of two nations so 
 unlike in genius, shows a talent for discriminating, and a 
 power of handling all the forms and resources of language, 
 which have never been surpassed. 
 
 Herr von Schlegel's merits as a critic are such as might 
 be expected from a poet accustomed to the nice analysis 
 which the reproduction of the highest works of art re- 
 quires. His lectures on the Drama have long been known 
 to the English public through a translation which has 
 reached a second edition. In 1807 he wrote, in French, 
 a comparison between the "Phaedra" of Euripides and 
 that of Racine, which excited great attention among the 
 critics of France. His two volumes of " Kritische Schrif- 
 ten" (1828) contain a mass of ingenious criticism, es- 
 pecially an article on " Romeo and Juliet," which, I think, 
 is known to the English public. 
 
 His fame as an original poet, though considerable, is 
 eclipsed by that which he has earned as a critic and trans- 
 lator. His beautiful elegy called " Rome," dedicated to 
 Madame de Stael, is among the choicest specimens of 
 German poetry. Since the year 1818, he has been living 
 at Bonn as professor, and has devoted himself to the study 
 and elucidation of ancient and modern art, and still more 
 to oriental literature. Since 1820 he has published the 
 " Indische Bibliothek," and a Latin translation of an epi- 
 
330 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 sode from the epic poem " Maha-Bharata." In 1823 his 
 oriental pursuits brought him to France and England. In 
 1827 he gave a course of lectures on the fine arts at Ber- 
 lin ; and in the winter of the same year he repeated these 
 at his own house at Bonn, to an invited audience, among 
 whom I was so fortunate as to be admitted. My ear was 
 then wholly unaccustomed to German, and I was able to 
 appreciate the important help which a learner derives 
 from the distinct and finished elocution, for which Herr 
 von Schlegel is celebrated. 
 
 Friedrich, his younger brother, was also chiefly distin- 
 guished as a critic. His first large work was the " Grie- 
 chen und Romer," which contains a discussion on the fe- 
 male characters in the Greek poets. It received the 
 praise of Heyne, then the highest authority on ancient lit- 
 erature, but unfortunately remained incomplete. His 
 works consist chiefly of detached essays and fragments, 
 which suffice to prove his great learning and originality. 
 
 In 1799 he published his " Lucinde," a novel, concern- 
 ing which the greatest diversity of opinions exists, — dis- 
 approbation being, I believe, the prevailing sentiment. 
 At that time he was living at Berlin, whence he removed 
 to Jena. Here he first appeared before the public as a 
 poet, and published his "Hercules Musagetes," and a 
 drama called "Alarkos." In 1802 he went to Paris, 
 where he gave lectures on philosophy, and published a 
 monthly paper called "Europa." Like his brother, he 
 devoted himself to oriental literature, and also to the old 
 romances of France. He published a collection of the 
 poetry of the middle ages in two volumes ; and a transla- 
 tion of the ballad of Roland, from Turpin. He returned 
 to Germany, and not long after became a member of the 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 331 
 
 Roman Catholic Church, — a change which made a great 
 sensation in Germany. In 1808 he went to Vienna, and 
 was appointed imperial secretary at the head-quarters of 
 the Archduke Charles. His spirited proclamations had a 
 great effect in exciting the popular feeling. After the po- 
 litical wreck of Austria, he returned to his literary labors, 
 and gave lectures on modern history, and on the history of 
 the literature of all nations, which were published. They 
 evince a thorough acquaintance with literature, and great 
 skill in analyzing its characteristic peculiarities. Prince 
 Metternich sent him as Councillor of Legation to the Diet 
 at Frankfurt, whence he returned to Vienna, and contin- 
 ued his literary labors till his death. 
 
 The Schlegels were the heads of a literary party, whose 
 controversies were sometimes carried on, like all other 
 party warfare, with poisoned weapons. The acrimony 
 which characterizes political discussions in representative 
 and debating countries, seems in Germany to be trans- 
 ferred to literary questions. Let us hope that the wounds 
 inflicted on both sides, are by this time healed and nearly 
 forgotten. 
 
 SCHLEIERMACHER (FRIEDRIC1I DANIEL ERNST). 
 — Pages 78, 148. 
 
 One of the most learned and eloquent divines of this 
 age, was born at Breslau in 1768. He studied theology 
 at Halle, and after living as tutor in the family of Count 
 Dohna, he entered the seminary for schoolmasters at Ber- 
 lin. In 1794 he was ordained, and two years later was 
 appointed preacher to the House of Charity at Berlin. 
 He began his literary career by translating Blair's, and 
 
332 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 afterwards Fawcett's, Sermons. He, however, soon took 
 a higher flight, and published his magnificent "Discourses 
 on Religion," (Reden uber die Religion,) from which the 
 two short extracts in the text are taken. In 1804 he un- 
 dertook the translation of Plato, which unhappily the 
 stormy times, and his consequent disturbed life, prevented 
 him from finishing ; five volumes are published. It is 
 deeply to be regretted that his promised essay on the 
 character and philosophy of Plato is among the portions 
 of the work which he did not live to complete, since few 
 men in modern times have been qualified as he was to 
 fathom the depths of the greatest philosophical genius the 
 world has produced. Three volumes of Schleiermacher's 
 sermons have appeared at different times. All of them 
 are models of clear, solid, impressive eloquence, addressed 
 less to the feelings than the reason of his audience. 
 
