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 SOLITUDE 
 
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 1824. 
 
SOIIT 
 
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 WITH RESPECT TO ITS INFLUENCE UPQN 
 
 THE MIND A>:x> TlIS I1AET, 
 BY M. ZIMMERMAN^. 
 
 
 
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 L O ^ T D N; 
 Tiiblished 07 T. Griffiths . 2 '. 
 1 
 
 1824. 
 
SOLITUDE : 
 
 ON 
 
 THE MIND AND THE HEART. 
 
 BY 
 
 M. ZIMMERMANN, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 T. GRIFFITHS, 2, WARWICK COURT, HOLBORN 
 
 SOLD BY R. JENNINGS, 2, POULTRY. 
 
 MDCCCXXV. 
 
I* 
 
 % 5* 
 
 t. white, printer, 
 johnson's court, fleet street. 
 
SOLITUDE, 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In this unquiet and tumultuous scene of life, sur- 
 rounded by the restraints of ceremony, the urgencies 
 of business, the shackles of society, and in the even- 
 ing of my days, I feel no delight in recollecting 
 pleasures that pass so transiently away : my soul 
 dwells with higher satisfaction on the memory of 
 those happy days of my youth, when Solitude was 
 my sole amusement; when I knew no place more 
 agreeable than the sequestered cloister and the silent 
 cell, the lonely mountain and the sublimely awful 
 grove ; or any pleasure more lively than that I ex- 
 perienced in conversing with the dead. 
 
 I love to recal to my mind the cool and silent 
 scenes of Solitude ; to oppose them to the heat and 
 bustle of the world; to meditate on those advantages 
 which the great and good of every age have acknow- 
 ledged they possess, though perhaps too seldom ex- 
 perienced; to reflect on the powerful consolations 
 they afford when grief corrodes the mind; when 
 
2 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 disease afflicts the body, when the number of our 
 years bends us to the ground; to contemplate, in 
 short, the benign influence of Solitude upon all the 
 troubles of the heart. 
 
 Solitude is that state in which the soul freely 
 resigns itself to its own reflections. The sage, there- 
 fore, who banishes from his mind all recollection of 
 external objects, and retires within himself, is not 
 less solitary than he who forsakes society, and de- 
 votes himself entirely to the calm enjoyments of a 
 lonely life. 
 
 The mind surrenders itself in retirement to the 
 unrestrained enjoyment of its own ideas, and adopts 
 without limitation or restraint the sentiments which 
 the taste, the temper, the inclination, and the genius 
 of its possessor inspire. 
 
 Observe the shepherds of those extensive deserts : 
 one chaunts the beauty which captivates his soul ; 
 another moulds the clay into a rustic vase ; the sur- 
 rounding charms of nature form the sole delight and 
 admiration of a third; while a fourth investigates 
 the precepts of the moral law, or contemplates 
 the sublime truths of our holy religion. If they 
 were respectively to meet a lovely shepherdess be- 
 neath the shades of their retirement, seated on the 
 borders of some gently-flowing stream, the heart of 
 each might perhaps become the slave of love ; but 
 deprived of all that is dear to man, and doomed 
 to taste involuntary Solitude, the best resource for 
 each is to resign himself to the dictates of his in- 
 clination; a resource to which every well-disposed 
 
ZIMMEKMANN ON SOLITUDE. J 
 
 and virtuous mind may constantly resort without 
 dismay or danger. 
 
 Man in a state of perfect freedom possesses an 
 innate right to follow the suggestions of his fancy : 
 some are delighted by the soft melody of the night- 
 ingale, while others listen with equal pleasure to the 
 hideous shriekings of the owl. Some there are to 
 whom even the visits of friendship are displeasing ; 
 who, to avoid the painful intercourse, confine them- 
 selves eternally at home, and consume their hours in 
 writing books or killing flies. 
 
 The poor dejected heart constantly attaches itself 
 to some favourite object, as far at least as circum- 
 stances and situation will permit, from which it draws 
 its consolation and support. Roaming through the 
 cloisters of the Magdalene Convent at Hidelsheim, I 
 was surprised to observe an aviary of Canary birds 
 in the cell of a religieuse. A Braban^on gentleman, 
 fearful of the effects of cold, and having the same 
 aversion from women that certain persons are said 
 to feel from mice, lived five-and-twenty years at 
 Brussels immured within his house, without any 
 other amusement than that of collecting a magnifi- 
 cent cabinet of paintings and pictures. 
 
 Under the confinement even of the dungeon itself, 
 men, deprived for ever of their liberty, endeavour to 
 beguile the Solitude in which they are forced to live, 
 by devoting their thoughts, as far as they are able, 
 to those pursuits which afford them the highest 
 pleasure. The Swiss philosopher, Michael Ducret, 
 measured the heights of the Alps during his confine 
 
4 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 ment in the prison of Aarburg, in the canton of 
 Berne, in Swisserland; and while Baron de Trenck, 
 a prisoner in the tower of Magdeburgh, was every 
 moment anxiously employed in forming projects to 
 effect his escape, General Walrave, the companion 
 of his captivity, contentedly passed his time in the 
 feeding of chickens . 
 
 The term Solitude does not, I conceive, always 
 import a total absence from the world. Sometimes 
 it conveys to my mind the idea of dwelling in a 
 convent, or a country village : sometimes I under- 
 stand it to mean the library of a man of learning : 
 and sometimes an occasional retreat from the 
 tumults of active life. 
 
 Men are frequently solitary without being alone ; 
 for to constitute a state of Solitude, it is sufficient if 
 the mind be entirely absorbed by those ideas which 
 its own reflections create. 
 
 The haughty baron, proud of the distinctions of 
 birth, feels himself alone in every society, the mem- 
 bers of which are not ennobled by an equal number 
 of titles derived through a long line of hereditary 
 descents. A profound reasoner is, in general, so- 
 litary at the tables of the witty and the gay. The 
 mind, even amidst the clamours of a popular as- 
 sembly, may withdraw its attention from the sur- 
 rounding objects, may retire as effectually within 
 itself, may become as solitary as a monk in his 
 monastery, or a hermit in his cell. In short, Soli- 
 tude may be as easily attained amidst the gayest 
 circles of the most brilliant city, as in the uninter- 
 
ZIMME11MANN ON SOLITUDE. 5 
 
 rupted silence of a poor, deserted village ; at London 
 and at Paris, as well as on the plains of Thebais, or 
 in the desert of Nitria. 
 
 A treatise, therefore, upon the real advantages of 
 Solitude, appeared to me a proper means to facilitate 
 the acquisition of happiness. The fewer external 
 resources men possess, the greater efforts they make 
 to discover in themselves the power of being happy ; 
 and the more they are enabled to part without regret 
 from their connections with each other, the nearer 
 they most certainly approach to true felicity. The 
 pleasures of the world are certainly beneath the 
 attention with which they are pursued; but it is 
 equally true, that, upon a serious examination, all 
 those catholic notions, once so celebrated, of a total 
 seclusion from the world and its concerns, appear 
 altogether impracticable and absurd. To render the 
 mind independent of human assistances, and teach it 
 to rely entirely upon the strength of its own powers, 
 is, I acknowledge, a noble achievement : but it is 
 certainly equally meritorious to learn the art of 
 living happily in society, and of rendering ourselves 
 useful and agreeable to the rest of mankind. 
 
 While, therefore, I describe the allurements of 
 Solitude, I shall endeavour to warn my readers against 
 those dangerous and extravagant notions into which 
 some of its disciples have been betrayed; notions 
 equally repugnant to the voice of reason and the 
 precepts of our divine religion. 
 
 Happily, to avoid all the dangers by which my 
 subject is surrounded, to sacrifice nothing to pre- 
 
O ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 judice, to advance nothing in violation of truth, 
 to obtain the approbation of the peaceful disci- 
 ples of reason and philosophy, will be my anxi- 
 ous endeavour ; and if Affliction shall derive a ray 
 of consolation from my labours ; if Melancholy, in 
 forgetting the horrors of her situation, shall raise 
 her dejected head to bless me ; if I shall be able to 
 convince the innocent votaries of rural retirement, 
 that the springs of pleasure soon dry up in the heat 
 of the metropolis ; that the heart remains cold and 
 senseless in the midst of all its noisy and factitious 
 joys ; if they shall learn to feel the superior plea- 
 sures of a country life, become sensible of the variety 
 of resources they afford against idleness and vexa- 
 tion; what purity of sentiment, what peaceful 
 thoughts, what unfading happiness the view of 
 verdant meads, the sight of numerous flocks and 
 herds quitting the fertile meadows on the close of 
 day, instil into the mind ; with what ineffable de- 
 light the sublime beauty of a wild romantic country, 
 interspersed with distant cottages, and occupied by 
 freedom and content, ravishes the soul; how much 
 more readily, in short, we forget all the pains and 
 troubles of a wounded heart on the borders of a gen- 
 tle stream, than amidst the concourse of deceitful 
 joys so fatally followed in the courts of princes; 
 my task will be accomplished, and all my wishes 
 amply gratified ! 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE. 
 
 Solitude engages the affections of men whenever 
 it holds up a picture of tranquillity to their views. 
 The doleful and monotonous sound of the clock of 
 a sequestered monastery, the silence of nature in a 
 still night, the pure air on the summit of a high 
 mountain, the thick darkness of an ancient forest, 
 the sight of a temple fallen into ruins, inspire the 
 soul with a soft melancholy, and banish all recol- 
 lectiun of the world and its concerns. But the man 
 who cannot hold a friendly correspondence with his 
 own heart, who derives no comfort from the reflec- 
 tions of his mind, who dreads the idea of meditation, 
 and is fearful of passing' a single moment with him'" 
 self, looks with an equal eye on Solitude and on death. 
 He endeavours to enjoy all the voluptuousness which 
 the world affords ; drains the pernicious cup of 
 pleasure to its dregs, and until the dreadful moment 
 approaches when he beholds his nerves shattered, 
 and all the powers of his soul destroyed, he has not 
 courage to make the delayed confession, " I am tired 
 of the world and all its idle follies, and now prefer 
 the mournful shade of the cypress, to the intoxication 
 of its noisy pleasures and tumultuous joys. 
 
 The dangers to which a life of Solitude is ex- 
 posed, for even in Solitude many real dangers exist, 
 
8 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 afford no substantial argument against it, as by a 
 judicious employment of the hours of activity and 
 repose, and a proper vigilance upon the desires of 
 the heart, they may be easily eluded. The adven- 
 turous navigator, when acquainted with the signal of 
 approaching dangers, and the situation of those rocks 
 and shoals which threaten his safety, no longer fears 
 the perils to which he was before exposed. Still 
 less are the advantages of Solitude disproved by the 
 complaints of those, who, feeling a continual desire 
 to escape from themselves, relish no pleasures but 
 those which the world affords : to whom retirement 
 and tranquillity appear vapid and fatiguing ; and who, 
 unconscious of any higher delight than that of paying 
 and receiving visits, have of course no idea of the 
 charms of Solitude. 
 
 It is, therefore, only to those distinguished be- 
 ings, who can resort to their own bosoms for an 
 antidote against disquiet, who are fearless of the 
 numerous sacrifices which virtue may demand, whose 
 souls are endowed with sufficient energy to drive 
 away the dread of being alone, and whose hearts are 
 susceptible of the pure and tranquil delights of 
 domestic felicity, that I pretend to recommend the 
 advantages of Solitude. The miserable being, in 
 whose bosom the corruptions of the world have 
 already destroyed these precious gifts of nature ; 
 who knows no other pleasure, is sensible to no other 
 happiness, than what cards or the luxury of a richly- 
 furnished table affords; who disdains all exercise of 
 the understanding, thinks all delicacy of sentiment 
 
2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Q 
 
 unnatural, and, by a brutality almost inconceivable, 
 laughs at the sacred name of sensibility; must be 
 lost to virtue, and utterly incapable of pleasure from 
 any operations of his own mind. 
 
 Philosophers and ministers of the Gospel, if they 
 were entirely to deprive themselves of the pleasures 
 of society, and to shun with rigid severity the honest 
 comforts and rational amusements of life, would 
 without doubt essentially injure the interests of wis- 
 dom and virtue ; but there are not, at present, many 
 preceptors who carry their doctrines to this extent : 
 on the contrary, there exists a multitude, both in the 
 country and the town, to whom Solitude would be 
 insupportable, who shamefully devote their time to 
 noisy dissipations and tumultuous pleasures altoge- 
 ther inconsistent with their characters and functions. 
 The celebrated sera is passed when a life of retire- 
 ment and contemplation was alone esteemed, and 
 when the approaches to heaven were measured in 
 proportion as the mind receded from its attachments 
 to the world. 
 
 After having examined the influence of Solitude 
 upon the general habits of life, and upon those 
 ordinary pleasures which are pursued with such 
 unceasing avidity, I shall shew, in the first division 
 of this chapter, that it enables man to live indepen- 
 dent and alone ; and there is no misfortune it can- 
 not alleviate, no sorrow that it will not soften ; that 
 it adds dignity to his character, and gives fresh 
 vigour to the powers of his mind ; that he cannot in 
 any other situation acquire so perfect a knowledge 
 
 is 3 
 
10 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of himself; that it enlarges the sphere of attention, 
 and ripens the seeds of judgment : in short, that it 
 is from the influence of Solitude alone that man can 
 hope for the fruition of unbroken pleasures and 
 never-fading felicity. 
 
 The enjoyments of active life may be rendered 
 perfectly consistent with all the advantages of Soli- 
 tude ; and we shall soon discover upon what founda- 
 tions the opinions of those philosophers are built, 
 who maintain that the tumults of the world, and the 
 dissipations of its votaries, are incompatible with the 
 calm exercise of reason, the decisions of a sober 
 judgment, the investigation of truth, and the study 
 of the human heart. 
 
 The legion of fantastic fashions, to which a man 
 of pleasure is obliged to sacrifice his time, impair 
 the rational faculties of his mind, and destroy the 
 native energies of his soul. Forced continually to 
 lend himself to the performance of a thousand little 
 triflings, a thousand mean absurdities, he becomes 
 by habit frivolous and absurd. The face of things 
 no longer wears its true and genuine aspect; and 
 his depraved taste loses all relish for rational enter- 
 tainment or substantial pleasure. The infatuation 
 seizes on his brain, and his corrupted heart teems 
 with idle fancies and vain imaginations. These 
 illusions however, through which the plainest object 
 comes distorted to his view, might easily be dispel- 
 led. Accustomed to a lonely life, and left to reflect 
 in calmness and sobriety, during the silence of the 
 solitary hour, upon the false joys and deceitful plea- 
 
ZIMMERMAXN ON SOLITUDE. 11 
 
 sures which the parade of visiting and the glare of 
 public entertainments offer to our view, he would 
 soon perceive and candidly acknowledge their no- 
 thingness and insipidity : he would soon behold the 
 pleasures of the world in their true colours, and feel 
 that he had blindly wandered in pursuit of phan 
 toms ; which, though bodies in appearance, are mere 
 shadows in reality. 
 
 The inevitable consequences of this ardent pur- 
 suit of entertainments and diversions are languor 
 and dissatisfaction. He who has drained the cup of 
 pleasure to its last drop ; who is obliged to confess 
 that his hopes are fled, and that the world no longer 
 contains an object worthy of his pursuit; who feels 
 disappointment and disgust mingled with all his 
 enjoyments; who seems astonished at his own in- 
 sensibility ; who no longer possesses the magic of 
 the enchantress Imagination to gild and decorate the 
 scene ; calls in vain to his assistance the daughters 
 of Sensuality ; their caresses can no longer charm 
 his dark and melancholy mind ; the soft and syren 
 song of Luxury no longer can dispel the cloud of 
 discontent which hovers round his head. 
 
 Behold yon weak old man, his mind enervated, 
 and his constitution gone, running after pleasures 
 that he no more must taste. The airs of gaiety 
 which he affects render him ridiculous. His at- 
 tempts to shine expose him to derision. His endea- 
 vours to display the wit and eloquence of youth, 
 betray him into the garrulity of old age. His con- 
 versation, filled with repetitions and fatiguing nar- 
 
12 ZXMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 rative, creates disgust ; and only forces the smile of 
 pity from the lips of his youthful rivals. To the eye 
 of Wisdom however, who saw him through all the 
 former periods of his life, sparkling in the circles of 
 folly, and rioting in the noisy rendezvous of extra- 
 vagance and vice, his character always appeared the 
 same. 
 
 The wise man, in the midst of the most tumul- 
 tuous pleasures, frequently retires within himself, 
 and silently compares what he might do with what 
 he is doing Surrounded even by the excesses of 
 intoxication, Jie associates only with those warm and 
 generous souls, whose highly elevated minds are 
 drawn towards eacli other by wishes the most vir- 
 tuous, and sentiments the most sublime. The silence 
 of Solitude has more than once given birth to enter- 
 prises of the greatest importance and utility; and 
 some of the most celebrated actions of mankind were 
 perhaps first inspired among the sounds of music, 
 or conceived in the mazes of the dance. Sensible 
 and elevated minds never commune more closely 
 with themselves than in those places of public resort, 
 in which the low and vulgar, abandoned to the ca- 
 price of fashion and the illusions of sensuality, be- 
 come incapable of reflection, and blindly suffer 
 themselves to be overwhelmed by the torrent of folly 
 and distraction. 
 
 Vacant souls are always burdensome to their 
 possessors ; and it is the weight of this burden that 
 impels them incessantly in the pursuits of dissipa- 
 tion for relief. The irresistible inclination by which 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 13 
 
 they are carried continually abroad, the anxiety with 
 which they search for society, the trifles on which 
 from day to day they spend their time, announce the 
 emptiness of their minds, and the frivolous affection 
 of their hearts. Possessing no resources within 
 themselves, they are forced to rove abroad, and 
 fasten upon every object that presents itself to their 
 view, until they find the wished-for harbour to pro- 
 tect them against the attacks of discontent, and 
 prevent them from reflecting on their ignoble con- 
 dition. 
 
 The enjoyments of sense, therefore, are thus 
 indefatigably followed, only as means of escaping 
 from themselves. They seize with avidity upon 
 every object that promises to occupy the present 
 hour agreeably, and provide entertainment for the 
 day that is passing over their heads : this must ever 
 be some external object, some new phantom, some- 
 thing that shall prevent them from remaining with 
 themselves. The man whose mind is sufficiently 
 fertile to invent hour after hour new schemes of 
 pleasure, to open day after day fresh sources of 
 amusement for the lazy and luxurious, is a valuable 
 companion indeed; he is their best, their only 
 friend : not that they are destitute of those abilities 
 which might prevent this sacrifice of time, and pro- 
 cure them relief, but having been continually led 
 from object to object in the pursuit of pleasure, the 
 assistance of others has habitually become the first 
 want and greatest desire of their lives : they have 
 insensibly lost the power of acting from themselves, 
 
14 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and depend for every thing on those about them, 
 without being able to direct or determine the im- 
 pressions they ought to receive. This is the reason 
 why the rich, who are seldom acquainted with any 
 other pleasures than those of sense, are, in general, 
 the most miserable of men. 
 
 The nobility and courtiers of France think their 
 enjoyments appear vain and ridiculous only to those 
 who 1 ave not the opportunity of partaking in them : 
 but I am of a different opinion. Returning one 
 Sunday from Trianon to Versailles, I perceived at a 
 distance a number of people assembled upon the ter- 
 race of the castle; and on a nearer approach I be- 
 held Louis the Fifteenth surrounded by his court at 
 the windows of his palace. A man very richly 
 dressed, with a large pair of branching antlers fas- 
 tened on his head, whom they called the stag, was 
 pursued by about a dozen others who composed the 
 pack. The pursued and the pursuers leaped into the 
 great canal, scrambled out again, and ran about to 
 all parts, while the air resounded with acclamations 
 and clapping of hands, to encourage the continuance 
 of the sport. " What can all this mean ? " said I to 
 a Frenchman who stood near me. " Sir," he re- 
 plied with a very serious countenance, " it is for the 
 entertainment of the court. " 
 
 The most obscure and indigent conditions are 
 certainly happier than the state of these sovereigns 
 of the world, and their slavish retinue, when reduced 
 to the necessity of adopting such mean and abject 
 modes of entertainment. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 15 
 
 The courtier, when he appears at a levee, out- 
 wardly affects the face of joy, while his heart is 
 inwardly a prey to the most excruciating sorrows ; 
 and speaks with the liveliest interest of transactions 
 in which he has no concern : but perhaps it is ne- 
 cessary to his consequence that he should raise false 
 appearances to the minds of his visitors, who on 
 their side impose equally on him in return. The 
 success, alas ! of all his schemes affords him no other 
 pleasure than to see his apartments crowded with 
 company, whose only merit and recommendation in 
 his eyes consist in a string of hereditary titles, of 
 perhaps no very remote antiquity or honourable 
 origin. 
 
 On this privation of the light of human reason do 
 the felicities of a worldly life most frequently de- 
 pend. From this dark source spring the inordinate 
 pride of the imperious noble, and the no less un- 
 bounded ambition of the simple mechanic. Hence 
 arise the disdain of some, the haughtiness of others, 
 and the folly of all. 
 
 To men of dissipated minds, who dread the pain- 
 ful intrusion of rational sentiment, these numerous 
 and noisy places of public resort appear like temples 
 dedicated, to their idol, Pleasure. He who seeks 
 happiness on the couch of indolence ; who expends 
 all the activity of his mind, all the energies of his 
 heart, upon trifling objects; who suffers vain and 
 frivolous pursuits to absorb his time, to engage his 
 attention, to lock up all the functions of his soul ; 
 cannot patiently endure the idea of being for one mo- 
 
Id ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 merit by himself. Direful condition ! Is there then 
 no occupation whatever, no useful employment, no 
 rational recreation sufficiently high and dignified for 
 such a character ? Is he reduced to the melancholy 
 condition of not being able to perform one good and 
 virtuous action during the intervals of suspended 
 pleasure ? Can he render no services to friendship, 
 to his country, to himself ? Are there no poor and 
 miserable beings, to whose bosoms he might afford 
 a charitable comfort and relief? Is it, in short, im- 
 possible for such a character to become, in any way, 
 more wise or virtuous than he was before ? 
 
 The powers of the human soul are more extensive 
 than they are in general imagined to be ; and he who, 
 urged by inclination, or compelled by necessity, most 
 frequently exerts them, will soon find that/the high- 
 est felicities, of which our nature is capable, reside 
 entirely within ourselves. I The wants of life are, for 
 the greater part, merely artificial; and although 
 sensual objects most efficaciously contribute to our 
 pleasure and content, it is not because the enjoy- 
 ment of them is absolutely necessary, but because 
 they have been rendered desirable by habit. The 
 gratifications they afford easily persuade us, that the 
 possession of them is essential to happiness; but if 
 we had fortitude to resist their charms, and courage 
 to look within our own bosoms for that felicity 
 which we so anxiously hope to derive from others, 
 we should frequently find a much greater variety of 
 resources there, than all the objects of sense are 
 capable of affording. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. i? 
 
 Men of superficial minds may indeed derive some 
 amusement from assemblies, to which the company 
 in general resort merely to see and to be seen : but 
 how many women of fashion expire in such assem- 
 blies under all the mortification of disappointed 
 vanity ! How many neglected wits sullenly retire 
 into some obscure corner of the room ! The mind, 
 on entering the circles of the great and gay, is apt 
 to flatter itself too highly with hopes of applause ; 
 to expect with too much anxiety the promised plea- 
 sure. Wit, coquetry, sensuality, it is true, are, at 
 these meetings, frequently exercised with consider- 
 able success. Every candidate displays his talents 
 to the best advantage ; and those who are the least 
 informed frequently gain the reputation of shining- 
 characters. Amidst these scenes, however, the eye 
 may occasionally be gratified by the sight of objects 
 really agreeable ; the ear may listen to observations 
 truly flattering. Lively thoughts and sensible re- 
 marks now and then prevail. Characters equally 
 amiable and interesting occasionally mix among the 
 group. We may form acquaintance with men of 
 distinguished merit, whom we should not otherwise 
 have had an opportunity of knowing ; and meet with 
 women of estimable qualities and irreproachable con- 
 duct, whose refined conversation ravishes the mind 
 with the same delight that their exquisite beauty 
 captivates the heart. 
 
 But by what a number of painful sensations must 
 the chance of receiving these pleasures be purchased ? 
 Those who are restrained either by silent sorrow, a 
 
18 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 secret discontent, or a rational disposition, from mix- 
 ing in the common dissipations of life, cannot see 
 without a sigh the gay conceit, the airy confidence, 
 the blind arrogance, and the bold loquacity, with 
 which these votaries of worldly pleasures proclaim a 
 felicity, that leads them, almost inevitably, to their 
 ruin. It is, indeed, irresistibly laughable to observe 
 the excessive joy of so many men in place, the absurd 
 airs of so many old dowagers, the presumptuous and 
 ridiculous fopperies of so many hoary-headed chil- 
 dren 5 but who, alas ! is there, that will not grow 
 tired even of the pleasantest comedy, by seeing it too 
 frequently ? He, therefore, who has often been an 
 eye-witness of these scenes, who has often yawned 
 with fatigue in these temples of pleasure, and is 
 convinced that they exhibit rather the illusion and 
 appearance than the substance and reality of it, be- 
 comes dejected in the midst of all their joys, and 
 hastily retires to domestic privacy, to taste of plea- 
 sures in which there is no deceit ; pleasures which 
 leave neither disquietude nor dissatisfaction behind 
 them. 
 
 An invitation to the board of Luxury, where Dis- 
 ease with leaden sceptre is known to preside, where 
 painful truths are blurted in the ears of those who 
 hoped they were concealed, where reproach and ca- 
 lumny fall without discrimination on the best and 
 worst of characters, in the estimation of the world, 
 conceived to confer the highest honour, and the 
 greatest pleasure. But he, who feels the divine 
 energies of the soul, turns with abhorrence from 
 
ZIMMERMAKN ON SOLITUDE. 19 
 
 societies which tend to diminish or impair their 
 operations. To him the simplest fare with freedom 
 and content, in the bosoms of an affectionate family, 
 is ten thousand times more agreeable than the rarest 
 dainty, and the richest wine, with a society where 
 form imposes a silent attention to the loquacity of 
 some vain wit, whose lips utter nothing but fatiguing 
 nonsense. 
 
 True social pleasure is founded on unlimited 
 confidence, congeniality of sentiment, and mutual 
 esteem. The spiritless and crowded societies of the 
 world, wdiere a round of low and little pleasures fills 
 the hour of entertainment, and the highest gratifica- 
 tion is to display a pomp of dress and levity of be- 
 haviour, may perhaps afford a glimpse of joy to light 
 and thoughtless minds, eagerly impatient to remove 
 the weight which every vacant hour accumulates. 
 But men of reason and reflection, instead of sensible 
 conversation or rational amusement, find only a dull 
 unvaried jargon, a tiresome round of compliments, 
 and turn with aversion from these temples of delight, 
 or resort to them with coldness, dissatisfaction or 
 disgust. 
 
 How tiresome do all the pleasures of the world 
 appear, when compared with the happiness of a 
 faithful, tender, and enlightened friendship ! How 
 joyfully do we shake off the shackles of society for 
 that high and intimate connection of the soul, where 
 our inclinations are free, our feelings genuine, our 
 sentiment unbiassed 3 where a mutual confidence of 
 thoughts and actions, of pleasures and of pains un- 
 
20 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 interruptedly prevails; where the heart is led by 
 Joy along the path of Virtue, and the mind con- 
 ducted by Happiness into the bowers of Truth: 
 where every thought is anticipated before it escapes 
 from the iips ; where advice, consolation, succour, 
 are reciprocally given and received in all the ac- 
 cidents and misfortunes of life. The soul, thus 
 animated by the charm of friendship, springs from 
 its sloth, and views the irradiating beams of Hope 
 breaking on its repose. Casting a retrospective eye 
 on the time that has past, the happy pair mutually 
 exclaim with the tenderest emotions, " Oh ! what 
 pleasures have we not already experienced, what 
 joys have we not already felt ! " If the tear of afflic- 
 tion steal down the cheek of the one, the other, with 
 affection, wipes it tenderly away. The deepest sor- 
 rows of the one are felt with equal poignancy by the 
 other; but what sorrow can resist the consolation 
 which flows from an intercourse of hearts so tenderly, 
 so intimately, so closely, united. Day after day they 
 communicate to each other all that they have seen, 
 all that they have heard, all that they feel, and every 
 thing they know. Time flies before them on his 
 swiftest pinions. The ear is never tired of the gra- 
 tification of listening to each other's conversation. 
 The only misfortune, of which they have any fear, is 
 the greatest they can possibly experience, the mis- 
 fortune of being separated by occasional absence or 
 by death. 
 
 Possessed of such refined felicity, it must not be 
 attributed to austerity of character, or incivility of 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 21 
 
 manners, but to a venial error of imagination, if the 
 intercourses of ordinary minds no longer charm us ; 
 if we become insensible to their indifference, and 
 careless of their aversion ; if in consequence of the 
 superiority of our joys we no longer mix in the noisy 
 pleasures of the world, and shun all society which 
 has numbers only for its recommendation. 
 
 But the lot of human bliss is transitory. Often- 
 times, alas ! while we think our happiness certain 
 and secure, an unforeseen and sudden blow strikes, 
 even in our very arms, the object of our delight. 
 Pleasure then appears to be for ever extinguished ; 
 the surrounding objects seem desert and forlorn; 
 and every thing we behold excites emotions of terror 
 and dismay. The arms of fondness are in vain ex- 
 tended to embrace the friend that is no more ; in 
 vain the voice of tenderness articulates the beloved 
 name. The step, the well known step, seems sud- 
 denly to strike upon our listening ear; but reflection 
 interposes, and the fancied sounds are heard no 
 more : all is hush, still, and lifeless : the very sense 
 of our existence is almost dead. A dreary solitude 
 appears around us : and every perception of the 
 mind is lost in the benumbing sorrows of the heart. 
 The spirits wearied and dejected, we think affection 
 is no more, and imagine that we are no longer ca- 
 pable of loving, or of being beloved ; and to a heart 
 that has once tasted the sympathies of love, life with- 
 out affection is worse than death. The unfortunate 
 being, who is thus affected, inclines therefore to live 
 in Solitude, and die alone. A transition so sudden , 
 
22 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 from the highest happiness to the deepest misery, 
 overpowers the mind; no kind friend appears to 
 assuage his sufferings, or seems inclined to afford 
 him consolation, or to form an adequate idea of his 
 distress : and indeed true it is, that the pangs which 
 such a loss inflicts cannot be conceived, unless they 
 have been felt. 
 
 Solitude under such circumstances enjoys its 
 highest triumph : it is here that all its advantages 
 may be fully experienced ; for when wisely applied, 
 it will give immediate ease to the most rancorous 
 wound that sorrow ever made, and, in the end, effect 
 a cure. 
 
 The wounds of affliction however admit only of 
 a slow and gradual remedy. The art of living alone 
 requires a long initiation, is subject to a variety of 
 accidents, and depends materially upon situations 
 suitable to each particular character: the mind, 
 therefore, must have attained a full maturity, before 
 any considerable advantage can be expected from it. 
 But he who has acquired sufficient vigour to break 
 the galling chains of prejudice, and from his earliest 
 youth has felt esteem and fondness for the pleasures 
 of retirement, will not be at a loss to know when he 
 is prepared to try the remedy. From the moment 
 he perceives himself indifferent to the objects which 
 surround him, and that the gaieties of public society 
 have lost their charms, he will then rely on the 
 powers of his soul, and never be less alone than in 
 the company of himself. 
 
 Men of genius are frequently condemned to a 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 23 
 
 toil as unsuited to the temper of their minds, as a 
 nauseous medicine is disagreeable to an empty sto- 
 mach. Confined to some dry and disgusting subject, 
 fixed to a particular spot, and harassed by the in- 
 extricable and impending yoke, in which they are 
 enthralled, they relinquish all idea of tranquillity on 
 this side the grave. Deprived of engaging in the 
 common pleasures of life, every object which the 
 world presents to their view increases their disgust 
 It is not for them, they exclaim, that the youthful 
 zephyrs call forth the budding foliage with their 
 caressing breath ; that the feathered rhoir chaunt in 
 enlivening strains their rural songs; that odoriferous 
 flowers deck the gay bosom of the verdant meads- 
 Leave these complainants however to themselves, 
 give them only liberty and leisure, and the native 
 enthusiasm of their minds will soon regenerate, and 
 soar into the highest region with the bold wing and 
 penetrating eye of the bird of Jove. 
 
 If Solitude be capable of dissipating griefs of this 
 complexion, what effect will it not produce on the 
 minds of men who have the opportunity of retiring 
 at pleasure to its friendly shades, for those true en- 
 joyments, a pure air and domestic felicity ! When 
 Antisthenes was asked what services he had received 
 *rom philosophy ; he answered, " It has taught me 
 to subdue myself." Pope says, that he never laid his 
 head upon his pillow without reflecting, that the 
 most important lesson of life was to learn the art 
 of being happy within himself. It seems to me tha* 
 ill those who are capable of living contentedly at 
 
24 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 home, and being pleased with every object around 
 them, even to the dog and the cat, have found what 
 Pope looked for. 
 
 Those pleasures and dissipations, which are 
 sought after with so much eagerness and anxiety, 
 have, in truth, the effect of producing the most se- 
 rious reflection on our minds when we commune 
 with ourselves. It is then that we learn whether the 
 true felicity of life consists in the possession of those 
 external objects which we have no power either to 
 alter or reform, or in a due and proper regulation of 
 ourselves. It is then that we begin to perceive how 
 false and faithless those flattering illusions prove, 
 which seem to promise us such variety of happiness. 
 A lady, possessed of youth and beauty, wrote to me 
 one evening on returning from a celebrated ridotto, 
 " You observed with what gaiety and content I quit- 
 ted the scene. Believe me, I felt a void so painful 
 in my breast at the sight of those factitious joys, 
 that I could willingly have torn the flowery decora- 
 tions from my dress." 
 
 The pleasures of the world are vain and worth- 
 less, unless, they render the heart more happy in 
 itself, and tend to increase our domestic felicity. On 
 the contrary, every species of misfortune, however 
 accumulated, may be borne by those who possess 
 tranquillity at home, who are capable of enjoying the 
 privacy of study, and the elegant recreation which 
 books afford. Whoever is possessed of this resource 
 has made considerable advances towards happiness ; 
 for happiness does not exact more from us than an 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 25 
 
 inclination to regulate the affections of the heart, 
 and a disposition to control the passions of the mind. 
 A celebrated philosopher, however, has with great 
 judgment observed, that there is both pride and 
 falsehood in pretending that man alone is capable of 
 effecting his own happiness. But we are most cer- 
 tainly capable of modifying the natural dispositions 
 of our souls, of forming our tastes, of varying our 
 sentiments, of directing our inclinations, of subduing 
 even the passions themselves ; and we are then not 
 only less sensible of all the wants of life, but feel 
 even satisfaction under circumstances which to others 
 would appear intolerable. Health is, without'doubt, 
 one of the most essential ingredients to happiness 5 
 and yet there are circumstances under which even 
 the privation of it may be accompanied with tran- 
 quillity. How many times have I returned thanks 
 to the great Disposer of human events, when indis- 
 position has confined me at home, and enabled me to 
 invigorate the weakened functions of my soul in 
 quietude and silence! a happiness that receded in 
 proportion as convalescence advanced. Obliged to 
 drag through the streets of the metropolis day after 
 day during a number of years; feeble in constitu- 
 tion ; weak in limbs ; susceptible, on feeling the 
 smallest cold, to the same sensation as if knives were 
 separating the flesh from the bone ; continually sur- 
 rounded in the course of my profession with the most 
 afflicting sorrov, s ; it is not surprising that I should 
 feel a gratitude for those pleasures which confine- 
 ment by indisposition procured. 
 
%6 ZJMMEBMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 A physician, if he possess sensibility, must, in 
 his employment to relieve the sufferings of others, 
 frequently forget his own. But alas ! when sum- 
 moned and obliged to attend, whatever pain of body 
 or of mind he may endure, on maladies which are 
 perhaps beyond the reach of his art, how much 
 oftener must his own sufferings be increased by those 
 which he sees others feel ! The anxiety which such 
 a scene imposes distracts the mind, and raises every 
 painful feeling of the heart. Under such circum- 
 stances, an incapacitating disease, however excru- 
 ciating, is to me a soft repose, and the confinement 
 it occasions a pleasing solitude; provided peevish 
 friends do not intrude, and politely disturb me with 
 their fatiguing visits. In these moments I pray 
 Heaven to bestow its blessings on those who neglect 
 to overwhelm me with their idle conversation, and, 
 with the kindest compassion, forget to disturb me by 
 enquiries after my health. If amidst all my pain I 
 can remain a single day quietly at home, and em- 
 ploy my mind on literary subjects, undisturbed by 
 visitors, I receive more real pleasure than our women 
 of quality and men of fashion ever felt from all their 
 feastings and entertainments. 
 
 The suspension from labour which Solitude affords 
 is in itself a considerable advantage: for to men 
 whose duties depend on the necessities or caprice of 
 the public, from whom indefatigable activity is ex- 
 acted, and who unavoidably pass their days in con- 
 tinual anxieties, a temporary relief is in effect trans- 
 cendant felicity. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 27 
 
 At every period of life, whether during the 
 strength of youth or the imbecility of age, the 
 power of employing the mind in some useful or 
 agreeable occupation banishes the dread of solitude. 
 
 Soured by disappointment, we should endeavour 
 to divert the mind by pursuing some fixed and pleas- 
 ing course of study. To read without deriving some 
 advantage is impossible, provided we mark with a 
 pen or pencil the new ideas that may occur, and 
 retain the observations by which our own ideas are 
 illustrated and confirmed ; for reading, unless we 
 apply the information it affords either to our own 
 characters or to those of other men, is useless and 
 fatiguing : but this habit is easily acquired, and then, 
 books become a safe and certain antidote to lassitude 
 and discontent. Painful and unpleasant ideas vanish 
 from the mind that is capable of firmly fixing its 
 attention on any particular subject. 
 