 He declined an invitation to Wiirzburg, and went as 
 preacher to the university, and professor of theology at 
 Halle ; but both the studies and religious services of that 
 university were soon interrupted by war. During those 
 frightful times he felt the evils under which his country 
 groaned like a true patriot, and spoke from the pulpit, 
 "for king and fatherland," with an intrepidity which the 
 presence of Davoust's bayonets could not daunt. About 
 this time he published his " Grundlinien einer Kritik der 
 bisherigen Sittenlehre," his "Essay on Universities," and 
 other works. In 1809 he was appointed preacher at Trin- 
 ity Church in Berlin, and married. In 1810 he was ap- 
 pointed professor in the new university of that capital. 
 Here he displayed all the brilliancy of his eloquence. In 
 the great and coherent rhetorical structure, which was 
 adorned with all the evanescent graces of an extempore 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 333 
 
 delivery, he grasped the most abstruse and pregnant ques- 
 tions of science with acuteness and precision, and fol- 
 lowed them out into the minutest details with luminous 
 order and distinctness. In 1811 he became member of the 
 Academy of Sciences, the Memoirs of which contain sev- 
 eral papers by him, relating to the history of ancient 
 philosophers, (Anaximander, Diogenes of Apollonia, Soc- 
 rates.) He also published " Darstellung des theologi- 
 schen Studiums." His last work is the " Christliche 
 Glaubenslehre." 
 
 Schleiermacher visited England in the autumn of 1833, 
 and opened the new German church at the Savoy. His 
 opinions on the religious condition of this country are to 
 be found in the introduction to his "Discourses on Reli- 
 gion." His person, like that of his friend Niebuhr, was 
 extremely small. Schleiermacher was even deformed; 
 but this want of physical advantages perhaps only added 
 to the reverence which the refined and intellectual char- 
 acter of his countenance inspired. His treatise on the 
 Gospel of St. Luke was translated into English by the 
 Rev. Connop Thirlwall, now Bishop of St. David's. 
 
 Schleiermacher was a man of ardent piety and unsullied 
 purity of character, and his death was worthy of his life. 
 
 There is a very interesting memoir of him by Liicke, in 
 the " Theologische Studien," for 1834, entitled " Erinne- 
 rungen an Dr. F. Schleiermacher." A most touching 
 and impressive account of his death is also to be found in 
 the " Journal of Education," No. XX. It was communi- 
 cated by his widow to one who is remembered with affec- 
 tionate regret by all who knew him, — the late learned 
 and amiable Dr. Frederic Rosen. 
 
 I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of adding it 
 
334 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 slightly abridged, to this imperfect record of so much 
 learning, piety, and worth 
 
 " During the whole of his last illness, (which termi- 
 nated fatally, in February 1834,) his mind remained clear; 
 his manner was calm and collected, his submissiveness to 
 every arrangement most punctilious. Not a word of 
 complaint or murmur escaped his lips; he was patient, 
 kind to all, and at all moments, though an air of deep 
 thoughtfulness constantly overspread his features. One 
 day, waking out of a slumber induced by opium, he called 
 his beloved wife to his side, and said, ' I am in a state 
 which wavers between consciousness and insensibility, but 
 internally I experience inexpressible ecstasy ; my mind is 
 occupied with the deepest speculations, mingled with re- 
 ligious feelings of the most glowing fervor.' His last 
 days and hours, indeed, were brightened by the holiest of 
 religious influences ; even his dreams were the reflection 
 of his Christian bearing through life. 
 
 " His thoughts were filled with love toward his chil- 
 dren and friends, and the nearer his end approached, the 
 more did the fervency of his affection display itself ; it was 
 the indwelling breath of his life. ' Children,' said he, ' I 
 bequeath to you the counsel of St. John, " Love one an- 
 other; " and I charge you,' he added, turning to his wife, 
 ' to bear my farewell to all my friends, and to tell them 
 how heartfelt was the love I bore them.' 
 
 "He knew that his last moments were drawing near; 
 he was anxious to have been spared to his own yet a little 
 longer, and he was conscious that he had many struggles 
 to endure before he passed into eternity ; yet he was 
 wholly resigned to the dispensations of eternal love, and 
 looked forward to the hour of his closing conflict with a 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 335 
 
 courageous heart. The last morning of his life brought 
 with it a great increase of bodily suffering ; he com- 
 plained of burning heat in the inside, and for the first and 
 last time throughout his protracted pains, a murmur es- 
 caped his lips, 'Gracious Father, I suffer greviously.' 
 He then turned to his family, who were standing round 
 his bed, and said to them, \ My dear children, leave me, — 
 leave me. I would not have you witness this scene of an- 
 guish.' The hand of death was on his features; his eye 
 was dim ; he had wrestled with death." 
 
 But the departing spirit received strength and light 
 from above to perform once more the most solemn act of 
 the Christian ministry. Having asserted his firm faith in 
 the expiatory death of Christ, and received the assurance 
 of that of his assembled family, he called hastily for the 
 sacred emblems; then sitting up in his bed, with a clear 
 and solemn voice, "with a countenance brightening with 
 increasing animation, a glow of more than mortal benevo- 
 lence, a radiance such as never shone upon it before, and 
 such as no words can describe, he began to pray, and to 
 exhort them briefly, in terms befitting the occasion. He 
 then delivered the bread and wine to each separately ; 
 after which he administered them to himself, saying dis- 
 tinctly and audibly, ' On these words of Holy Scripture 
 I place my assured trust ; they are the corner-stone of my 
 faith.' Having pronounced the blessing, he turned his 
 eyes on his wife with an expression of inmost love, and 
 gazed upon each of his children with a look of unutter- 
 able sympathy, adding, ' In this love and communion of 
 souls, then, we are and shall be one, and undivided.' 
 He sank back upon his pillow, and a heavenly smile 
 beamed across his features. After a few minutes he gently 
 
336 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 exclaimed, ' My spirit can no longer abide with you on 
 earth.' He spoke once more, and requested we would 
 change his position ; we laid him upon his side ; he drew 
 a few breaths more, and his eyes closed on the things of 
 this world." 
 
 SCHOPENHAUER (JOHANNA) . — Page 223. 
 
 Madame Schopenhauer was, as this passage from her 
 memoirs shows, a native of Dantzig. She lived for many 
 years with her husband at Hamburg ; after his death she 
 removed to Weimar, where she enjoyed the intimate 
 friendship of the late excellent Grand Duchess Louisa and 
 of Goethe. Her house was the resort of that singular 
 constellation of eminent men who were then collected 
 there, as well as of all distinguished strangers. 
 
 She wrote several novels, which still enjoy a high repu- 
 tation; especially " Gabriele " and " Die Tante ; " also 
 " Travels in England, France, and Belgium," an Essay 
 on old German Art, called " Johann van Eyck and his Fol- 
 lowers," of which I have heard the highest praises ; and, 
 lastly, these " Memoirs," published, since her death, by 
 her accomplished daughter. It is one of the most agreeable 
 little books I ever read. At seventy-one Madame Schop- 
 enhauer sits down to record the recollections of her varied 
 life ; and she does it with so clear, bright, and true a pen, 
 that we live in the midst of the objects and habits of the 
 last century. From the system of education to that of 
 ladies' patches, from religious observances to the scarlet 
 coats and three-tailed perukes of physicians, the whole 
 moving picture of the free city and its burghers is before 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 337 
 
 us. Human life, too, is there ; not inflated with exagger- 
 ations, or shrouded in mists of sentimentality, or falsified 
 by a spurious originality ; but true, human, checkered life, 
 with its common allotment of smiles and tears, its quick- 
 moving lights and shadows, its present good, and its better 
 hopes. Madame Schopenhauer is not one of the writers 
 who seem to regard the world as interesting to their read- 
 ers only in its effects on their own mind and feelings. We 
 find none of those descriptions of the emotions and the 
 idiosyncrasies of the author, with which we are now so 
 often entertained. Not that the study of a simple and true 
 human heart is not the most interesting of all studies ; but 
 simple and true hearts do not occupy themselves with 
 themselves. 
 
 The attempt to make the feelings and affections, the 
 illusions or the aspirations, of one's youth a source of 
 amusement and interest to the public, is one which were 
 better discouraged. Such disclosures of what Germans 
 call the inward life, are not only destructive of the reserve, 
 which it is neither safe nor graceful for a woman to lay 
 aside, but are apt, in either sex, to degenerate into false- 
 hood ; and more apt in the one in which the desire to 
 please and to interest is the strongest. It is not the 
 height or abstruseness of a subject which renders it dan- 
 gerous to domestic usefulness or feminine reserve ; we 
 have before us an example of one whose attainments in a 
 most profound science are only equalled by her various 
 skill in all domestic accomplishments, and the blameless 
 beauty of her unobtrusive life. It is the desire of being 
 the heroine of an interesting romance, of astonishing by 
 flights of originality, that seems likely to indispose a 
 woman for the retirement of domestic life, the homely mo- 
 
338 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 notony of every-day duties, and the small acts of undram- 
 atic self-sacrifice, which it is so important to her peace to 
 be able to perform without even a feeling of reluctance. 
 