 The sight of a noble and interesting object, the 
 study of an useful science, a picture in which the 
 various revolutions of society are historically dis- 
 played, and the progress made in any particular art, 
 agreeably rivet the attention, and banish sorrow 
 from the mind. 
 
 Pleasures of this description, it is certain, greatly 
 transcend all those which administer merely to the 
 senses. I am aware that, in speaking of the plea- 
 sures of the mind, sublime meditation, the profound 
 deductions of reason, and the brilliant effusions of 
 fancy, are in general understood ; but there are also 
 others, for the perfect enjoyment of which neither 
 
23 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 extensive knowledge nor extraordinary talents are 
 necessary. These are the pleasures which result 
 from active labour ; pleasures that are equally within 
 the reach of the vulgar clown and refined philoso- 
 pher, and no less exquisite than those which result 
 solely from the mind : manual exertions, therefore, 
 ought never to be despised. I am acquainted with 
 gentlemen who are instructed in the mechanism of 
 their own watches ; who are able to work as painters, 
 locksmiths, carpenters ; and who are not only fur- 
 nished with almost all the tools proper to every 
 branch of trade, but know also how to use them; 
 such characters never feel the least disquietude from 
 the want of society, and are in consequence the hap- 
 piest of men. 
 
 The recreation which the study of any art or 
 science affords, depends in a great measure on the 
 labour it requires. But when a certain point of per- 
 fection is once attained, the mind receives pleasure 
 in proportion to its exertions, and being satisfied 
 with itself, is proof against the attack of moral evils. 
 To conquer difficulties is to promote our pleasures ; 
 and every time our efforts are crowned with that 
 success which promises completion to our desires, 
 the soul, tranquil and contented within itself, seeks 
 for no higher pleasure. 
 
 The bosoms of those who are free, easy, affec- 
 tionate, contented with themselves, and pleased with 
 those about them, are ever open to new delights. 
 Ah! how much preferable, therefore, is the hap- 
 piness which a country life affords, to that deceitful 
 
ZIMMERMANN on solitude, 29 
 
 felicity which is affected in the courts of princes, 
 and in the brilliant circles of the great and gay I a 
 truth severely felt by men of worldly pleasure, and 
 confessed by the restlessness and languor of which 
 they frequently complain : complaints unknown 
 among the vallies of the Alps, or upon those 
 mountains where innocence yet dwells, and which 
 no visitor ever quitted without the tribute of a tear. 
 The fatal poison which lurks beneath the man- 
 ners of luxurious cities can only be avoided by re^ 
 nouncing the insipid life in which the inhabitants 
 are engaged. Virtuous actions convey tranquillity 
 to the soul ! and a joy equally calm and permanent 
 accompanies the man into the closest recesses of 
 retirement, whose mind is fixed upon discharging 
 the duties of humanity. With what delight also do 
 we dwell upon the recital of our school adventures, 
 the wanton tricks of our youth. The history of the 
 early periods of our lives, the remembrance of our 
 plays and pastimes, of the little pains and puerile 
 wishes of our infancy, always recall to our minds 
 the most agreeable ideas ! Ah ! with what compla- 
 cent smiles, with what soft regret a venerable old 
 man turns his eyes upon the happy gera when the in- 
 carnation of youth animated all his joys, when he 
 entered into every enterprize with vigour, vivacity, 
 and courage, when he sought difficulties only to dis- 
 play his powers in subduing them. 
 
 Let us contrast the character we formerly bore 
 with that which we at present possess ; or, giving a 
 freer range to our ideas, let us reflect upon the va- 
 rious events of which we have been witnesses, upon 
 
30 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 n 
 
 the means by which empires have been established 
 and destroyed, upon the rapid progress which the 
 arts and sciences have made within our own remem- 
 brance, upon the advancement of truth and the 
 retreat of prejudice, upon the ascendancy which 
 ignorance and superstition still maintain, notwith- 
 standing the sublime efforts of philosophy to sup- 
 press them, upon the bright irradiations of intellect, 
 and the moral depravation of the heart, and the 
 clouds of languor will immediately disappear, and 
 restore our minds to tranquillity and peace. 
 
 The high feliciy and variety of delight, so supe- 
 rior to the gratifications of sense, which Solitude 
 affords to every reflecting mind, are capable of being 
 relished at every period of our lives ; in the last de- 
 cay of age as well as in the earliest prime of youth. 
 He who to a vigorous constitution, a free spirit, an 
 easy temper, has added the advantages of a cultivated 
 understanding, will here experience, while his heart 
 continues pure and his mind innocent, the highest 
 and most unalterable pleasure. The love of exercise 
 animates all the faculties of the soul, and increases 
 the energies of nature. Employment is the first 
 desire of every active mind. It is the silent con- 
 sciousness of the superiority of our nature, of the 
 force of our intellectual powers, of the high dignity 
 of our character, which inspire great souls with that 
 noble ardour which carries them to the true sublime. 
 Constrained by the duties of their situation to mix 
 in the intercourses of society; obliged to submit, in 
 spite of their inclination, to the frivolous and fatigu- 
 ing dissipations of the world, it is by withdrawing 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 3l 
 
 from these tumultuous scenes to the silence of me- 
 ditation, that men become sensible of the divine 
 effervescence of their souls, feel a wish to break their 
 chains, to escape from the servility of pleasure, and 
 from all the noisy and tumultuous joys in which they 
 are engaged. We never feel with higher energy and 
 satisfaction, with greater comfort and cordiality, 
 that we live, think, are reasonable beings, that we 
 are self-active, free, capable of the most sublime ex- 
 ertions, and partaking of immortality, than in those 
 moments when we shut the door against the intru- 
 sions of impertinence and fashion. 
 
 Few things are more vexatious and insupportable 
 than those tasteless visits, those annoying partialities, 
 by which a life of lazy opulence and wanton pleasure 
 is occupied. " My thoughts," says Rousseau, ei will 
 only come when they please, and not when I choose." 
 The intrusion of a stranger therefore, or even the 
 visit of an acquaintance by whom he was not in- 
 timately known was always dreadful to him. It was 
 for this reason alone that this extraordinary cha- 
 racter, who seldom experienced an hour of tranquil- 
 lity, felt such petulant indignation against the 
 importunate civilities, and empty compliments of 
 common conversation, while he enjoyed the rational 
 intercourse of sensible and well-informed minds with 
 the highest delight.* 
 
 * ' " I never could endure," says Rousseau, "the empty 
 and unmeaning compliments of common conversation ; but 
 from conversations useful or ingenious, I have always felt 
 the highest pleasure, and have never refused to partake of 
 them." 
 
32 2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 The dignity of the human character, alas ! soon 
 becomes debased by associating with low and little 
 minds. How many rays of thought, precious rays t 
 emanating immediately from the Deity upon the 
 mind of man, are extinguished by the noxious va- 
 pours of stagnated life I But it is meditation and 
 reflection that must give them birth, elevate them to 
 the heights of genius, make them subsistent with the 
 nature of the human mind, and suit them to the 
 spirit of the human character. 
 
 Virtues to which the soul cannot raise itself, even 
 in the most amiable of all societies, are frequently 
 produced by solitude. Separated by distance from 
 our friends, we feel ourselves deprived of the com- 
 pany of those who are dearest to our hearts ; and to 
 relieve the dreary void, we aspire to the most sub' 
 lime efforts, and adopt the boldest resolutions. On 
 the contrary, while we are under the protecting care 
 of friendship and of love, while their kind offices 
 supply all our wants, and their affectionate embraces 
 lock us eternally in their arms, we forget, in the 
 blandishments of such a state, almost the faculty of 
 self-motion, lose sight of the powers of acting from 
 ourselves, and seldom reflect that we may be reduced 
 to the necessity of supporting ourselves under the 
 adversities of life. To guard against this event, 
 therefore, it is proper, by retiring into Solitude, to 
 try the strength of our own powers, and learn to rely 
 upon them. The faculties of the soul, weakened by 
 the storms of life, then acquire new vigour, fix the 
 steady eye of fortitude on the frowns of adversity, 
 and learn to elude the threatening rocks on which 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 33 
 
 the happiness of vulgar minds is so frequently 
 wrecked. He who devotes his days to Solitude, 
 finds resources within himself of which he had no 
 idea, while philosophy inspires him with courage to 
 sustain the most rigorous shocks of fate. 
 
 The disposition of man becomes more firm, his 
 opinions more determined and correct, when, urged 
 by the tumults of life, he reflects, in the quietude of 
 his heart, on his own nature and the manners of the 
 world. The constitution of a versatile and undecided 
 character proceeds entirely from that intellectual 
 weakness, which prevents the mind from thinking 
 for itself. Such characters consult upon every occa- 
 sion the oracle of public opinion, so infallible in 
 their ideas, before they know what they ought to 
 think, or in what manner their judgment should be 
 formed, or their conduct regulated. 
 
 Weak minds always conceive it most safe to adopt 
 the sentiments of the multitude. They never ven- 
 ture to form an opinion upon any subject until the 
 majority have decided. These decisions, whether 
 upon men or things, they implicitly follow, without 
 giving themselves the trouble to enquire who is 
 right, or on which side truth preponderates. A 
 spirit of truth and love of equity, indeed, are only to 
 be expected from those who are fearless of living 
 alone. Men of dissipated minds never protect the 
 weak, or avenge the oppressed. Are the various and 
 powerful hosts of fools and knaves your enemies ? 
 Are you injured in your property by injustice, or in 
 your fame by calumny ? You must not hope for re- 
 
 C3 
 
3-i ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 dress from light characters, or for vindication from 
 men of dissipated lives; for they only repeat the 
 voice of error, and propagate the fallacies of pre- 
 judice. 
 
 To live in Solitude, to feel ourselves alone, only 
 inspires fear, inasmuch as it contributes to extin- 
 guish one corporeal power by giving birth to an- 
 other. The powers of the mind, on the contrary, 
 augment in proportion as they become more con- 
 centrated, when no person is united to us, or ready 
 to afford protection. Solitude is necessary to be 
 sought by those who wish to live undisturbed, to 
 mitigate the poignancy of painful impressions, to 
 render the mind superior to the accidents of life, or 
 to gain sufficient intrepidity to oppose the danger of 
 adversity. How smoothly flows the stream of life 
 when we have no anxiety to enquire "Who did 
 this?" "Who said that?" How many miserable 
 prejudices, and still more contemptible passions, has 
 one serious reflection subdued ! How quickly, in 
 such a situation, that slavish, shameful, and idol- 
 atrous veneration for every unworthy object dis- 
 appears ! With what noble spirit the votary of 
 Solitude fearlessly disdains those characters, who 
 conceive that high birth and illustrious descent con- 
 fer a privilege to tyrannize over inferior men, to 
 whom they frequently afford so many reasons for 
 contempt ! 
 
 An ingenious and celebrated observer of men and 
 things informs us, it is in leisure and retirement 
 alone that the soul exalts itself into a sublime 
 
ZiMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE* 35 
 
 superiority over the accidents of life, becomes in- 
 different to the good or evil it may experience, the 
 praise or censure it may receive, the life it may 
 enjoy, or even the death it may suffer. It is in So-- 
 litude alone that those noble and refined ideas, those 
 profound principles, and unerring axioms, which 
 form and support every great character, are de- 
 veloped. Even philosophy itself, continues this ex- 
 cellent philosopher, in his observations upon Cicero, 
 and those deep theories upon which the sublime 
 conduct of the statesman is founded, and which 
 enable him to perform with excellence the important 
 duties with which he is charged, are formed in the 
 silence of Solitude, in some distant retirement from 
 the great theatre of the world. 
 
 As Solitude, therefore, not only gives firmness to 
 the characters and propriety to the sentiments of 
 men, but leads the mind to a true degree of eleva- 
 tion, so likewise there is no other situation in which 
 Ave so soon acquire the important knowledge of our- 
 selves. 
 
 Retirement connects us more closely with our 
 own bosoms ; for we there live in habits of the 
 strictest intimacy only with ourselves. It is cer- 
 tainly possible for men to be deliberate and wise 
 even amidst all the tumultuous folly of the world, 
 especially if their principles be well fixed before they 
 enter on the stage of life ; but it is much more diffi. 
 cult to preserve an integrity of conduct amidst the 
 corruptions of society than in the simplicity of Soli- 
 tude. How many men please only by their faults, 
 
36 ZIMMBRMANN ON SOLITUIJE. 
 
 and recommend themselves only by their vices? 
 How many profligate villains and unprincipled ad- 
 venturers, of insinuating- manners, are well received 
 by society, only because they have learnt the art of 
 administering- to the follies, the weaknesses, the 
 vices of those who lead the fashion. How is it pos- 
 sible that the mind, intoxicated with the fumes of 
 that incense which Flattery burns to its honour, 
 should be capable of knowing- or appreciating the 
 characters of men. But on the contrary, in the 
 silence and tranquillity of retirement, whether we be 
 led by inclination to the study of ourselves, awakened 
 to reflection by a sense of misery, or compelled to 
 think seriously on our situation, and to examine the 
 inward complexion of the heart, we discern what we 
 are, and learn from conviction what we ought to be. 
 How many new and useful discoveries may be 
 made by occasionally forcing ourselves from the vor- 
 tex of the world to the calm enjoyments of study 
 and reflection ! To accomplish this end, it is only 
 necessary to commune seriously with our hearts, and 
 to examine our conduct with candour and impar- 
 tiality. The man of worldly pleasure, indeed, has 
 reason to shun this self-examination, conscious that 
 the result of the enquiry would be extremely unfa- 
 vourable : for he who only judges of himself by the 
 flattering opinion which others have been pleased to 
 express of his character, will, in such a scrutiny, 
 behold with surprize, that he is the miserable slave 
 of fashion, habit, and public opinion ; submitting 
 with laborious diligence, and the utmost possible 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 37 
 
 grace, to the exactions of politeness, and the authori- 
 tative demands of established ceremony; never ven- 
 turing to contradict the imperious voice of fashion, 
 however senseless and absurd its dictates may appear ; 
 obsequiously following the example of others, giving 
 credit to every thing they say, doing every thing they 
 do, and not daring to condemn those pursuits which 
 every one seems so highly to approve. If such a 
 character possess a degree of candour, he will not 
 only perceive, but acknowledge, that an infinite 
 number of his daily thoughts and actions are inspired 
 by a base fear of himself, or arise from a servile com- 
 plaisance to others ; that in the company of princes 
 and statesmen he only seeks to flatter their vanities, 
 and indulge their caprices ; that by his devotion to 
 politeness, he submits to become the minister of 
 their vices, rather than offer them the smallest con- 
 tradiction, or hazard an opinion that is likely to 
 give them the least displeasure. Whoever with calm 
 consideration views this terrifying picture, will feel, 
 in the silent emotions of his heart, the necessity of 
 occasionally retiring into Solitude, and seeking so- 
 ciety with men of nobler sentiments and purer 
 principles. 
 
 The violent alternatives of pleasure and pain, of 
 hope and fear, of content and mortification, inces- 
 santly torment the mind that has not courage to 
 contemn the objects of sense. The virtues fly from 
 the heart that yields to every momentary impression, 
 and obeys the impulse of every feeling. The virtues 
 disdain to dwell in the bosoms of those who, follow- 
 
38 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 ing the example of the times, are guided in all their 
 actions by sinister motives, and directed to every end 
 by the mean consideration of self-interest either im- 
 mediate or remote. But even to those in whose 
 bosoms the virtues love to dwell, it is necessary to 
 retire into Solitude from the daily dangers of the 
 world, and silently estimate the true value of things, 
 and the real merit of human actions, in order to give 
 them dignity and effect. The mind, debased by the 
 corruptions of the world, has no idea of relinquish- 
 ing the prospect of present benefit, and making a 
 noble sacrifice of glory and of fortune. No action is 
 there appreciated by its intrinsic merit ; on the con- 
 trary, every calculation is made upon the vile notion 
 of lucre, and the garb of virtue only assumed as a 
 means of snatching some poor advantage, of obtain- 
 ing some paltry honour, or of gaining an undeserved 
 good name. The visit of a worldly-minded man to 
 those who, from their power and superiority, might, 
 if they were equally base and contemptible, prejudice 
 his interests, consists of servility, flattery, lying, 
 calumny, and cringing ; and he departs only to act 
 new scenes of baseness elsewhere. 
 
 Man discovers with deeper penetration the extent 
 and nature of the passions by which he is swayed, 
 when he reflects on their power in the calmness and 
 silence of Solitude, where the soul, being less fre- 
 quently suspended between hope and fear, acts with 
 greater freedom. How virtuous, alas ! do we all 
 become under the pressure of calamity ! How sub- 
 missive, how indulgent, how kind is man, when the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 39 
 
 finger of God chastises his frailties, by rendering his 
 hopes delusive, and his schemes abortive ; when the 
 Almighty Power humbles human pride, converts his 
 wisdom into folly, his profoundest counsels into 
 manifest and striking instances of madness ? At 
 such a moment the caresses of a child, the most 
 distant civility from inferiors, afford the highest 
 comfort. In Solitude this melancholy scene soon 
 changes ; misfortune wears a different aspect ; sen- 
 sibility becomes less acute • the sufferings of the 
 mind decrease ; and the soul, rising from its dejec- 
 tion, acquires a knowledge of its faculties, becomes 
 indifferent to every external object, and, feeling the 
 extent of its powers, discovers its superiority over all 
 those circumstances which before gave alarm to fear 
 and weakness. 
 
 Sheltered in the retreats of Solitude from the 
 extremes of fortune, and less exposed to the intoxica- 
 tion of success, or the depression of disappointment, 
 life glides easily along like the shadow of a passing 
 cloud. Adversity needs not here intrude to teach us 
 how insignificant we are in the eyes of God, how 
 helpless without his assistance, how much our un- 
 checked pride poisons the happiness of life, torments 
 the heart, and becomes the endless and increasing 
 source of human misery; for in the calm regions of 
 retirement, undisturbed by treacherous fondness or 
 groundless hate, if even hope should disappear, and 
 every comfort vanish from our view, we are still ca- 
 pable of submitting to the stroke of fate with patience 
 and resignation. 
 
40 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE* 
 
 Let every one, therefore, who wishes to think 
 with dignity or live with ease, seek the retreats of 
 Solitude, and enter into a friendly intercourse with 
 his own heart. How small a portion of true philo- 
 sophy, with an enlightened understanding, will ren- 
 der us humble and compliant ! But, in the mists of 
 prejudice, dazzled by the intellectual glimmer of 
 false lights, every one mistakes the true path, and 
 seeks for happiness in the shades of darkness and in 
 the labyrinths of obscurity. The habits of retire- 
 ment and tranquillity can alone enable us to make a 
 just estimate of men and things, and it is by renounc- 
 ing all the prepossessions which the corruptions of 
 society have implanted in the mind, that we make 
 the first advances towards the restoration of reason, 
 and the attainment of felicity. 
 
 Solitude will afford us this advantage, if, when 
 we are there alone before God, and far retired from 
 the observation of men, the silent language of con- 
 science shew to us the imperfection of our characters, 
 and the difficulties we have yet to surmount before 
 we can attain the excellence of which our nature is 
 capable. In society men mutually deceive each 
 other : they make a parade of learning, affect sen- 
 timents which they do not possess, dazzle the ob- 
 server by borrowed rays, and in the end mislead 
 themselves by the illusions which they raise. But 
 in Solitude, far removed from the guile of flattery 
 and falsehood, accompanied by truth and followed 
 by virtue, the mind enters into a close acquaintance 
 with itself, forms its judgments with accuracy, and 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 41 
 
 feels the inestimable value of sincerity and single- 
 ness of heart : and these qualities can never prove 
 injurious in the retreats of Solitude ; for moral ex- 
 cellence is not there an object of either ridicule or 
 contempt. There the mind compares the false ap- 
 pearances of the world with the reality of things, 
 and finds that the advantages which they seemed to 
 promise, and the specious virtues which they only 
 appeared to possess, vanish like an airy vapour. 
 The pride of human wit, the false conclusions of 
 reason, the absurdities of vanity, and the weaknesses 
 of the heart, all the ostentations of self-love, all that 
 is imperfect in our fairest virtues, in our sublimest 
 conceptions, in our most generous actions, are de- 
 lineated in Solitude to the eye of impartiality by the 
 pencil of truth. Is it possible to acquire so perfect 
 a knowledge of ourselves in the world, amidst the 
 bustle of business, and among the increasing dangers 
 of public life ? 
 
 To subdue those dangerous passions and inclina- 
 tions which please while they corrupt the heart, it is 
 necessary to divert the attention, and to attach our- 
 selves to different pursuits; but it is in Solitude 
 only that these salutary pursuits are to be found ; it 
 is here alone that new sentiments and new ideas 
 continually arise, and, from inexhaustible resources, 
 instil themselves into the mind with irresistible force 
 and energy. Solitude, even to the idle, will miti- 
 gate the intemperance of desire; but to the active it 
 will afford complete victory over all the most irregu 
 lar inclinations of the heart. 
 
42 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Snatched from the illusions of society, from the 
 snares of the world, and placed in the security of 
 retirement, we view every object in its true form, as 
 well under the distractions of misfortune, as in the 
 pangs of sickness and the anguish of death ; the 
 vanity of those wishes which external objects have 
 excited appear in full view, and we discover the 
 necessity of curbing extravagance of thought and 
 licentiousness of desire. The deceitful veil of false 
 appearance is removed ; and he who in the world 
 was raised as much above others as by his faults and 
 vices he ought to have sunk beneath them, perceives 
 those imperfections which flattery had concealed, and 
 which a crowd of miserable slaves had the baseness 
 and the cowardice to praise and justify. 
 
 To acquire durable pleasures and true felicity, it 
 is necessary to adopt that judicious and rational 
 philosophy which considers life in a serious point of 
 view, counts enjoyments which neither time nor acci- 
 dent can destroy, and looks with an eye of pity on 
 the stupid vulgar, agitating their minds and tor- 
 menting their hearts in splendid miseries and child- 
 ish conversations. Those, however, on the contrary, 
 who have no knowledge of their own hearts, who 
 have no habits of reflection, no means of employ- 
 ment, who have not persevered in virtue, and are 
 unable to listen to the voice of reason, have nothing 
 to hope from Solitude; their joys are all annihilated, 
 when the blood has lost its warmth and the senses 
 their force; the most trifling inconvenience, the 
 least reverse of fortune, fills them with the deepest 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 43 
 
 distress; their hearts beat to the terrors of an 
 alarmed imagination, and their minds fall under the 
 tortures of unwarranted despair. 
 
 We have hitherto only pointed out one portion 
 of the general advantages of Solitude 5 there are, 
 however, many others which touch men more nearly. 
 Ah ! who has not experienced its kind influence in 
 the adversities of life ? Who has not in the moment 
 of convalescence, in the hour of melancholy, in the 
 age when separation or death has deprived the 
 heart of the intercourses of friendship, sought relief 
 under its salutary shades ? Happy is the being who 
 is sensible of the advantages of a religious retirement 
 from the world, of a sacred tranquillity, where all 
 the benefits to be derived from society impress them- 
 selves more deeply in the heart, where every hour 
 is consecrated to the practice of the pure and peace- 
 ful virtues, and in which every man, when he is on 
 the bed of death, wishes he had lived ! But these 
 advantages become much more conspicuous, when 
 we compare the modes of thought which employ the 
 mind of a solitary philosopher with those of a worldly 
 sensualist ; the tiresome and tumultuous life of the 
 one with the ease and tranquillity of the other ; when 
 we oppose the horrors which disturb the death-bed of 
 the worldly-minded man with the peaceful exit of 
 those pious souls who submit with resignation to the 
 will of Heaven. It is at this awful moment that we 
 feel how important it is, if we would bear the suffer- 
 ings of life with dignity and the pains of death with 
 ease, to turn the eye inwardly upon ourselves, and 
 to hold a religious communion with our Creator. 
 
44 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Solitude affords incontestible advantages under 
 the greatest adversities of life. The sick, the sor- 
 rowful, and the fastidious, here find equal relief; it 
 administers a balm to their tortured souls, heals the 
 deep and painful wounds they have received, and in 
 time restores them to their pristine health and 
 vigour. 
 
 Sickness and affliction would flee with horror from 
 the retreats of Solitude, if their friendly shades did 
 not afford a consolation not to be obtained in the 
 temples of worldly pleasure. In the hour of sick- 
 ness, the subtle vapours which the flame of sensuality 
 sheds round a state of health entirely disappears ; and 
 all those charms which subsist rather in imagination 
 than in reality lose their power. To the happy, every 
 object wears the delightful colours of the rose ; but 
 to the miserable all is black and dreadful. Both 
 these descriptions of men run into equal extremes, 
 and do not discover the errors into which they are 
 betrayed, until the moment when the curtain drops, 
 until the scene is changed, and the illusion dissipated. 
 But when the imagination is silenced, they awaken 
 from the dream ; then the one perceives that God 
 employs his attention in the preservation of his crea- 
 tures, even when he sees them the most abandoned 
 and profligate ; and the others, when they seriously 
 commune with themselves, and reflect upon their 
 situation and the means of attaining true happiness, 
 discover the vanity of those pleasures and amuse- 
 ments to which they surrendered the most important 
 period of their lives. 
 
 How unhappy should we be if the Divine Provi- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 45 
 
 dence were to grant us every thing we desire ! Even 
 under the afflictions by which man conceives all the 
 happiness of his life annihilated, God perhaps pur- 
 poses something extraordinary in his favour. New 
 circumstances excite new exertions. A life passed 
 in [mental and moral inactivity will, in Solitude, ex- 
 perience a sudden change ; for the mind, by ear- 
 nestly endeavouring to conquer misfortune, fre- 
 quently receives new life and vigour, even when it 
 seems condemned to eternal inactivity and oblivion. 
 But there are still greater advantages; if sorrow 
 force us into Solitude, patience and perseverance 
 soon restore the soul to its natural tranquillity and 
 joy. We ought never to read in the volume of fu- 
 turity ; we shall only deceive ourselves : on the con- 
 trary, we ought for ever to repeat this experimental 
 truth, this consolatory maxim, That the objects, 
 which men behold at a distance with fear and trem- 
 bling, lose, on a nearer approach, not only their dis- 
 agreeable and menacing aspect, but frequently, in 
 the event, produce the most agreeable and unex- 
 pected pleasures. He who tries every expedient, 
 who boldly opposes himself to every difficulty, who 
 stands steady and inflexible to every obstacle, who 
 neglects no exertion within his power, and relies 
 with confidence upon the assistance of God, extracts 
 from affliction both its poison and its sting, and 
 deprives misfortune of its victory. 
 
 Sorrow, misfortune, and sickness, soon reconcile 
 us to Solitude. How readily we renounce the world, 
 feow indifferent we become to all its pleasures, when 
 
46 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 
 
 the insidious eloquence of the passions is silenced, 
 when we are distracted by pain, oppressed by grief, 
 and deserted by all our powers ! Under such cir- 
 cumstances, we immediately perceive the weakness 
 and instability of those succours which the world 
 affords 5 where pain is mixed with every joy, and 
 vanity reigns throughout. How many useful truths, 
 alas ! does sickness teach even to kings and ministers, 
 who while in health suffer themselves to be deluded 
 and imposed upon by all mankind ! 
 
 The opportunity which a valetudinarian enjoys of 
 employing his faculties with facility and success, in 
 a manner conformable to the extent of his designs, 
 is undoubtedly short, and passes rapidly away. Such 
 happiness is the lot only of those who enjoy robust 
 health ; they alone can exclaim, i( Time is my own :" 
 but he who labours under continual sickness and 
 suffering, and whose avocations depend on the public 
 necessity or caprice, can never say that he has one 
 moment to himself. He must watch the fleeting 
 hours as they pass, and seize an interval of leisure 
 when and where he can. Necessity as well as reason 
 convinces him, that he must, in spite of his daily 
 sufferings, his wearied body, or his harassed mind, 
 firmly resist his accumulating troubles ; and, if he 
 would save himself from becoming the victim of de- 
 jection, he must manfully combat the difficulties by 
 which he is attacked. The more we enervate our- 
 selves, the more we become the prey of ill health -, 
 but determined courage and obstinate resistance fre- 
 quently renovate our powers ; and he who, in the 
 
ZIMMEUMANN ON SOLITUDE. 47 
 
 calm of Solitude, vigorously wrestles with misfortune, 
 is certain, in the event, of gaining a victory. 
 
 The pains of sickness, are apt too easily to listen 
 to the voice of indulgence ; we neglect to exercise 
 the powers we possess ; and instead of directing the 
 attention to those objects which may divert distrac- 
 tion and strengthen fortitude, we foster fondly in 
 our bosoms all the disagreeable circumstances of our 
 situation. The soul sinks from inquietude to inquie- 
 tude, loses all its powers, abandons its remaining 
 reason, and feels, from its increasing agonies and 
 sufferings, no confidence in its own exertions. The 
 valetudinarian should force his mind to forget its 
 troubles ; should endeavour to emerge from the 
 heavy atmosphere by which he is enveloped and 
 depressed. From such exertions he will certainly 
 find immediate relief, and be able to accomplish that 
 which before he conceived impossible. For this pur- 
 pose, however, he must first dismiss the physicians 
 who daily visit him to ascertain the state of his 
 health ; who feel his pulse with a ludicrous gravity, 
 seriously shake their heads, and perform many other 
 affected, ridiculous, and accustomed tricks : but who, 
 from their great attention to discover what does not 
 exist, frequently overlook those symptoms that are 
 most plainly to be seen. These pretenders to science 
 only alarm the patient, rivet more closely in his 
 mind those apprehensions which it would be ser- 
 viceable to him to forget, and redouble his sufferings 
 by the beneficial ideas of danger, which they raise 
 from the most trifling and immaterial circumstances 
 
28 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of his disorder. He must also forbid his friends, and 
 all those who surround him to humour his weak- 
 nesses ; he must request they will not rely upon all he 
 says; for if his sensations be real, his own imagina- 
 tion will form a sufficient variety of gloomy phan- 
 toms and terrifying chimaeras. 
 
 Under situations still more difficult to support, 
 there yet remain resources and consolations in the 
 bosom of Solitude. Are the nerves damaged ? Is 
 the head tortured by vertigoes? Has the mind no 
 longer any power to think, the eye to read, the hand 
 to write ? Has it become physically impossible to 
 exercise any of the functions of the soul ? In such 
 a situation we must learn " to vegetate/' said one of 
 the most enlightened philosophers of Germany, when 
 he beheld me at Hanover, in a condition which ren- 
 dered me incapable of adopting any other resource. 
 O Garve ! with what rapture I threw myself into 
 your arms ! with what transports I heard you speak, 
 when you shewed me the necessity of learning to 
 support myself under my accumulated calamities, 
 by convincing me that you had experienced equal 
 sufferings, and had been able to practise the lessons 
 which you taught! 
 
 The sublime Mendelssohn, during a certain pe- 
 riod of his life, was frequently obliged to retire, 
 when discoursing on philosophical subjects, to avoid 
 the danger of fainting. In these moments it was his 
 custom to neglect all study, to banish thought en- 
 tirely from his mind. His physician one day asked 
 him, " How then do you employ your time, if you 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 49 
 
 do not think V — " I retire to the window of my 
 chamber, and count the tiles upon the roof of my 
 neighbour's house." 
 
 Without thy tranquil wisdom, O my beloved Men- 
 delssohn? without thy resignation to the will of 
 Heaven, we can never reach that elevated grandeur of 
 character, can never attain to that dignified endu- 
 rance of our sufferings, can never possess that stoic 
 fortitude, which places human happiness beyond the 
 reacli of misery, and out of the power of fate. Thy 
 great example pours consolation into the heart ; and 
 humanity should behold with grateful joy the supe- 
 riority which resignation affords to us, even under 
 the severest of physical misfortunes. 
 
 A slight effort to obtain the faintest ray of com- 
 fort, and a calm resignation under inevitable mis- 
 fortunes, will mutually contribute to procure relief. 
 The man whose mind adheres to virtue will never 
 permit himself to be so far overcome by the sense 
 of misfortune, as not to endeavour to vanquish his 
 feelings, even when extreme despair obscures every 
 prospect of comfort or consolation. The most de- 
 jected bosom may endure sensations deeply afflicting, 
 provided the mind will endeavour, by adopting sen- 
 timents of virtue, generosity, and heroic greatness, 
 to prevent the soul from brooding over its sorrows. 
 To this end also it is necessary to cultivate a fond- 
 ness for activity, and to force exertion until the 
 desire of employment becomes habitual. A regular 
 employment is, in my opinion, the surest and most 
 efficacious antidote to that lassitude, acerbity, and 
 
50 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 dejection, which wounded spirits and nervous affec- 
 tions are apt to produce. 
 
 The influence of the mind upon the body is a 
 truth highly useful and consolatory to those who are 
 subject to constitutional complaints. Supported by 
 this idea, reason is never entirely subdued ; religion 
 maintains its empire in the breast ; and the lament- 
 able truth, that men of the finest sensibilities and 
 most cultivated understandings, frequently possess 
 less fortitude under afflictions than the most vulgar 
 of mankind, remains unknown. Campanella, incre- 
 dible as it may seem, by gloomy reflections inflicted 
 torments on his mind more painful than even those 
 of the rack could have produced. I can, however, 
 from my own experience, assert, that even in the 
 extremity of distress every object which diverts the 
 attention softens the evils we endure, and frequently 
 drives them, unperceived, away. 
 
 By diverting the attention, many celebrated phi- 
 losophers have been able not only to preserve a 
 tranquil mind in the midst of the most poignant suf- 
 ferings, but have even increased the strength of their 
 intellectual faculties in spite of their corporeal pains. 
 Rousseau composed the greater part of his immortal 
 works under the continual pressure of sickness and 
 of grief. Gellert, who by his mild, agreeable, and 
 instructive writings, has become the preceptor of 
 Germany, certainly found in this interesting occu- 
 pation the surest remedy against melancholy. Men- 
 delssohn, at an age far advanced in life, and not na- 
 turally subject to dejection, was for a long time op- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 51 
 
 pressed by an almost inconceivable derangement of 
 the nervous system ! but by submitting" with patience 
 and docility to his sufferings, he still maintains all 
 the noble and sublime advantages of his youth. Garve, 
 who had lived whole years without being able to 
 read, to write, or to think, afterwards composed his 
 Treatise on Cicero ; and in that work, this profound 
 writer, so circumspect in all his expressions, that he 
 would have been sensibly affected if any word too 
 emphatic had dropped from his pen, with a species 
 of enthusiasm returns thanks to Almighty God for 
 the imbecility of his constitution, because it had 
 convinced him of the extensive influence which the 
 powers of the mind possess over those of the body. 
 
 A firm resolution, and always keeping some noble 
 and interesting end steadily in view, will enable us 
 to endure the most poignant affliction. In all great 
 and imminent dangers, nature inspires the breast with 
 heroic courage; and even in the little crosses of life, 
 it is a quality much often er found than patience : but 
 perseverance under evils of long duration is rarely 
 seen, especially when the soul, enervated by its sor- 
 rows, abandons itself to its most ordinary refuge, 
 despair, and looks up to Heaven alone for protection. 
 
 Of all the calamities of life, therefore, melan- 
 choly is the most severe ; and of all the remedies 
 against it, there is none more efficacious than regular, 
 uninterrupted employment. The moment we make 
 it a rule never to be idle, and to bear our sufferings 
 with patience, the anguish of the soul abates. A 
 fondness for activity, and an endeavour to repel in- 
 
?>2 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 cumbent misery by moderate but continued efforts, 
 inspire the mind with new powers ; a small victory 
 leads to a greater ; and the joy which success in- 
 spires immediately banishes the idea of endless sor- 
 row. When the efforts of reason and virtue no longer 
 produce a salutary effect, the mind should be diverted 
 to some pleasing, unimportant object, which may 
 rather engage its attention than exercise its powers ; 
 for the slightest exertion will frequently subdue the 
 severest sorrow. The shades of melancholy disap- 
 pear the moment any object interests the mind. Even 
 that supineness, apathy, and deep despair, which re- 
 ject all advice and consolation, are oftentimes, alas ! 
 nothing more than a disguised indulgence of vexation 
 and ill-humour. This is, however, a real malady of 
 the mind, which it is impossible to conquer but by a 
 firm and constant perseverance. 
 
 To men who possess a sensibility too refined, an 
 imagination too ardent, to mix with comfort in the 
 society of the world, and who are continually com- 
 plaining of men and things, Solitude is not only de- 
 sirable, but absolutely necessary. He who suffers 
 himself to be afflicted by that which scarcely excites 
 an emotion in the breasts of other men ; who com- 
 plains of those misfortunes as severe, which others 
 scarcely feel ; whose mind falls into despair, unless 
 his happiness be instantly restored, and his wants 
 immediately satisfied ; who suffers unceasing tor- 
 ments from the illusions of his fancy ; who feels 
 himself unhappy only because prosperity does not 
 anticipate his wishes ; who murmurs against the bles- 
 
2TMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 53 
 
 sings he receives, because he is ignorant of his real 
 wants ; who flies from one amusement to another ; 
 who is alarmed at every thing, and enjoys nothing : 
 he, alas ! is not formed for society ; and if Solitude 
 has not power to heal his wounded spirit, the earth 
 certainly contains no remedy to cure him. 
 