 The more we wish to see the sphere of her mental ac- 
 tivity enlarged and elevated, the more careful ought we to 
 be not to give to that activity an unsound direction. Of 
 imagination and sensibility, women, generally speaking, 
 are sure to have enough : sobriety of judgment, well- 
 dhected energy, extensive and, if they please, profound 
 acquirements, would be far safer possessions. There is, 
 indeed, a sort of sensibility which cannot be too profound, 
 a sort of enthusiasm which cannot be too passionate ; but 
 these are not encouraged by watching the beatings of 
 one's own heart, nor by recording them for the amusement 
 of the public. Their legitimate and salutary food is to be 
 drawn from the far higher and more copious sources of 
 Piety and Charity. Let the heart, weary of seeking what 
 it finds not, drink at these springs, and it will be refreshed, 
 strengthened, and satisfied. The culture of the reason, 
 together with that of the larger and higher affections, is 
 the true cure for the most serious defects of women in do- 
 mestic life, and for their most serious sufferings in a life 
 of isolation. If their tenderness and sympathy were 
 guided by reason, by steady religious principle, and by a 
 knowledge of the structure and laws of the moral world, 
 (without which nobody can possibly serve mankind,) they 
 might not only escape or disarm the bitterest sorrows to 
 which they are liable, and improve their domestic condi- 
 tion and influences, but might bring to bear an almost re- 
 sistless force against many of the evils that desolate the 
 earth. 
 
 I have enlarged too long on this " fatale Subjectivitat" 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 339 
 
 to use a German lady's words ; but it forms so prominent 
 a feature in the literature of our times, that I hope I may- 
 be excused. I am afraid the morbid demand for admira- 
 tion, and still more for sympathy, which is a disease very 
 incident to my sex, is at the bottom of a vast deal of the 
 internal history now intrusted to that tender and equitable 
 confidant, the public. I cannot help thinking that a wo- 
 man's heart is best revealed in her life, and, if she writes, 
 in the tendency of her works ; and that she, of whose 
 healthy sensibility much is to be said, will not need to say 
 any thing about it herself. Those who agree with me, 
 will be delighted with the brief and graceful touch with 
 which Madame Schopenhauer passes over the tender sor- 
 rows of her youth, — the Herzensangelegcnheiten, about 
 which it is so easy to be eloquent. 
 
 It is extremely to be regretted that the " Memoirs" are 
 imperfect and fragmentary. The first partition of Poland, 
 the American war, the French revolution, the general war, 
 including the frightful siege of her paternal city, and the 
 entrance of the French army into Weimar, — these events, 
 and the actors in them, Catherine, Frederic the Great, 
 Louis the Sixteenth, and Marie Antoinette, Napoleon, and 
 many of lesser note, pass before our eyes like giant forms, 
 which throw a shadow over her pretty domestic pictures. 
 The remarks are, throughout, those of a sound, clear 
 mind, — the morality is practical and pure. 
 
 STURZ (HELFRICH PETER). — Page 214. 
 
 Born in 1737, at Darmstadt. He studied jurisprudence 
 at Gottingen, and at the same time cultivated aesthetics 
 
340 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 and rhetoric. He filled the office of secretary to some dis- 
 tinguished men, and went, strongly recommended, to Co- 
 penhagen, where he soon mastered the Danish language, 
 and became private secretary to the elder Bernstorf. He 
 lived most happily in Bernstorf 's house. Here, under the 
 eye of that great statesman and philanthropist, he enjoyed 
 ample means of acquiring knowledge of men as well as of 
 books, and he rapidly became a man of the world and a 
 statesman, as well as a poet and a man of letters. His 
 " Recollections of the Life of Bernstorf," written in 1777, 
 are a monument of the gratitude which he evinced toward 
 his benefactor on every occasion. Tn 1768 he accompanied 
 Christian the Seventh on his visit to France and England ; 
 this journey enlarged the sphere of his knowledge, procured 
 him the acquaintance of the most eminent men of both 
 countries, and gave occasion to his excellent ". Letters of a 
 Traveller." The confusion consequent on the fall of 
 Struensee was fatal to Sturz. On the very day appointed 
 for his marriage he was thrown into prison, where he was 
 detained four months. On his liberation he received a 
 pension, on which he lived for a time at Gliickstadt and 
 Altona. He was afterwards appointed by the Danish 
 Court Regierungsrath at Oldenburg ; and after the ex- 
 change of that province and Delmenhorst for Russian Hol- 
 stein, he was created Counsellor of State for the Duchy 
 of Oldenburg, with a lucrative appointment. But neither 
 this advancement, nor the society of an amiable wife, nor 
 the reputation he acquired as an author, nor the sincere 
 respect of his friends, could make him forget that dark 
 period of his life. The recollection of his sufferings had 
 sunk too deeply into his mind, and had destroyed his 
 health and cheerfulness. He died at Bremen in 1779. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 341 
 
 He was one of the most elegant prose-writers of his 
 time in Germany, remarkable for refined taste, sound judg- 
 ment, and an agreeable flow of wit. His style is, how- 
 ever, somewhat deficient in ease and simplicity, and his 
 letters and lighter works are deformed by the frequent use 
 of foreign words. The best edition of his works is 
 " Schriften von H. P. Sturz," Leipzig, 1786. 
 