 Men who, in other respects, possess rational 
 minds, feeling hearts, and pious dispositions, fre- 
 quently fall into low spirits and despair ; but it is 
 almost entirely their own fault. If it proceed, as is 
 generally the case, from unfounded fears ; if they 
 love to torment themselves and others upon every 
 slight inconvenience, upon the smallest derangement 
 of their health ; if they constantly resort to medicine 
 for that relief which reason alone can afford -, if they 
 will not endeavour to repress the wanderings of their 
 fancies ; if, after having supported the acutest pains 
 with patience, and blunted the greatest misfortunes 
 by fortitude, they neither can nor will learn to bear 
 the puncture of the smallest pin, to endure the light- 
 est accidents of mortal life ; they ought only to 
 complain of the want of courage in themselves ; such 
 characters, who by a single effort of the understand- 
 ing might look with an eye of composure and tran- 
 quillity on the multiplied and fatal fires issuing from 
 the dreadful cannon's mouth, fall under the appre- 
 hension of being fired at by pop-guns. 
 
 Firmness, resolution, and all those qualities of the 
 soul which form a stoic heroism of character, are 
 much sooner acquired by a quiet communion with 
 the heart, than in the noisy intercourses of mankind, 
 
54 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 where innumerable difficulties continually oppose us ; 
 where ceremony, servility, flattery, and fear, not 
 only obstruct the exertions of the mind, but destroy 
 its powers ; and where, for this reason, men of the 
 weakest minds and most contracted notions become 
 more active and popular, gain more attention, and 
 are better received, than men of feeling hearts and 
 liberal understandings. 
 
 The mind fortifies itself with impregnable strength 
 under the shades of Solitude against sufferings and 
 affliction. In retirement, the frivolous attachments 
 which steal away the soul, and drive it wandering, 
 as chance may direct, into a dreary void, die away. 
 Renouncing a multiplicity of enjoyments, from an 
 experience of how few we want, we soon gain so 
 complete a knowledge of ourselves, that we are not 
 surprised when the Almighty chastises us with afflic- 
 tion, humbles our proud spirits, disappoints our vain 
 conceits, restrains the violence of our passions, and 
 brings us back to a lively sense of our inanity and 
 weakness. How many important truths do we here 
 learn, of which the worldly-minded man has no idea,* 
 truths which the torrent of vanity overwhelmed in his 
 dissipated soul ! Casting the calm eye of reflection 
 on ourselves, and on the objects which surround us, 
 how familiarized we become to the lot of mortality ! 
 how different every tiling appears ! the heart expands 
 to every noble sentiment ; the blush of conscience 
 reddens on the cheek ; the mind reaches its subliinest 
 conceptions ; and boldly taking the path of virtue, 
 we lead a life of innocence and ease. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 55 
 
 The unfortunate being who deplores the death of 
 some beloved friend, constantly feels a strong desire 
 to withdraw from the intercourses of society ; but 
 his worldly friends unite to destroy the laudable in- 
 clination. They avoid all conversation with the 
 unhappy sufferer on the subject of his loss ; think it 
 more consolatory to surround him with a crowd of 
 acquaintance, cold and indifferent to the event, who 
 think their duties sufficiently discharged by paying 
 the tributary visit, and chattering from morning till 
 evening on the current topics of the town ; as if each 
 of their pleasantries conveyed a balm of comfort into 
 the wounded heart. 
 
 " Leave me to myself!'' I exclaimed a thousand 
 times, when, within two years after my arrival in 
 Germany, I lost the lovely idol of my heart, the 
 amiable companion of my former days. Her departed 
 spirit still hovers round me : the tender recollection 
 of her society, the afflieting remembrance of her 
 sufferings on my account, are always present to my 
 mind. What purity and innocence ! what mildness 
 and affability ! Her death was as calm and resigned 
 as her life was pure and virtuous 1 During five long 
 months the lingering pangs of dissolution hung con- 
 tinually around her. One day, as she reclined upon 
 her pillow, while I read to her " The Death of 
 Christ," by Rammler, she cast her eyes over the page, 
 and silently pointed out to me the following passage : 
 " My breath grows weak, my days are shortened, 
 my heart is full of affliction, and my soul prepares 
 to take its flight." Alas ! when I recall all those 
 
56 
 
 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 circumstances to my mind, and recollect how im- 
 possible it was for me to abandon the world at that 
 moment of anguish and distress, when I carried the 
 seeds of death within my bosom, when I had neither 
 fortitude to bear my afflictions, nor courage to resist 
 them, while I was yet pursued by malice and outraged 
 by calumny, I can easily conceive, in such a situation, 
 that my exclamation might be, " Leave me to my- 
 self!" 
 
 To be alone, far retired from the tumults and 
 embarrassments of society, is the first and fondest 
 desire of the heart, when, under such misfortunes, 
 we are unhappily situated among men, who, incapa- 
 ble of equal feeling, have no idea of the torments we 
 endure. 
 
 How ! to live in Solitude, to relinquish the so- 
 ciety of men, to be buried during life in some wild 
 deserted country ! Oh yes ! such a retreat affords a 
 tender and certain consolation under those afflictions 
 which fasten on the heart ; such as the eternal sepa- 
 ration of sensible and beloved friends ; a separation 
 more grievous and terrifying than the fatal period 
 itself which terminates existence. The heart is torn 
 with anguish, the very ground we tread on seems to 
 sink beneath our feet, when this horrible and hidden 
 event divides us from those who had for so long a 
 period been all in all to us in life, whose memory 
 neither time nor accident can wipe away, and whose 
 absence renders all the pleasures of the world odious 
 to our sight. Solitude, under such circumstances, is 
 our only resource ; but to soften the grief which this 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 57 
 
 eternal separation inflicts, to remove the sorrows 
 which prey upon the poor heart, to wipe away the 
 tears from the cheeks, we must, even in Solitude, 
 continue to employ the mind, to excite its attention 
 to something interesting, and lead the imagination 
 from one object to another. 
 
 How many torments, alas ! lie concealed from 
 the observation of the world, which we must learn to 
 bear within our own bosoms, and which can only be 
 softened by Solitude and retirement ! 
 
 Represent to yourself an unfortunate foreigner 
 placed in a country where every one was suspicious 
 of his character, borne down by misfortunes from 
 every side, attacked every moment by despair, and 
 during a long course of years unable either to stoop 
 or sit to write without feeling the most excruciating 
 pains ; in a country where, from a fanatic prejudice, 
 every one strewed thorns and briars in his path,- 
 where, in the midst of all his afflictions, he was de- 
 prived of the object which was dearest to him in the 
 world : yet it was in such a country, and under these 
 circumstances, that he, at length, found a person who 
 extended the hand of affection towards him ;* whose 
 voice, like a voice from Heaven, said to him, " Come, 
 I will dry your tears, I will heal your wounded heart ; 
 be the kind comforter of your sufferings, enable you 
 to support them, banish the remembrance of sorrow 
 
 * The author here alludes to Madame Dorine, wife of 
 the councellor of state, and daughter to the celebrated vice- 
 chancellor Strube, 
 
 D 3 
 
58 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 from your mind, recall your sensibility, and force 
 you to acknowledge that the religion we profess is 
 also inspired by a beneficent Deity, whose goodness 
 strews flowers over the paths of life. You shall 
 afterwards afford assistance to me, become part of 
 my family, and we will read, think, feel, and lift up 
 our hands together in oraisons to God. I will en- 
 deavour to charm away the silence of disgust by 
 entertaining conversation, and when tranquillity 
 returns, collect for you all the flowers which adorn 
 the paths of life; discourse with you on the charms 
 of virtue 5 think of you with love ; treat you with 
 esteem 5 rely upon you with confidence : prove to 
 you, that the people among whom you are situated 
 are not so bad as you conceive them, and perhaps 
 that they are not so at all. I will remove from your 
 mind all anxiety about domestic concerns ; do every 
 thing to relieve and please you ; you shall taste all 
 the happiness of an easy, tranquil life. I will dili- 
 gently endeavour to point out your faults, and you, 
 in gratitude, shall also correct mine : you shall form 
 my mind, communicate to me your knowledge, and 
 preserve to me, by the assistance of God and your 
 own talents, the felicities of my life, together with 
 those of my husband and my children: we will love 
 our neighbours with the same heart, and unite our 
 endeavours to afford consolation to the afflicted, and 
 succour to the distressed." 
 
 But if, after having experienced all this pleasure 
 during many years ; if, after having enjoyed these 
 consolatioris under circumstances the most critical 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 5Q 
 
 and cruel ; if, after flattering myself that her friendly 
 hands would close my dying eye-lids, that I should 
 expire in the arms of this heroic female; if, for only 
 obeying" the divine impulse of commiseration, my 
 protectress should be torn for ever from the bosom 
 of her family, and obliged to leave her country in 
 exile in a foreign land ; if I should behold myself 
 for ever deprived of this dear friend, this protecting 
 angel, what comfort would remain for me on the 
 face of the earth ! Thus abandoned and forlorn, to 
 what asylum could I fly ? To Solitude alone I There 
 I might combat my rising griefs, and learn to support 
 my destiny with courage. 
 
 To a heart thus torn by too rigorous a destiny, 
 from the bosom that was open for its reception, from 
 a bosom in which it fondly dwelt, from an object that 
 it dearly loved, detached from every object, at a loss 
 where to fix its affection, or communicate its feelings, 
 Solitude alone can administer comfort. To him 
 who, in the cruel hour of separation, exclaims in the 
 bitterness of his soul, " In every exertion to do good, 
 my only reward is to give you pleasure; all the 
 happiness of my life concentres in the joys that you 
 receive !" Solitude is the last and only consolation. 
 
 There are, therefore, situations from which no- 
 thing but Solitude and retirement can relieve us. 
 For this reason, it is frequently necessary that those 
 whom melancholy affects should be lefc alone : for, 
 as we shall now proceed to shew, they may find in 
 Solitude an infinite variety of consolations, and many 
 sources of comfort, both for the mind and the heart. 
 
CO ZIMMSRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 The healthy and the sick, the happy and the 
 miserable, the rich and the poor, all, without excep- 
 tion, may find infinite advantages in a religious 
 retirement from the world. It is not, alas ! in the 
 temples of pleasure, in those meetings where every 
 one empties to its last drop the cup of folly, in the 
 coteries/ occupied by vulgar gaiety, in brilliant assem- 
 blies, or at luxurious boards, that the mind grows 
 familiar with those tender and sublime sentiments 
 which subdue the desires of sensuality, ennoble all 
 the enjoyments of life, raise the passing moment 
 into importance, by connecting it with the events of 
 futurity, and banish from a transitory life the extra- 
 vagant fondness for the dissipations of the world. 
 
 In Solitude we behold more near and intimately 
 that Providence which overlooks all. Silence con- 
 tinually recalls to our minds the consolatory idea, 
 the mild and satisfactory sentiment, that the eye of 
 the Almighty is for ever viewing the actions of his 
 creatures ; that he superintends all our movements ; 
 that we are governed by his power, and preserved 
 by his goodness. In Solitude the Deity is every 
 where before us. Emancipated from the dangerous 
 fermentations of sense, guided by noble inclinations, 
 possessed of pure, unalterable joys, we contemplate 
 with seriousness and vigour, with freedom and with 
 confidence, the attainment of supreme felicity, and 
 enjoy in thought the happiness we expect to reach. 
 In this holy meditation, every ignoble sentiment, 
 every painful anxiety, every worldly thought and 
 vulgar care, vanish from the mind. 
 
25IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 6 1 
 
 Solitude lias already brought us nearer to God, 
 when, beside all the tender and humane feelings of 
 the heart, we feel those salutary sensations which a 
 distrust and jealousy of our own abilities create; 
 sensations which in public life make light and tran- 
 sient impressions, and fade immediately away. At 
 the bed of sickness when I behold the efforts which 
 the soul makes to oppose its impending dissolution 
 from the body, and discover by the encreasing tor- 
 tures the rapid advances of approaching death ; when 
 T see my unhappy patient extend his culd and trem- 
 bling hands to thank the Almighty for the smallest 
 mitigation of his pains ; when I hear his utterance 
 checked by intermingled groans, and view the tender 
 looks, the silent anguish of his attending friends ; 
 all my powers abandon me ; my heart bleeds, and I 
 tear myself from the sorrowful scene, only to pour 
 my tears more freely over the unhappy sufferings of 
 humanity, to lament my own inability, and the vain 
 confidence placed in a feeble art ; a confidence which 
 men have been so forward to abuse. Conscious of the 
 inefficacy of art, I never rise from my bed, without 
 thinking it a heavenly miracle that I am still alive. 
 When I count the number of my years, I exclaim, with 
 the liveliest gratitude, that God has preserved my life 
 beyond my expectation. Through what a sea of 
 dangers has his goodness conducted me ! Reflecting 
 every moment on the weakness of my condition, and 
 beholding men suddenly snatched away before me in 
 the prime and vigour of life ; men who but a few 
 hours before, entertained no fear of death, and reck- 
 
62 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 oned, perhaps, on an extended length of days ; what 
 can I do, but offer up my silent adorations to that 
 Providence who has thus saved me from the menaces 
 of death ! 
 
 Is it possible to become wise, and escape from 
 the abounding- perils of the world without renounc- 
 ing its dissipations, and entering into a serious ex- 
 amination of ourselves ? for then only it is that we 
 are able maturely to reflect upon what we hear and 
 see 5 it is only during silent meditation that we can 
 properly view those interesting objects to which, if 
 we wish to render them either useful or permanent, 
 we cannot be too seriously attentive. 
 
 Wisdom is not to be acquired by the incessant 
 pursuit of entertainments ; by flying, without reflec- 
 tion, from one party to another ; by continual con- 
 versations on low and trifling subjects; by under- 
 taking every thing, and doing nothing. "He who 
 would acquire true wisdom," says a celebrated phi- 
 losopher, " must learn to live in Solitude." An un- 
 interrupted course of dissipation stifles every virtuous 
 sentiment. The dominion of Reason is lost amidst 
 the intoxications of Pleasure : its voice is no longer 
 heard ; its authority no longer obeyed : the mind no 
 longer strives to surmount tempations ; but, instead 
 of shunning the snares which the passions scatter in 
 our way, we run eagerly to find them. The precepts 
 of religion are forgotten. Engaged in a variety of 
 absurd pursuits, intranced in the delirium of gaiety 
 and pleasure, inflamed by that continual ebriety which 
 raises the passions and stimulates the desires, the 
 
ZJMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 63 
 
 connections between God and man are loosened, the 
 first and only source of true felicity abandoned, the 
 faculty of reason renounced, and religious duties 
 never thought of but with levity and indifference. 
 On the contrary, he who, entering into a serious self- 
 examination, elevates his thoughts on all occasions 
 in silence towards his God ; who considers the am- 
 phitheatre of nature, the spangled firmament of Hea- 
 ven, the verdant meads enamelled with flowers, the 
 stupendous mountains, and the silent grove, as the 
 temples of the divinity ; who directs the emotions of 
 his heart to the Great Author and Conductor of 
 things ; who has continually before his eyes his 
 enlightened providence ; must most assuredly have 
 already learned to live in pious Solitude and religious 
 meditation. 
 
 Thus, by devoting daily only as many hours to 
 reflection as are employed at the toilet, or consumed 
 at the card-table, Solitude may be rendered instru- 
 mental in leading the mind to piety, and the heart to 
 virtue. Meditation not only strengthens and im- 
 proves the mind, but teaches it to abhor the vices 
 of the world, and renders their idle entertainments 
 tasteless. We may cherish the best intentions towards 
 our fellow-creatures, may succour them in distress, 
 afford them every kind oifice in our power, without 
 indulging in the luxury of their feasts, attending 
 their coteries, or following their frivolous pursuits. 
 
 The opportunity of doing public good, of per- 
 forming actions of extensive utility, or universal 
 benevolence, is confined to a few characters. But 
 
64 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 
 
 how many private virtues are there which every man 
 has it in his power to perform without quitting his 
 chamber ! He who can contentedly employ himself at 
 home may continue there the whole year, and yet in 
 everyday of that year, may contribute to the felicity of 
 other men ; he may listen to their complaints, relieve 
 their distress, render services to those who are about 
 him, and extend his benevolence in various ways, 
 without being seen by the world, or known by those 
 on whom his favours are conferred. 
 
 A lively and determined inclination for Solitude 
 is sometimes the happy mean of re-establishing a 
 pious disposition in the mind. It is during those 
 moments of undefinable delirium which youth fre- 
 quently experience ; and which as the mind grows 
 more rational, of course become more efficacious ; 
 that, by perceiving what we are and what we ought 
 to be, we begin to know ourselves, and to do justice 
 to our characters. It is in these moments, perhaps, 
 that a physical change of constitution turns the 
 operations of the soul into a new direction, and 
 awakening conscience, forcibly suggests the necessity 
 of prostrating ourselves before the throne of God. — 
 Humility is the first lesson which we learn from re- 
 flection, and self-distrust the first proof we give of 
 having obtained a knowledge of ourselves. The so- 
 phistry of the passions is silent during the serious 
 solitary hours we pass in self-examination. If we 
 sometimes carry the soliloquy too far, and become 
 gloomy and discontented, or fall into superstitious 
 phrensies on discovering our situation, the impres- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 65 
 
 sions, alas ! are soon effaced. Yet even these ex- 
 cesses, when compared with that fatal supineness 
 which extinguishes every virtue, are really advanta- 
 geous. The sincere mortification we feel on the 
 discovery of our defects is converted, by the light of 
 a pure and rational faith, into happy ease and perfect 
 tranquillity. The fanatic enthusiast presents him- 
 self before the Almighty much oftener than the 
 supercilious wit, who scoffs at religion, and calls 
 piety a weakness. 
 
 The study of ourselves is so extremely rare, 
 that we ought to prize its fruits like dear and 
 precious treasures. To induce us to renounce our 
 flighty futile dissipations ; to conquer the discon- 
 tent which drives us wandering from place to place 
 in search of new objects,- to force us into an exa- 
 mination of ourselves -, Grief must awaken us from 
 the lethargy of Pleasure, Sorrow must open our 
 eyes to the follies of the world, and the cup of Ad- 
 versity often embitter our lips. From a conviction 
 of this truth it was that one of the greatest philoso- 
 phers of Germany, the celebrated Mr. Garve, ex- 
 claimed to Doctor Spalding and myself, " I am in- 
 debted to my malady for having led me to make a 
 closer scrutiny and more accurate observation of my 
 own character." 
 
 In Solitude, Religion and Philosophy unite their 
 powers to conduct us to the same end. Both of them 
 teach us to examine our hearts ; both of them tell 
 us that we cannot guard too seriously against the 
 dangers of fanaticism, or decry them with too loud a 
 
66 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 voice ; but they also convince us, that though virtue 
 cannot be instilled into the soul without convulsive 
 efforts, we ought not to be intimidated by the appre- 
 hension of danger. It is not in the moment of joy, 
 when we turn our eyes from God and our thoughts 
 from eternity, that we experience these salutary 
 fervors of the soul. Even Religion, with all her 
 powers, cannot produce them so soon as a corporeal 
 malady or mental affliction. But if the soul advance 
 too slowly in the heroic course of virtue ; if, amidst 
 the bustle of the world, the suggestions of conscience 
 lose their power, let every one retire, as frequently 
 as possible, into Solitude, and there prostrate himself 
 before God and his own heart. 
 
 In the last moments of life it is certain that we 
 all wish we had lived more in Solitude, in a greater 
 intimacy with ourselves, and in a closer communion 
 with God. Pressed by the recollection of past errors, 
 we then clearly perceive them to have sprung from 
 the corruptions of the world, and the indulged wan- 
 derings of the heart. If we oppose the sentiments 
 of a solitary man who has passed his life in pious con- 
 ference with God, to those which occupy a worldly 
 mind forgetful of its Creator, and sacrificing every 
 thing to the enjoyment of the moment: if we com- 
 pare the character of a wise man, who reflects in 
 silence on the importance of eternity, with that of 
 the fashionable being, who consumes all his time at 
 ridottos, balls, and assemblies ; we shall then per- 
 ceive that Solitude, dignified retirement, select friend- 
 ships, and rational society, can alone afford true plea- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 67 
 
 sure, and give us, what all the vain enjoyments of the 
 world will never bestow, consolation in death, and 
 hope of everlasting life. 
 
 It is upon the bed of death that we discover, 
 more than in any other situation, the great difference 
 between the just man, who has passed his days in re- 
 ligious contemplation, and the man of the world, 
 whose thoughts have only been employed to feed his 
 passions and gratify his desires. A life passed amidst 
 the tumultuous dissipations of the world, even when 
 unsullied by the commission of any positive crime, 
 concludes, alas ! very differently from that which has 
 been spent in the bowers of Solitude, adorned by in- 
 nocence and rewarded by virtue. 
 
 But as example teaches more effectually than 
 precept, as curiosity is more alive to recent facts than 
 to remote illustrations, I shall here relate the history 
 of a man of family and fashion, who a few years since 
 shot himself in London ; from which it will appear, 
 that men possessed even of the best feelings of the 
 heart may be rendered extremely miserable by suf- 
 fering their principles to be corrupted, by the prac- 
 tice of the world 
 
 The honourable Mr. Darner, the eldest son of 
 Lord Milton, was five-and-thirty years of age when 
 he put a period to his existence by means perfectly 
 correspondent to the principles in which he had 
 lived. He had espoused a rich heiress, the daughter- 
 in-law of General Conway. Nature had endowed 
 him with extraordinary talents ; and if he had em- 
 ployed them to nobler purposes, his death must have 
 
68 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 made the deepest impression on every bosom. Un* 
 happily, however, the most infatuated love of dissi- 
 pation destroyed all the powers of his mind, and some 
 of the more excellent qualities of his heart. His 
 houses, his carriages, his horses, his liveries, sur- 
 passed in magnificence and elegance every thing that 
 is sumptuous in the metropolis of England. The in- 
 come he enjoyed was great ; but not being sufficient 
 to defray his various expences, he felt himself under 
 the necessity of borrowing, and he obtained a loan 
 of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds. A 
 large portion of the money was immediately em* 
 ployed to succour those friends who appeared to be 
 distressed ; for his sentiments were as generous as 
 his feelings were tender and compassionate. His 
 sensibility, however, to the wants of others was at 
 length awakened to his own misfortunes ; and the 
 dreadful situation of his affairs reduced his mind to 
 despair. Retiring to a brothel, he sent for four com- 
 mon women of the town, and passed several hours 
 in their company with apparent gaiety and good spi- 
 rits. On the near approach of midnight, however, 
 he requested of them to retire ; and in a few moments 
 afterwards, drawing a loaded pistol from his pocket, 
 which he had carried about with him all the after- 
 noon, blew out his brains. This fatal evening had 
 passed with these women in the same manner as he 
 had been used to pass many others with different 
 women of the same description, without requiring 
 favours which they would most willingly have 
 granted. All he desired in return for the money he 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 6g 
 
 lavished on them was their idle chatter, or the privi- 
 lege of a salute, to divert the torture of his mind. 
 The gratitude he felt for the temporary oblivion, 
 which these intercourses afforded, sometimes ripened 
 into feelings of the warmest friendship. A cele- 
 brated actress of the London theatre, whose conver- 
 sations had already drained him of considerable sums 
 of money, requested of him, only three days before 
 his death, to lend her hve-and-twenty guineas. He 
 returned an answer, that he had not at that time more 
 than eight or ten guineas about him, and these he 
 sent to her ; but he immediately borrowed the re- 
 mainder, and gave her the sum she required. 
 
 This unhappy young man, shortly before the fatal 
 catastrophe, had written to his father, and disclosed 
 the unhappy state of his affairs ; and the night, the 
 very night on which he terminated his existence, his 
 affectionate parent, the good Lord Milton, arrived in 
 London for the purpose of discharging all the debts 
 of his son. Thus lived and died this destitute and 
 di&sipated man ! How different from that life which 
 the innocent live, or that death which the virtuous 
 die! 
 
 I trust I shall be forgiven in reciting here the 
 story of a young lady whose memory I am anxious to 
 preserve j for I can with great truth say of her, as 
 Petrarch said of his beloved Laura, " the world is 
 unacquainted with the excellence of her character ; 
 she was only known to those whom she has left be- 
 hind to bewail her fate/' 
 
 Solitude was her world ; for she knew no other 
 
70 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 pleasures than those which a retired and virtuous 
 life affords. Submitting with pious resignation to 
 the dispensations of heaven, her weak frame sustained 
 with undiminished fortitude, every affliction of mor- 
 tality. Mild, good, and tender, she endured her 
 sufferings without a murmur or a sigh : and though 
 naturally timid and reserved, she disclosed the feel- 
 ings of her soul with all the warmth of filial enthu- 
 siasm. Of this description was the superior character 
 of whom I now write ; a character who convinced 
 me, by her fortitude under the severest misfortunes, 
 how much strength solitude is capable of conveying 
 to the minds even of the feeblest beings. Diffident 
 of her own powers, she listened to the precepts of a 
 fond parent, and relied with perfect confidence upon 
 the goodness of God. Taught by my experience, 
 submitting to my judgment, she entertained for me 
 the most ardent affection ; and convinced me, not by 
 professions, but by her actions, of her sincerity. 
 Willingly would I have sacrificed my life to have 
 saved her; and I am satisfied she would have given 
 up her own for me. My greatest happiness consisted 
 in doing every thing that I thought the most agree- 
 able to her. She frequently presented me with a 
 rose, a flower from which she knew I received consi- 
 derable delight ; and from her hand it was superior 
 to the richest treasure. A malady of almost a singu- 
 lar kind, a haemorrhage of the lungs, suddenly de- 
 prived me of the comfort of this beloved child, even 
 while I supported her in my arms. Acquainted 
 with her constitution, I immediately saw the blow 
 
ZIMME11MANN ON SOLITUDE. 71 
 
 was mortal. How frequently, during that fatal day, 
 did my wounded bleeding heart bend me od my 
 knees before my God to implore her recovery ! But 
 I concealed my feelings from her observation. Al- 
 though sensible of her danger, she never communi- 
 cated the least apprehension. Smiles arose upon 
 her cheeks whenever I entered or quitted the chamber. 
 Although worn down by this fatal distemper, a prey 
 to the most corroding griefs, the sharpest and most in- 
 tolerable pains, she made no complaint. She mildly 
 answered all my questions by some short sentence, 
 but without entering into any detail. Her decay and 
 approaching dissolution became obvious to the eye ; 
 but to the last moment of her life, her countenance 
 preserved a serenity correspondent to the purity of 
 her mind and the affectionate tenderness of her 
 heart. 
 
 Thus I beheld my dear, my only daughter, after 
 a lingering sufferance of nine long months, expire in 
 my arms ! Exclusive of the internal appearances which 
 attend a consumption of the lungs, the liver was ex- 
 tremely large, the stomach uncommonly small and 
 contracted, and the viscera much overcharged. So 
 many attacks, alas ! were needless to the conquest. 
 She had been the submissive victim of ill health 
 from her earliest infancy ; her appetite was almost 
 gone when we left Swisserland ; a residence which 
 she quitted with her usual sweetness of temper, and 
 without discovering the smallest regret, although a 
 young man, as handsome in his person as he was 
 amiable in the qualities of his mind, the object of her 
 
72 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 first, of her only affection, a few weeks afterwards 
 put an end to his existence in despair. 
 
 The few happy days we passed at Hanover, where 
 she was much respected and beloved, she amused 
 herself by composing' religious prayers, which were 
 afterwards found among her papers, and in which 
 she implores death to afford her a speedy relief from 
 her pains : during the same period she wrote also 
 many letters, always affecting, and frequently sub- 
 lime. They were filled with expressions of the same 
 desire speedily to reunite her soul with the author of 
 her days. The last words my dear, my well-be- 
 loved child uttered, amidst the most painful agonies, 
 were these : £ To-day I shall taste the joys of Hea- 
 ven I" 
 
 We should be unworthy of this bright example, 
 if, after having seen the severest sufferings sustained 
 by a female in the earliest period of life, and of the 
 weakest constitution by nature, we permitted our 
 minds to be dejected by misfortunes, when, by the 
 smallest degree of courage, we may be enabled to 
 surmount them; a female w r ho, under the anguish of 
 inexpressible torments, never permitted the sigh of 
 complaint to escape from her lips ; but submitted 
 with silent resignation to the will of Heaven, in hope 
 of meeting with reward hereafter. She was ever 
 active, invariably mild, and always compassionate to 
 the miseries of others. But we, who have before our 
 eyes the sublime instructions which a character thus 
 virtuous and noble has given us, under the pressure 
 of a fatal disease, under the horrors of continued 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 73 
 
 and bitter agonies ; we, who like her aspire to the 
 attainment of the glorious seat of happiness and 
 peace, refuse to submit to the smallest sacrifice, 
 make no endeavour to oppose the storms of fortune 
 by the exertion of courage, or to acquire that patience 
 and resignation which a candid examination of our 
 own hearts, and a silent communion with God, would 
 certainly afford. 
 
 Sensible and unfortunate beings ! the lightest 
 afflictions, when compared with griefs like mine, 
 drive you, at present, to disquietude and despair. 
 But you may give credit to experience, they will 
 eventually raise your minds above the low consider- 
 ations of the world, and give a strength to your 
 powers which you now conceive to be impossible. 
 You now think yourselves sunk into the deepest abyss 
 of suffering and sorrow; but the time will soon 
 arrive, when you will perceive yourselves in that 
 happy state which lies between an attachment to 
 Earth and a fond devotion to Heaven. You will 
 then enjoy a calm repose, be susceptible of plea- 
 sures equally substantial and sublime, and gain, 
 instead of tumultuous anxieties for life, the serene 
 and comfortable hope of immortality. Blessed, 
 supremely blessed, is he who knows the value 
 of retirement and tranquillity; who is capable 
 of enjoying the silence of the groves, and all the 
 pleasures of rural Solitude. The soul then tastes 
 celestial delight, even under the deepest impressions 
 of sorrow and dejection, regains its strength, collects 
 
74 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 new courage,, and acts with perfect freedom. The 
 eye looks with fortitude on the transient sufferings 
 of disease ; the mind no longer feels a dread of being 
 alone ; and we learn to cultivate, during the remainder 
 of our lives, a bed of roses round even the tomb of 
 death. 
 
ZIMMSRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 75 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE UPON THE MIND. 
 
 The inestimable value of liberty can only be con- 
 ceived by minds that are free. Slaves are forced to 
 be content, even in their bondage. He who has been 
 long tossed about by the vicissitudes of fortune 3 who 
 has learned, from the sufferings of his own experience, 
 to form a just estimate of men and things ; who can 
 examine every object with impartiality ; and walking 
 in the steep and narrow paths of virtue, derives his 
 happiness from his own mind, may be accounted 
 free. 
 
 The path of virtue is indeed rugged, dreary, and 
 unsocial ; but it conducts the mind from painful dif- 
 ficulties to sublime repose, and gently carries us over 
 the acclivities of life into the delightful and extensive 
 plains of happiness and ease. The love of Solitude, 
 when cultivated to a certain extent at an early period 
 of our lives, inspires the mind with virtue, and raises 
 it to a noble independence. It is to such characters 
 alone that my precepts can prove useful; or that I 
 here pretend to point out the avenue to true felicity. 
 
 I do not however wish, in conducting them to the 
 retreats of Solitude, to lead them through the paths 
 of misery, but would rather induce them to seek 
 retirement from a dislike to dissipation, a distaste to 
 the idle pleasures of life, a contempt for the treache- 
 
?6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 rous professions of the world, and a dread of being 
 seduced by its insinuating and deceitful gaieties. 
 
 Many men have in Solitude acquired so great a 
 superiority as to enable them to defy events : many 
 champions of virtue, like the majestic cedar, which 
 braves the fury of the loudest wind, have resisted in 
 retirement all the storms of vice. Some few indeed 
 have retained, even in Solitude, the weaknesses of 
 human nature ; but many others have proved that 
 wisdom cannot degenerate, even in the most dreary 
 seclusion. Visited by the august spirits of the dead, 
 left to listen to their own thoughts, and secluded 
 from the sight of every breathing object, they must 
 converse with God alone. 
 
 There are two periods of life in which Solitude 
 becomes peculiarly useful : in youth, to acquire a 
 fund of useful information, to form the outline of the 
 character we mean to support, and to fix the modes of 
 thinking we ought through life invariably to pursue •* 
 in age, to cast a retrospective eye on the course of 
 life we have led, to reflect on the events that have 
 happened, upon all the flowers we have gathered, 
 upon all the tempests we have survived. 
 
 Lord Bolingbroke says, that there is not a deeper 
 or a finer observation in all Lord Bacon's works than 
 the following: " We must choose betimes such vir- 
 tuous objects as are proportioned to the means we 
 have of pursuing them, and as belong particularly to 
 the stations we are in, and the duties of those stations. 
 We must determine, and fix our minds in such man- 
 ner upon them, that the pursuit of them may become 
 
2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. JJ 
 
 the business, and the attainment of them the end of 
 our whole lives.* Thus we shall imitate the great 
 operations of nature, and not the feeble, slow, and 
 imperfect operations of art. We must not proceed in 
 forming the moral character, as a statuary proceeds 
 in forming a statue, who works sometimes on the 
 face, sometimes on one part, and sometimes on 
 another ; but we must proceed, and it is in our power 
 to proceed, as Nature does in forming a flower, or 
 any other of her productions ; rudimenta partium 
 omnium simul parit et producit; she throws out alto- 
 gether and at once the whole system of every being, 
 and the rudiments of all the parts." 
 
 Ye amiable youths, from whose minds the artifices 
 and gaieties of the world have not yet obliterated the 
 precepts of a virtuous education ; who are not yet 
 infected with its inglorious vanities ; who, still igno- 
 rant of the tricks and blandishments of seduction, 
 have preserved the desire to perform some glorious 
 action, and retained the powers to accomplish it; 
 who, in the midst of feasting, dancing, and assem- 
 blies, feel an inclination to escape from their unsa- 
 tisfactory delights ; Solitude will afford you a safe 
 asylum. Let the voice of experience recommend 
 you to cultivate a fondness for domestic pleasures, 
 to rouse and fortify your souls to noble deeds, to 
 
 * Lord Bolingbroke, in his " Idea of a Patriot King," 
 has paraphrased the original " Ut continuo vertat et effor- 
 met se animus, una opera, in virtutes omnes," in order to 
 apply it with greater effect to the occasion for which he 
 quotes it. 
 
78 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 acquire that fine and noble spirit which teaches you 
 to estimate the characters of men, and the pleasures 
 of society, by their intrinsic value. To accomplish 
 this end, it is absolutely necessary to force yourselves 
 from a world too trifling and insignificant to afford 
 great examples. It is in studying the characters of 
 the Greeks, the Romans, the English, that you must 
 learn to surmount every difficulty. In what nation 
 will you find more celebrated instances of human 
 greatness ! What people possess more valour, cou- 
 rage, firmness, and knowledge, or greater love for 
 the arts and sciences ! But do not deceive yourselves 
 by a belief, that in wearing the hair cut short] you 
 will acquire the character of Englishmen : instead of 
 such fopperies you must eradicate the vices, subdue 
 the weaknesses of your nature, and imitate them only 
 in their peculiar greatness. It is the love of liberty, 
 the qualities of courage, penetration, sublimity of 
 sentiment, and strength of reason, that constitute 
 the true Englishman, and not their cropt hair, half- 
 boots, and jockey-hats. It is virtue alone, and not 
 titles, that elevate the characters of men. An illus- 
 trious descent is certainly an advantage, but not a 
 merit. But you have already formed a proper esti- 
 mate of these splendid trifles, and learned that he 
 who venerates such little objects can never attain to 
 greatness. Women may boast of hereditary descent, 
 of a line of ancestors, who, during a course of centu- 
 ries, were perhaps distinguished merely by the splen- 
 dour of their equipages, and the numbers of humble 
 citizens who followed them on foot. But in tracing 
 your genealogies, reckon only those your ancestors 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 79 
 
 who have performed great and glorious actions, whose 
 fame adorns the pages of their country's history, and 
 whose admired characters distant nations continue to 
 applaud ; never however lose sight of this important 
 truth, that no one can be truly great until he has 
 gained a knowledge of himself. 
 
 Life opens two paths to the choice of man. The 
 one leads to a fragrant garden and delightful groves, 
 perfumed with the sweetest odours, where a verdant 
 bed, bedecked with roses, invites the enchanted senses 
 to a soft repose ; this is that path of Pleasure which 
 the multitude are so easily seduced to follow; and 
 where music, dancing, and love, are thought to con- 
 vey such variety of delight. The other is a less fre- 
 quented way, always tiresome, sometimes rugged, 
 the progress through it slow, and filled with danger- 
 ous precipices, down which the toiling passenger 
 often falls, while he thinks his footing certain and 
 secure. A dark, unbounded desert, filled with the 
 cries of savage animals, the bodings of the raven, 
 and the shivering hisses of the wily serpent, then 
 presents itself to the affrighted mind. The path of 
 Pleasure conducts us to the world, but the rugged 
 path of virtue leads to honour,, The one winds through 
 society to places and employments either in the city 
 or at court ; the other, sooner or later, leads to So- 
 litude. Upon the one road a man may perhaps 
 become a villain ; a villain rendered dear and ami- 
 able by his vices to society. Upon the other road, it 
 is true, he may be hated and despised ; but he will 
 become a man after my own heart. 
 
 The rudiments of a great character can only be 
 
80 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 formed in Solitude. It is there alone that the soli- 
 dity of thought, the fondness for activity, the abhor- 
 rence of indolence, which constitute the characters of 
 a hero and a sage, are first acquired. Many Germans 
 of my acquaintance lived, during their residence at 
 the university, totally unconnected with society. 
 They shunned the fashionable vices of the collegians, 
 preserved their native purity, and, by an adopted 
 stoicism, continued not only chaste but studious. 
 They ave now however become ministers of state, 
 celebrated writers, and profound philosophers, who 
 have diffused wisdom by their examples, banished 
 prejudice by their writings, and taught vulgar minds 
 new roads to opulence and ease. 
 