 The eulogium of Bernstorf in my text, high as it is, 
 was deserved. He was one of the few men who have 
 shown themselves capable of using power solely with a 
 view to the interests of the governed. One of the most 
 interesting monuments of gratitude in the world, is the 
 column voluntarily erected to him by the peasants on his 
 estate, whom he had freed from serfage, and whose con- 
 dition he had labored to raise. Bernstorf's fall, alluded 
 to in the text, was the result of the intrigues of Struen- 
 see. He retired to Hamburg, where he died in 1772. 
 
 He must not be confounded with his equally great and 
 philanthropic nephew, Andreas Peter, to whose enlight- 
 ened views and moderation Denmark owed so much dur- 
 ing the stormy period of the French Revolution ; and at 
 whose funeral the late king, Frederic the Sixth, then 
 Crown Prince, took his place among the sons of the de- 
 parted. 
 
 These two eminent statesmen wanted only a wider and 
 more conspicuous field of action to have been as illustrious 
 as they were truly great. They were the enlightened 
 patrons of literature and art; the zealous promoters of 
 every thing that can raise or benefit mankind. 
 
 23 
 
342 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 TIECK (LUDWIG). — Pages 7, 58, 95, 111, 200, 209. 
 
 One of the most eminent and most original poets of 
 Germany, was born at Berlin in 1773, and is brother of 
 the celebrated sculptor of that name. He studied at Halle 
 and Gottingen, where he devoted himself chiefly to histo- 
 ry and to ancient and modern literature, and early began 
 to display the genius which he has cultivated with such 
 eminent success. During a visit to Jena and Weimar, he 
 became acquainted with the Schlegels and Novalis, who, 
 with him, were afterwards the heads of the Romantic 
 school, and the authors of that great revolution in poetry 
 and art, which has produced such wide-spread and lasting 
 effects in Europe. We have seen, in a former note, how 
 much A. W. Schlegel, by his translations of Shakspeare 
 and Calderon, and by his critical works, contributed to 
 overthrow the French despotism in literature (already 
 shaken by Lessing) and the taste of the eighteenth centu- 
 ry. Tieck brought into the field yet more powerful weap- 
 ons ; rich productive genius, wit, boundless fertility and 
 brilliancy of imagination, poetical diction, and a vast ac- 
 quaintance with the models of what he thought a purer 
 and grander style of art. 
 
 At a very early age he produced his "Abdallah," 
 " s William Lovel," and other works of imagination. These, 
 as may be supposed, are very inferior to his later works. 
 
 Tieck's services to art have not been confined to one 
 branch of it. In conjunction with his friend Wachenro- 
 der, he produced the " Herzensergiessungen eines kunst- 
 liebenden Klosterbruders," " Phantasien uber die Kunst." 
 These relate chiefly to painting and sculpture, and he ap- 
 plies to them the principles of the poetical school, of 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 343 
 
 which he was the able champion. He also wrote " Franz 
 Sternbalds Wanderungen," a history of the life of a 
 young artist, under the influence of Italian or southern 
 life, contrasted with that of Germany. Tieck's opinions 
 on art were afterwards rendered more distinct and pro- 
 found by his residence in Rome, Dresden, and Munich. 
 
 In 1799-1801 appeared his translation of "Don Quix- 
 otte." This period of his life was fertile both in original 
 and in critical works ; the most interesting among the lat- 
 ter were his " Letters on Shakspeare," which unfortunate- 
 ly were not long continued. He likewise published a 
 translation of the "Tempest," and an "Essay on Shak- 
 speare's Treatment of the Marvellous." In 1814- 16 he 
 published his " Old English Theatre," in two volumes; 
 and in 1818 came to London to collect materials for his 
 great work on Shakspeare, to which " Shakspeare's 
 Vorschule" (Leipzig, 1823) may be regarded as an in- 
 troduction. It may be hoped, that whenever this distin- 
 guished poet and critic shall have completed his labors on 
 a subject so interesting to the English public, they will be 
 translated. 
 
 So many English travellers are indebted to Tieck's 
 courteous hospitality for the enjoyment of hearing him 
 read Shakspeare, that I need hardly mention the well- 
 known beauty of his elocution, and his singular dramatic 
 talent. The vivacity, variety, and truth of his expression 
 are never to be forgotten. His fine capacious head, and 
 brilliant eye, add not a little to the effect of his reading. 
 There is a very beautiful portrait of him by his friend 
 Yogel of Dredens ; one of the few which leave an indeli- 
 ble impression, and show that the painter has received the 
 mind of the poet into his own. 
 
344 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 Tieck's stories appear to me so enchanting, that their 
 small success in England is a riddle I cannot explain upon 
 any hypothesis flattering to the taste of the country. 
 