 A tribute of the highest gratitude is due to the 
 noble character who observed, (i That when a youth 
 of solid parts withdraws himself from the world, be- 
 comes melancholy and silent, and testifies, by the 
 austerity of his manners and the coldness of his feel- 
 ings, with what disgust the contemptible beings with 
 whom he has associated have inspired his soul,* when 
 his mind, emitting its rays like flashes of lightning 
 in the obscurity of a dark night, occasionally darts 
 forth, and then falls into a long and silent calm • 
 when all around him seems a painful void, and every 
 object only inspires his mind with new aversion 5 
 you then behold, notwithstanding he has not openly 
 complained, a happy plant, which only requires the 
 cultivation of a judicious hand to bring forth its fruits, 
 and disclose its beauties. O ! apply to it a fostering 
 care. It will greatly and abundantly repay the cul- 
 ture it receives : and surely he who impedes the pro- 
 
ZIMMERMANN OX SOLITUDE. 81 
 
 gress of such a character, is the most detestable of 
 murderers." 
 
 To rear a youth of this description would form 
 the joy and pleasure of my future days. I would 
 nourish him in my very heart. I would watch over 
 him with the tenderest care. I would conceal his 
 growing virtues from the jealous and malignant ob- 
 servation of envious eyes ; prevent their endeavours 
 to suppress the efforts of superior genius ; and with 
 a single whisper drive away those noxious vermin, 
 enervated and insipid men of fashion, from my health- 
 ful plant. If however such a youth did not immedi- 
 ately listen to my voice, and become obedient to my 
 precepts, but still listened to the allurements of the 
 world, 1 would let him occasionally sail among the 
 rocks of life, and, permitting him to be gently 
 wrecked, shew him how experience, superior to the 
 powers of youth, would have escaped the danger. 
 
 Solitude sometimes inspires a degree of arro- 
 gance and conceit ; but these defects are soon era- 
 dicated by social intercourse. Misanthropy, contempt 
 of folly, and pride of spirit, are, in a noble mind 
 changed, by the maturity of age, into dignity of cha- 
 racter; and that fear of the opinion of the world 
 which awed the weakness and inexperience of youth, 
 is succeeded by firmness, and an exalted contempt 
 of those false appearances by which it was subdued. 
 The satires once so dreaded lose all their force ; the 
 mind judges of things not as they are, but as they 
 ought to be, and, feeling a contempt of vice, rises 
 into a noble enthusiasm for virtue, and draws from 
 
 e3 
 
82 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 the conflict a rational experience and compassionate 
 feeling which never die. 
 
 But there is also a science of the heart too fre- 
 quently neglected, and with which it is necessary, at 
 least as far as it is possible, to familiarize ourselves 
 in early youth. This is the noble science of philo- 
 sophy, which forms the characters of men, which 
 teaches us to attain the end we wish rather by the 
 blandishments of love than by the efforts of power ; 
 a science which corrects the cold dictates of reason 
 by the warm feelings of the heart, opens to view the 
 dangers to which they are exposed, awakens the dor- 
 mant faculties of the mind, and prompts them to the 
 practice of all the virtues. 
 
 Dion* was educated in all the baseness and servi- 
 lity of courts; accustomed to a life of softness and 
 effeminacy ; and tainted by that more pernicious 
 
 * Dion the son of Hipparinus, a Syracusan, by flattering 
 the vices and promoting the pleasures of the tyrant Diony- 
 sius, became his favourite, and of course his slave. Plato, 
 who at the request of Dion had come to reside at the ty- 
 rant's court, converted the mind of his young pupil by the 
 divine precepts of his philosophy ; but, by preferring the dic- 
 tates of virtue to those of vice, he rendered himself odious in 
 the eyes of Dionysius, who banished him to Greece. The 
 popularity which the practice of Plato's precepts had ac- 
 quired him increased by his absence ; and he was invited to 
 rescue his country from slavery. He accordingly collected a 
 numerous force in Greece, entered the port of Syracuse with 
 only two ships, and in three days reduced the empire under 
 his power. — Translator, 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 83 
 
 poison which flows from idle pomp, inconsiderate 
 profusion, and abandoned pleasures : but no sooner 
 had he conversed with the divine Plato, and acquired 
 a taste for that refined philosophy which leads to a 
 life of virtue, than his whole soul became deeply ena- 
 moured of its charms. 
 
 The inspiration which Dion caught from reading 
 the works of Plato, every mother may, silently and 
 unperceived, pour into the mind of her child. Phi- 
 losophy, from the lips of a wise and sensible mother, 
 penetrates into the mind through the feelings of the 
 heart. Who is not fond of walking, even through 
 the roughest and most difficult path, when conducted 
 by the hand they love? What species of instruction 
 can excel the sweet lessons which proceed from a 
 female mind endowed with a sound understanding, an 
 elevated style of thinking, and whose heart feels all 
 the affection that her precepts inspire? Oh may 
 every mother so endowed be blest with a child who 
 fondly retires with her to her closet, and listens 
 with delight to her instructions 3 who, with a book 
 in his pocket, loves to climb among the rocks alone ; 
 who, when engaged in rural sport, throws himself at 
 the foot of some venerable tree, and seeks rather to 
 trace out great and illustrious characters in the pages 
 of Plutarch, than to toil for game in the thickets of 
 the surrounding woods. The wishes of a mother are 
 accomplished when the solitude and silence of the 
 forests excite such thoughts in the mind of her be- 
 loved child ;* when he thinks that he has seen the 
 
 *" Minim est," says the Younger Pliny, " ut animus 
 agitatione motuque corporis excitetur. Jam undique silvae et 
 
84 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 world, and knows that there are still greater cha- 
 racters than Mayors or Kings. Characters like these 
 enjoy more pure and elevated pleasures than the 
 gaming-table or assemblies are capable of affording : 
 at every interval of leisure they seek the shades of 
 Solitude with rapture and delight ; the love of litera- 
 ture and philosophy have inspired their minds from 
 the earliest infancy, and warmed their hearts at every 
 subsequent period of their lives; and, amidst the 
 greatest dangers/ they preserve that delightful taste 
 which has power to banish melancholy from the 
 deepest cavern, and dejection from the most frightful 
 desert. 
 
 But as every well-disposed mind must be dis- 
 gusted and rendered unhappy by the intercourse of 
 cities, in which it is the general lot of youth to be 
 placed, it may be advantageous to shew how many 
 resources a wise and sensible man, whatever may be 
 his situation in life, his age, or his country, may find 
 in Solitude, against the insipidity of society, and all 
 the false and deceitful joys of the world. 
 
 Provincial towns possess in this respect many ad- 
 vantages over great and populous cities. With what 
 superior pleasure do we pass our time ; how much 
 more leisure, liberty, and quietude do we enjoy in an 
 humble village than in the distracting variety of a 
 great city ! The morning is not here destroyed by 
 endless messages of compliment, or by incessant pro- 
 posals of some new scheme to kill the day. Domestic 
 cares and comforts, the occupation of the mind, or 
 
 Solitudo ipsorumque illud silentium, quod venationi datur, 
 mao-na cogitationis incitamenta sunt." 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 85 
 
 more delightful intercourses of friendship and of 
 love, are here preferred to ceremonious visits. The 
 quietude of rural retirement affords us opportunity 
 to follow the course of our sentiments and ideas, to 
 examine whether they be just before we determine 
 on our choice : in great cities, on the contrary, men 
 act first, and reflect on their conduct afterwards. In 
 a village, the impressions we receive are more lively 
 and profound : whilst in great cities time is entirely 
 employed to create amusements, which vanish the 
 moment they are approached : the bosom enjoys no 
 repose ; and while it sighs for rest, the hope, desire, 
 ambition, languor, disgust and contrition which it 
 eternally feels, drive it for ever away. 
 
 The minds however of those who have retired to 
 the calm scenes of rural life, are frequently as vacant 
 and. deserted as the hamlets in which they live j and 
 they find the leisure, the happy leisure which they 
 enjoy, without knowing its value, tedious and irk- 
 some. There are indeed very few who have acquired 
 the art of rendering Solitude useful and rational. 
 Men of rank, proudly fancy that their honour would 
 be degraded by the company of rustics, and, in con- 
 sequence of this mistaken idea, prefer a life of con- 
 straint, and live in splendid languor, rather than 
 enjoy a free and happy intercourse with rational and 
 honest peasants. The reverse ought to be adopted, 
 especially by discontented minds : they ought to 
 mix familiarly in the company of honest men, and 
 acquire the esteem of all by kindness and attention. 
 The lowliest clown capable of communicating a new 
 
86 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 thought or agreeable sentiment is a very interesting 
 companion to an idle man, tormented as he must be 
 by vexation and ill-humour. The humblest character 
 is not to be despised ; and in the rural retreat the 
 shepherd and the King should live on equal terms, 
 forget the paltry distinctions of birth, and all those 
 prejudices which the opinions of the world have 
 raised respecting the difference of their situation. 
 Rational condescension will command applause, and 
 prevent the lower orders of men from reprobating 
 the venality of their superiors, only because the gen- 
 tlemen of the neighbourhood refuse to admit them 
 into their company. 
 
 To live happily in the country, men must deport 
 themselves peaceably and affably to every one, feel 
 and exercise a concern for the interests of others, and 
 devote a certain portion of their time to the company 
 and conversation of their inferiors. 
 
 The advantages which the mind gains by the 
 Solitude of a sequestered village, when it once begins 
 to feel disgust at the tiresome intercourses of the 
 great world, is inconceivable. Life is no where so 
 completely enjoyed : the happy days of youth are 
 no where more advantageously employed ; a rational 
 mind can no where find greater opportunities of em- 
 ploying its time 5 the dangers even of Solitude itself 
 are no where sooner learned, or more easily avoided. 
 A sequestered village may be considered as a convent, 
 consisting of a select society of persons distantly re- 
 tired from this world, whose wicked passions no 
 sooner ferment than they evaporate, but whose vir- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 8? 
 
 tues equally increase by the intercourses of conge- 
 nial minds, or, the only alternative, a seclusion from 
 all society. 
 
 The mind cannot suffer a more odious tyranny 
 than prevails in the government of a municipal 
 town ! where not only the rich citizen erects himself 
 into a proud master over his less wealthy equals, but 
 where the contracted notions of this little tyrant be- 
 come, if unopposed, the standard of reason to all the 
 town. Towns, although they may in some respects 
 resemble Villages, differ materially as to their inter- 
 nal government and police. 
 
 The members of small Republics care only for 
 themselves, and feel little anxiety about any thing 
 that passes beyond their own limits. The all pow- 
 erful and imperious Governor considers his little ter- 
 ritory as the universe. His breath alone decides every 
 question that is proposed at the Guild Hall ; and the 
 rest of his time is wholly occupied in maintaining 
 his influence over the minds of his fellow-citizens, 
 by relating private anecdotes, circulating superstitious 
 tales, talking of the price of corn, the collection of 
 tythes, the rents of his manors, hay-harvest, vintage- 
 time, or the next market. Next to God, he is 
 within his own territory the greatest man upon the 
 face of the earth. The honest labourer crouches 
 with fear and trembling in the presence of his re- 
 doubtable majesty ; for he knows the ruin that awaits 
 his anger. The thunder of Heaven is less terrible 
 than the wrath of an upstart magistrate ; for the one 
 soon passes away, but the other remains for ever. 
 
88 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 The figure of Justice here raises its proud head, and 
 looks down with contempt on the humble suitor : the 
 arbitrary magistrate governs, orders, censures, and 
 condemns, without regard to right or wrong; and 
 the sentence he pronounces frequently consigns ho- 
 nour to infamy, while it raises vice to credit and 
 applause. 
 
 The inhabitants of a municipal town are gene- 
 rally addicted to law ; and an attorney is in their 
 eyes the brightest genius. The voice of Reason is 
 an empty sound, and cries in vain for justice ; for 
 they only believe that right which the law de- 
 crees. To secede from their factious meetings, to 
 reason with impartiality, to think with candour, or 
 to act with liberality, only excites their jealousy and 
 detestation. Of study and reflection, except among 
 the clergy, they have no idea; and language will not 
 furnish any word expressive of the high contempt in 
 which they hold a literary character. Reason and 
 superstition are, in their minds, synonymous terms. 
 If a hen have laid her egga before their door, a crow 
 have croaked upon the chimney-top, a mouse have 
 run along the floor, they foolishly believe some dire 
 misfortune is impending ; and the man who dares to 
 smile at their credulity is, in their conceit, lost to 
 every sense of virtue and religion. They are yet ig- 
 norant that men are not free-thinkers, for humbly 
 doubting whether the spots we frequently observe on 
 linen announce the death of some beloved relation. 
 Unconscious that there are men of independent spi- 
 rits in the world, they think, alas ! that no impor- 
 
2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 8cj 
 
 tant service can be performed but by along harangue 
 in their Town Hall, and that no man can acquire the 
 countenance of the great and good who has dared to 
 oppose the leaders of their little town. But who, ex- 
 cept such beings, would so tamely endure a mean 
 submission to the little tyrant of their poor domain? 
 An honest man will only bow before the Deity him- 
 self ; will only submit to the laws which he himself 
 has made; will only reverence superior talents, vir- 
 tue, merit; and smile at the vain wrath and ludi- 
 crous appearance of the provincial magistrate, when 
 he receives him in anger with his hat upon his head. 
 But of such a character they have no idea : they do 
 not perceive that Slander, the common scourge of 
 every country-town, is the vice of narrow-minded 
 men, who visit merely to spy out their neighbour's 
 conduct, and report every transaction of his house, 
 his kitchen, or his cellar, with malevolent amplifica- 
 tion. To men so ignorant it would be vain to say, 
 that Solitude would soon improve their faculties, 
 subdue their faults, render them superior to the 
 meanness of envy, the disgrace of slander, inspire 
 them with noble ardour to seek the path of know- 
 ledge, and enable them to pursue with hardiness and 
 vigour the prize of Virtue. 
 
 Philanthropy, however extended, will not silence 
 the tongue of envy ; for the jealousy of the world 
 will attribute the best actions to interested motives ; 
 to avoid therefore the rancorous malevolence of en- 
 vious minds, we must, with an exception of those 
 whose virtues we revere, turn our backs on man- 
 
QO ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 kind, and by retiring- into Solitude prevent the appe- 
 tite of Slander from growing by what it feeds on. 
 
 A young man, however virtuous he may be, who 
 aspires to advance himself in life, will not in the 
 world find the least assistance. The fashionable 
 circles will certainly afford him neither information 
 nor encouragement; for virtue in these places is 
 neither known nor beloved. If his person should 
 excite attention, the sentiments he utters will not be 
 understood; the company will consider him as a 
 weak, ridiculous character, who, instead of seeking 
 by adulteration to gain the interests of the great and 
 powerful, prefers the pleasure of writing or reading 
 by himself. In vain has he been reared in the bosom 
 of a liberal and enlightened family ; in vain has he 
 received his education among the noblest characters ; 
 in vain are his principles established by a correspond- 
 ence with the best and most learned philosophers of 
 the age; for these advantages only excite envy, and 
 afford greater inducement to oppress his activity and 
 stop his course. What man will continue to patro- 
 nize him, unless he becomes dexterous in affording 
 useful accommodation to those in whose hands the 
 whole power resides ; from whom alone hunger can 
 receive bread, or industry procure employment ; to 
 whose will every thing is submitted; who direct and 
 govern every movement ; and by whose nod honour, 
 fame, and esteem, are conferred or taken away ? His 
 mind must cautiously conceal the superiority of its 
 knowledge; his eyes must appear blind to what he 
 sees ; his heart seem senseless of what he feels ; he 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 91 
 
 must constantly listen to a loose and frothy conver- 
 sation, during which, however fatiguing- it may be, he 
 is denied the privilege of yawning, and is ruined for 
 ever, if by his silence he permit the shadow of dissa- 
 tisfaction to appear. He will be despised as a man 
 of sense and understanding, notwithstanding he uses 
 every endeavour to be thought otherwise*. Sur- 
 rounded by so much deformity, both he and his 
 friends might blush for want of that distinguishing 
 eminence upon the back, but that he hears them 
 gravely talk at the Hotel de Ville upon the important 
 care of a stable much oftener than they meet in 
 London and Versailles, to decide upon the fate of 
 Europe ; and must sit with as much attention to hear 
 them argue upon the right of a partition-wall, as if 
 he were placed in the synod of the Gods. Perceiving, 
 therefore, that presumption, ignorance, and proud 
 stupidity, are infinitely in higher estimation than the 
 noblest exercise of reason : that men of the dullest 
 apprehensions are the most forward and impudent ! 
 that their vain and idle boastings alone model the wit 
 and direct the opinion of the day; that envy fastens 
 itself most inveterately upon the enlightened and 
 well-informed 5 that philosophy is considered as a 
 contemptible delirium, and liberty mistaken for a 
 spirit of revolt : perceiving, in short, that it is impos- 
 sible to succeed unless by means of the most servile 
 complaisance and degrading submission, what can 
 
 * " A man of enlightened mind," says Helvetius, " with 
 whatever address he may conceal bis character, can never 
 so exactly resemble a fool as a fool resembles himself." 
 
Q2 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 save a sensible and ingenuous youth from the perils 
 of such a scene but — Solitude ? 
 
 The poor poet Martial*, on his return to Bibilis, 
 the place of his nativity, in Spain, after having lived 
 thirty-four years among the most learned and en- 
 lightened men of Rome, found it a dreary desert, a 
 frightful Solitude. Forced to associate with persons 
 who felt no pleasure in the elegant delights of lite- 
 rature or the sciences, a painful langour seized his 
 mind, and he sighed incessantly, to revisit the 
 beloved metropolis where he had acquired such 
 universal fame ; where his good sense, his penetra- 
 tion, his sagacity, were duly applauded, and immor- 
 tality promised to his writings, by the encomiums 
 they received from the Younger Pliny, as possessing 
 equal sharpness, wit, and ease ; but on the contrary, 
 in the stupid town of Bibilis, his fame only acquired 
 him that which in small cities will ever attend an 
 excellent character, envy and contempt. 
 
 If therefore you be obliged, in the circles of 
 fashion, to be absurd through politeness, and blind 
 with your eyes completely open ; forced to conceal 
 your ideas ; to subdue your feelings ; to listen with 
 attention to that which you would rather be deaf 
 than hear ; if you must be chained to the slavery of 
 the gaming-table, although there is no punishment 
 
 * " Accedit his," says Martial, in the Preface to the 
 Twelfth Book of his Epigrams, " municipalium rubigo den 
 tium et judicii loco livor — adversus quod difficile est habere 
 quotidie bonum stomach nm." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Q3 
 
 to you so severe ; if every happy thought must be 
 strangled in its birth, all brilliancy of expression 
 suppressed, the looks of love concealed, honest truth 
 disguised, and your whole time devoted to please 
 characters who are ignorant of your merit; — O 
 reflect ! — that in such a situation the enervated spirit 
 lies buried in cold obscurity, like the fire in the flint 
 untouched by steel ; that your soul may languish 
 many years in this dangerous apathy ; and flee by a 
 noble effort from the feasts and coteries of your cor- 
 rupted city to the tranquillity of domestic comfort, 
 the silence of the groves, the society of your own 
 heart, and the charms of that inestimable liberty 
 which you have so long* neglected to obtain. 
 
 Freed from the world, the veil which dimmed the 
 sight immediately vanishes : the clouds which ob- 
 scured the light of reason disappear : the painful 
 burden which oppressed the soul is alleviated; we no 
 v longer wrestle with misfortunes, because we know 
 how to soften them ; we no longer murmur against 
 the dispensations of Providence, but reflect with 
 calmness and serenity on the advantages we have 
 derived from Solitude. The contented heart soon 
 acquires the habit of patience ; every corroding care 
 flies from our breasts on the wings of gaiety ; and on 
 every side agreeable and interesting scenes present 
 themselves to our view : the brilliant sun sinking be- 
 hind the lofty mountains, tinging their snow-crowned 
 summits with rays of gold: the feathered choir, 
 hastening to their mossy homes to taste the sweets 
 of calm repose ; the proud crowing of the amorous 
 
94 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 cock; the slow march of the oxen returning from 
 their daily toil ; the noble activity of the generous 
 steed : surrounded by such objects, we receive the 
 visits of intruders with an open air; and, provided 
 they do not too frequently interrupt the pleasures of 
 our retreat, we reconcile our hearts to all mankind. 
 
 But it is still more necessary to save ourselves 
 from the dangers of the metropolis than from those 
 of the provincial towns. The follies and vices of high 
 life are much more contagious than those of the 
 simple citizen ! How soon the finest beams of the 
 imagination die away, how soon does goodness lose 
 its power, where sense and truth are constantly de- 
 spised, and the virtues thrown aside as inconvenient 
 and oppressive ! The human mind soon becomes 
 weak and superficial when separated from those by 
 whom it might be enlightened and adorned : all the 
 finer feelings of the heart, the noblest efforts of the 
 mind, suddenly decay in the company of those osten- 
 tatious characters who affect to disdain the pleasures 
 of mixed societies *. 
 
 The great and fashionable however, are in every 
 country esteemed the best company : but the great, 
 unhappily, are not always the best, however they may 
 contemn the inferior orders of mankind. Whoever 
 can deduce his nobility through a course of sixteen 
 
 * The French is, " Assemblies sans oeuvre melee ;" to 
 which is subjoined the following explanation : " These, in 
 the style of the German nobility, are assemblies from which 
 not only all commoners are excluded, but all those whose 
 nobility is even liable to the least suspicion." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 95 
 
 descents, the value of his character is invariably 
 fixed : the courts of princes and the mansions of the 
 great are open to receive him ; and where merit is 
 overlooked, he almost universally acquires prece- 
 dency over the man whose merit is his only recom- 
 mendation; but those qualities, which alone can 
 render him valuable as a man, his excellency must 
 learn in societies where the powers of the mind and 
 the virtues of the heart alone confer dignity and 
 distinction. Let such a character, if he should chance 
 to find one solitary moment while he is waiting in 
 the anti-chamber of a prince, examine with national 
 calmness all those high prerogatives of which he is 
 so proud,- which, in his estimation, place him so 
 much above the ordinary level of mankind, and 
 induce him to retrace his descent to the creation of 
 the world; and he will find that titles and genealo- 
 gies without merit resemble those air-balloons, which 
 rise high only in proportion to their want of weight. 
 
 In almost every country however, these titles of 
 nobility separate a certain class of men from their 
 fellow-citizens, who are in general better informed, 
 more wise, more virtuous, and not unfrequently pos- 
 sessed of the only true nobility, a great and honour- 
 able character. Men who rely only on a line of 
 ancestry, not always the most respectable, and on the 
 mere distinction of birth, for their fame, rank, or 
 establishment in the world, never seek to acquire 
 any other merit, because it is the only one of which 
 they have any idea. Such characters, it is true, have 
 the honours of precedency, are generally acquainted 
 
§6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 with the newest modes of dress, conduct with supe- 
 rior skill the varying fashions, understand the bon- 
 ton, exemplify the etiquette and manners of the day, 
 and conceiving, from these circumstances, that they 
 were formed for the refinements of sensuality and 
 voluptuousness, fancy themselves of course endowed 
 with the most delicate and sensible faculties. 
 
 Langour and disgust, however, penetrate even 
 into those illustrious assemblies, from which the 
 pure and ancient nobility exclude the profane vulgar. 
 The proposition may perhaps at first view appear a 
 paradox. But listen to the manner in which a lady, 
 whose personal qualifications rendered her more 
 respectable than even the splendour of her birth, 
 explained the aenigma. 
 
 " The men of whom our select parties are com- 
 posed do not always possess the same taste and the 
 same sentiment with respect to these assemblies; 
 but it is still more rare for the women to be really 
 fond of them. It is, in general, the lot of the great 
 to possess a great deal by their birth, to desire much 
 more than they possess, and to enjoy nothing: in 
 consequence of this disposition, they fly to places of 
 public resort in search of each other; they meet 
 without feeling the smallest pleasure, and mix 
 among the group without being observed." " What 
 is it then that re-unites them?" asked I. '* It is 
 their rank/' she replied, " and afterwards custom, 
 lassitude, and the continual desire of dissipation ; a 
 desire inseparably attached to persons of our con- 
 dition. " 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Ql 
 
 Since it is really possible to experience disgust 
 and langour in the assemblies of the great, let us 
 examine if Solitude may not have an useful influence 
 on the minds of even this class of persons. 
 
 The nobility, misled by false information, main- 
 tain that all the pleasures of Solitude centre in a 
 contempt of the world and hatred of mankind ; or, 
 what is still worse, that misanthropy is the only basis 
 on which they are founded. On the contrary, I am 
 perfectly satisfied that their minds feel much more 
 spleen and mortification on their return from a 
 public assembly, than they possessed when they 
 quitted home — to see the world. The sober voice of 
 reason is there but faintly heard; while the light, 
 unmeaning tongue of folly is listened to with delight : 
 our intellectual communications afford no relish ; no 
 reciprocity of sentiment prevails ; the appearance of 
 satisfaction frequently excites envy, and serenity of 
 mind is misconstrued into sadness. The respective 
 members of a numerous assembly are, in general, 
 actuated by such different and opposite interests, 
 that it is impossible to reconcile them with each 
 other. Ask that young and lovely girl, if in a 
 public assembly she always experienced the pleasures 
 she hoped to find. Ask her if her heart be not tor- 
 tured with vexation, when the rich and youthful 
 beau, neglectful of her charms, pays his addresses to 
 some rival beauty. Ask this rival beauty what pangs 
 lier bosom feels when she perceives herself sup- 
 planted by some happier fair: and let this last 
 acknowledge the kind of pleasure she receives, if her 
 
98 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 admirer pay the least attention even to her own 
 friend, the fair female whom the heart adores. Ask 
 that sober-seeming matron, whose bosom heretofore 
 has felt these torments, if she be not convulsed by- 
 pain, when higher compliments are passed on the 
 beauty of youth than on the wisdom of age. 
 
 An English gentleman whom I met in Germany 
 said, in a manner extremely lively, " There are wo- 
 men who are eternally jealous that you do not pay 
 them sufficient respect, and who, in consequence, 
 assume an arrogance which would be insupportable 
 even in an empress ; while they might, by compla- 
 cent smiles, not only render every one about them 
 pleased and happy, but obtain their admiration and 
 applause. The false dignity of such characters ruf- 
 fles their tempers like the quills upon the fretful 
 porcupine, or the feathers of a turkey-cock in wrath." 
 The most dissipated man must surely view such 
 characters with abhorrence and disgust ; and if he 
 seriously reflect how many there are who, careless 
 of distinguishing between appearances and reality, 
 feel with equal indifference the love of truth and 
 dread of falsehood ; how frequently the persons who 
 compose what is styled good company are, even in 
 the judgment and opinion of their sincerest and most 
 liberal admirers, dazzled by false brilliancy, and 
 gratified by the most trifling information ; that they 
 shun with terror the advantages of reflection, tran- 
 quillity, and Solitude ; that they prefer a life of in- 
 cessant dissipation, and seldom consult their judg- 
 ments or exercise their understandings; that they 
 
ZIMMSRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 99 
 
 rather expect to receive pleasure from others, than 
 endeavour to find it within themselves ; and conduct 
 themselves by casual advice, rather than take the 
 trouble of thinking- for themselves ; that amidst the 
 most favourable opportunities to observe and study 
 the human character, they neither think nor speak 
 but by the information of others ; that they guide 
 themselves by the prejudices of their education, the 
 pride of their rank, and the dictates of fashion; that 
 they blindly adopt and defend the reigning opinion 
 of the moment, and revolve continually round the 
 same circle of defective notions, false ideas, and ob- 
 scure expressions ;—in reflecting on these errors, the 
 most dissipated man must exclaim with one wf the 
 most virtuous and respectable sages of Germany, 
 " To be forced to frequent this good company, is, 
 to a thinking and judicious mind, one of the greatest 
 torments in life : but when a wise man is obliged 
 from indispensable motives to endure the torment, 
 he will learn by experience to feel, in a still higher 
 degree, the inestimable value of a rational Solitude." 
 
 Men of the world, therefore, if they act with can- 
 dour, and sincerely examine the merits of these so- 
 cieties, will soon contemn such noisy and tumultu- 
 ous scenes : and preferring the calm delights of Soli- 
 tude, will feel a happy inclination to display, in more 
 laudable pursuits, the strength and energies of the 
 mind. 
 
 In the frequent vicissitudes, embarrassments, and 
 distractions of public pleasures, the intellectual 
 flame expires. 
 
100 ZIMMEHMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 By a scrupulous attention to all those ceremonies 
 which politeness exacts, we may indeed pay the 
 court of flattery to both high and low ; but we also 
 thereby most shamefully sacrifice our lives. The 
 passion for play not only consumes time, but ener- 
 vates the spirits; while the exactions of gallantry 
 reduce the soul to the most abject state of servitude. 
 
 The other entertainments of the great and gay 
 are of as little value as their conversations. The man 
 on whom Heaven has bestowed only the talent of 
 dancing, will make but a poor figure in society. The 
 courtier, whose conversation entirely consists of ob- 
 servations, that " this is contrary to the established 
 etiquette— that is the newest fashion — these are the 
 most elegant embroideries on silk, cloth, and velvet 
 — in such a month there will be a gala/' — is a crea- 
 ture still more pitiful. A man may, without doubt, 
 recommend himself by such kind of information, by 
 that affected interest with which he speaks on a thou- 
 sand trifling concerns of life, by the approbation 
 which he gives to every passion, the flattery with 
 which he soothes every prejudice and encourages 
 every folly 5 but he thereby narrows his mind, and 
 destroys the faculty of forming a just estimate of any 
 important subject. Besides, the pleasures of high 
 life cannot be enjoyed without the concurrence of 
 great numbers in the same object at the same time : 
 but reading and meditation may be enjoyed at any 
 time, and continued without the intervention of an- 
 other person. It is true, indeed, that if a man of 
 the world were only to think of this mode of life, he 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 10 1 
 
 would be despised as a misanthrope, and be obliged 
 every moment to listen to the recommendation of 
 entering into the round of public pleasures to effect 
 his cure. But, on the contrary, the societies of the 
 world, while they add some little refinement to the 
 natural rudeness of human manners, tend to increase 
 a misanthropic temper, by furnishing the mind with 
 a variety of reasons to justify it. In short, the bur- 
 den of misanthropy is not greater in the mind of 
 him who flees from the pleasures of the world, than 
 in him who seeks them : the first character only feels 
 a hatred of vice and folly ; while, on the contrary, 
 the idle and dissipated man hates every person who 
 distinguishes himself, either by the goodness of his 
 heart or the superiority of his understanding; and 
 by his endeavours to deride all who possess merit, 
 discovers that he feels no hope of acquiring for him- 
 self either reputation or esteem. 
 
 The mind that seriously contemplates these 
 truths, and many others which these will suggest, 
 must feel the necessity of retiring occasionally from 
 the world; at least of confining himself to the com- 
 pany of a few faithful friends, whose wit ana talents, 
 when compared with those of the generality of men, 
 will be what a stop watch is when compared with an 
 hour-glass. By the one you may undoubtedly dis- 
 cover the course of time ; but the other, from the 
 nice art and happy care with which it is formed, 
 points out every second as it passes. He, therefore, 
 who feels the least inclination to study either men or 
 books, can derive pleasure only from the company 
 
102 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and conversation of learned and enlightened minds ; 
 and if, unfortunately, in his course through life, he 
 should not meet with agreeable characters of this 
 description, the charms of Solitude will recompense 
 his disappointment. 
 
 A very great character, the younger Pliny, felt 
 no satisfaction from any species of public entertain- 
 ment, general festival, or national solemnity, because 
 he had cultivated a taste for those pleasures which a 
 contemplative mind affords. He wrote to one of his 
 friends, " I have, for some days past, read and writ- 
 ten in the most agreeable tranquillity. You will 
 ask, how this could possibly happen in Rome. I 
 will satisfy you : It was during the celebration of the 
 games of the Circus, the sight of which affords me 
 no pleasure ; for they possess neither novelty nor 
 variety, and consist of nothing worth seeing more 
 than once. It is inconceivable to me, how so many 
 millions of people can press with such childish cu- 
 riosity merely to see horses gallop and slaves seated 
 on chariots. When I reflect on the interest, anxiety, 
 and avidity, with which men pursue sights so vain, 
 frivolous, and reiterated, I feel a secret satisfaction 
 in acknowledging that to me they afford no amuse- 
 ment, and that 1 enjoy a superior delight in conse- 
 crating to the study of the belles lettres that time, 
 which they so miserably sacrifice to the entertain- 
 ments of the Circus." 
 
 But if, from similar motives, a man of the world 
 were to steal from the pleasures of good company, 
 would he not by that means degrade his character ? 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 103 
 
 Would he not in the recess of Solitude forget the 
 bon-ton, and,, of course, lose all those qualities which 
 externally constitute the sole difference between the 
 nobleman and his slave r 
 
 The bon-ton, which consists entirely in a facility 
 of expression, in representing our ideas in the most 
 agreeable manner, prevails in every country, and is 
 possessed in general by all men of sense and educa- 
 tion, whatever their rank or condition in life may be. 
 The nobleman and the clown, therefore, may alike 
 acquire a knowledge of the bon-ton. The solitary 
 character may perhaps appear in society with manners 
 somewhat out of date; but a certain propriety of be- 
 haviour will accompany him, which a man of true 
 reflection will prefer, however foreign his style may 
 be to the fashion of the world. He may perhaps 
 venture to appear in company with a coat, the colour 
 of which was in fashion the preceding year; perhaps 
 in his modes of thinking and manner of behaviour 
 something may be discernible offensive to the eyes 
 of a man of the world, who upon these important 
 subjects follows invariably the reigning opinion of 
 the day : but by his easy, open, honest air, by that 
 natural politeness which good sense and virtue in- 
 spire, a man, although he be somewhat out of the 
 fashion, will never displease a rational and refined 
 observer, even in the brilliant circles of a court, when 
 he is found to possess a decent demeanour and a 
 mind stored with useful information. The most 
 accomplished courtier, with all his studied manners 
 and agreeable address, frequently discovers that he 
 possesses few ideas, and that his mind has only been 
 
104 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 employed on low and trifling* objects. Among men 
 of dissipated minds, who consider grossness of con- 
 versation and audacity of manner as the only crite- 
 rion of good sense and polished behaviour, a solitary 
 man does not always meet with a favourable recep- 
 tion. The style and sentiment which best please 
 such characters are impossible to be learned in Soli- 
 tude ; for he who most contributes to the amuse- 
 ment of men of the world can seldom boast any other 
 merit, than that of attempting to ridicule every thing 
 that is true, noble, great, and good; or any other 
 success, than proving himself to be a foolish charac- 
 ter, without judgment, principle, or good manners. 
 
 In what I have hitherto considered in this chap- 
 ter no question has been raised of the internal and 
 immediate advantages which Solitude confers upon 
 the mind. 
 
 The mind, without doubt, gains considerable ad- 
 vantage by having been accustomed to Solitude dur- 
 ing the earliest years of infancy, if instructed in a 
 judicious use of time. The circumstance also, that 
 even in small towns the mind may be impressed with 
 a deep disgust of all those vices and irregularities 
 which are common to such places, is by no means un- 
 important ; for it is highly advantageous, that with- 
 out lessening the respect which is justly due to the 
 talents and virtues of men of quality, the mind 
 should be taught to remark also their foibles and de- 
 fects, in order to detach it from its fondness for the 
 world, and connect it more closely with itself; to 
 make it feel how dearly its future happiness is in- 
 terested in exciting every faculty to acquire those 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 105 
 
 original, great, and useful ideas, which are so seldom 
 circulated in what is called good company. 
 
 But the first and most incontestable advantage, 
 which Solitude confers, is, that it accustoms the 
 mind to think. The imagination becomes more 
 lively, the memory more faithful, while the senses 
 remain undistracted, and no external object disgusts 
 the soul. Withdrawn from the fatiguing toils of the 
 world, where a thousand adventitious objects dance 
 incessantly before our eyes, and fill the mind with 
 incoherent ideas, Solitude presents one single object 
 only to our view, and we steal ourselves away from 
 every thing but that on which the heart has fixed its 
 pursuit. An author,* whose works I could read 
 with pleasure every hour of my life, says, (< It is the 
 power of attention which in a great measure distin- 
 guishes the wise and the great from the vulgar and 
 trifling herd of men. The latter are accustomed to 
 think, or rather to dream, without knowing the sub- 
 ject of their thoughts. In their unconnected rovings, 
 they pursue no end ; they follow no track. Every 
 thing floats loose and disjointed on the surface of 
 their mind ; like leaves scattered and blown about on 
 the face of the waters/' 
 
 The mind easily acquires the habit of thinking, 
 
 * Dr. Blair, the author of the much- admired Sermons, 
 and of an excellent work, entitled, " Lectures on Rhetoric 
 and Belles Let^es,'* printed in London, for the first time? 
 in the year 1783 ; and indispensably necessary to be studied 
 by every person who wishes to speak and write with ac* 
 curacy and elegance. 
 
 F3 
 
106 2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 when it is withdrawn from that variety of objects by 
 which its attention is distracted 5 when it turns from 
 the observation of external objects, and finds itself 
 in a situation where the course of daily occurrences 
 is no longer subject to continual change. Idleness, 
 however, would soon destroy all the advantages 
 which Solitude is capable of affording ; for idleness 
 excites the most dangerous fermentation of the 
 passions, and produces in the mind of a solitary man 
 a crowd of extravagant ideas and irregular desires. 
 To lead the mind to think, it is necessary, therefore, 
 to retire from the multitude, and to raise our thoughts 
 above the mean consideration of sensual objects. 
 The mind then easily recollects all that information 
 with which it has been enriched by reading, observa- 
 tion, experience, or discourse ; every reflection pro- 
 duces new ideas, and brings the purest pleasures to 
 the soid. We cast our eyes on the scenes we have 
 passed, and think on what is yet to come, until the 
 memory of the past and future die away in the actual 
 enjoyment of the present moment : but to preserve 
 the powers of reason, we must, even in Solitude, di- 
 rect our attention actively towards some nobly-in- 
 teresting end. 
 
 It might perhaps excite a smile, were I to assert 
 that Solitude is the only school in which we can 
 study the characters of men ; but it must be recol- 
 lected, that, although materials are to be amassed 
 only in society, it is in Solitude alone that we can 
 convert them into use. The world is the great scene 
 of our observations ; but to comment on and arrange 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 107 
 
 them with propriety, is the work of Solitude. Under 
 this view of the subject, therefore, I do not perceive 
 how it is possible to call those characters envious and 
 misanthropic, who, while they continue in the world, 
 endeavour to discover even the hidden foibles, to ex- 
 pose all the latent faults and imperfections of man- 
 kind. A knowledge of the nature of man is laudable 
 and necessary ; and this knowledge can only be ac- 
 quired by observation. I cannot therefore think, 
 that this study is either so dangerous or illusory as 
 is in general supposed ; that it tends to degrade the 
 species, to sink the human character by opprobrium, 
 to beget, sooner or later, sorrow and repentance, to 
 deprive life of a variety of pure and noble pleasures, 
 and in the end to destroy all the faculties of the soul. 
 I only perceive a very laudable spirit of useful inquiry 
 and instructive observation. 
 
 Do I feel either envy or hatred against mankind, 
 when I study the nature, and explore the secret 
 causes, of those weaknesses and disorders which are 
 incidental to the human frame; when I occasionally 
 examine the subject with closer inspection, and point 
 out for the general benefit of mankind, as well as for 
 my own satisfaction, all the frail and imperfect parts 
 in the anatomy of the body, and rejoice when I dis- 
 cover phenomena before unknown to others as well 
 as to myself? I do not, upon these occasions, confine 
 my knowledge to general observations, that such and 
 such appearances were produced by such and such 
 disorders j but, influenced by any sinister considera- 
 tions, I disclose, when the necessity of the case calls 
 for information, all the knowledge I possess on the 
 
108 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 subject, and explain every symptom of the disorder, 
 with all its changes and complications. 
 
 But a line of demarcation is drawn between the 
 observations which we are permitted to make upon 
 the anatomy of the human body, and those which we 
 assume respecting- the philosophy of the mind. The 
 physician, it is said, studies the disorders of the 
 body, to apply, if possible, a remedy, as occasion 
 may require • but it is contended, that the moralist 
 has a different end in view. How does this appear? 
 A sensible and feeling mind must view the moral 
 defects of his fellow-creatures with the same regret 
 that he observes their physical infirmities. Why 
 do moralists shun mankind? Why do they constantly 
 retire from the corruptions of the world to the purity 
 of Solitude, if it be not to avoid the contagion of 
 vice ? But there are a multiplicity of moral foibles 
 or defects, which are not perceived to be foibles and 
 defects in those places where they are every hour 
 indulged. There is, without contradiction, a great 
 pleasure in discovering the imperfections of human 
 nature ; and where that discovery may prove benefi- 
 cial to mankind without doing an injury to any in- 
 dividual, to publish them to the world, to point out 
 their properties, to place them by a luminous de- 
 scription before the eyes of men, is, in my apprehen- 
 sion, a pleasure so far from being mischievous, that 
 I rather think, and I trust I shall continue to think 
 so even in the hour of death, it is the only true mean 
 of discovering the machinations of the devil, and 
 destroying the effect of his works. 
 
 Solitude, therefore, is the school in which we 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 109 
 
 must study the moral nature of man : in retirement, 
 the principle of observation is awakened; the objects 
 to which the attention will be most advantageously 
 directed are pointed out by mature reflection, and 
 all our remarks guided by reason to their proper 
 ends 3 while, on the contrary, courtiers, and men 
 of the world, take up their sentiments from the ca- 
 prices of others, and give their opinions without 
 digesting the subject on which they are formed. 
 
 Bonnet, in a very affecting passage of the pre- 
 face to his work on the nature of the soul, describes 
 the advantages which, under the loss of his sight, he 
 derived from Solitude. " Solitude naturally leads 
 the mind to meditation: that in which I have in 
 some measure hitherto lived, joined to the unfortu- 
 nate circumstances which have for some years afflicted 
 me, and from which T am not yet released, induced 
 me to seek in the exercise of my mind those re- 
 sources which my distracted state rendered so neces- 
 sary. My mind now affords me a happy retreat, 
 where I taste all the pleasures which have charmed 
 my affliction." At this period the virtuous Bonnet 
 was almost blind. 
 
 An excellent man, of another description, who 
 devoted his time to the instruction of youth, Pfefrel, 
 of Colmar, supported himself under the affliction of 
 a total blindness in a manner equally noble and af- 
 fecting, by a life less solitary indeed, but by the op- 
 portunities of frequent leisure, which he devoted to 
 the study of philosophy, the recreation of poetry, 
 and the exercise of humanity. 
 
1 10 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 In Japan there was formerly an academy of 
 blind persons, who perhaps were much more capable 
 of discernment than the members of some other aca- 
 demies. The sightless academicians consecrated 
 their hours to music, poetry, and the history of their 
 country : the most celebrated traits in the annals of 
 Japan were chosen as the subject of their muse, and 
 these they afterwards adapted to music. In reflect- 
 ing- upon the irregular lives and useless employ- 
 ments which a great number of solitary persons lead, 
 we contemplate the conduct of these blind Japanese 
 with the highest pleasure. The " mind's eye" 
 opened to compensate their unhappy fate in being 
 deprived of the enjoyment of their corporeal organ. 
 Light, life, and joy, issued from the shades of sur- 
 rounding darkness, and blessed them with tranquil 
 reflection and salutary employments- 
 
 Let us then devote our lives to Solitude and free- 
 dom ; let us frequently resign ourselves to the same 
 happy tranquillity which prevails in the English 
 garden of my immortal friend M. Hinuber, at Mari- 
 enwerder, where every object solicits the mind to 
 the enjoyment of pious, peaceful sentiment, and in- 
 spires it with the most elevated conceptions: or, if 
 disposed profoundly to examine the more awful beau- 
 ties of nature, and thereby prevent the soul from 
 sinking through the void which society has occa- 
 sioned, let us roam beneath the antique pines of the 
 towering, majestic Hapsburg.* 
 
 * An elevated mountain, from the summit of which may 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Ill 
 
 Solitude induces the mind to think ; and thought 
 is the first spring of human actions : for it is truly 
 observed, that the actions of men are nothing more 
 than their thoughts brought into substance and be- 
 ing. The mind, therefore, has only to examine 
 with honest impartiality the ideas which it feels the 
 greatest inclination to follow, in order to dive into 
 and unravel the whole mystery of the human . cha- 
 racter; and he who has not before been accustomed 
 to interrogate himself will, upon such an enquiry, 
 often discover truths the most important to his hap- 
 piness, which the disguises of the world had con- 
 cealed from his view. 
 
 To a man disposed to activity, the only qualities, 
 for which there can be any occasion in Solitude, are 
 liberty and leisure. The instant he finds himself 
 alone, all the faculties of his soul are set in motion. 
 Give him liberty and leisure, and he will soar incom- 
 parably higher than if he had continued to drag on 
 a slavish and oppressed life among the sons of men. 
 Those authors who never think for themselves, but 
 only recollect the thoughts of others, and aim not 
 at originality, here compile their works with easy 
 labour, and are happy. But what superior pleasure 
 does the mind of an author feel in the advantages 
 of Solitude, where they contribute to bring forth the 
 fruits of genius from the tree of virtue, to the confu- 
 sion of folly and wickedness ! Solitude and tranquil- 
 
 be seen the ruins of an ancient castle, whence issued the 
 celebrated House of Austria. 
 
MS ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 lity moderate the exuberance of a lively mind, bring 
 its diverging- rays to a single point, and give it a 
 power to strike which nothing can resist, A legion 
 of adversaries cannot inspire such a character with 
 fear ; conscious of his powers, and anxious for the 
 interests of virtue, his desire and determination will 
 be to render his enemies, sooner or later, condign 
 justice. He must undoubtedly feel the keenest re- 
 gret and mortification in observing the dispensa- 
 tions of the world ; where vice is frequently raised 
 to grandeur, hypocrisy generally honoured by the 
 suffrages of a misguided populace, and prejudices 
 obeyed in preference to the voice of truth. Casting, 
 however, his eyes upon this scene, he will sometimes 
 say, " This is as it ought to be ; but, this is not to 
 be endured:" and by a happy stroke of satire from 
 his pen, the bloom of vice shall wither, the arts 
 of hypocrisy be overthrown, and prejudice extin- 
 guished. 
 
 To the eye of the bold satirist, to the mind of the 
 profound philosopher, to the feelings of the man of 
 genius, the charms of truth disclose themselves with 
 superior lustre in the bowers of Solitude. A great 
 and good man. Dr. Blair, of Edinburgh, says, "The 
 great and the worthy, the pious and the virtuous, 
 have ever been addicted to serious retirement. It is 
 the characteristic of little and frivolous minds to be 
 wholly occupied with the vulgar objects of life. 
 These fill up their desires, and supply all the enter- 
 tainment which their coarse apprehensions can relish. 
 But a more refined and enlarged mind leaves the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 113 
 
 world behind it, feels a call for higher pleasures, and 
 seeks them in retreat. The man of public spirit has 
 recourse to it in order to form plans for general 
 good ; the man of genius in order to dwell on his fa- 
 vourite themes ; the philosopher to pursue his dis- 
 coveries 3 the saint to improve himself in grace." 
 
 Numa, the legislator of Rome, while he was only 
 a private Sabine, retired on the death of Tatia, his 
 beloved wife, into the forest of Aricia, where he 
 passed his time in wandering alone through the sa- 
 cred groves, lawns, and most retired places. The 
 superstition of the age imputed his love of Solitude, 
 not to any hatred of mankind, not to a sorrowful or 
 discontented mind, but to a higher cause, a myste- 
 rious communication with some protecting Deity. A 
 rumour prevailed, that the goddess Egeria had be- 
 come enamoured of his charms, had married him, 
 and, by enlightening his mind, and storing it with 
 superior wisdom, had led him to divine felicity. 
 The druids, also, who constantly inhabited caverns, 
 rocks, and the most solitary woods, are said to have 
 instructed the nobility of their nation in wisdom and 
 eloquence, in all the various phenomena of nature, 
 the course of the stars, the mysteries of religion, and 
 the essences of eternity. The high idea entertained 
 of the wisdom of the Druids, although, like the 
 story of Numa, it is only an agreeable fiction,* still 
 
 * " Although," says an elegant historian, " the inte- 
 grity of the sage may be impeached in countenancing the 
 fiction, yet the pious fraud of the monarch may be palliated 
 
114 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 shews with what enthusiasm every age and nation 
 have spoken of those venerable characters who, in 
 the silence of woods and the tranquillity of Solitude, 
 have devoted their time to the improvement and re- 
 formation of mankind. 
 
 In Solitude the powers of genius no longer require 
 the patronage of the great, but act by their own in- 
 trinsic force with greater energy than when stimu- 
 lated by the praises of partiality, the promises of 
 flattery, or the hopes of recompence. Corregio, at a 
 time when Flanders, torn by civil discord, was filled 
 with painters as poor in circumstances as they were 
 rich in fame, had been so seldom rewarded during 
 his life, that a payment of six pistoles of German 
 coin, which he was obliged to travel to Parma to 
 receive, created in his mind such an extravagance of 
 joy, that it proved the occasion of his death.* The 
 secret approbation of the judicious is the only re- 
 compence these divine artists expect for their merit; 
 they paint in the hope of being rewarded by immor- 
 tal fame. 
 
 if not vindicated ; and policy will pardon that deceit which 
 was exercised to reform the manners, and to restrain the 
 passions, of a lawless and barbarous people." — Translator. 
 
 * The payment was made to him in quadrini a species 
 of copper coin. The joy which the mind of Corregio felt in 
 being the bearer of so large a quantity of money to his 
 wife, prevented him from thinking either of the length of 
 his journey or the excessive heat of the day. He walked 
 twelve miles \ and his haste to reach his home brought on 
 the pleurisy of which he did. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 115 
 
 The practice of profound meditation raises the 
 mind above its natural tone, warms the imagination, 
 and gives birth to sentiments of the highest subli- 
 mity; and the soul thus employed in Solitude feels 
 the most pure, unbroken, permanent, and genial 
 pleasures of which it is capable. In Solitude, to 
 live and to think are synonymous terms; on every 
 emotion the mind darts into infinity ; and, wrapt in 
 its enthusiasm, is confirmed by this freedom of en- 
 joyment in the habitude of thinking on sublime sub- 
 jects, and of adopting the most heroic pursuits. In 
 a deep recess, at the foot of a high mountain near 
 Pyrmont, one of the most remarkable achievements 
 of the present age was first conceived. The king of 
 Prussia having visited the spa, withdrew from the 
 public company of the place, and wandered alone 
 upon this beautiful though uncultivated mountain, 
 which to this day is called the Royal Mountain.* On 
 this desert spot, since become the seat of coquetry 
 and dissipation, the young monarch, it is confidently 
 reported, formed the project of his war against Si- 
 lesia. 
 
 The inestimable value of time, of which the in- 
 dolent, having no conception, can form no estimate, 
 is much better learned in the regularity of Solitude 
 than in the light and airy rounds of life. He who 
 employs himself with ardour, and is unwilling to 
 live entirely in vain, contemplates with trembling 
 apprehension the rapid movement of a stop-watch, 
 
 * Koenigsberg. 
 
Il6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 the true image of human life, the most striking em- 
 blem of the rapid course of time. 
 
 The time which we employ in social intercourse, 
 when it improves the faculties of the mind, raises the 
 feelings of the heart to a certain degree of elevation, 
 extends the sphere of knowledge, and banishes our 
 cares, is far from being mispent. But if an inter- 
 course even thus happily formed become our sole 
 delight, and change into the passion of love j if it 
 transform hours into minutes, and exclude from the 
 mind every idea except those which the object of 
 affection inspires, even love itself, alas ! will absorb 
 our time, and years will pass unperceived away. 
 
 Time is never too long ; on the contrary, it ap- 
 pears too short to him who, to the extent of his 
 capacity, employs it usefully in discharging the re- 
 spective duties which his particular situation calls 
 upon him to perform. To such a disposition, time, 
 instead of being burdensome, flies too hastily away. 
 I am acquainted with a young prince who, by the 
 assistance of six domestics, does not employ more 
 than too minutes in dressing. Of his carriage it 
 would be incorrect to say that he goes in it, for it 
 flies. At his hospitable table every course is finished 
 in a moment, and I am informed that this is the 
 usual fashion of princes, who seem disposed to make 
 every thing pass with rapidity. 1 have, however, 
 seen the royal youth to whom I allude, exercise the 
 most brilliant talents, support the highest style of 
 character, attend in his own person to every applica- 
 tion, and I know that he has afforded satisfaction and 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 117 
 
 delight in every interview. I know that the affairs 
 of his domestic establishment engage his most scru- 
 pulous attention six hours every day, and that in 
 every day of the year he employs, without excep- 
 tion, seven hours in reading the best English, Ita- 
 lian, French, and German authors. This prince 
 knows the value of time. 
 
 The time which the man of the world throws 
 away is treasured up by the man of Solitude, and in- 
 deed by every one who wishes to make his existence 
 useful to himself or beneficial to mankind; and 
 certainly there is not in this world any species of en- 
 joyment more permanent. Men have many duties 
 to perform ; and therefore, he who wishes to dis- 
 charge them honourably will vigilantly seize the ear- 
 liest opportunity, if he do not wish that any part of 
 his time, like an useless page, should be torn from 
 the book of life. We stop the course of time by em- 
 ployment; we prolong the duration of life by thought, 
 by wise counsel, and useful actions. Existence to 
 him who wishes not to live in vain, is to think and 
 to act. Our ideas never flow more rapidly, more co- 
 piously, or with more gaiety, than in those mo- 
 ments which we save from an unpleasant and fashion- 
 able visit. , 
 
 We shall always employ time with more rigid 
 economy, when we reflect on the many hours which 
 escape contrary to our inclination. A celebrated 
 English author says, " When we have deducted all 
 that is absorbed in sleep, all that is inevitably appro- 
 priated to the demands of nature, or irresistibly 
 engrossed by the tyranny of custom ; all that passes 
 
1 18 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 in regulating the superficial decorations of life, or is 
 given up in the reciprocations of civility to the dis- 
 posal of others ; all that is torn from us by the 
 violence of disease, or stolen imperceptibly away 
 by lassitude and languor; we shall find that part of 
 our duration very small of which we can truly call 
 ourselves masters, or which we can spend wholly at 
 our own choice. Many of our hours are lost in a 
 rotation of petty cares, in a constant recurrence of 
 the same employments ; many of our provisions for 
 ease or happiness are always exhausted by the pre- 
 sent day, and a great part of our existence serves no 
 other purpose than that of enabling us to enjoy the 
 rest." 
 
 Time is never more mispent than while we com- 
 plain against the want of it. All our actions are 
 then tinctured by peevishness. The yoke of life is 
 certainly least oppressive when we carry it with 
 good humour. But when the imperious voice of 
 Fashion commands, we must, without a murmur, 
 boldly resist her bondage, and learn to reduce the 
 number of ceremonious visits which employ the 
 week. The accomplishment of this victory; a door 
 well bolted against the intrusion of futile visitors ; 
 our mornings past in rational employments; and 
 the evening consecrated to a severe scrutiny into our 
 daily conduct, will at least double the time we have 
 to live. Melanctlion, when any visitor was announced, 
 noted down not only the hour, but the very minute of 
 his arrival and departure, in order that the day might 
 not slip unheededly away. 
 
 The sorrowful lamentations on the subject of 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 119 
 
 time mispent and business neglected no longer recur 
 to torture the mind, when, under the freedom of a 
 retired and rural life, we have once learnt to use the 
 passing hours with economy. We have then no 
 more fatiguing visits to make ; we are no longer 
 forced, in spite of our aversion, to accept of invita- 
 tions ; we are released from those accumulating du- 
 ties which the manners of the world exact, and which 
 altogether are not equal to a single virtue : importu- 
 nate visitors cannot then call and steal away those 
 hours which we hope to employ more usefully. 
 
 But it has also been observed with great truth, 
 that very few of the hours which we pass in Solitude 
 are distinguished by any useful or permanent effect; 
 that many of them pass lightly away in dreams and 
 chimeras, or are employed in discontented, unquiet 
 reflections on the indulgence of dangerous passions 
 or criminal desires. 
 
 To retire into Solitude is not always a proof that 
 the mind is devoted to serious thought, or that it has 
 relinquished the amusement of low and trifling pur- 
 suits. Solitude, indeed, may prove more dangerous 
 than all the dissipations of the world. How fre- 
 quently, in a moment of the happiest leisure, does 
 indisposition render the mind incapable either of 
 study, or of employing its powers to any useful end I 
 The most sorrowful condition of Solitude is that of 
 the hypochondriac, whose mind is only occupied by 
 a sense of his pains. The most dissipated man does 
 not more mispend his time in pursuing the fleeting 
 pleasures of the world, than a man, however ab- 
 
120 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 stracted from the world, who pines in melancholy 
 over his misfortunes. Peevishness and ill-humour 
 occasion as great loss of time as melancholy, and are 
 certainly the greatest obstacles to the attainment of 
 mental felicity. Melancholy is an enemy whose hos- 
 tilities alarm our fears, and we therefore endeavour 
 to resist its attack ; but peevishness and ill-humour 
 work by sap, and we become the victims of their 
 power even before we think ourselves in danger. 
 
 Let us, however, only reflect, that by peevishness 
 and ill-humour we not only lose a single day, but 
 weeks and months together, and we shall endeavour 
 to escape from their influence, or at least to prevent 
 their access. One unpleasant thought, if we use- 
 lessly suffer it to disquiet and torment our minds, 
 will deprive us, for a length of time, of the capacity 
 to perform any thing beyond the circle of our daily 
 occupations. We should therefore most anxiously 
 endeavour to prevent any the most untoward acci- 
 dents of life from impeding the activity of our minds. 
 While the attention is employed, the remembrance 
 of sorrow dies away. Thus, in literary composition, 
 if ideas flow with freedom and success, peevishness 
 and ill-h amour immediately disappear; and the pen 
 which was taken up with the frown of discontent, is 
 laid down with the smiles of approbation and the 
 face of joy. 
 
 Life would afford abundant leisure amidst the 
 greatest multiplicity of affairs, if we did not sacrifice 
 our time, or suffer it to pass unemployed away. The 
 youth, who has learned the art of devoting every 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 121 
 
 hour to some useful purpose, has made considerable 
 proficiency, and is already qualified to manage even 
 extensive concerns. But the mind, whether from in- 
 dolence or ill-humour, before it undertakes a toil- 
 some task, hesitates, and endeavours to believe tha 
 it is not yet the proper season to commence the 
 work. Indolence must ever be caressed before it 
 can be induced to act. Let our first care therefore 
 be to fix our minds invariably upon some object, 
 and to pursue it, so as to place attainment beyond 
 the reach of accident. To form the character of a 
 man of business, firmness and decision must unite 
 with good-nature and flexibility. Surely no man 
 ever knew better how to employ life than that mo- 
 narch of whom it was said, " He is like marble, 
 equally firm and polished/' 
 
 The pursuit of some particular object, while it 
 prevents the loss of time, acts like a counter-poison 
 to the languors of life. Every man, from the mo- 
 narch on the throne to the labourer in the cottage, 
 should have a daily task, which he should feel it his 
 duty to perform without delay. The legend, " It is 
 to do this that you are placed here," ought to be 
 ever present to his mind, and stimulate all his ac- 
 tions. The great monarch, exemplary to the age in 
 which he lives, and whose.conduct furnishes a model 
 to posterity, rises every morning in summer at four 
 o'clock, and in winter at five. The petitions of his 
 subjects, the dispatches from foreign powers, the 
 public documents of the state, which were presented 
 
 G 
 
122 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 the preceding evening, or have arrived during the 
 night, are placed before him on a table. He opens 
 and peruses the contents of every paper, and then 
 distributes them into three heaps. One, which re- 
 quires dispatch, he answers immediately; the second 
 he prepares, by remarks written in the margin with 
 his own hand, for the ministers and other officers of 
 the crown; the third, which contains neither amuse- 
 ment nor business, is consigned to the fire. The 
 secretaries of state, who attend in readiness, then 
 enter to receive his majesty's commands ; and the 
 business of the day is delivered by the monarch into 
 the hands of his servants, to be immediately per- 
 formed. He then mounts his horse to review his 
 troops, and receives in the field those foreigners who 
 are desirous of being introduced to him. This scene 
 is succeeded by the hospitality of his table, to which 
 he sits down with the gaiety of a contented mind, 
 and enlivens the conversation with sentiments and 
 apothegms equally admirable for their truth and 
 utility. When the repast is finished, the secretaries 
 re-enter, bringing with them, properly and neatly 
 prepared for the royal approbation, those documents 
 of which they had received the rough draughts in the 
 morning. Between the hours of four and five in the 
 afternoon, the daily business of the nation being 
 concluded, the monarch thinks himself at liberty to 
 repose; and this indulgence consists in reading to 
 himself, or in having read to him the best composi- 
 tions, ancient and modern, until the hour of. supper. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. l l 23 
 
 A sovereign who thus employs his hours may fairly 
 expect that the time of his ministers, his generals, 
 his officers of state, shall not be mispent. 
 
 The activity of many men is never excited except 
 by matters of high importance ; they refuse to em- 
 ploy their talents upon trifling objects; and because 
 no opportunity occurs worthy, as they think, of their 
 exertions, they will do nothing. Others do nothing, 
 because they do not know how to distribute their 
 time. Many great and useful purposes might be 
 achieved, by actively employing all the idle half- 
 hours of life to any end they might propose ; for 
 there are many important events which can only be 
 produced by slow degrees. But those who are pleased 
 with and solicit interruption ; who indulge their in- 
 dolence by remaining idle until they feel an inclina- 
 tion to be industrious, which can only be acquired 
 by habit ; who look prospectively for that season of 
 complete leisure which no man ever finds ,• will soon 
 fallaciously conclude, that they have neither oppor- 
 tunity nor power to exert their talents ; and to kill 
 that time which adds a burden to their lives, will 
 saunter about on foot, or ride from place to place, 
 morning, noon, and night. 
 
 My deceased friend Iselin, one of the greatest 
 and most worthy men that ever adorned Swisserland, 
 composed his Ephemerides during the debates in the 
 senate of Basil - y * a work which many of the nobility 
 
 * Mr. Iselin was a register : while he was composing 
 his Ephemerides, the senators of Basil conceived that he 
 
124< ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of Germany have read, and all of them ought to study. 
 Our own celebrated Moeser, who now resides at 
 Osnaburg, equally honoured and beloved by his king, 
 the prince, the ministers, the nobility, clergy, citi- 
 zens and peasants, as a man of business and a pa- 
 triot, raised himself, by the easy exercise of sportive 
 fancy, to a pinnacle of fame which few German 
 writers have been able to reach. * 
 
 " Carpe diem," says Horace; and this recom- 
 mendation will extend with equal propriety to every 
 hour of our lives. The voluptuous of every descrip- 
 tion, the votaries of Bacchus and the sons of Ana- 
 creon, exhort us to drive away corroding care, to pro- 
 mote incessant gaiety, to enjoy the fleeting moments 
 as they pass ; and there is sound reason in these pre- 
 cepts, though not in the sense in which they under- 
 stand them. To enjoy the present moments, they 
 must not be consumed in drinking and debauchery, 
 but employed in advancing steadily towards the end 
 we propose to attain. The joys of public life are not 
 incompatible with the advantages of Solitude. Morn- 
 ing visits may be paid at noon, cards of ceremony 
 may be circulated through half the town, personal 
 
 was registering their debates ; in the same manner as the 
 counsellors of Zurich thought that the immortal Gessner 
 was collecting their proceedings upon his tablets, while 
 he was in fact taking the portraits of those worthies in cari- 
 cature. 
 
 * M. Moeser dictated to his daughter during the exhibi- 
 tion of the theatre almost the whole of his fugitive pieces 
 which have so justly given immortality to his fame. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 125 
 
 appearance may be recorded in every fashionable 
 assembly, and the morning and evening still kept 
 sacred to ourselves. It is only necessary to adopt 
 some regular plan of life, to encourage a fondness for 
 home, and an inclination to continue the pursuit of 
 our design. It is the man of labour and application 
 alone, who has during the day afforded benefit to his 
 neighbour or service to the state, that can in con- 
 science fix himself a whole night to the gaming-table, 
 without hearing or saying one interesting word, and 
 without, on his return home, being able to recollect 
 any other expression than, " I have won or lost so 
 much money." 
 
 The highest advantage we derive from time, and 
 the sole end to which I would direct these reflec- 
 tions, Petrarch has already taught us. " If," says 
 Petrarch, " you feel any inclination to serve God, in 
 which consists the highest felicities of our nature ; 
 if you be disposed to elevate the mind by the study 
 of letters, which, next to religion, procures us the 
 truest pleasures ; if, by your sentiments and writings, 
 you be anxious to leave behind you something that 
 will memorize your name with posterity, stop the 
 rapid progress of time, and prolong the course of 
 this most uncertain life ; if you feel the least inclina- 
 tion to acquire these advantages, flee, ah ! flee, I be- 
 seech you, from the enjoyments of the world, and 
 pass the few remaining days you have to live in — 
 Solitude." 
 
 It is not in the power of every man to follow this 
 advice - y but there are many who are, in a greater or 
 
126 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 less degree, masters of their time, and who may, as 
 their inclinations lead them, either preserve or relin- 
 quish their connections with the world. It is, there- 
 fore, for the benefit of such characters, that I shall 
 continue to consider the advantages which Solitude 
 affords. 
 
 Solitude inspires the mind with exquisite taste, 
 extends boundaries of thought, enlarges the sphere 
 of action, and dispenses a superior kind of pleasure, 
 which neither time nor accident can remove. 
 
 Taste is refined in Solitude by a more careful se- 
 lection of those beauties which become the subjects 
 of our contemplation It depends entirely upon 
 ourselves to make choice of those objects from which 
 we may derive the purest pleasure ; to read those 
 writings, to encourage those reflections, which most 
 tend to purify tne mind, and store it with the richest 
 variety of images. Reposing with security upon the 
 established wisdom of others, and consulting our own 
 judgments, the mind escapes the contagion of those 
 false notions which are so generally adopted by the 
 world. To be obliged continually to say, ei This is 
 the sentiment which I must entertain," is insup- 
 portable. Why, alas ! will not men strive to gain 
 opinions of their own, rather than submit to be 
 guided by the arbitrary dictates of others ? If a work 
 please me, of what importance is it to me whether 
 the beau-monde approve of it or not? In what do ye 
 instruct me, ye cold and miserable critics? Does 
 your judgment make me feel that which is truly fine, 
 noble, good, and excellent, with higher relish ? How 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 127 
 
 can I rely upon the decision of a tribunal so partial 
 as to decide by arbitrary agreements ; a tribunal that 
 examines every thing hastily, and generally deter- 
 mines wrong ? What opinion must I entertain of the 
 multitude who only repeat what reviewers direct 
 them to say, and sound the sentiments of others to 
 the public ear ? What confidence can be placed in 
 the judgments of those who pronounce the most de- 
 testable publication to be excellent, only because a 
 certain person of literary renown, upon whose word 
 they would condemn the chastest work, has thought 
 proper to praise it ? 
 
 The enchanting beauties of truth cannot be 
 discovered or felt among such a class of readers ; for 
 they infect the judgment before we discover the 
 danger. Enlightened minds who are capable of cor- 
 rectly distinguishing beauties from defects, whose 
 bosoms feel extatic pleasure from the works of 
 genius, and excruciating pain from dulness and de- 
 pravity, while they admire with enthusiasm, condemn 
 with judgment and deliberation, and, retiring from 
 the vulgar herd, either alone, or in the society of a 
 few chosen friends, resign themselves to the pleasure 
 of a tranquil intercourse with the illustrious sages 
 of antiquity, and with those writers who have distin- 
 guished and adorned the middle ages or the present 
 time. 
 
 In such a society we discover the powers of 
 contributing to the perfection of our nature, and ex- 
 perience the most agreeable sensations of existence ; 
 we congratulate ourselves on the possession of 
 
128 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 mental powers; and feel, that with such characters 
 we exert our faculties not only to the advantage of 
 ourselves, to the pleasure of our friends, but perhaps 
 also to the happiness of congenial minds to whom we 
 are yet unknown ; for, in every age, the pen of truth 
 will please the eye of genius and the heart of virtue. 
 
 Solitude gives new vigour to the activity of the 
 mind, multiplies the number of its ideas, extends its 
 sources of information, renders curiosity more lively, 
 application less fatiguing, and perseverance more 
 firm. 
 
 A man who was well acquainted with all these 
 advantages has said, that, " By silent solitary reflec- 
 tion, we exercise and strengthen all the powers of 
 the mind : the many obscurities, which render it 
 difficult to pursue our path, disperse and retire, and 
 we return to a busy social life with more cheerfulness 
 and content. The sphere of our understanding 
 becomes enlarged by reflection: w r e have learned to 
 survey more objects, and to bind them intellectually 
 together; we carry a clearer sight, a juster judg- 
 ment, and firmer principles with us into the world in 
 which we are to live and act ; and are then more able, 
 even in the midst of all its distractions, to preserve 
 our attention, to think with accuracy, to determine 
 with judgment, in a degree proportioned to the pre- 
 parations we have made in the hour of retirement." 
 
 Rational curiosity is, in the ordinary transactions of 
 the world, very soon satisfied, but in Solitude it conti- 
 nually augments. The human mind, in its researches 
 after truth, cannot immediately discover the end it 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 129 
 
 wishes to attain; it links observation to observation, 
 joins conclusion to conclusion, and by the acquisition 
 of one truth deveiopes another. The astronomers who 
 first observed the course of the planets did not fore- 
 see the extensive influence, which their discoveries 
 would one day produce upon the happiness and 
 interests of mankind. Delighted to view the beauty 
 of the firmament, and perceiving that during the 
 progress of the night the stars change their situations, 
 curiosity induced them to explore the causes of the 
 phenomena by which their wonder was excited, and 
 led them to pursue the road of science. It is thus, 
 by silent activity, that the soul augments its powers : 
 and a contemplative mind will always gain advantage 
 in proportion as it reflects upon the immediate 
 causes, the effects, and the possible consequences, of 
 an established truth. 
 
 The imagination, when quieted by reason, 
 proceeds perhaps with less rapidity, but it thereby 
 relinquishes the fallacies of conjecture, and adopts 
 the certainty of truth. Drawn aside by the charms 
 of fancy, the mind may construct new worlds ; but 
 they immediately burst, like airy bubbles of soap and 
 watery while reason examines the materials of its 
 projected fabric, and uses those only which are 
 durable and good. " The great art to learn much," 
 says Locke, " is to undertake a little at a time." 
 
 Dr. Johnson, the celebrated English writer, has 
 very happily said, * ( All the performances of human 
 art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are in- 
 stances of the resistless force of perseverance : it is 
 by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that 
 
 g 3 
 
130 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 distant countries are united by canals. If a man 
 were to compare the effect of a single stroke of the 
 pick-axe, or of one impression of a spade, with the 
 general design and last result, he would be over- 
 whelmed by the sense of their disproportion; yet 
 those petty operations, incessantly continued, in 
 time surmount the greatest difficulties, and moun- 
 tains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender 
 force of human beings. It is therefore of the utmost 
 importance that those who have any intention of 
 deviating from the beaten roads of life, and acquiring 
 a reputation superior to names hourly swept away by 
 time among the refuge of fame, should add to their 
 reason and their spirit the power of persisting in 
 their purposes - 9 acquire the art of sapping what they 
 cannot batter ; and the habit of vanquishing obstinate 
 resistance by obstinate attacks." 
 
 Activity animates the most savage desert, con- 
 verts the dreary cell into a lively world, gives 
 immortal glory to the genius who meditates in the 
 silence of retirement, and crowns the ingenious artist 
 who produces his chef-d'oeuvres from a solitary 
 workshop with unfading fame. The mind, in pro- 
 portion to the difficulties it meets, and the resistance 
 it has to surmount, exercises its powers with higher 
 pleasure, and raises its efforts with greater zeal to 
 attain success. Apelles being reproached with the 
 small number of pictures he had painted, and the 
 incessant attention with which he retouched his 
 works, contented himself with making this reply: 
 " I paint for posterity." 
 
 To recommend monastic notions of Solitude, and 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 131 
 
 the sterile tranquillity of the cloister, to men who, 
 after a serious preparation in retirement, and assidu- 
 ous intercourse with their own minds, are capable of 
 performing great and good actions in the world, 
 would be extravagant and absurd. Princes cannot 
 live the life of monks ; ministers of state are no longer 
 sought in the silence of the convent $ generals are no 
 longer chosen from the members of the church. 
 Petrarch therefore aptly says, " I condemn the 
 Solitude which encourages sloth, as well as the 
 leisure which is idly and unprofitably employed. 
 Solitude must be rendered useful to the purposes of 
 life. A man who is indolent, slothful, and detached 
 from the world, must inevitably become melancholy 
 and miserable. Such a character can never do any 
 good ; he cannot resign himself to any useful science, 
 or pursue any object worthy the attention of a great 
 man." 
 
 He may, however, procure to himself the plea- 
 sures of the mind ; those precious pleasures, so easily 
 acquired, so accessible to all mankind: for it is only 
 in the pleasures purchased by pelf, wherein the mind 
 has no participation, and which only tend to afford a 
 momentary relief to langour, or to drown the senses 
 in forgetfulness, that the great claim an exclusive 
 right; but in those enjoyments which are peculiar to 
 the mind they have no privilege; for such enjoyments 
 are only to be procured by our own industry, by 
 serious reflection, profound thought, and deep re- 
 search The attainment of them, however, produces 
 hidden fruits ; a love of truth, and a knowledge of 
 the perfection of our moral and physical nature. 
 
132 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 A preacher from Swisserland has said in a Ger- 
 man pulpit, " The streams of mental pleasures, of 
 which all men may equally partake, flow from one to 
 the other ; and that of which we have most frequently 
 tasted loses neither its flavour nor its virtue, but fre- 
 quently acquires new charms, and conveys additional 
 pleasure the oftener it is tasted. The subjects of 
 these pleasures are as unbounded as the reign of 
 truth, as extensive as the world, as unlimited as the 
 divine perfection. The incorporeal pleasures, there- 
 fore, are much more durable than all others. They 
 neither disappear with the light of the day, change 
 with the external form of things, nor descend with 
 our bodies to the tomb ; but continue while we 
 exist ; accompany us under all the vicissitudes not 
 only of our mortal life, but of that which is to come; 
 secure us in the darkness of the night; and compen- 
 sate for all the miseries we are doomed to suffer.'' 
 
 Men of exalted minds therefore have always, 
 amidst the bustle of the gay world, and even in the 
 brilliant career of heroism, preserved a taste for 
 mental pleasures. Engaged in affairs of the most 
 important consequence, notwithstanding the variety 
 of objects by which their attention was distracted, 
 they were still faithful to the muses, and fondly de- 
 voted their minds to works of genius. They gave no 
 credit to the opinion, that reading and knowledge are 
 useless to great men; and frequently condescend 
 without a blush to become writers themselves. When 
 Philip king of Macedon invited Dionysius the 
 Younger to dine with him at Corinth, he felt an in- 
 clination to deride the father of his royal guest, 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 133 
 
 because he had blended the characters of Prince and 
 Poet, and had employed his leisure in writing odes 
 and tragedies. " How could the king find leisure/' 
 said Philip, " to write these trifles }" " In those 
 hours," answered Dionysius, " which you and I 
 spend in drunkenness and debauchery-" 
 
 Alexander was remarkably fond of reading. 
 Whilst he was filling the world with the fame of his 
 victories, marking his progress by blood and slaugh- 
 ter, dragging captive monarchs at his chariot- 
 wheels, marching over smoking towns and ravaged 
 provinces with increasing ardour to new victories, he 
 felt many intervals of time hang heavy on his hands : 
 and, lamenting that Asia afforded no books to amuse 
 his leisure, wrote to Harpalus, to send him the works 
 of Philistus, the tragedies of Euripides, Sophocles, 
 and Esehylus, and the dithyramb ics of Thalestes. 
 