 The " Pictures," and " The Betrothing," were trans- 
 lated and published in one volume, by the Rev. Connop 
 Thirl wall, the present Bishop of St. David's. " The Old 
 Man of the Mountain," "The Love Charm," and "Pietro 
 of Albano," in another, by the Rev. Julius Hare, now 
 Archdeacon of Sussex. Several, if not all, of the tales 
 in the " Phantasus " are to be found in Mr. Carlyle's 
 " German Romances." Yet, in spite of these efforts of 
 the most accomplished translators to make Tieck known 
 in England, his popularity is very far from approaching to 
 his merits. These are altogether peculiar. The fantastic 
 grace, the mysterious charm, of his "Marchen," are un- 
 rivalled. They seem written not only about, but by, fair- 
 ies, and " creatures of the element." He manages to 
 combine a sort of infantine simplicity with the gorgeous- 
 ness of eastern imagery, or the dimness of gothic super- 
 stition. They have the engaging naivete and the daring 
 invention of the old stories that lived in the hearts and on 
 the lips of the people. Higher praise than this it is not in 
 the power of words to express ; though the unfortunate 
 children of these days are taught to consider them as be- 
 neath their notice. I know few writers who more power- 
 fully stir the fancy than Tieck. In this respect he re- 
 minds one of Chaucer. His descriptions of nature, like 
 those of our great poet, "breathe a spring freshness." 
 All that makes up the charm of a wood, for instance, — 
 its verdure, coolness, fragrance, and dreamy music, seem 
 brought before our very senses by an art which it is ex- 
 tremely difficult to define. The musical element in nature 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 345 
 
 is, indeed, the one which seems to predominate in his 
 soul ; it flows, like the murmuring of water, through all 
 his works. As Goethe's genius manifested itself preemi- 
 nently in the plastic, so does Tieck's in the musical ; his 
 words bring sounds to the ear, as Goethe's do form to 
 the eye. 
 
 I might mention, however, as an illustration of his pow- 
 er of painting, the scene in the "Pokal," where the en- 
 chanter shows the enamoured youth the face of his be- 
 loved. The rising of the rosy vapor out of the cup, and 
 its gradual condensation into the sweet features of the 
 beautiful girl, is a piece of the most exquisite sorcery. 
 
 My extracts do not present the author under this aspect. 
 I did not choose to mutilate his charming stories, and 
 therefore took fragments of conversations from what must, 
 after all, be regarded as his masterpiece, the "Phantasus," 
 which is a sort of Decameron. A party of friends are 
 assembled in a country-house, where they talk and tell 
 stories. The main object of the author seems to be to 
 make war on the shallow pretension to superior lights and 
 virtues, on fashionable affectations, and on cant of all sorts. 
 There is a great deal of " polemical poetry," as the Ger- 
 mans call it, in his dramas, which are founded on old sto- 
 ries, such as his " Bluebeard," " Puss in Boots," "Em- 
 peror Octavian," etc. I must confess, however, that 
 Tieck's wit seems to me less admirable than his fancy 
 and his tenderness. But I am aware that it is more diffi- 
 cult to appreciate the wit of another nation, than any 
 other quality. 
 
 The list of Tieck's " Novellen," or Tales, is too long to 
 insert here. Among the most beautiful of them I may 
 mention the " Dichterleben," (Poet's life,) — a Trilogy 
 
346 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 illustrating the life of Shakspeare. The scene of the 
 first story lies at Kenilworth, and introduces us to the in- 
 fant poet and to Queen Elizabeth. The second represents 
 his youth, his friendship for Southampton, and the devel- 
 opement of his genius. The third, his maturer age. 
 The characters of Greene and Marlowe, in the latter, are 
 drawn with the hand of a master. The death of Camoens 
 forms the subject of another not less beautiful tale. All 
 this class of Tieck's novels are vehicles for refined specu- 
 lations on art and its subjects, which perhaps unfit them 
 for England. 
 
 His longest and, as many think, best novel, the " War 
 in the'Cevennes," is unhappily not finished. He published 
 last year, " Vittoria Accorombona," which I have not 
 read. 
 
 I believe it was this novel which furnished the King of 
 Prussia with an occasion for one of those acts which ex- 
 cite the gratitude of all who care for letters or art 
 While I was in Germany last year, I had the pleasure of 
 hearing, that, on receiving a copy of it from the author, 
 the king wrote him a very kind letter, assuring to him a 
 pension of a thousand dollars a year for his life, and, with 
 a grace which doubled the value of his bounty, annexed 
 the condition that the poet should visit him once a year at 
 Sans-Souci, allotting two hundred Friedrichs-d'or for the 
 expenses of each journey. 
 
 T will not vouch for the accuracy of the sums : but 1 
 can speak to the general satisfaction which such a tribute 
 to the greatest living poet of Germany, and such a solici- 
 tude for the comfort of his declining years, diffused. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 347 
 
 WALTER (FERDINAND). — Page 222. 
 
 Professor Walter is an eminent jurist at the university 
 of Bonn, where his lectures on Canon Law are much ad- 
 mired. The book from which the extract is taken is said 
 to contain a remarkably clear history of the origin and 
 growth of the Roman law. 
 
 WEBER (KARL MARIA von).- Page 53. 
 