 Brutus, the avenger of the violated liberty of 
 Rome, while serving in the army under Pompey, 
 employed among books all the moments he could 
 spare from the duties of his station. The hours 
 which were allotted to the repose of the army he 
 devoted to reading and writing ; and he was even 
 thus employed in the evening preceding the battle 
 of Pharsalia ; the celebrated battle by which the 
 empire of the universe was decided. The army was 
 encamped in a marshy plain ; it was the middle of 
 summer, and the heat of the season excessive. The 
 servants who bore the tent of Brutus did not arrive 
 until a late hour. Being much fatigued, he bathed, 
 and towards noon caused his body to be rubbed with 
 
134 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 oil, while lie waited their arrival. Taking some little 
 refreshment, he retired to his tent, and while others 
 were locked in the arms of sleep, or contemplated 
 the event of the ensuing day, he e.nployed himself 
 during the night in drawing a plan from the History 
 of Polybius 
 
 Cicero who was more sensible of mental plea- 
 sures than any other character, says in his oration 
 for the poet Archias, " Why should [ be ashamed to 
 acknowledge pleasures like these, since, for so many 
 years, the enjoyment of them has never prevented 
 me from relieving the wants of others, or deprived 
 me of the courage to attack vice and defend virtue ? 
 Who can justly blame, who can censure me, if, while 
 others are pursuing the views of interest, gazing at 
 festal shows and idle ceremonies, exploring new 
 pleasures, engaged in midnight revels, in the dis- 
 traction of gaming, the madness of intemperance, 
 neither reposing the body nor recreating the mind, 
 I spend the recollective hours in a pleasing review 
 of my past life ; in dedicating my time to learning 
 and the muses ?" 
 
 Pliny the Elder, full of the same spirit, devoted 
 every moment of his life to learning. Some person* 
 always read to him during his meals ; and he never 
 travelled without a book and a portable writing desk 
 by his side. He made extracts from every work he 
 read ; and, scarcely conceiving himself alive while 
 liis faculties were absorbed in sleep, he endeavoured 
 by this diligence to double the duration of his exist- 
 ence. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 135 
 
 Pliny the Younger read wherever it was possible, 
 whether riding, walking, sitting, or whenever the 
 subject of his employment afforded him the opportu- 
 nity -, for he made it, indeed, an invariable rule to 
 prefer the discharge of his duty to those occupations 
 which he followed only as an amusement. It was 
 this disposition which so strongly inclined him to 
 Solitude and retirement. " Shall I," said he, " ne- 
 ver break the chains by which I am held ? Are they 
 indissoluble? No! 1 dare not hope for such an 
 event! Every day adds new torments to the former. 
 Scarcely is one duty performed, when another is im- 
 posed ; and the chain of business becomes every day 
 more heavy and oppressive." 
 
 Petrarch was always gloomy and low . spirited, 
 except while he was reading or writing, especially 
 when he was prevented from resigning himself in 
 Solitude to the fine phrensies of poetry on the banks 
 of some inspiring stream, among the romantic rocks 
 and mountains, or the flower-enamelled vallies of the 
 Alps. To avoid the loss of time during his travels, 
 he constantly wrote at every inn where he stopped 
 for refreshment. One of his friends, the Bishop of 
 Cavillon, being alarmed, lest the intense application 
 with which he read and wrote when at Vaucluse 
 should entirely destroy his health, which was al- 
 ready greatly impaired, desired him one day to give 
 him the key of his library. Petrarch gave it to him 
 immediately, without suspecting the motive of his 
 request ; when the good bishop instantly locking up 
 his books and writing-desk, said, " I interdict you 
 
136 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 from pen, ink, paper, and books, for the space of ten 
 days." 
 
 Petrarch felt the severity of the sentence, but 
 suppressed his feelings, and obeyed. The first day 
 of this exile from his favourite pleasure was tedious ; 
 the second, accompanied with an incessant head- 
 ache ; and the third, with a fever. The bishop, affected 
 by his condition, returned him the key, and restored 
 him to health. 
 
 The late Earl of Chatham, as I have been in- 
 formed by his own nephew, my intimate Mend, was 
 in youth cornet in a regiment of dragoons, which 
 was quartered in a small town in England. He dis- 
 charged his duty, upon all occasions, with scrupulous 
 attention ; but the moment his duty was performed, 
 he retired to Solitude during the remainder of the 
 day, and employed his hours alone, without visiting 
 or being visited, in reading the most celebrated 
 authors of Rome and Athens. Attacked at an early 
 period of his life by an hereditary gout, which he 
 wished to eradicate, his mode of living was extremely 
 frugal and abstemious. The feeble state of his 
 health perhaps made him fond of retirement 5 but it 
 was certainly in Solitude that he laid the foundation 
 of that glory which he afterwards acquired. 
 
 Characters like this, it will perhaps be said, are 
 not now to be found ; but, in my opinion, both the 
 assertion and the idea would be erroneous. Was the 
 Earl of Chatham inferior in greatness to a Roman ? 
 and will his son, who while yet a youth, thunders 
 forth his eloquence in the senate like Demosthenes, 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 1st 
 
 and captivates, like Pericles, the hearts of all who 
 hear him : who now, when little more than thirty 
 years of age, makes himself feared and respected as 
 the prime minister of the British empire, ever think 
 or act, under any circumstances, with less greatness 
 than his illustrious father? What men have once 
 been, they may always be. Europe now produces 
 men as great as ever adorned a throne, or commanded 
 in the field. Wisdom and virtue, where an inclina- 
 tion to attain them prevails, may increase as much in 
 public as in private life, as well in the palaces of 
 kings as in the humble cottage. Wise Solitude is no 
 where more respectable than in the palace. The 
 statesman may there, in profound tranquillity, plan 
 the most important enterprizes, and live with calm- 
 ness and content, provided he discharge his duty 
 without ostentation, and avoid the contagion of weak 
 and frivolous minds. Glory may be acquired at all 
 times, and in every place; and although it may be 
 difficult to return from the beaten path, and com- 
 mence a new career, the remainder of the journey 
 may be rendered pleasant to himself and beneficial to 
 the world, unless, with powers to display the strong 
 and steady light of truth, his mind contents itself 
 with only occasional gleams, and twinkles with the 
 feeble light of the glow- worm. 
 
 Solitude will ultimately render the mind superior 
 to all the vicissitudes and miseries of life. The man 
 to whose bosom neither riches, nor pleasure, nor 
 grandeur, can convey felicity, may, with a book in 
 his hand, learn to forget his cares under the friendly 
 
138 ZIM HERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 shade of every tree 5 and with exquisite delight taste 
 pleasures as lively as they are varied ; pleasures pure, 
 and ever new. The faculties of the mind regain 
 their pristine strength : and their increasing vigour 
 not only excites the most pleasing sensations, but 
 presents to his view the attainment of any end he 
 chooses to adopt, of any character he may choose to 
 acquire. These pleasures increase in proportion to 
 the extent of his capacity, the greatness of his views, 
 and the purity of his intent; and his hopes, however 
 high, are rendered rational by his contempt of flattery, 
 and of the idle pursuits and frivolous amusements of 
 the world. 
 
 He who shuns the society of men in order to ob- 
 tain their love and esteem, who rises with the sun to 
 hold converse with the dead, is, without doubt, not 
 booted at the break of day. The horses of such a 
 man repose quietly in their stalls, and his doors 
 remain carefully bolted against the intrusion of idle 
 loungers. He studies, however, both men and 
 manners ; never loses sight of the transactions of the 
 world ; casts a retrospective eye upon the knowledge 
 which his studies and experience have gained ; and 
 every observation which he makes on life confirms a 
 truth or refutes a prejudice : for in Solitude the whole 
 system of life is unveiled, stripped of its false glare, 
 and represented in its natural state to our view. 
 Truth, which in the common intercourse of men 
 always lies concealed, here exhibits itself in naked 
 simplicity. Ah ! how happy is that man, who has 
 attained to a situation, where he is not under the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 139 
 
 necessity of purchasing pleasure at the expence of 
 truth. 
 
 The advantages of Solitude are not incompatible 
 with our duty to the public, since they are the noblest 
 exercises in which we can employ our faculties for 
 the good of mankind. Can it, in any situation, be a 
 crime to honour, to adore, and sacredly to speak the 
 truth ? Can it be a crime boldly and publicly to 
 announce, as the occasion may require, that of which 
 an ordinary individual would tremble to think ; and 
 to prefer noble freedom to a degrading slavery ? Is 
 not the liberty of the press the channel through 
 which writers diffuse the light of truth among the 
 people, and display its radiance to the eyes of the 
 great ? Good writers inspire the mind with courage 
 to think; and does not the free communication of 
 sentiment contribute to the progress and improve- 
 ment of human reason ? It is precisely this love of 
 liberty, which leads men into Solitude, that they 
 may throw off the chains by which they are confined 
 in the world ; it is from this disposition to be free, 
 that he who thinks in Solitude boldly speaks a 
 language, which perhaps in society he would not 
 have dared openly to hazard. Timidity is never the 
 companion of retirement. The man who has courage 
 to seek the peaceful lonely shades of Solitude, dis- 
 dains a base submission to the pride and insolence of 
 the great, and boldly tears from the face of despo- 
 tism the mask by which it is concealed. 
 
 Solitude conveys the most sublime and lasting 
 pleasures to the soul, even when the faculties of the 
 
140 ZTMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 body are entirely decayed. Calin, consolatory, and 
 perennial, they at length become as necessary to our 
 happiness, as it is to the debauched mind of a man 
 of the world to be for ever trifling, inactive, or 
 running from door to door in search of contemptible 
 joys that are never to be found. 
 
 Cicero, speaking of the pleasures of the mind, 
 says, " They employ us in youth, and amuse us in 
 old age : in prosperity they grace and embellish : in 
 adversity they afford us shelter and support ; delight- 
 ful at home, and easy abroad, they soften slumber, 
 shorten fatigue, and enliven retirement." 
 
 ^ " The Belles Lettres," says Pliny the Younger, 
 " are my delight and consolation; I know of no study 
 more agreeable ; there is no misfortune which they 
 cannot alleviate. In the afflictions I feel for the 
 sufferings of my wife, the sickness of my servants, 
 the death of my friends, I find no relief but in my 
 studies ; for although I am then made sensible of the 
 magnitude of my evils, they nevertheless become more 
 supportable." 
 
 Philosophy, a love of letters, all that affords 
 pleasure, or adds dignity to life, can only be learned 
 in Solitude. Fine taste cannot be either cultivated 
 or preserved among those vain pretenders, who, 
 while you discourse with them upon the subjects 
 of science, speak of learning with contempt, and 
 frequently tell you with a sneer, " Oh! I never 
 enquire into such vulgar things." 
 
 The habit of thinking, of making new discoveries, 
 of acquiring new ideas, is a never-failing resource to 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 141 
 
 him who feels his mind enriched by observation, and 
 knows how to apply the knowledge which he gains. 
 When Demetrius had captured the city of Megara, 
 the soldiers prepared to plunder; the Athenians, 
 however, interceding strongly for its inhabitants, 
 prevailed; Demetrius was satisfied with expelling 
 the garrison, and declared the city free. Amidst 
 these transactions, he recollected Stilpo, a philoso- 
 pher of great reputation, who sought only the 
 retirement and tranquillity of a studious life. Having 
 sent for him, Demetrius asked, af if they had taken 
 any thing from him?" "No," replied Stilpo, " I 
 found none that wanted to steal my knowledge." 
 
 Solitude is the channel through which all those 
 things flow which men conceal in the ordinary com- 
 merce of life. The wounded feelings of a man who 
 is able and disposed to write may, in Solitude, derive 
 the greatest comforts from literary composition. 
 The pen, indeed, is not always taken up because we 
 are alone ; but if we be inclined to write, it is indis- 
 pensably necessary that we should enjoy quietude. 
 The mind of a man disposed to cultivate philosophy, 
 or to court the muse, must be free from all embar- 
 rassment He must not hear his children crying 
 every moment at his door, his servants must not in- 
 cessantly intrude with messages of ceremony and 
 cards of compliment ; in short, he must be alone. 
 Whether walking in the open air, seated in his closet, 
 reclined under the shade of a spreading tree, or 
 stretched upon his sofa, he must follow all the im- 
 pulses of his mind, and be at liberty to change his 
 
142 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 situation when and where he pleases. To write with 
 success, he must feel an irresistible inclination, and 
 be able to obey the dictates of his taste and genius 
 without impediment or restraint. Unless all these 
 advantages be united, the writer should interrupt 
 the progress of the work, and suspend the efforts of 
 the mind, until it feels that divine inspiration which 
 is capable of subduing every difficulty, and sur- 
 mounting every obstacle. An author can never 
 write well, unless he feels a secret call within his 
 breast, unless he watches for those propitious mo- 
 ments when the mind pours forth its ideas, and the 
 heart warms with the subject. Revived by cheerful 
 prospects, animated by the noblest sentiments, 
 urged by contempt of difficulties, the mind will make 
 a powerful effort, and fine thoughts, in suitable ex- 
 pressions, will flow spontaneously from his pen. 
 The question, whether he ought or ought not to 
 write, will then be resolved. The inclination is irre- 
 sistible, and will be indulged, even at the expence of 
 fortune, family, friends, patrons, and all that we 
 possess. 
 
 Petrarch felt this secret impulse when he tore 
 himself from Avignon, the most vicious and cor- 
 rupted city of his time, to which the Pope had trans- 
 ferred the papal chair. Although honoured with the 
 protection of the Holy Father, of princes and of car- 
 dinals, still young and full of noble ardour, he exiled 
 himself from that brilliant court, and retired to the 
 famous Solitude of Vaucluse, at the distance of six 
 leagues from Avignon, where he had only one ser- 
 
ZIMMERMANN OX SOLITUDE. 143 
 
 vant to attend him, and all his possessions consisted 
 of a small house and little garden. Charmed with 
 the natural beauty which surrounded this humble 
 retreat, he removed his library to it ; and, during his 
 residence there, completed all his works, of which 
 before he had only sketched the outlines. Petrarch 
 wrote more at Vaucluse than at any other place 
 where he resided ; but, although he was continually 
 employed in polishing his writings, he hesitated long 
 before he could resolve to make them public. Virgil 
 calls the leisure which he enjoyed at Naples ignoble 
 and obscure ; but it was during this leisure that he 
 wrote his Georgics, the most perfect of all his works, 
 and which shews, in almost every line, that he wrote 
 for immortality. 
 
 Every great and excellent writer has this noble 
 view, and looks with enthusiasm towards the suffrages 
 of posterity. An inferior writer asks a more mo- 
 derate recompence, and sometimes obtains the de- 
 sired reward. Both, however, must withdraw from 
 the distractions of the world, seek the silence of the 
 forest, and the freshness of the shade, and retire as 
 it were into their own minds. To produce a work 
 capable of reaching future generations, or worthy of 
 the attention of contemporary sages, the love of So- 
 litude must entirely occupy the soul ; for, to the ad- 
 vantages resulting from Solitude, every thing they 
 perform, all that they obtain, must be attributed. 
 Every advantage a writer gains by profound think- 
 ing is due to Solitude ; he there reviews and arranges 
 whatever in the world has made an impression on his 
 
144 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 mind, and sharpens the dart of satire against inve- 
 teracy of prejudice and obstinacy of opinion. The 
 faults of mankind strike the moral writer, and the 
 desire of correcting them agitates his soul as much 
 as the desire of pleasing actuates that of others. The 
 desire of immortality, however, is the last in which a 
 writer ought to indulge. No one need attempt it, 
 unless he possesses the genius of a Bacon ; can think 
 with the acuteness of a Voltaire ; compose with the 
 ease and elegance of a Rousseau; and, like them, be 
 able to produce master-pieces worthy of being trans- 
 mitted to posterity. Characters like these alone 
 may be allowed to say, " Our minds are animated by 
 the sweet consolatory reflection, that our names will 
 be remembered when we are no more; by the pleas- 
 ing whisper of flattery, which we hear from some of 
 our contemporaries, of the approbation we shall 
 hereafter receive from those who are yet unborn, to 
 whose instruction and happiness we have, with all 
 the ardour of esteem and love, devoted our labours. 
 We feel within us those seeds of emulation which 
 incite us to rescue from death our better part, and 
 which prevent the happiest moments of our lives 
 from being buried in oblivion/' 
 
 The love of fame, as well by the feeble light of 
 the lamp, as on the throne, or in the. field, produces 
 actions, the memory of which is not extinguished by 
 mortality, or buried with us in the tomb. The meri- 
 dian of life becomes then as brilliant as its morning. 
 " The praises," says Plutarch, " bestowed upon great 
 2nd axalted minds, only spur on and rouse their emu- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 145 
 
 lation. Like a rapid torrent, the glory which they 
 have already acquired hurries them irresistibly on to 
 every thing that is great and noble. They never 
 consider themselves sufficiently rewarded. Their 
 present actions are only a pledge of what may be ex- 
 pected from them ; and they would blush not to live 
 faithful to their glory, and to render it still more 
 illustrious by their noblest actions. 3 ' 
 
 The man to whose ear idle adulation and insipid 
 compliments are disgusting, will feel his heart warm 
 when he hears with what enthusiasm Cicero says, 
 <c Why should we dissemble what it is impossible for 
 us to conceal ? Why should we not be proud of con- 
 fessing candidly that we all aspire to fame? The love 
 of praise influences all mankind, and the greatest 
 minds are most susceptible of it. The philosophers, 
 who most preach up a contempt for fame, prefix 
 their names to their works ; and the very perform- 
 ances in which they decry ostentation, are evident 
 proofs of their vanity and love of praise. Virtue re- 
 quires no other reward for all the toils and dangers 
 to which she exposes herself, than that of fame and 
 glory. Take away this flattering reward, and what 
 would remain in the narrow career of life to prompt 
 her exertions ? If the mind could not launch into the 
 prospect of futurity, were the operations of the soul 
 to be limited to the space that bounds those of the 
 body, she would not weaken herself by constant fa- 
 tigues, or weary herself with continued watchings 
 and anxieties ; she would not think even life itself 
 worthy of a struggle : but there lives in the breast of 
 
 H 
 
J 40 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 every good man a certain principle, which unceas- 
 ingly prompts and inspirits him to the pursuit of a 
 fame beyond the present hour ; a fame not commen. 
 surate to our mortal existence, but co-extensive with 
 the latest posterity. Can we, who every day expose 
 ourselves to dangers for our country, and have never 
 passed one moment of our lives without anxiety and 
 trouble, meanly think that all consciousness shall be 
 buried with us in the grave? If the greatest men have 
 been careful to preserve their bustoes and their 
 statues, those images not of their minds but of their 
 bodies, ought we not rather to transmit to posterity 
 the resemblance of our wisdom and virtue ? For my 
 part, at least, I acknowledge, that in all my actions I 
 conceived that I was disseminating and transmitting 
 my fame to the remotest corners and the latest ages 
 of the world. Whether therefore my consciousness 
 of this shall cease in the grave, or, as some have 
 thought, shall survive as a property of the soul, is of 
 little importance ; for of one thing I am certain, that 
 at this instant I feel from the reflection a flattering 
 hope and delightful sensation/' 
 
 This is the true enthusiasm with which we ought 
 to inspire the bosoms of the young nobility. Were 
 any one happy enough to light up this generous 
 flame within their hearts, and thereby inure them to 
 a constant application to their studies, we should see 
 them shun the pernicious pleasures of their age, and 
 enter with dignity on the stage of life : w r e might 
 then expect them to perform the noblest actions, to 
 add new lusture to science, and brighter rays to glory. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 147 
 
 To exalt the minds of noble youths, it is only neces- 
 sary to inspire them with an aversion from every 
 thing that is mean ; to excite a disgust for every 
 thing that enervates the body or weakens the facul- 
 ties of the mind ; to remove from their company 
 those vile and contemptible flatterers who are con- 
 tinually praising the pleasures of sense, and who 
 seek to acquire interest and fortune only by leading 
 them into crimes ; decrying every thing that is great, 
 and rendering them suspicious of every thing that is 
 good. The desire of extending our fame by noble 
 deeds, and of increasing our credit by internal dig- 
 nity and greatness of soul, possesses advantages 
 which neither high rank nor illustrious birth can be- 
 stow ; and which, even on the throne, cannot be ac- 
 quired without the aid of virtue, and a fixed atten- 
 tion to the suffrages of posterity. 
 
 The seeds of future fame are in no instance more 
 plentifully sown than by the bold satirist, who dares 
 to condemn the follies of the multitude, to paint 
 their prejudices, and expose their vices in glowing 
 and unfading colours ; and whose works, if they fail 
 to reform the age in which they are written, may 
 operate upon succeeding generations, and extend 
 their influence to the remotest posterity. The au- 
 thor, whose merit, while living, envy and malice 
 have inveterately pursued, reaps the advantage of his 
 judicious precepts, instructive examples, and honest 
 fame, when his mortal part has descended to the 
 grave. Oh, Lavater ! those base corrupted souls^ 
 who only shine a moment and are for ever extin- 
 
148 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 guished, will be forgotten, while thy name is ho- 
 noured and beloved. Thy foibles, for without them 
 thou wouldst not have been so great, will no longer 
 be remembered, and those qualities which distinguish 
 thee from others will alone be seen ! The rich variety 
 of thy language, the judgment with which thou hast 
 boldly invented and created new expressions, the 
 nervous brevity of thy style, and thy striking pic- 
 ture of human manners and defects, will, as the 
 author of " The Characters of German Poets and 
 Prose Writers" has predicted, extend the fame of 
 thy " Fragments upon Physiognomy" to the remo- 
 test posterity, as one of the small number of German 
 originals which do honour to the genius of the age. 
 The accusation that Lavater, who was capable of 
 developing such sublime truths, and of creating 
 almost a new language, gave credit to the juggles of 
 Mesnier, will then be forgotten. 
 
 Such is the fate that attends the works of great 
 and excellent writers. The life after death, for which 
 Cicero seemed to hope with so much enthusiasm, 
 will arrive. The approbation which Lavater pre- 
 dicted, his work on Physiognomy will receive, not- 
 withstanding all those injuries that have been heaped 
 upon it both in Swisserland and in Germany. But 
 if Cicero had been only a consul, and Lavater 
 merely a thaumaturgus,* little of either the one or 
 
 * Thaumaturgus — one who works miracles: a title given 
 by the papists to those of their saints who were supposed 
 to work miracles. — Translator, 
 
ZIMMERMAMN ON SOLITUdA. 149 
 
 the other would be recorded in the archives of Time, 
 which swallows up common characters, and pre- 
 serves only those whose names are worthy of ever- 
 lasting fame. 
 
 The invectives of the vulgar, and the indignation 
 of the critics, are wreaked in vain against these cele- 
 brated names, and against all those who may be 
 tempted to imitate them. " Why/' say each of 
 them to the laughing blockhead, " would you ex- 
 pound the meaning of all that I write, since my 
 finest strokes, congealing in your mind, produce only 
 such frigid ideas? Who are you? By what title do 
 you claim to be keeper of the archives of folly, and 
 arbiter of the public taste ? Where are the works by 
 which you are distinguished? When and where have 
 you been announced to the world ? How many su- 
 perior characters do you reckon among the number 
 of your friends ? What distant country is conscious 
 that such a man exists ? Why do you continually 
 preach your f nil admirari ?' Why do you strive to de- 
 preciate every thing that is good, great, and sublime, 
 unless it be from a sense of your own littleness and 
 poverty ? You seek the approbation of the weak and 
 giddy multitude, because no one else esteems you; 
 and despise a fair and lasting fame, because you can 
 do nothing that is worthy of honest praise ; but the 
 name you endeavour to ridicule shall be remembered 
 when yours will be forgotten." 
 
 The desire of glory is equally natural and allowa- 
 ble in men even of little sense and judgment ; but it 
 is not from the opinions of such characters that 
 
2 50 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 writers expect fame. It is from reflecting and im- 
 partial minds ; from the approbation of those virtu- 
 ous and private characters for whom alone they with- 
 draw from the multitude, and whose bosoms open 
 willingly to a writer, when they observe the confi- 
 dence with which he desires to disclose his senti- 
 ments 5 it is to obtain the approbation of such persons 
 alone, that writers seek the shades of Solitude. 
 
 Except those who scribble their names on walls 
 and on panes of glass, no character appears to m e 
 less formed for glory than the man who writes solely 
 for the place in which he dwells. He who, without 
 being a member of any academy or literary club, 
 seeks for fame among his fellow citizens, is a fool 
 who sows his seed upon a rock. They may perhaps 
 praise the elegance of his style, but they will never 
 pardon the severity, greatness, and freedom of his 
 expressions. To the prejudiced multitude, there- 
 fore, he must learn to be discreetly silent ; for openly 
 to avow sentiments that would do honour to his 
 character, or by which he might acquire the praises 
 of other men, is only to exasperate those among 
 whom he lives. 
 
 A writer, however, of true taste and sound judg- 
 ment, is conscious that impartial and rational minds, 
 throughout the universe, adopt other principles in 
 appreciating the merit cf a good work, than those 
 which influence the judgment of his fellow citizens. 
 True critics enquire, tf Does the work relate to the 
 interests of mankind? Is its object useful and its end 
 moral ? Will it inform the understanding and amend 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 151 
 
 the heart ? Is it written with freedom and impartia- 
 lity ? Does it bear the marks of honesty and sincerity ? 
 Does it attempt to ridicule any thing 1 that is good or 
 great ? Does a manly style of thinking predominate ? 
 Do reason, wit, humour, and pleasantry, prevail in 
 it? Does it contain new and useful truths ? If it in- 
 spire noble sentiments and generous resolutions, our 
 judgment is fixed : the work is good, and the author 
 a master of the science. " 
 
 In the ordinary commerce of the world, in that 
 intercourse of flattery and falsehood where every one 
 deceives and is deceived ; where all appear under a 
 borrowed form, profess friendships which they do 
 not feel, and bestow praises only to be praised in re- 
 turn ; men bow the lowest to him they despise the 
 most, and style every silly woman they meet, " Your 
 Grace. "* But he who lives retired from this scene 
 of illusion expects no compliments from others, and 
 bestows them only where they are deserved. All 
 the insidious grimaces of public life are nothing to 
 the inspiring smiles of friendship, which smooth the 
 rugged road of life, and soften all our toils. 
 
 Of what value are all the babblings and vain boast- 
 ings of society to that domestic felicity which we 
 experience in the company and conversation of an 
 amiable woman, whose charms awaken the dormant 
 faculties of the soul, and fill the mind with finer 
 energies; whose smiles prompt our enterprises, and 
 whose assistance insures success ; who inspires us 
 
 * A title given in Germany to persons of quality. 
 
152 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 with congenial greatness and sublimity; who with 
 judicious penetration weighs and examines our 
 thoughts, our actions, our whole character; who 
 observes all our foibles, warns us with sincerity of 
 their consequences, and reforms us with gentleness 
 and affection ; who by a tender communication of her 
 thoughts and observations conveys new instruction 
 to our minds, and by pouring the warm and gene- 
 rous feelings of her heart into our bosoms, animates 
 us incessantly to the exercise of every virtue, and 
 completes the polished perfection of our character 
 by the soft allurements of love, and the delightful 
 concord of her sentiments. In such an intercourse, 
 all that is virtuous and noble in human nature is 
 preserved within the breast, and every evil propen- 
 sity dies away. 
 
 But in our public intercourses with the world 
 we are forced to relinquish the manners we indulge 
 in Solitude. The smooth and polished surface of 
 character must alone be exhibited in the world, and 
 every sharp point carefully concealed. It is true by 
 these means we pass through society without doing 
 hurt to any person, and the generality of men find 
 pleasure in our company.* 
 
 There are, however, those who view us in a dif- 
 ferent aspect. To contemporary writers our good 
 
 * " Le materiel constitutes the highest degree of merit ; 
 and to live in peace we ought to take great care that the other 
 side of our characters should be perceived ;" said a great 
 man to me ; one of the dearest and most respectable 
 among my friends in Germany. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 153 
 
 qualities and defects appear by our writings, in which 
 one sincere sentiment frequently becomes the strong- 
 est evidence against us ; and this danger furnishes 
 great consolation to our dear countrymen, who, if the 
 voice of Fame should chance to convey the sounds of 
 our success to their ears, are mortified to think that 
 there are people in the world not lost to a sense of 
 merit. The human character, it is true, frequently 
 exhibits a singular mixture of virtue and vice, of 
 strength and weakness; and why should we conceal 
 it ? Our foibles follow all that is terrestrial in our 
 nature to the tomb, and lie buried with the body by 
 which they were produced. The nobler part, if we 
 have performed any work worthy of existence, sur- 
 vives ; and our writings are the best wealth we leave 
 behind us when we die. 
 
 But, exclusive of this enthusiasm, Solitude affords 
 a pleasure to an author of which no one can deprive 
 him, and which far exceeds all the honours of the 
 world. He not only anticipates the effect his work will 
 produce, but while it advances towards completion, 
 feels the delicious enjoyment of those hours of sere- 
 nity and composure which his labours procure. 
 
 The mind of a successful writer feels the highest 
 pleasure from the uninterrupted attention and the 
 glowing enthusiasm which accompany his studies. 
 Sorrows flee from this elegant occupation. Oh ! I 
 would not exchange one single hour of such private 
 tranquillity and content, for all those flattering illu- 
 sions of public fame with which the mind of Tully 
 was so incessantly intoxicated. Solitude, in the 
 
 h 3 
 
154 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 midst of continual sufferings, is an enjoyment which 
 not only rationally connects the soul with the present 
 moment, but carries it to future happiness and feli- 
 city. The secret pleasure which the most trifling 
 acquisition produced by solitary study affords, is 
 unknown to men of rigorous constitutions; for they 
 confide in the strength of their powers. But to a 
 writer afflicted by ill-health, a difficulty surmounted, 
 a happy moment seized, a proposition elucidated, a 
 sentence neatly and elegantly turned, an harmonious 
 period, or a happy expression, is a salutary and heal- 
 ing balm, a counter-poison to melancholy, the most 
 precious advantage of Solitude, and infinitely superior 
 to those dreams, those presentiments of honour and 
 glory after death. Oh ! who would not willingly 
 renounce, for one of these enjoyments, that enthu- 
 siasm, against which reason opposes so many power- 
 ful objections, and which to me does not appear quite 
 satisfactory, except when we do not altogether enjoy 
 our usual presence of mind. 
 
 To enjoy himself without being dependent on the 
 aid of others ; to devote to employments, not perhaps 
 altogether useless, those hours which sorrow and 
 chagrin would otherwise steal from the sum of life, 
 are the great advantages of an author; and with 
 these advantages alone I am perfectly content. And 
 who would not be content with Solitude, when he 
 perceives that while the multitude are rolling in their 
 carriages through the streets, and making the walls 
 of every house tremble to their foundation, he is 
 capable of deriving such superior advantages? 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 155 
 
 The singularities of some writers are often-times 
 the effects, and frequently the real advantages of 
 Solitude. Men who are proficient in Solitude, from 
 a long absence from the world, are boldly inflexible 
 to its manners : and even those of its votaries, who 
 still retain a fondness for society, soon lose the arts 
 of simulation, and instead of undergoing the painful 
 necessity of appearing indifferent from what they 
 are, seize the pen, and relieve their feelings by indulg- 
 ing the momentary effusions of a light and sportive 
 fancy. 
 
 The world perhaps mav condemn this practice, 
 and say, that this light and easy style of writing con- 
 tributes neither to the pleasure nor the information 
 of a reader : but it has its merit : it introduces a 
 free and lively kind of literature ; teaches the mind 
 to rise above a creeping train of thought, and vigor- 
 ously appropriates to itself the manners of the times. 
 A nation not yet perfect may become mature by ex- 
 tirpating ancient prejudices, indulging freedom of 
 sentiment, and encouraging philosophical writers 
 boldly to express their sentiments and opinions. To 
 entertain readers it is, in my opinion, only necessary 
 to deliver freely in writing that which in the general 
 intercourses of society it is impossible to say either 
 with safety or politeness. This is what I call liberty; 
 an inestimable treasure ! which, under a wise and 
 moderate administration, every one enjoys who lives 
 in Solitude. 
 
 In a treatise upon style, printed at Weymar, a 
 gentleman appears very strongly to oppose this new 
 
156 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 manner of writing. In honour of the solitude and 
 liberty by which it was produced, I should have 
 many things to say to him, although in general we 
 perfectly coincide. He wishes one rule to be adopt- 
 ed with respect to style, and I contend for that variety 
 which allows of composition according to every man's 
 fancy and humour. He thinks that a writer should 
 always have a model before him -, I think that every 
 writer should be his own model. He wishes writers 
 to follow the style of others; I think that writers 
 should be original, not in style alone, but in every 
 other property of composition. He is unwilling that 
 the writer should appear in the work ; but I think 
 that an author may be permitted publicly to analyze 
 his mind, and anatomize his own character, for the 
 benefit of other men, rather than to leave his work 
 to be dissected by a posthumous professor. He re- 
 commends authors to proceed by regular steps : I 
 hate to be taught by others how I ought to walk. 
 He complains that it is a fashion with authors to dis- 
 close their private and peculiar feelings when they 
 write : I cannot altogether conceal mine when I con- 
 verse with my readers. He appears not inclined 
 that they should conceive themselves alone when 
 they are writing ; while very frequently I write only 
 that I may have the opportunity of expressing one 
 word in Solitude. 
 
 This treatise, however, contains in general many 
 true and judicious criticisms ; especially towards the 
 conclusion, which is filled with observations equally 
 accurate and profound. The passage on which I 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 15? 
 
 have commented is the only one through the work 
 of which I disapprove ; for although the ramblings, 
 the extravagancies, and the digressions of our beaux 
 esprits displease me as much as they do this gentle- 
 man ; yet I think that this free and easy style of 
 writing, which can be acquired only in Solitude, has 
 already produced a degree of liberty, which, if em- 
 ployed with taste and discretion, will not only increase 
 the number of useful truths, but banish from society 
 the number of dangerous prejudices which still 
 exist. 
 
 The light of philosophy has been prevented from 
 penetrating into many recesses, solely because the 
 people follow one uniform mode in forming their 
 opinions. Every man listens and looks up to the 
 sentiments of his neighbour, and no one dares to de- 
 viate from the ordinary mode of judgment. Men of 
 knowledge and experience, who best know the art 
 of appropriating to themselves the newest and most 
 refined ideas of others, are, in their intercourse with 
 the world, obliged to conceal them, and to follow 
 the general manners of the age. But when authors, 
 from the retreats of Solitude, appear before the 
 public without dismay : when they study the charac- 
 ters of every description of people, their manners of 
 acting, their modes of thinking, and dare with 
 boldness and confidence to describe things in their 
 true colours, and disclose those truths which every 
 man in a free country ought to be permitted to dis- 
 close ; instruction will circulate gradually among 
 the people, the philosophy of human life will spread 
 
158 ZIMMBRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Itself abroad, every man will dare to think for him- 
 self, and disdain to be guided by snbtle and deceitful 
 opinions of the unthinking multitude. To effect this 
 revolution, however, it is necessary that writers should 
 start from the common sphere of the University, 
 and break through from the confined limits of self- 
 concern ; their minds must be formed by an inter- 
 course with men of every state and nation; they 
 must neither fear the great nor despise the inferior 
 classes of mankind ; they must learn to retire occa- 
 sionally from the world to uninterrupted Solitude ; 
 renounce the seductions of pleasure, free themselves 
 from the ties of Society, and above all, become deaf 
 to the praise that propagates falsehood, or the cen- 
 sure that condemns truth. 
 
 The Germans felt the Helvetic severity of those 
 works which I formerly wrote ; a severity produced, 
 without doubt, by my solitary life. The Spectator 
 of Thuringia for four years successively defended 
 me with equal vivacity and skill against the very 
 heavy reproaches, that I was a peevish hypocritical 
 philosopher, who was never pleased with any pro- 
 duction, and who always viewed the worst side of 
 things ; that nothing was sacred from the keenness 
 of my criticism and the severity of my satire ; but 
 that the nation was too modest, too decent, too deli- 
 cate, and too virtuous, to be entertained by such 
 compositions : in short, that English writers were 
 insufferable to German delicacy, and of consequence 
 it was impossible to endure a Swiss. 
 
 It appears to me that such complainants con- 
 
ZIMMER3MANN ON SOLITUDE. 1 5Q 
 
 found the manners of the world with the style of 
 books. Harshness is certainly an unsocial quality, 
 and therefore excluded from the manners of the 
 world ; but, on the other hand, the truths, which 
 well-written works from time to time disclose, fre- 
 quently strike the mind and produce an effect. i: I 
 am myself good-natured," said a poet, " but I ac- 
 knowledge that my works are not.'' A writer, there- 
 fore, may be civil and polite in his personal inter- 
 course with mankind, and still properly severe in 
 his works, Why should authors write as they speak, 
 if others never speak as they think ? Is it not enough 
 that when they mix in society they endeavour to 
 please every one; submit without exception to what- 
 ever the laws of politeness exact ; give up whatever 
 is insisted on, maintain no opinions unnecessarily, 
 always yield the privilege of talking to others, and 
 do every thing as if they were only there to hear and 
 learn ? There are, however, many beaux esprits who 
 are insufferable in company, from a vain conceit 
 that their writings are the last best models of ele- 
 gance and urbanity ! Would not such characters act 
 more wisely to correct, in their commerce with the 
 world, the errors that may have escaped from their 
 pens, than to restrain their pens and never check 
 their tongues ? He, alas ! who in the circles of 
 society is kind in his behaviour and complaisant in 
 his manners, may surely be permitted once at least 
 to hazard in his writings a bold or even a harsh ex- 
 pression, and to insert here and there a melancholy 
 truth, when so many others are occupied in circu- 
 lating sprightly falsehoods. 
 
160 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Strength of thought is banished from the lan- 
 guage of conversation. But if the freedom with 
 which an author expresses himself in his writings 
 be insufferable to the feelings of the world, the soft 
 and meretricious language of society would be ridi- 
 culous in literary composition. An author must 
 speak in the language of truth ; but in society a man 
 can feel it only, for he must impose a necessary 
 silence upon his lips. Manners are formed by in- \ 
 tercourse with the world, and characters by retiring 
 into Solitude. In Solitude it will soon be discovered 
 whether they have only learned the trick of com- 
 plaisance, or have acquired freedom of thought, 
 firmness of expression, dignity of sentiment, and 
 grandeur of style. 
 
 Solitude raises the mind to a high degree of ele- 
 vation and power. The man, who has not courage 
 enough to place himself above the prejudices and 
 fashions of the world ; who dreads the reproach of 
 singularity ; who forms and conducts himself upon 
 the example of others ; will certainly never acquire 
 a sufficient degree of resolution to live a life of vo- 
 luntary Solitude. It has been well observed, that 
 Solitude is as indispensably necessary to give a just, 
 solid, firm, and forcible tone to our thoughts, as a 
 knowledge of the world is to give them richness, 
 brilliancy, and application. 
 
 The mind employed on noble objects disdains the 
 indolence that stains the vacant breast. The soul, 
 enjoying freedom and tranquillity, exerts its ener- 
 gies with superior force, and displays an extent of 
 power which was before unknown; the faculties 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. l6i 
 
 sharpen; our ideas become more clear, luminous, 
 and extended 3 we see with greater perspicuity ; the 
 mind, in short, exacts much more from itself in the 
 leisure of Solitude than in the bustle of the world. 
 The tranquillity of Solitude, however, must not de- 
 generate into idle ease, into a state of mental numb- 
 ness or stupefaction. It is not sufficient to be conti- 
 nually gazing out of a window with a thoughtless 
 mind, or gravely walking up and down our study in 
 a ragged robe de chambre and worn-out slippers • 
 The exterior of tranquillity gives no elevation to the 
 soul, inspires no activity; but we must be persuaded 
 that Solitude is necessary, and feel it a desire of the 
 soul. It is then only that it affords a precious 
 liberty, animating at the same instant both the rea- 
 son and the imagination. 
 
 An illustrious friend has frequently assured me, 
 that he never felt so strong an inclination to write as 
 during a review, when forty thousand persons left 
 their houses and travelled on foot, in carriages, and 
 on horseback, to observe the manoeuvres of a single 
 battalion. This friend has published many excellent 
 treatises upon the sciences, but he never wrote a 
 trifle so full of wit and gaiety as the one he wrote at 
 this review. In early yo :th I never felt so strong a 
 disposition to employ mv mind on serious subjects 
 as on Sunday mornings, when, far retired in the 
 country, I heard the sharp and tinkling sound of the 
 village bells, while all my fellow-citizens, occupied 
 by their devotions, frizzed and powdered their heads 
 to go to church. 
 
l62 Z1MMBRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Continual interruption destroys all the effects of 
 Solitude. Disturbance prevents the mind from col- 
 lecting its ideas. This is the reason why an esta- 
 blishment frequently takes away more advantages 
 than it brings. In Solitude, a man may be just what 
 he wishes and what he is ; but in the world it is 
 every man's pride to attend to those etiquettes which 
 his station exacts ! and if the philosopher or man of 
 genius* do not follow the usages of his station, they 
 say of him, " This is a fool ; he only knows how to 
 write books :" or, perhaps, " His writings are good, 
 but as for himself, he is an ass." 
 
 But Solitude enables a man to attack Prejudice 
 and defeat Error, with as much ease and success as 
 an athletic champion meets a puny adversary. Re- 
 peated examinations having approximated every ob- 
 ject, and rendered their properties familiar, he seizes 
 truth wherever he discovers her, and ragards with 
 the tranquil smile of pity those who think them- 
 selves authorised to speak of her with contempt; he 
 hears, without being disconcerted, the invectives 
 which Envy and Prejudice throw out against him; 
 and perceives a weak multitude making hue and cry 
 the moment he opens his hand, and unlooses one of 
 the truths which it contains. 
 
 Solitude diminishes the number of our passions 
 by forming out of a multiplicity one great desire. 
 Solitude certainly may prodnce dangerous effects 
 upon the passions, but, Providence be thanked! it 
 may also produce the most salutary effects. If it 
 disorder the mind, it is capable of effecting its cure. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. l6S 
 
 Drawing out and separating- all the various propen- 
 sities of the human heart, it collects and re-unites 
 them into one. We feel and learn not only the 
 nature, but the extent and influence of all the 
 passions. They rise up like angry waves, and en- 
 deavour to overwhelm us in the abyss : but Philosophy 
 flies to our aid, divides their force, and if we do not 
 yield an easy victory by neglecting all opposition to 
 their attacks, Virtue and Self-denial bring gigantic 
 reinforcements to our assistance, and insure success. 
 Virtue and Resolution, in short, are equal to every 
 conflict, the instant we learn that one passion is only 
 to be conquered by another. 
 
 The mind feels itself proudly dignified by that 
 greatness of soul which we acquire by a commerce 
 with ourselves j and disdaining every ignoble object, 
 withdraws itself on every side from society. A 
 virtuous mind observes the sons of worldly pleasure 
 mingling in scenes of riot and debauchery without 
 being seduced. In vain is it echoed from every side, 
 that incontinence and debauchery are the earliest 
 propensities ami most fashionable vices of every 
 young man who wishes to know life : no, the noble 
 mind feels and sees that such scenes not only 
 enervate youth, and render him callous to the charms 
 of virtue and the principles of honesty, but that they 
 destroy every manly resolution, inspire timidity in 
 the hour of danger, and defeat every great and 
 glorious enterprize : that by the indulgence of liber- 
 tinism, the generous warmth and fine enthusiasm of 
 the soul, its noble fondness for the sublime and 
 
164 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 beautiful, — all its powers are lost. He, therefore, 
 who retains a wish to appear great and honourable in 
 the world, must renounce for ever the habits of indo- 
 lence and the practices of luxury. The moment he 
 ceases to injure his faculties by debauchery, and 
 discontinues his attempts to renovate them by an 
 excess of wine and luxurious living, he will no 
 longer feel it necessary frequently to take the air, or 
 to consume the whole day on horseback. 
 
 All men without exception have something to 
 learn. Whatever may be the distinguished rank 
 which they hold in society, they can never be truly 
 great but by their personal merit. The more the 
 faculties of the mind are exercised in the tranquillity 
 of retirement, the more conspicuous they appear; 
 and should the pleasures of debauchery be the ruling 
 passion, O young man ! learn that nothing will so 
 easily subdue it as an encreasing emulation in great 
 and virtuous actions, a hatred of idleness and frivo- 
 lity, the study of the sciences, a frequent commu- 
 nion with thy own heart, and that high and digni- 
 fied spirit, which views with disdain every thing that 
 is vile and contemptible. 
 
 This generous pride discovers itself with dignity 
 and greatness in the retreats of Solitude, where the 
 passion for sublime objects operates with greater 
 freedom than in any other situation. The passion 
 which carried Alexander into Asia confined Diogenes 
 to his tub. Heraclitus quitted the throne to devote 
 himself to the search of truth. He who wishes to 
 render his writings useful to mankind must first 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. lOj 
 
 study the world, not too intensely, or with any 
 fondness for its follies. The follies of the world 
 enervate and destroy the vigour of the mind. Caesar 
 tore himself from the embraces of Cleopatra, and 
 became the master of the empire ; but Antony took 
 her as a mistress to his arms, and by his effeminacy 
 lost not only his life, but the world. 
 
 Solitude, it is true, inspires notions too high and 
 exalted for the livel of common life. But high and 
 exalted minds support themselves on heights which 
 would turn the heads of degenerated men. The 
 faculties acquired by Solitude improve the feelings 
 of the heart, and the mind soars beyond the condi- 
 tion of mortality. Every day in the life of a man of 
 the world seems as if he expected it would be the 
 last of his existence; he seems to think that all hap- 
 piness depends upon his being present at a favourite 
 diversion, presiding at a club ; knowing a celebrated 
 conjurer, patronizing a new boxer, or admiring some 
 foreign novelty which the hand-bills of the day have 
 announced. 
 
 I feel the warmest emotions whenever I recollect 
 this passage in Plutarch : " I live," says he, " en- 
 tirely upon history, and while I contemplate the 
 pictures it presents to my view, my mind enjoys a 
 rich repast from the representation of great and vir- 
 tuous characters. If the actions of men, which I 
 must necessarily look into, produce some instances 
 of vice, corruption, and dishonesty, I endeavour, ne- 
 vertheless, to remove the impression, or to defeat its 
 effect. My mind withdraws itself from the scene, 
 
166 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and, free from every ignoble passion, I attach myself 
 to those high examples of virtue which are so agree- 
 able and satisfactory, and which accord so completely 
 with the genuine feelings of our nature." 
 
 The soul, winged by these sublime images, flies 
 from the earth, mounts as it proceeds, and casts the 
 eye of disdain on those surrounding clouds which 
 gravitate to the world, and obstruct it's flight. At- 
 taining a certain height, the faculties of the mind 
 open, and reveal the inclination of the heart. It is 
 wise and glorious to attempt every achievement ; for 
 that which is not physically impossible may always 
 be morally performed. How many dormant ideas 
 may be awakened by exertion: and then, what a 
 variety of early impressions, which were seemingly 
 forgotten, revive, and present themselves to our pens ! 
 We may always accomplish much more than we con- 
 ceive, provided we do not relax in the proper exer- 
 cise of the mind | provided passion fans the fire which 
 imagination has lighted ; for life is insupportable, if 
 it be not animated by the soft affections of the heart. 
 
 A state of existence without passion is, in Soli- 
 tude as well as in every other situation of life, the 
 death of the soul.* Disease and long suffering, after 
 
 * The force of the passions/' says a great philosopher, 
 can alone counterbalance in the human mind the effects of 
 indolence and inactivity, steal us from that repose and tor- 
 pidity towards which we incessantly gravitate, and at 
 length endow the mind with that continuity of attention to 
 which superiority of talent is attached." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 167 
 
 I ceased to breathe my native air, occasionally re- 
 duced me, during many years, to this horrible con- 
 dition. Those amongst whom I lived, and who were 
 ignorant of my real situation, thought that I was sullen, 
 and expected every moment that I should angrily 
 seize the lance of satire ; but I passed quietly on my 
 way, and resigned myself with care and cordiality to 
 the beneficent employments of my profession. While 
 the rage against me was general, I remained per- 
 fectly insensible, and preserved an inviolable silence. 
 The languors of sickness, the tortures of a wounded 
 heart, the oppression of domestic misfortunes, had 
 vanquished my mind, and rendered it insensible to 
 every other concern. My brain continued, during 
 several years, as obdurate as marble : I passed many 
 hours, day after day, without a thought : uttering 
 frequently the direct contrary to what I meant; 
 scarcely taking any nourishment ; deriving no sup- 
 port from that which strengthens others ; expecting 
 every step I took to fall to the ground ; and suffer- 
 ing the most excruciating pain whenever I sat down 
 to write. I was lost to the world and its concerns, 
 and felt no interest except only in the secret object 
 of my chagrin, which I kept closely locked within 
 my bleeding heart. 
 
 The passions have no existence until the corpo- 
 real organs are capable of indulging the natural dis- 
 positions of the heart. The mind, therefore, ought 
 to be kept in a state of constant exercise ; for the 
 soul, acting only by means of these corporeal organs, 
 its operations, whether in the tranquillity of Solitude 
 
168 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 or in the hurry of the world, can never produce any- 
 thing great if intercepted by these subaltern agents. 
 Solitude, it is certain, affords happiness to the heart 
 in every period of our lives, and leads the mind to 
 the fertile sources of every great conception; but, 
 alas ! it is not always in our power to enjoy it. How 
 passionately fond of Solitude would every noble- 
 minded youth become, if he were capable of perceiv- 
 ing the variety of grand ideas, sublime sentiments, 
 and profound knowledge, which he might there ac- 
 quire in the earliest periods of his infancy ! A wise 
 old-age finds its happiest days in the retreats of So- 
 litude. The mind there thinks with dignity and 
 ease. In the tranquillity of retirement, we see how 
 every thing ought to be conducted ; while, in society, 
 we only see how things are carried on. Uninter" 
 rupted reflection and profound thought inspire the 
 greatest works which the human mind is capable of 
 producing ; while, in society, the intellectual spirit 
 evaporates by its continual attention to trifling ob- 
 jects. The charm of Solitude makes men forget the 
 cares of life, teaches them to despise every thing 
 that belongs to earth, where they suffer their minds 
 to lie fallow, abandoned to weeds, or a prey to the 
 beasts of the field. 
 
 An enthusiasm for great achievements extin- 
 guishes all consideration for trifling objects. This is 
 the reason why, in conducting little concerns, com- 
 mon sense* is much more useful than genius. The 
 
 * " A man of common sense," says Helvetius, " is a 
 man in whose character indolence predominates. He is not 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 169 
 
 ordinary occupations of life destroy the enthusiasm of 
 genius, which nothing will so effectually restore as 
 Solitude and leisure. The philosophic observer and 
 profound writer, therefore, have no other resource, 
 when they are surrounded and encumbered by a 
 multiplicity of affairs. Misunderstood and ridiculed, 
 their souls sicken under general obloquy, and become 
 as it were extinct : they have no inducement to un- 
 dertake any great and distinguishing work, when 
 they are convinced that envy and malice will endea- 
 vour to turn it into ridicule the moment it is known 
 by whose pen it was produced. The desire of fame 
 dies, where merit is no longer rewarded by praise. 
 But remove such a writer or philosopher from the 
 multitude; give him liberty, leisure, pens, ink and 
 paper, and he is revenged; and his writings will 
 then excite the admiration of nations. A great va- 
 riety of men, who possess extraordinary talents, re- 
 main undistinguished, only because their minds lan- 
 guish under employments, which do not require the 
 aid of thought ; and which, for that reason, are much 
 better suited to the ignorant vulgar than the refined 
 philosopher. 
 
 Solitude leads genius to its proper sphere. The 
 mind rejoices in being restored to its faculties, and 
 
 endowed with that activity of soul which, in high stations, 
 1 eads great minds to discover new springs by which they 
 may set the world in motion, or to sow those se^eds from 
 the growth of which they are enabled to produce future 
 events." 
 
170 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 derives pleasures from pursuits which vulgar minds 
 disdain. The hatred which is generally entertained 
 against solitary men frequently proves a source of 
 enviable happiness. It would indeed be a great mis- 
 fortune to him who is meditating in tranquillity the 
 performance of some great and important work, if 
 he were universally beloved ; for every one would 
 then be anxious to visit him ; he would be pestered 
 with invitations to dinner ; and the first question in 
 all companies would be, " Will he come?" Happily, 
 however, philosophers are not, in general, the favour- 
 ites of the world; and they have the pleasure of 
 reflecting that public hatred is never excited against 
 an ordinary man. There is always something U 
 great in that man against whom the world exclaims, 
 at whom every one throws a stone, to whose con- 
 duct all impute a thousand absurdities, and on I 
 whose character all attempt to affix a thousand crimes 
 without being able to prove one. The fate of a man 
 of genius who lives retired and unknown is still more 
 enviable ; for he will not only enjoy the advantages 
 of Solitude, but, expecting his sentiments to be dis- 
 liked or misunderstood, he will not be chagrined by 
 the stupid vulgar condemning whatever he writes or 
 says, or surprised that the efforts of his friends to 
 undeceive the public with respect to his merit should 
 prove useless. 
 
 Such was, with respect to the multitude, the fate 
 of the Count Schaumbourg-Lippe, better known by 
 the title of the Count de Buckebourg. Of all the 
 German authors, I never knew one whose writings 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 171 
 
 were more ridiculed or so little understood ; and yet 
 his name was worthy of being enrolled among the 
 greatest characters of his age or country. I became 
 acquainted with him at a time when he lived almost 
 continually in Solitude,, retired from the world, ma- 
 naging his small estate with great discretion. There 
 was indeed something in his manner and appearance 
 which at first sight created disgust, and obscured the 
 brilliant qualities of his mind. 
 
 The Count de Lacy, formerly ambassador from 
 Spain to Petersburgh, informed me at Hanover, that 
 he led the Spanish army against the Portuguese at 
 the time they were commanded by the Count de 
 Buckebourg; the singularity of whose person and 
 manners so forcibly struck the minds of all the 
 Spanish generals, while they were reconnoitring the 
 enemy with their telescopes, that they exclaimed with 
 one voice, " Are the Portuguese commanded by Don 
 Quixote V The ambassador, however, who possessed 
 a very liberal mind, spoke with enthusiastic rapture 
 of the good conduct of Buckebourg in Portugal, and 
 praised in the warmest terms the excellence of his 
 mind and the greatness of his character. His heroic 
 countenance, his flowing hair, his tall and meagre 
 figure, and above all, the extraordinary length of his 
 visage, might, in truth, bring back the recollection 
 of the Knight of La Mancha ; for certain it is, that 
 at a distance he made a most romantic appearance ; 
 on a nearer approach, however, a closer view imme- 
 diately convinced you of the contrary. The fire and 
 animation of his features announced the elevation, 
 
\72 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 sagacity, penetration, kindness, virtue, and serenity 
 of his soul. Sublime sentiments and heroic thoughts 
 were as familiar and natural to his mind, as they 
 were to the noblest characters of Greece and Rome. 
 The Count was born in London, and possessed a 
 disposition as whimsical as it was extraordinary. The 
 anecdotes concerning him, which 1 heard from his 
 relation, a German Prince, are perhaps not generally 
 known. He was fond of contending with the English 
 in every thing. For instance, he laid a wager that 
 he would ride a horse from London to Edinburgh 
 backwards, that is, with the horse's head turned 
 towards Edinburgh and the Count's face towards Lon- 
 don ; and in this manner he actually rode through 
 several counties in England. He not only traversed 
 the greatest part of that kingdom on foot, but travel- 
 led in company with a German Prince through seve- 
 ral of the counties in the character of a beggar. 
 Being informed that part of the current of the Danube, 
 ttbove Ratisbon, was so strong and rapid, that no one 
 had ever dared to swim across it, he made the attempt, 
 and swam so far that it was^with difficulty he saved 
 his life. A great statesman and profound philosopher 
 related to me at Hanover, that, during the war in 
 which the Count commanded the artillery in the 
 army of Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick against the 
 French, he one day invited several Hanoverian officers 
 to dine with him in his tent. When the company 
 were in high spirits and full of gaiety, several cannon- 
 balls flew in different directions about the tent. 
 " The French/' exclaimed the officers, " cannot be 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 173 
 
 far off."— « No, no," replied the Count, " the 
 enemy, I assure you, are at a great distance ;" and lie 
 desired them to keep their seats. The firing- soon 
 after recommenced ; when one of the balls carrying 
 away the top of the tent, the officers rose suddenly 
 from their chairs, exclaiming, "The French are 
 here." — " No,'' replied the Count, * 4 the French are 
 not here; and therefore, gentlemen, I desire you 
 will again sit down, and rely upon my word." The 
 balls continued to fly about ; the officers however 
 continued to eat and drink without apprehension, 
 though not without whispering their conjectures to 
 each other upon the singularity of their entertain- 
 ment. The Count at length rose from the table, 
 and, addressing himself to the company, said, " Gen- 
 tlemen, I was willing to convince you how well I can 
 rely upon the officers of my artillery ; for I ordered 
 them to fire durino* the time we continued at dinner, 
 at the pinnacle of the tent ; and they have executed 
 my orders with great punctuality." 
 
 Curious and reflecting minds will not be unthank- 
 ful for these traits of the character of a man anxious 
 to exercise himself and those under his command in 
 every arduous enterprize Being one day in com- 
 pany with the Count by the side of a magazine of 
 gunpowder, which he had made under his bed- 
 chamber in Fort Willie! mstein, I observed to him 
 that " I should not sleep very contentedly ther e 
 during some of the hot nights of summer." The 
 Count, however, convinced me, though I do not now 
 recollect how, that the greatest danger and no danger 
 
174 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 are one and the same thing. When I first saw this 
 extraordinary man, which was in the company of 
 two officers, the one English, the other Portuguese, 
 he entertained me for two hours with a discourse 
 upon the physiology of Haller, whose works he knew 
 by heart. The ensuing morning, he insisted on my 
 accompanying him in a little boat, which he rowed 
 himself, to Fort Wilhelmstein, which he had con- 
 structed in the middle of the water, from plans which 
 he shewed me of his own drawing, and where not a 
 foot of land was to be seen. On Sunday, upon the 
 great parade at Pyrmont, surrounded by many thou- 
 sand men, who were occupied in dress, dancing, and 
 gallantries, he entertained me during the course of 
 two hours, and with as much tranquillity as if we had 
 been alone, by detailing the various controversies 
 respecting the existence of God, pointing out their 
 defective parts, and convincing me that he could 
 surpass them all. To prevent my escape, he held me 
 fast by the button of my coat. He shewed me, at 
 his seat at Buckebourg, a large folio volume in his 
 own hand- writing, <( On the art of defending a small 
 Town against a great Power." The work was com- 
 pletely finished, and designed as a present to the 
 king of Portugal ; but he did me the favour to read 
 many passages respecting Swisserland. The Count 
 considered the Swiss invincible ; and pointed out to 
 me not only all the important posts which they 
 might occupy against an enemy, but slie wed me roads 
 through which a cat would scarcely be able to crawl. 
 I do not believe that any thing was ever written of 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 175 
 
 higher importance to the interests of any country 
 than this work ; fcr the manuscript contains striking 
 answers to all the objections that a Swiss himself 
 could make. My friend, M. Moses Mendelssohn, to 
 whom the Count had read the preface to this work 
 at Pynnont, considered it as a master-piece, both for 
 its correct language and fine philosophy ; for the 
 Count could write the French language with almost 
 the same ease, elegance, and purity, as Voltaire : 
 while in the German he was laboured, perplexed, 
 and diffused. What adds to his praise is, that upon 
 his return to Portugal, he had with him for many 
 years two of the most acute masters of Germany ; 
 first Abbt, and afterwards Herder. Those who see 
 with more penetrating eyes than mine, and have 
 had more opportunities to make observations, are 
 able to relate a variety of remarkable anecdotes con- 
 cerning this truly great and extraordinary man. I 
 shall only add one observation more respecting his 
 character, availing myself of the words of Shak- 
 speare : the Count William de Schaumbourg-Lippe 
 carries no dagger ; 
 
 " He has a lean and hungry look — 
 
 — but he's not dangerous ; 
 
 he reads much ; 
 
 He is a great observer ; and he looks 
 
 Ruite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays ; 
 
 he hears no music ; 
 
 Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort, 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn* d his spirit 
 Thate could be mov'd to smile at any thing." 
 
 Julius C<zsar, Act, I. Scene 4, 
 
176 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Such was the character, always misunderstood, 
 of this solitary man. A character of this description 
 may well indulge the smile of scorn, when he per- 
 ceives himself scoffed at by the world; but what 
 must be the shame and confusion of those partial 
 judges, when they behold the monument which the 
 great Mendelssohn has erected to his memory ; or 
 the judicious history of his life, which a young au- 
 thor is about to publish at Hanover ; the profound 
 sentiments, the noble style, the truth and sincerity 
 of which will be discovered and acknowledged by 
 impartial posterity. 
 
 The men who laugh, as I have seen them laugh 
 a thousand times, at Buckebourg, on account of his 
 long visage, his flowing hair, his great hat, andlittle 
 sword, might be pardoned, if, like the Count, they 
 were philosophers and heroes. The Count, however, 
 never smiled at the world, or upon men, but with 
 kindness. Without hatred, without misanthropy, 
 he enjoyed the tranquillity of his rural retreat, deep 
 embosomed in a thick forest, generally alone or in 
 the company of his wife 3 for whom, while living, he 
 did not appear to entertain any extraordinary fond- 
 ness ; but when she died, his affection for her was 
 so great that her death brought him almost to the 
 grave. 
 
 The people of Athens laughed thus at Themis- 
 tocles. They even reviled him openly as he passed 
 along the streets, because he did not possess the 
 manners of the world, the ton of good company, and 
 was ignorant of that accomplishment w r hich is called 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 177 
 
 genteel breeding : one day however he retorted upon 
 these railers with the keenest asperity. u It is true," 
 said he, " I never learned to tune a lyre, or to play 
 upon a lute,- but I know how to raise a small and 
 inconsiderable city to greatness and to glory !" 
 
 Solitude and philosophy therefore, although they 
 may inspire sentiments and manners which appear 
 ludicrous to the eye of worldly folly, banish every 
 mean and sordid idea from the mind, and prepare it 
 for the grandest and most sublime conceptions. He 
 who is accustomed to study the characters of great 
 men, and to admire elevated sentiments, will almost 
 imperceptibly adopt a romantic style of thinking, 
 which may frequently excite the smile of ridicule. 
 The romantic mind always views things differently 
 from what they are or ever can be ; and a constant 
 habit of contemplating the sublime and beautiful 
 renders such characters, in the eyes of the weak and 
 wicked, ridiculous and insupportable. The nobleness 
 of soul, which men of this description always disco- 
 ver, is frequently offensive to the fashionable world ; 
 but it is not on that account less noble. The philo- 
 sophers of India annually quitted their solitude to 
 visit the palace of the king, when each of them, in 
 his turn, delivered his voice upon the government of 
 the state, and upon the changes and limitations 
 which might be made in the laws. He who three 
 successive times communicated false or unimportant 
 observations lost for one year the privilege of speak- 
 ing in the presence of the sovereign. There are 
 many other romantic philosophers who would require 
 
 i 3 
 
178 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 much more, but would do nothing. Plotinus re- 
 quested the emperor Galienus to confer upon him 
 the sovereignty of a small city in Campania, and the 
 lands appendant to it. The city was to be called 
 Platonopolis ; for Plotinus had promised to reside 
 there with his friends and followers, and realize the 
 republic of Plato. But it happened then, as it 
 frequently happens now in many courts to philoso- 
 phers much less chimerical than Plotinus— the cour- 
 tiers laughed at the proposal, and told the emperor 
 that the philosopher was a fool, whose mind even 
 experience could not reform. 
 
 Pictures of the greatness and virtue of the an- 
 cients produce, in Solitude, the happiest influence 
 upon minds susceptible of those ideas and sentiments. 
 Sparks of that bright flame, which warmed the 
 bosoms of the great and good, sometimes operate 
 the most unexpected effects. To cheer the drooping 
 spirits of a lady in the country, whose health was 
 impaired by a nervous affection, I advised her to 
 read very frequently the history of the Greek and 
 Roman empires. At the expiration of three months 
 she wrote to me, " With what veneration for anti- 
 quity have you inspired my mind ! What are the 
 buzzing race of the present age, when compared 
 with those noble characters ? History heretofore was 
 not my favourite study ; now I live only on its pages. 
 I feel, during the progress of my study, the strongest 
 inclination to become acquainted with all the trans- 
 actions of Greece and Rome. It has not only 
 opened to me an inexhaustible source of pleasure, 
 
2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 179 
 
 but restored me to health. I could not have be- 
 lieved that my library contained so inestimable a 
 treasure; it will become dearer to me than any thing 
 I possess. In the course of six months you will no 
 longer be troubled with my complaints. My Plutarch 
 has already become more valuable to me than all 
 the triumphs of coquetry, or all that sentimental 
 writing addressed to ladies in the country who are 
 inclined to be all heart, and with whom Satan plays 
 tricks of love with the same address as a dilletante 
 plays tricks of music on the violin." This lady> 
 who, I confess is learned, gives me further informa- 
 tion respecting* the conduct of her kitchen, and the 
 management of her poultry-yard ; but she has reco- 
 vered her health, and I think will hereafter find as 
 much pleasure in house-keeping and feeding her 
 chickens, as she did formerly from the pages of 
 Plutarch. 
 
 The history of the grandeur and virtue of the 
 ancients cannot operate for any length of time, ex- 
 cept in the tranquillity of retirement, or among a 
 select circle of friends ; but it may produce in the 
 event the happiest effects. The mind of a man of 
 genius is, during his solitary walks, filled with a 
 great crowd of ideas which appear ridiculous to his 
 fellow-citizens; but it is by such ideas that men are 
 led to perform actions worthy of immortality. The 
 Swiss songs composed by Lavater appeared at a time 
 unfavourable to their reception, and when the Repub- 
 lic was in a declining state. The Swiss Society of 
 Schintzuach, who had prevailed upon that ardent 
 
180 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 genius to compose those songs, offended the French 
 ambassador ; and, from that time, the society was 
 exclaimed against from every corner of the kingdom. 
 The great Haller himself pointed his epigrams 
 against the members in every letter which I received 
 from him ; for they had long refused to admit him 
 into the society. He considered us as enemies to 
 orthodoxy, and as ? disciples of Jean Jacques Rous- 
 seau, a man hateful to his eyes. At Zurich, the 
 president of the Committee for the Reformation of 
 Literature prohibited the Swiss songs of Lavater, 
 from the excellent motive, that it was not proper to 
 stir up the old dunghill. No poet of Greece how- 
 ever wrote with more fire and force in favour of his 
 oountry than Lavater did for the interests of Swisser- 
 land. I have heard children chaunt these songs 
 with patriotic enthusiasm, and seen the finest eyes 
 filled with tears while their ears listened to the singer. 
 Rapture glowed in the breasts of the Swiss peasants 
 to whom they were sung, their muscles swelled, the 
 blood inflamed their cheeks. Fathers have, within 
 my own knowledge, carried their infant children to 
 the chapel of William Tell, to sing in full chorus the 
 song which Lavater wrote upon the merits of that 
 great man. I have made the rocks re-echo to my 
 voice, by singing these songs to the music which my 
 heart composed for them in the fields ; and upon 
 those celebrated mountains where these heroes, the 
 ancestors of our race, signalized themselves by their 
 immortal valour, I thought myself encompassed by 
 their venerable shades. I fancied that I saw them 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 181 
 
 still armed with their knotted clubs, breaking to 
 pieces the crowned helmets of Germany ; and, al- 
 though inferior in numbers, forcing the proud nobi- 
 lity to seek their safety by a precipitate and ignomi- 
 nious flight. 
 
 This, I shall perhaps be told, is romantic ! for 
 romantic ideas can only please solitary and recluse 
 men, who always see objects in a different point of 
 view from the multitude around them.- Great ideas, 
 however, sometimes penetrate in spite of the most 
 obstinate resistance. In republics they operate 
 insensibly, and inspire elevated sentiments, which 
 may become extensively useful in times of trouble 
 and commotion. 
 
 Every thing unites, in Solitude, to raise the soul, 
 and fortify the human character ; because the mind 
 there habituates itself, much better than in the 
 world, to noble sentiments and heroic resolutions. 
 The solitary man possesses a charm against all the 
 shafts of envy, hatred, and malice. Resolved to 
 think and to act, upon every occasion, in opposition 
 to the sentiments of narrow minds, he attends to all 
 the contrarieties he meets with, but is astonished at 
 none. Entertaining a just and rational esteem for 
 friends; but sensible also that the} 7 , like enemies, 
 generally indulge their feelings to excess, that all of 
 them are partial, and inclined to form too favourable 
 a judgment; he appeals to the public : not indeed to 
 the public of his own city, who always consider the 
 person and not the thing in controversy, and who 
 never decide until they have heard the opinions of 
 
182 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 two or three beaux esprits ; but he appeals to the 
 world at large, at whose impartial tribunal he ap- 
 pears, and, with his works in his hand, demands the 
 justice that is due. 
 
 But it is commonly thought that Solitude, by 
 elevating the sentiments, renders the mind unfit for 
 business: this, however, I do not believe. On the 
 contrary, it must be highly beneficial to raise the 
 soul, and to exercise the mind in such a manner as 
 will prevent our becoming victims to the events of 
 public life. The love of truth is preserved by Soli- 
 tude, and virtue there acquires a greater firmness ; 
 but I acknowledge that, in business, truth is some- 
 times inconvenient ; and rigid virtue is not always 
 propitious to the affairs of life. 
 
 The virtue and simplicity of manners which 
 Solitude produces are revered by the great and good 
 of every clime. It was these inestimable qualities 
 which, during the highest fury of the war between 
 England and France, obtained the philosophic Jean 
 Andre de Luc the reception he met with at the court 
 of Versailles, and inspired the breast of the virtuous 
 the immortal DeVergennes with the desire to reform, 
 by philosophy, those citizens of Geneva, who had 
 resisted all the power of the prime-minister of France. 
 De Luc, at the request of Vergennes, made the 
 attempt ; but failed of success 5 and France, as it is 
 well known, was obliged to send an army to reclaim 
 the Genevese. It was upon his favourite mountains 
 that this amiable philosopher acquired that simplicity 
 of manners, which he still preserves amidst all the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 183 
 
 luxury of London ; where he endures with firmness 
 all the wants, refuses all the indigencies, and sub- 
 dues all the desires of social life. At Hanover I 
 could only remark one single instance of luxury in 
 which De Luc indulged himself; when any thing 
 vexed his mind, he chewed a little morsel of sugar ; 
 and, of course, always carried a small supply of it in 
 his pocket. 
 
 Solitude not only creates simplicity of manners, 
 but prepares and strengthens the faculties for the 
 toils of busy life. Fostered in the bosom of retire- 
 ment, the mind feels a greater degree of activity 
 when it engages in the transactions of the world, and 
 retires again into tranquillity to repose itself, and 
 prepare for new conflicts. Pericles, Phocion, Epa- 
 minondas, laid the foundation of all their greatness 
 in Solitude ; they there acquired that style which is 
 not to be learned in the forum of the university — 
 the style of their future lives and actions. When 
 the mind of Pericles was occupied by important 
 objects, he never appeared in the streets except to 
 transact his business, and instantly renounced feast- 
 ings, public assemblies, and every other pleasure of 
 the kind. While the administration of the affairs 
 of the republic was in his hands, he only went 
 once to sup with a friend, and came early away. 
 Phocion immediately resigned himself to the study 
 of philosophy, not from the ostentatious motive of 
 being called a wise man, but to place himself in a 
 condition to conduct the business of the state with 
 
184 2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 greater resolution and effect.* The people were 
 astonished, and enquired of each other when and by 
 what means Epaminondas, after having passed his 
 whole life in study, had not only learned, but, as it 
 were, all at once exercised, the military art in its 
 highest perfection. He was frugal of his time, de- 
 voted his mind entirely to the delights of litera- 
 ture ; and, ilesiring nothing so much as to be exempt 
 from business, withdrew himself from every public 
 employment His country forced him from the re- 
 treats of Solitude, gave him the command of the 
 army, and he saved the republic. 
 
 The character of Petrarch, which I never con- 
 template but with increasing sensibility, was formed 
 in Solitude; and he was thus rendered capable of 
 transacting the most complicated political affairs. 
 Petrarch was, without doubt, at all times, what per- 
 sons very frequently become in Solitude; choleric, 
 satirical, and petulant. He has been reproached 
 with great severity for the lively pictures he has 
 drawn of the manners of his age, and particularly 
 for his description of the scenes of infamy which 
 were transacted at Avignon, under the reign of Pope 
 Clement the Sixth. But Petrarch was perfectly ac- 
 quainted with the human heart, knew how to manage 
 
 * Thus Tacitus speaks of Helvidius Priscus : ' Inge- 
 nium illustre altioribus studiis juvenis admodum dedit, non 
 ut magnifico nomine otium velaret, sed quo firmior, adversus 
 fortuita rempublicam capesseret." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 185 
 
 the passions with uncommon dexterity, and to con- 
 duct them directly to his purpose. The Abbe de 
 Sades, the best historian of his life, says, " Petrarch 
 was scarcely known, except as a tender and elegant 
 poet, who loved with unextinguishable ardour, and 
 sung in all the harmony of verse the graces of his 
 mistress " And was nothing more known of his 
 character? His contemporaries, alas ! were ignorant 
 of the obligations that literature, long buried in the 
 ruins of barbarity, owes to his pen ; that he saved the 
 best works of antiquity from dust and rottenness; 
 that many of those precious treasures which have 
 since contributed to enlighten the world would have 
 been lost, if he had not digested them from the 
 grave, and procured them to be correctly copied; 
 that he was the restorer of the belies Iettres in 
 Europe ; purified the taste of the age ; and wrote 
 himself like an illustrious citizen of ancient Rome ! 
 that he extirpated the prevailing prejudices of his 
 time, preserved his courage and his firmness till the 
 hour of his death, and surpassed in his last work all 
 those which had preceded it. Still less were they 
 informed that Petrarch was an able statesman, to 
 whom the most celebrated sovereigns of his age con- 
 fided every difficult negociation, and consulted in 
 their most important concerns ; that in the four- 
 teenth century he possessed a degree of fame, credit, 
 and influence, which no man of learning of the pre- 
 sent day has ever acquired; that three popes, an 
 emperor, a sovereign of France, a king of Naples, 
 a croud of cardinals, the greatest princes, the most 
 
185 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 illustrious nobility of Italy, cultivated his friendship, 
 and solicited his correspondence ; that, as a states- 
 man, a minister, an ambassador, he was employed in 
 transacting some of the greatest affairs of the age -, 
 that he was thereby placed in a situation to instruct 
 them in the most useful and important truths. But it 
 was to Solitude alone that he owed all this power, that 
 no person was better acquainted with its advantages, 
 cherished it with greater fondness, or resounded its 
 praises with higher energy ; and he at length pre- 
 ferred liberty and leisure to all the enjoyments of the 
 world. He appeared a long time enervated by love, 
 to which he had consecrated the prime of his life ; 
 but he suddenly abandoned the soft and effeminate 
 tone in which he sighed at Laura's feet 3 addressed 
 himself with manly boldness to kings, to emperors, 
 to popes ; and ever afterwards maintained that con- 
 fidence which fine talents and a great character always 
 inspire.* With an eloquence worthy of Demosthenes 
 and Cicero, he exhorted the princes of Italy to make 
 peace among themselves, and to unite their powers 
 against their common enemies the barbarians, who 
 
 * " His Latin works of philosophy, poetry, and elo- 
 quence," says Mr. Gibbon, " established his serious reputa- 
 tion, which was soon diffused from Avignon over France and 
 Italy : his friends and disciples were multiplied in every 
 city ; and if the ponderous volume of his writings be now 
 abandoned to a long repose, our gratitude must applaud the 
 man who by precept and example revived the spirit and 
 study of the Augustan age." — Translator. 
 