 Karl Maria, son of Major von Weber, was born at Eutin 
 in Holstein, in 1786. He early divided the leisure left 
 him from severer studies between painting and music, in 
 the former of which he made considerable progress. But, 
 unconsciously, music gained exclusive possession of the 
 young artist; and his father, perceiving the strong bent of 
 his genius, sedulously cultivated it, at the expense of great 
 personal sacrifices, and, in all the changes of residence 
 which his profession occasioned, sought out the best mas- 
 ters for his son. When the little Karl was only twelve 
 years of age he composed six fughetti, which his father, 
 to encourage him, caused to be printed. They were fa- 
 vorably noticed in the Leipz. Musikal. Zeitung. His fa- 
 ther then took him to Munich, and placed him under the 
 tuition of a singing master, and the eminent organist Kal- 
 cher, to whose instructions he was greatly indebted for his 
 future command of the resources of his art. Weber's 
 labors were unremitting. His taste for dramatic music 
 now began to manifest itself, and he wrote, under the eye 
 of his instructor, an opera called "Die Macht der Liebe 
 und des Weins." At the age of fourteen he composed his 
 
348 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 opera of the " Waldmadchen," which was performed in 
 the year 1800, at Prague, Vienna, Petersburg, etc., with 
 great success ; he himself afterwards regarded it as a 
 crude attempt, though not wholly deficient in originality. 
 Weber's active, excitable mind was now called off from 
 music by the invention of the art of printing on stone, which 
 he thought he had shared with Sennefelder, and even that 
 he had discovered a more convenient process. In order 
 to prosecute his schemes he went to Freyberg, where the 
 materials were at hand ; but the mechanical part of the 
 employment soon disgusted him, and he returned with 
 double zest to composition. 
 
 In 1802 he made a musical tour with his father to Leip- 
 zig, Hamburg, and Holstein, collecting and studying with 
 indefatigable zeal theoretical works on music. 
 
 He now, for the first time in his life, took his place alone 
 in the musical world of Vienna, where he made the ac- 
 quaintance of Haydn, and of the Abbe Vogler, who, cap- 
 tivated by his earnest desire for improvement, cordially 
 unlocked to him all the treasures of his knowledge. By 
 his advice, the young artist gave up, for the present, the 
 composition of great works, and devoted himself for near- 
 ly two years to the incessant and unwearied study of the 
 great masters, whose works he subjected to the most ac- 
 curate analysis. He also perfected himself in pianoforte- 
 playing. He was now invited to Breslau as music di- 
 rector, and composed there his opera of " Riibezahl." In 
 1806 Duke Eugene of Wurtemberg attracted him to 
 Karlsruhe in Silesia, where he produced various works. 
 The pretty theatre and excellent chapel being ruined by 
 the common destroyer, war, he set out on an artistical 
 tour, whence he returned to the house of his patron, Duke 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 349 
 
 Eugene, at Stuttgard. We cannot follow him through all 
 the steps of his progress. In 1816 he was at Berlin, 
 where he composed his three splendid pianoforte sonatas. 
 In 1817 he undertook the management of the German 
 opera in Dresden, and composed various works, among 
 which we can only particularize the " Freyschiitz," which 
 was first performed at Berlin, in 1821. Here too he com- 
 posed "Preziosa." The enormous success of the "Frey- 
 schiitz" brought him a commission to compose a new 
 opera for Vienna, and Frau von Chezy wrote the libretto of 
 " Euryanthe," from an old French story. It occupied 
 him for nearly two years, at the end of which he went to 
 Vienna, and directed the performance of it himself. In 
 1824 he received the commission to compose " Oberon " 
 for the London stage. In order to fit himself for this 
 work he applied himself to the study of the English lan- 
 guage. Already, however, the incessant activity and la- 
 bor of his mind had begun the work of destruction on his 
 delicate frame. In 1825 he went to Ems, but without 
 any permanent good result. In 1826 he came, already 
 suffering from disease in the lungs, to London, finished 
 his beautiful work, and, on the very day when the " Frey- 
 schiitz " was to be performed for his benefit, his pure and 
 melodious soul took its flight. 
 
 He was attended in his last illness by Dr. Kind, a 
 young German physician resident in London, now also no 
 more, and nephew of Weber's friend Kind the poet. 
 From him I heard many particulars of the affecting and 
 beautiful close of Weber's blameless life. His conscience 
 was as delicate as his taste ; his affections as overflowing 
 as his genius. He was meek and unoffending, and exact 
 in the performance of all his duties. 
 
350 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 The two little volumes from which the letter in the text 
 is taken, contain other proofs of Weber's exquisite moral 
 sensibility. I hesitated between this and a letter to a man 
 who had brought unjust charges against him. The truly 
 Christian temper, the scrupulous' veracity, the humility 
 and charity that it breathes, are inexpressibly touching. 
 
 But it is not alone as showing the sweetness, purity, and 
 rectitude which marked the character of the composer of 
 the " Freyschiitz" and the "Oberon," that this letter is 
 interesting ; the views it contains of the character, voca- 
 tion, and duties of an artist are well worthy of serious con- 
 sideration. The establishment of singing-schools, and the 
 general cultivation of music, will not, it is to be feared, 
 realize the expectations of those who look to them for 
 important moral results, until the opinions and conduct of 
 the public are changed as to the province of art, and the 
 place allotted to artists. I am far, indeed, from thinking 
 that a currency in what is called good society would be 
 for the advantage of either. Society ought to reverence 
 the possessors of that sublime secret called genius too 
 highly to imagine that they can have any thing to gain by 
 its intercourse. But though its flattery and caresses can 
 do them nothing but harm, it ought to abstain from de- 
 stroying their independence of spirit by its caprices, or 
 their self-respect by its contempt. Much is said about the 
 humanizing and elevating effect of art. But what empty 
 talk is this, if the artist, — if he who alone can give form, 
 vitality, and motion to this mighty instrument of civiliza- 
 tion, is to be regarded as the inferior of the very men 
 whom he is to lift out of the bonds of matter and of cus- 
 tom, as often as they happen to possess some extrinsic ad- 
 vantages which he wants. 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 351 
 
 We ought to try to come to a clear understanding- with 
 ourselves on this matter, and to establish a consistent the- 
 ory and practice. Either, as it is now the fashion to re- 
 peat, art has an elevating and purifying effect on the mor- 
 als of a country, or it has not. If it has, by what process 
 of reasoning are the depositories of so high a ministry 
 talked of and treated, as if they moved in the society of 
 the undistinguished and undistinguishable many on suf- 
 ferance ? 
 
 If it has not, why all this labor to get up a taste for it 
 among the people ? We hear constant allusions to Ger- 
 many, — and with reason ; but Germany is consistent 
 with herself. Art is there honored in its ministers. The 
 people are not told, here is a man who can create that, the 
 mere contemplation of which will lift you above the sor- 
 did part of your nature, — who carries within him the 
 type of that beauty, which has power to raise and refresh 
 your souls ; and the next moment practically taught to re- 
 gard him as belonging to a class whose position and claims 
 to respect are doubtful. 
 
 It cannot be that he is degraded by receiving remunera- 
 tion for his labors ; for do the ministers of justice, in their 
 various degrees, give their services to society gratuitous- 
 ly ? Do the ministers of religion found their claim to the 
 respect of mankind, and to their station in society, on the 
 gratuitous character of their ministry ? Why then should 
 the ministers of art be subjected to so absurd a demand ? 
 Why should art be consigned to the half-knowledge, the 
 half-zeal, the half-practice of a feeble dilettantism? 
 
 And if not the pay, it must be the pursuit itself that is 
 degrading. It must be that we regard art as fitted to 
 amuse, and not to instruct mankind, and allot its profes- 
 
352 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 
 
 sors their place accordingly. I do not mean to express an 
 opinion which of these views is right ; but I wish to see 
 something like consistency ; and either that the present 
 theory and practice about art as a moral engine should be 
 abandoned, or the past and present theory and practice 
 about artists brought into conformity with it. Till then 
 we may be perfectly assured that there can be no high 
 standard of art, for the plain reason that there can be no 
 high artistical culture. 
 
 If any one doubts as to the state of public opinion on 
 this subject, let him ask himself whether the parents who 
 train up physicians, lawyers, soldiers, and clergymen, 
 would see with complacency any intention on the part of 
 their sons to devote themselves to music or painting, as a 
 profession ? 
 
 ZELTER. — Pages 40, 86, 139, and 163. 
 
 This extraordinary man was for years the friend and 
 correspondent of Goethe. The correspondence from which 
 these extracts are taken, was published at Berlin in 1834, 
 and consists of six volumes. It was reviewed in the 
 Athenaeum not long after its appearance. 
 
 Zelter was brought up an architect, but his love for 
 music was unconquerable, and he pursued it with passion 
 to the end of his life. The celebrated singing-school at 
 Berlin, to which he refers in the passage quoted (p. 139), 
 was in part established, and long directed by him. His 
 letters abound with criticisms on art and literature, ex- 
 pressed in vigorous and almost coarse language, but full of 
 acuteness and originality, and remarkably illustrative of 
 
OF THE AUTHORS. 
 
 353 
 
 Goethe's great axiom, that "Art is one." The same 
 principles which guided his practice in his own peculiar 
 branch, directed his judgment in the others. 
 
 His attachment to Goethe seems to have been the 
 strongest feeling of his energetic and vehement mind. It 
 was a sort of idolatry. The news of Goethe's death was 
 a shock he had not strength to resist, and in a fortnight he 
 followed him to the grave. 
 
 ZIEGLER (FRIEDRICH WILHELM). — Page 33. 
 
 Born at Brunswick in 1760, was forty years an actor 
 of great celebrity at Vienna, where he enjoyed the es- 
 pecial favor and patronage of Joseph the Second. He 
 was also a very fertile dramatic poet, and his pieces di- 
 vided the favor of the public of Vienna, and of southern 
 Germany in general, with those of Iffland and Kotzebue. 
 
 Ziegler also wrote some political pamphlets, which had 
 considerable success. His assthetical works are of no val- 
 ue. He died at Vienna in 1827. 
 
 THE END.