Z1MMEHMANN ON SOLITUDE. 187 
 
 tore to pieces the very bosom of their country. He 
 encouraged, guided, and supported Rienzi, who ap- 
 peared like a guardian-angel sent from Heaven to 
 re-establish the original splendour of the city of 
 Rome.* He incited a pusillanimous emperor to 
 penetrate into the heart of Italy, and to seize, as the 
 successor of the Caesars, the government of the em- 
 pire. He conjured the popes to replace the holy 
 chair, which they had transported to the borders of 
 the Rhine, once more upon the banks of the Tiber. 
 At a time when he acknowledges in one of his 
 writings, that his mind was filled with vexation, his 
 bosom tormented by an unextinguishable passion, 
 disgusted with the conduct of men, and tired with 
 public life, Pope Clement the Sixth, who, without 
 doubt, was ignorant of what was passing in his heart, 
 intrusted him with a negociation of great difficulty 
 to the court of Naples. Petrarch undertook the 
 charge. He confessed that the life of a court had 
 rendered him ambitious, busy, and enterprising; 
 and that it was laughable to behold a hermit, accus- 
 tomed to live in woods and traverse the plains, now 
 running through the magnificent palaces of cardinals, 
 with a crowd of courtiers in his suite. When John 
 Visconti, Archbishop and Prince of Milan, and sove- 
 reign of all Lombardy, a man who united the finest 
 talents with an ambition so insatiable that it threat- 
 ened to swallow up all Italy, had the happiness to 
 
 * For a concise and elegant history of the birth and for* 
 tunes of this extraordinary man, see the 12th vol. of Gib- 
 bon's Roman Empire, p. 331. 8vo. edit. — Translator. 
 
1S8 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 fix Petrarch in his interests, and by inducing him to 
 undertake the office of private secretary, to gain 
 every thing that could accompany such an acquisition, 
 a philosopher and man of learning, who esteemed 
 Solitude above any other situation; the friends of 
 Petrarch exclaimed, " How ! this bold republican, 
 who breathed no sentiments but those of liberty and 
 independence ; this untamed bull, who spurned at 
 the shadow of the yoke ; who disdained to wear any 
 other fetters than those of Love, and frequently 
 found even these too heavy ; who refused so many 
 advantageous offers from the court of Rome, and 
 pieferred his liberty to the enslaving charms of gold, 
 now voluntarily submits to the shackles of an Italian 
 tyrant $ this misanthrope, who could no longer exist 
 but in rural tranquillity ; this great apostle of Soli- 
 tude, has at length quietly fixed his habitation 
 amidst the tumults of Milan !"— " My friends," 
 replied Petrarch, "you are perfectly right; man has 
 not a greater enemy than himself* I have acted con- 
 trary to my inclination, and against my own senti- 
 ment. Alas ! in all the transactions of our lives, we 
 do those things we ought not to do, and leave undone 
 those things to which we are most inclined." But 
 Petrarch might have told his friends, " I was inclined 
 to give you an example of what a man is able to do 
 in the affairs of the world, when he has sufficiently 
 exercised the powers of his mind in Solitude ; and 
 to convince you, that a previous retirement confers 
 liberty, firmness, expression, solidity, dignity, and 
 nobility, upon all the transactions of public life.'* 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 189 
 
 Aversion from the commerce of the world, and 
 the frivolous employments of the metropolis, in- 
 spires the mind with a sufficient degree of courage to 
 despise the prejudices of the age, and the opinions 
 of the multitude ; a courage which is therefore sel- 
 dom found, except among solitary men. The com- 
 merce of the world, far from fortifying the soul, 
 only weakens it ; in the same manner that enjoyment, 
 too frequently repeated, blunts the edge of every 
 pleasure. Oh ! how frequently the best plans fail 
 of success, from difficulties of execution; notwith- 
 standing the accuracy and excellency with which 
 they are formed. How many happy thoughts have 
 been stifled at the moment of their birth, from a 
 fear that they were too bold! When a literary 
 work appears, the excellence of its matter and the 
 elegance of its composition are overlooked. The 
 reader endeavours to pick out some latent inatten- 
 tion of the author; construes every expression con- 
 trary to its import; perceives a vein of satire where 
 in fact no satire exists, where it would be impossible 
 that there should be any; and disfigures even those 
 respectable truths which the author discloses in the 
 sincerity of his heart, and for which every just and 
 honest mind will silently thank him. 
 
 The president Montesquieu experienced this 
 treatment at Paris, in the meridian of his splendour; 
 and for this reason he has observed, in the defence of 
 his immortal work, The Spirit of Laws,—" No- 
 thing stifles knowledge more than covering every 
 thing with a doctor's robe ; for the men who are con- 
 
ICjO ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 tinually teaching are great impediments to learning. 
 There is no genius that is not contracted, when it is 
 enveloped by a million of vain scruples. Although 
 you have the best intentions that were ever formed, 
 they will even force the mind to doubt its own inte- 
 grity. You can no longer employ your endeavours 
 to speak or to write with propriety, when you are 
 perplexed with the fear of expressing yourself ill, 
 and when, instead of pursuing your thoughts you are 
 only busy in selecting such terms as may escape the 
 subtlety of the critics. They seem inclined to place 
 a biggin on our heads, and to warn us at every word, 
 Take care you do not fall. You would speak like 
 yourself, but I would have you speak like me. If 
 you attempt to soar, they pull you by the sleeve, and 
 impede your flight. If you write with life and spirit, 
 they instantly deprive you of it. If you rise to some 
 height, they take out their rule or their compass, 
 and, lifting up their heads, desire you to come down, 
 that they may measure you : and, in running your 
 course, they advise you to take notice of all the im- 
 pediments which the grubs of literature have raised 
 jn your way." 
 
 Montesquieu says, " that no degree of know- 
 ledge or learning is proof against this pedantry." 
 But did he not himself resist it? Does not his work 
 continue to be reprinted? Is it not read with uni- 
 versal applause ? 
 
 The writer who knows and dares to paint the 
 characters of men, must, without doubt, wear a 
 triple shield upon his breast : but, on the other hand, 
 
ZIMME11MANN ON SOLITUDE. l(jl 
 
 there is no book worth reading that is not written in 
 this style. Every good work contains truths, against 
 which the indignation of those whom they affect 
 will naturally arise. Why do the English so far sur- 
 pass us in their speculations upon mankind? Why 
 do we appear so puerile, when compared with them, 
 or with the Greek and Roman writers, on every sub- 
 ject that respects the description of human manners ? 
 It proceeds from the clamours which are raised 
 against every author, who hazards any opinions upon 
 the philosophy of life for the general benefit of man- 
 kind. We who honour, in so high a degree, the cou- 
 rage of the warrior, why, like effeminate Sybarites, 
 do the foldings of a rose-bud trouble our repose ? 
 Why do we vomit forth injuries against that civil cou- 
 rage, the courage without arms, the ' domesticas for- 
 titudines' of Cicero? 
 
 The idea that there is neither heart nor spirit 
 except in republics, that under the democratic form 
 of government alone people may speak the truth with 
 freedom and safety, is not well-founded. It is true 
 that in aristocracies, and even under governments 
 much more free, but where a single demagogue pos- 
 sesses the sovereign power, common sense is fre- 
 quently considered as a crime. The absurdity ren- 
 ders the mind timid ; and, of course, deprives the 
 people of all their liberty. But in a monarchy, 
 punishment is, in almost every instance, prescribed 
 by the laws of justice ; while in republics it is in- 
 flicted by prejudice, passion, and state-necessity. 
 
1Q2 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Under a republican form of government, the first 
 maxim parents inculcate into the minds of their chil- 
 dren is, not to make themselves enemies. To this 
 sage counsel I remember replying, when I was very 
 young, " My dear mother, do you not know, that 
 it is only a poor man who has no enemies ?'' In 
 many republics the citizen is under the authority 
 and jealous observation of a multitude of sovereigns ; 
 but, in a monarchy, the prince is the only man on 
 whom his subjects are dependent. The number of 
 masters in a republic crushes the spirit ; but, in a 
 monarchy, love and confidence in one alone raises 
 the spirits, and renders the people happy. In every 
 country however the rational man, who re- 
 nounces all the useless conversations of the world, 
 who lives a life of Solitude, and who, superior to 
 every thing that he sees, to all that he hears, forms 
 the integrity of his mind in the tranquillity of re- 
 tirement, by an intercourse with the heroes of 
 Greece, of Rome, and of Great Britain, lays a 
 permanent foundation for his future character, and 
 acquires a noble style of thinking beyond the reach 
 of vulgar invective or caprice. 
 
 These are the observations I had to make respect- 
 ing the influence of Solitude upon the Mind. Many 
 of them are, perhaps, undigested; and many more 
 are certainly not well expressed. 
 
 Dear and virtuous young man, into whose hands 
 this book perchance may fall, receive with kindness 
 and affection the good which it contains, and reject 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 193 
 
 all that is cold and bad ; all that does not touch and 
 penetrate the heart. But if you thank me for the 
 performance, if you bless me, if you acknowledge 
 that I have enlightened your mind, corrected your 
 manners, and tranquillized your heart, I shall con- 
 gratulate myself on the sincerity of my intentions, 
 and think my labours richly rewarded. If, in pe- 
 rusing it, you find yourself able to justify your 
 inclination for a wise and active Solitude, feel an 
 aversion from those societies which only serve to 
 destroy time, and disdain to employ vile and shame- 
 ful means in the acquisition of riches, I shall ask no 
 other benediction for my work. If you be fearful of 
 opening your lips; if you labour under the continual 
 apprehension of saying something that may be consi- 
 dered ridiculous, in the understandings of those who 
 have granted to themselves the monopoly of wit and 
 taste, and who, by virtue of this usurpation, go about 
 uttering the greatest absurdities— ah! then think 
 that, in such company, I should be considered an 
 equal blockhead with yourself. 
 
 Guided in every thing I have written by the real 
 sentiments of my mind, and by the immediate feel- 
 ings of my heart, a lady of great wit observed, on 
 reading the first two parts of this work, that the 
 moment I had unbosomed myself I laid down my 
 pen. 
 
 This method of writing has certainly produced 
 faults which a systematic philosopher would not 
 have committed. But I shall console myself for these 
 
 K 
 
104 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 errors, if this chapter afford only a glimpse of those 
 advantages which Solitude confers on the minds, the 
 understandings, and the characters of men ; and that 
 which follows shall excite a lively sensation of the 
 true, noble, and sublime pleasures which it produces 
 by a tranquil and affectionate contemplation of na- 
 ture, and by an exquisite sensibility for every thing 
 that is good and fair. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 195 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE UPON THE HEART. 
 
 Peace of mind is, upon earth, the supreme good. 
 Simplicity of heart will procure this invaluable bless- 
 ing to the wise mortal who, renouncing the noisy 
 pleasures of the world, sets bounds to his desires and 
 inclinations, cheerfully submits himself to the de- 
 crees of Heaven, and, viewing those around him with 
 the eye of charitable indulgence, feels no pleasures 
 more delightful than those which are afforded by the 
 soft murmur of a stream falling in cascades from the 
 summit of rocks, the refreshing breezes of the young 
 zephyrs, and the sweet accents of the woodland 
 chaunters. 
 
 How refined our sentiments become when the 
 tempests of life have subsided ,• when those misfor- 
 tunes which caused our afflictions have vanished; 
 when we see ourselves surrounded by friendship, 
 peace, simplicity, innocence, repose, and liberty! 
 
 The heart, to taste the charms of retirement* 
 need not be without emotion. Oh ! who would not 
 prefer to every other enjoyment the soft melancholy 
 which Solitude inspires ? Who would not renounce 
 the universe for one single tear of love ? The heart 
 is susceptible of this felicity, when it has learned to 
 admire, with equal pleasure, nature in its sublimest 
 beauties, and in the modest flower which decorates 
 
196 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 the valley ; when it has learned to enjoy, at the same 
 time, that infinite system, that uniform succession 
 of parts, which expands the soul, and those delicious 
 details which present soft and pleasant images to the 
 mind. These pleasures are not exclusively reserved 
 for strong energetic minds, whose sensations are as 
 lively as they are delicate ; and upon whom, for that 
 reason, good and bad make an equal impression. 
 The purest happiness, the most enchanting tran- 
 quillity, are also within the reach of men whose tem- 
 perament is cold; who, endowed with imaginations 
 less bold and lively, always perceive something ex- 
 travagant in the energetic expression of a still more 
 energetic sensation : in the pictures, therefore, which 
 are presented to the eye of such characters, the co- 
 louring must not be high, or the teints too sharp i 
 for, as the bad strikes them less, so also they are less 
 susceptible of the livelier enjoyments. 
 
 The highest enjoyments of the heart are, in Soli- 
 tude, derived from the imagination. The touching 
 aspect of delightful nature, the variegated verdure of 
 the forests, the noise of an impetuous torrent, the 
 quivering motion of the foliage, the harmony of the 
 groves, and the fine imagery of an extensive pro- 
 spect, ravish the soul so entirely, and absorb in such 
 a manner all our faculties, that the sentiments of the 
 mind are instantly converted into sensations of the 
 heart. The view of an agreeable landscape excites 
 the softest emotions, and gives birth to pleasing and 
 virtuous sentiments ; all this is produced by the 
 charms of imagination. 
 
ZIMMEftMANN OX SOLITUDE. 197 
 
 The imagination, when it acts with tranquil free- 
 dom, clothes every object with seductive charms. 
 Oh ! how easy it is to renounce noisy pleasures and 
 tumultuous assemblies for the enjoyment of that phi- 
 losophic repose which Solitude affords ! Awful sen- 
 sations and the softest raptures are alternately ex- 
 cited by the deep gloom of forests, the tremendous 
 height of broken rocks, and the multiplicity of sub- 
 lime, majestic objects, which fill the scite of a de- 
 lightful landscape. Pain, however excruciating, is 
 immediately vanquished by the soft, serious, agree- 
 able emotions and reveries with which the surround- 
 ing tranquillity inspires the mind. The Solitude of 
 retirement, and the awful silence of nature, impress 
 an idea of the happy contrast between simplicity and 
 grandeur. Our feelings become more exquisite, and 
 our admiration more lively, in proportion to the plea- 
 sures we receive. 
 
 I had been, during the course of many years, fa- 
 miliar with the sublimest appearances of nature, 
 when I saw, for the first time, a garden cultivated in 
 the English taste near Hanover: and soon afterwards 
 I beheld one in the same style, but on a much larger 
 scale, at Marienwerder, about the distance of a 
 league from the former I was not then apprized of 
 the extent of that art which sports with the most un- 
 grateful soil, and, by a new species of creation, con- 
 verts even barren sandy mountains into fertile and 
 smiling landscapes. This magic art makes an asto- 
 nishing impression on the mind ; it excites in every 
 heart, not yet insensible to the delightful charms of 
 
198 ZIMAIERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 cultivated nature, all the pleasures which Solitude, 
 rural repose, and a seclusion from the haunts of men, 
 can procure. I cannot recollect a single day during 1 
 the early part of my residence at Hanover without 
 tears of gratitude and joy. Torn from the bosom of 
 my country, from the embraces of my family, and 
 driven from every thing that I held dear in life, my 
 mind was not susceptible of any other sentiments 
 than those of the deepest melancholy. But when I 
 entered the little garden of my late friend M. de 
 Hinuber, near Hanover, T forgot for the moment both 
 my country and my grief. 
 
 The charm was new to my mind. I was not then 
 apprized that it was possible, upon so small a scale, 
 to imitate the enchanting variety and the noble sim- 
 plicity of Nature. I was not till then convinced that 
 her aspect alone is sufficient, at the first view, to 
 obliterate all the oppression of the world, to excite 
 in our breasts the purest luxury, to fill our minds 
 with every sentiment that can create a fondness for 
 life. I still bless the hour when I first learned this 
 secret. 
 
 This new re-union of art and nature, which was 
 invented not in China, but in England, is founded 
 upon a refined taste for the beauties of nature, con- 
 firmed by experience, and by the sentiments which a 
 chaste fancy reflects upon a feeling heart. Hirsch- 
 feld, the great painter of nature, and amiable and 
 sensible philosopher, the first German who, by his 
 admirable theories, introduced among us a know- 
 ledge of gardening, is become, by his communica- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 199 
 
 tions upon this subject, one of the great benefactors 
 to his country. 
 
 There are, without doubt, many German-English 
 gardens so whimsically and ridiculously laid out, 
 that they only excite pity and contempt. Who 
 can forbear laughing to see forests of poplar- 
 trees scarcely large enough to warm a chamber- 
 stove for a week ; mole-hills, which they call 
 mountains ; menageries of tame and savage animals, 
 birds and amphibious creatures, grinning in na- 
 tive grandeur upon tin; bridges without number 
 across a river which a couple of ducks would drink 
 dry ; wooden fishes swimming in canals which the 
 pump every morning supplies with water ? All this 
 is certainly not less natural than the pitiful taste of 
 our ancestors. But if, on the contrary, in the gar- 
 den of M. Hinuber at Marienwerder every look ele- 
 vate my soul towards God, if every point of view 
 afford to the eye sublime repose, if on every bank I 
 discover scenes ever smiling and ever new, if my 
 heart feel relief from the aspect of this enchanting 
 place, shall I amuse myself by discussing, whether 
 what I see might have been done in a different way, 
 and permit the dull rules of cold and tasteless mas- 
 ters to diminish my pleasures ? Scenes of serenity, 
 whether created by tasteful art, or by the cunning 
 hand of nature, always convey tranquillity to the 
 heart; an effect which it owes to the imagination. If 
 a soft silence breathe around, and every object be 
 pleasant to my view ; if rural scenes absorb all my 
 attention, and dissipate the grief that lies heavy on 
 
200 ZrMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 my heart ; if the loveliness of Solitude enchant me, 
 and, gradually subduing my soul, leave it full of be- 
 nevolence, love, and content ; I ought to thank God 
 for the imagination which, although it has indeed 
 frequently caused the trouble of my life, has always 
 led me, in retirement, to some friendly rock, upon 
 which I could hang while I contemplated with greater 
 composure the tempests I had escaped.* A cele- 
 brated English writer has said, that " Solitude, on 
 the first view of it, inspires the mind with terror, 
 because every thing that brings with it the idea of 
 privation is terrific, and therefore sublime, like space, 
 darkness, and silence." In Swisserland, and espe- 
 cially near the canton of Berne, the Alps have at a 
 distance an astonishing grandeur of appearance ; but 
 viewed nearer, they inspire images terrific and sub- 
 lime. That species of grandeur, which accompanies 
 
 * A French writer has embellished this idea with all the 
 riches of eloquence. " There is no mind of sensibility which 
 has not tasted in the retreats of Solitude those delicious mo- 
 ments when man, fleeing from the delusions of falsehood, 
 enters into his own heart to seek the sparks of truth. What 
 pleasure, after having been tossed during many years on the 
 sea of life, to climb some friendly rock, and reflect in peace 
 and safety on the tempest and shipwrecks which ensued ! 
 Happy the man who can then forget the idle prejudices 
 which occupy the mind : the miseries of humanity vanish 
 from his sight ; august truth fills his bosom with the purest 
 joys. It is only in these moments, and in those which pre- 
 cede the dissolution of our mortal frame, that man can learn 
 what he is upon this earth, and what this earth is to him." 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 201 
 
 the idea of infinity, charms the eye when seen at a 
 proper distance. The heart feels nothing but ravish- 
 ment, while the eye observes from afar the uninter- 
 rupted chain of these immense mountains, these 
 enormous masses rising one above the other. The 
 succession of soft and lively shades tempers the im- 
 pression, and gives to this prodigious wall of rocks 
 more of the agreeable than the sublime. On the 
 contrary, a mind of sensibility cannot take a near 
 view of these mountains without feeling an involun- 
 tary trembling. The eye looks with fear on their 
 eternal snows, their steep ascents, their obscure ca- 
 verns, the torrents which precipitate themselves with 
 resounding noise over their summits, forming innu- 
 merable cascades, the dark forests of fir with which 
 their sides are overcharged, and the enormous frag- 
 ments of rocks which time and tempests have de- 
 tached from their foundations How my heart beat, 
 when, for the first time, I climbed through a steep 
 and narrow path upon those sublime deserts, con- 
 tinually discovering new mountains rising over my 
 head, while upon the least stumble death menaced 
 me in a thousand different shapes below ! But ima- 
 gination soon begins to kindle, when you perceive 
 yourself alone in the midst of all this grandeur of 
 nature, and reflect from these heights on the nothing- 
 ness of human power, and the weakness of the 
 greatest monarchs ! 
 
 The history of Swisserland evinces, that the in- 
 habitants of these mountains are not men of a de- 
 generated cast, but that their sentiments are ele- 
 
 k 3 
 
202 ZIAIMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 vated, and their feelings warm. Their boldness and 
 intrepidity are innate ; the spirit of Liberty gives 
 wings to their souls; and they trample tyranny and 
 tyrants under their feet. But the spirit of liberty is 
 only to be found genuine among the inhabitants of 
 the Alps ; for all the Swiss are not in reality free, 
 although they have notions of liberty, love their 
 country, and return their thanks to the Almighty for 
 that happy peace which permits each individual to 
 live quietly under his vine, and to enjoy the shade of 
 his fig tree. 
 
 The Alps in Swisserland are inhabited by a race 
 of men sometimes unsociable, but always good and 
 generous. The severity of their climate renders 
 them hardy and robust, while their pastoral life adds 
 softness to their characters. An Englishman has 
 said, that he who never heard thunder in the Alps, 
 cannot conceive any idea of the continuity of the 
 lightning, the rolling and the burst of the thunder 
 which roars round the horizon of these immense 
 mountains. The inhabitants of the Alps therefore, 
 who have never seen better houses than their own 
 cabins, or any other country than their native rocks, 
 conceive every part of the universe to be formed of 
 the same rough materials, and a scene of unceasing 
 tempests. 
 
 The Heavens, however, are not always threaten- 
 ing; the lightning does not continually flash upon 
 their eyes ; immediately after the most dreadful 
 tempests, the hemisphere clears itself by slow de- 
 crees, and becomes serene. The heads and hearts 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 203 
 
 of the Swiss are of a similar nature; kindness suc- 
 ceeds to anger ; and generosity to the most brutal 
 fury : this may be easily proved, not only from the 
 records of history, but from recent facts. 
 
 One of the inhabitants of these stupendous 
 mountains, General de Redin, born in the canton of 
 Schwitz, was enrolled very early in life in the Swiss 
 guards, and had attained the station of lieutenant- 
 general. His long residence at Paris and Versailles, 
 however, did not in any degree alter his character; 
 and he continued through life a Swiss. The orders 
 issued by the court of Versailles, in the year 1/64, 
 for the regulation of the Swiss who were in the ser- 
 vice of that court, occasioned great discontents in 
 the canton of Schwitz. The citizens considered this 
 innovation as extremely prejudicial to their ancient 
 privileges, and they threw the blame of this measure 
 upon General Redin. At this crisis the wife of the 
 general, who resided on his estate, was exerting all 
 her interest to raise recruits ; but the sound of the 
 French drum was become disgusting to the ears of 
 the citizens of the canton, and they saw with indig- 
 nation the white cockade placed in the hats of the 
 deluded peasants. The magistrate, apprehensive 
 that this fermentation might ultimately cause an in- 
 surrection among the people, thought it his duty to 
 prohibit Madame de Redin from continuing to raise 
 her levies. The lady required him to give a certifi- 
 cate in writing of this prohibition ; but the magistrate 
 was not at that moment inclined to adopt so spirited 
 a measure against the interests of France ; and the 
 
204 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 wife of the general continued to raise her recruits. 
 This bold defiance of the prohibition irritated the 
 inhabitants of the canton ; they summoned a general 
 diet, and Madame de Redin appeared before the 
 Four Thousand. "The drum," said she, "shall 
 never cease to beat until you give me a certificate, 
 which may justify my husband to the court of France 
 for not completing the number of his men" They 
 granted her the certificate she demanded, and the 
 general was at the same time enjoined to use his 
 interest at the court of France for the service of his 
 country These measures being adopted, the canton 
 waited in anxious expectation of receiving satisfac- 
 tory accounts fro 11 Paris ; but unhappily very dissa- 
 tisfactory accounts arrived. The feelings of the in- 
 habitants were irritated beyond restraint ; and those 
 who were possessed of credit and authority publicly 
 maintained, that the new regulation endangered both 
 their liberties and their religion. The general dis- 
 content was instantly converted into popular fury. 
 The diet was again assembled, and it was publicly 
 resolved not to furnish the King of France with any 
 troops hereafter. The treaty of alliance in 1713 was 
 torn from the archives of the country, and General 
 Redin was ordered to return imme iately with the 
 soldiers under his command, upon pain of perpetual 
 exile. Redin obtained the king's leave of absence 
 for himself and his regiment; and they returned 
 obedient to the order of the diet. The general 
 entered Schwitz, the metropolis of the canton, at the 
 head of his troops, with drums beating and colours 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 205 
 
 flying, and marched immediately towards the church. 
 Redin placed the colours by the side of the great 
 altar, fell upon his knees, and offered up his thanks 
 to God. He then discharged his soldiers, paid their 
 arrears, and gave them their accoutrements and 
 clothes ; and with tears in his eyes, while they wept 
 around him, took his leave. The fury of the po- 
 pulace seemed to increase, when they found the man 
 in their custody whom they considered as a perfidi- 
 ous wretch, a traitor who ha-t favoured the new re- 
 gulations at the court of Versailles, and who had 
 conspired to give a mortal blow to the interest of his 
 country. The general diet assembled, and Redin 
 was summoned to disclose the manner in which 
 these new regula ions had passed, in order that they 
 might know the terms on which they stood with 
 France, and learn the degree of offence the traitor 
 had committed, so that they might afterwards grant 
 him a pardon, or apportion his punishment. Redin, 
 perfectly aware that, under the real circumstances of 
 the case, eloquence would be vainly exerted against 
 minds so heated in the cause, contented himself with 
 saying roughly, and in few words, that all the w r orld 
 knew the manner in which things had passed, and 
 that he was as innocent with regard to the new regu- 
 lation as he was of the causes assigned for his dis- 
 mission. " The traitor then will not confess ! ex- 
 claimed the most furious of the members ! * c hang 
 him on the next tree — cut him to pieces." These 
 menaces were instantly repeated by the whole as- 
 sembly -, Redin, however, continued perfectly tran- 
 
206 ZIMMEIiMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 quil. A troop of furious peasants mounted the ros- 
 trum, while Rediii stood by the side of the magis- 
 trates. It was at this time raining. A young man, 
 the godson of Redin, held a parapluie over his head. 
 One of the enraged multitude, with a blow of his 
 stick, broke the parapluie to pieces, exclaiming, 
 " Let the villain be uncovered " Rage swelled the 
 bosom of the youth. " Ah ! ah I" said he, " I did not 
 know that my godfather had betrayed his country ; 
 but since it is so, bring me a cord this moment, that 
 I may strangle him." The members of the council 
 formed a circle round the general, and entreated him, 
 with uplifted hands, to think of his danger ; to con- 
 fess that he had not perhaps opposed the regulation 
 with proper vehemence; and to offer the sacrifice of 
 his whole fortune as a reparation for the offence he 
 had committed, on condition that they would spare 
 his life. Redin walked out of the circle with a grave 
 and tranquil air, and made the sign of silence with 
 his hand. The whole assembly waited with impa- 
 tience to hear the general confess ; and the greater 
 number of the members nattered him with the hopes 
 of pardon " My dear countrymen," said the gene- 
 ral, <c you are not ignorant that I have served the 
 King of France two-and-forty years. You know, and 
 many among you who were with me in the service 
 can bear witness of its truth, how frequently I have 
 appeared in the face of the enemy, and the manner in 
 which I have conducted myself in several battles. I 
 considered every engagement as the last day of my 
 life. But I here protest, in the presence of Almighty 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 20/ 
 
 God, who knows all hearts, who listens to my words, 
 who is to judge us all, that I never appeared before 
 the enemy with a conscience more tranquil, pure, 
 and innocent, than I at this moment possess ; and 
 am now ready to yield up my life, if you think pro- 
 per to condemn me for not confessing an infidelity 
 of which I have not been guilty. 5 ' 
 
 The dignity with which the general delivered this 
 declaration, and the rays of truth which beamed upon 
 his countenance, calmed the fury of the assembly, 
 and he was saved. But both he and his wife soon 
 afterwards quitted the canton. She entered into a 
 religious convent at Uri, and he retired into a deep 
 cavern among the rocks, where he lived two years in 
 Solitude. The fury of his countrymen, however, at 
 length subsided ; he returned to the canton, and re- 
 warded their ingratitude by the most signal services. 
 Every individual then recollected the integrity and 
 magnanimity of the general; and to compensate the 
 injuries and injustice he had received, they elected 
 him bailli, or first officer of the canton : nay, what 
 very rarely happens, they afterwards elected him 
 three times successively to this important dignity. 
 
 This is the characteristic disposition of the people 
 who inhabit the Alps of Swisserland ,• alternately 
 mild and violent : following, in the extreme, the 
 dictates of a bold and lively imagination, their pas- 
 sions and affections experience the same vicissitudes 
 as their climate. But I candidly acknowledge, that 
 I would rather live in Solitude among the rocks 
 of Uri, than be perpetual bailli of the canton of 
 Schwitz. 
 
208 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 The continual view of the sublime deserts of the 
 Alps may perhaps contribute to render the Swiss 
 rude and unpolished ; but, as in every similar situ- 
 ation, their hearts are improved in kindness and 
 good-nature by the tranquillity of their fields, and 
 the smiling beauties of the scenery by which they 
 are surrounded. The English artists acknowledge, 
 that the face of nature in Swisserland is too sublime 
 and too majestic for the pencil to render a faithful 
 representation of it. But what exquisite enjoyments 
 must they not experience upon those romantic hills, 
 in those agreeable vallies, upon the happy borders 
 of those still and transparent lakes ! * Ah ! it is 
 
 * 1 feel great delight in the Letters upon Swisserland 
 by Professor Meiners, with what amiable sensibility that 
 philosopher seated himself upon the banks of the lake of 
 Biel, and quietly resigned himself to all the emotions of his 
 soul ! " When I am fatigued,'" says M. Meiners to one of 
 his friends at Gottingen, " and it pleases my fancy to con- 
 sider more attentively the several objects which surround 
 me, I seat myself upon the first bank, or the wall of a vine- 
 yard under which people continually pass. I never indulge 
 this disposition without experiencing an inexpr ssible tran- 
 quillity. The last time it was about six o'clock, while the 
 sun was sinking behind the ridge of Jura. The dark green 
 firs which grow almost alone to a certain height on the 
 mountain ; the oaks of a brighter verdure which succeed 
 them ; the vines, still livelier in their teints, in the middle 
 of which I was seated ; and a considerable portion of the 
 lake, which by that means appeared more extensive, was 
 in the shade ; while the other part of the lake, the opposite 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 209 
 
 there that Nature may be closely examined : it is 
 there that she appears in her highest pomp and 
 splendour. If the view of the oak, the elm, the dark 
 firs which people these immense forests, convey no 
 pleasures; if the sight of those majestic trees excite 
 no pleasing emotion in your mind, there still remain 
 the myrtle of Venus, the almond-tree, the jessamine, 
 the pomegranate, and those eminences covered with 
 luxurious vines. Reflect, that in no country of the 
 globe, Nature is more rich and variegated in her ap- 
 pearances than in Swisserland, and that it was the 
 landscape and the lake of Zurich which inspired the 
 Idylls of the immortal Gessner; the most agreeable 
 of all the poets of nature. 
 
 These sublime beauties raise the heart : and 
 strike the imagination in a much more lively manner 
 than softer scenes ; as a fine night affords a more 
 august and solemn spectacle than the mildest day. 
 In coming from Frescati, by the side of the small 
 lake of Nemi, which lies in a deep valley so enclosed 
 by mountains and forests that the winds never agitate 
 its surface, it is impossible not to exclaim with the 
 English poet, that here — 
 
 shore, Biel, and Nidaw, and the tops of the Glaciers, were 
 still brightened by the last rays of the sun. Above, the 
 bleating of the flocks transported me in idea to the smiling 
 plains of Arcadia ; below, I heard the hum of peasants, 
 and of fishermen, whose boats I could scarcely discover, 
 with the affecting murmur of the lake, gently rolling its 
 waves against the rocks which overhang its banks." 
 
210 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 " Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws 
 A death-like silence, and a dread repose : 
 Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, 
 Shades every flower, and darkens every green, 
 Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, 
 And breathes a browner horror on the woods." 
 
 Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, ver. 165. 
 
 While the soul expands, and the mind becomes 
 serene and free, you suddenly discover from the 
 garden of the Capuchins near Albano, the little me- 
 lancholy lake with all the mountains and forests 
 which surround it; the castle of Gandolpho, with 
 Frescati and all its rural villas on one side ; on the 
 other, the handsome city of Albano, the village and 
 castle of Riccia and Geusano, with their hills decked 
 with vine-leaves ; below, the extensive plains of Cam- 
 pania, in the middle of which Rome, formerly the 
 mistress of the universe, raises its majestic head; 
 and lastly, beyond all these objects, the hills of 
 Tivoli, the Appennines, and the Mediterranean sea.* 
 
 Thus the view of sublime or beautiful objects 
 differently affects the heart ; the sublime excite fear 
 
 * A German Lady, who possesses a very lively imagi- 
 nation, undertook a voyage to Italy for there-establishment 
 of her health. Her strength increased day after day. When, 
 she found herself on the scite of Albano, above described, 
 she endeavoured to express to her companions the emotions 
 which the view of this scene occasioned : but her feelings 
 were so exquisite, that they deprived her of the power of 
 utterance ; and she actually remained several days without 
 being able to speak. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 211 
 
 and terror, the beautiful create only soft and agree- 
 able sensations. But both of them enlarge and ag- 
 grandize the sphere of the imagination, and enable 
 us more satisfactorily to seek enjoyments within our- 
 selves. 
 
 To experience these pleasures, it is not necessary 
 to visit Swisserland and Italy. There is no person 
 who may not, by quietly traversing the mountains 
 with his gun, and without running after poetic 
 images, like Kleist,* learn to feel how much the 
 great scene of nature will affect the heart, especially 
 when assisted by the powers of imagination. The 
 sight of an agreeable landscape, the various points 
 of view which spacious plains afford, the freshness 
 of the zephyrs, the beauty of the sky, and the appe- 
 tite which a long chace procures, will give feelings 
 of health, and make every step seem too short. The 
 privation of every object that can recall the idea of 
 dependence, accompanied by domestic comfort, health- 
 ful exercise, and useful occupations, will add vigour 
 to thought, give warmth to imagination, present the 
 most agreeable and smiling images to the mind, and 
 inebriate the heart with delicious sensations. A man 
 with a fine imagination would be more happy in a 
 dark prison, than, without imagination, amidst the 
 most magnificent scenery. But even to a mind de- 
 prived of this happy faculty, the rich harvest of rural 
 life will alone perform miracles upon the heart- 
 
 * M. Kleist, a celebrated poet of Germany, distinguished 
 by his poem on Spring. 
 
£12 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Who among us, alas ! has 'not experienced, in the 
 hours of languor and disgust, the powerful effects 
 which a view of the enchanting pleasures enjoyed by 
 the village rustic is capable of affording? How 
 fondly the heart partakes of ail his joys ! With what 
 freedom, cordiality, and kindness, we take him by 
 the hand, and listen to his plain unlettered tales! 
 How suddenly do we feel our bosoms interested in 
 every object that concerns him ! Rural scenes display, 
 refine, and meliorate the lurking inclinations of the 
 heart, and afford a variety of pleasures even to those 
 who, buried in the sink of cities, scarcely know what 
 pleasure is. 
 
 A French officer, on his return to his native 
 country after a long absence, exclaimed,—" It is 
 only in rural life that a man can truly enjoy the 
 treasures of the heart, himself, his wife, his children, 
 and his friends. The country has, in every respect, 
 the greater advantage over the town. The air is pure, 
 the prospects smiling, the walks pleasant, the living 
 comfortable, the manners simple, and the mind vir- 
 tuous. The passions unfold themselves without in- 
 jury to any person. The bosom, inspired by the love 
 of liberty, feels itself dependent on heaven alone. 
 Nature satisfies the most avaricious mind, by the 
 endless bounty of her gifts. The warrior may follow 
 the chace, the voluptuary may cultivate the rich 
 fruits of the earth, and the philosopher indulge his 
 contemplation at ease." — Oh ! how strongly this 
 writer moves and interests my heart, when he tells 
 me, by this affecting passage of his work, — " I should 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 213 
 
 prefer a residence in my native fields, to all others ; 
 not because they are more beautiful, but because I 
 was there brought up. The spot on which we pass 
 our earliest days possesses a secret charm, an inex- 
 pressible enchantment, superior to any other enjoy- 
 ment the world affords, and the loss of which no 
 other country can compensate ; the spot where the 
 gambols of my infant days were played ; those happy 
 days which passed without inquietude or cares. The 
 finding of a bird's nest then filled my bosom with the 
 highest joy. What delight have I felt from the 
 caresses of a partridge, in making it peck at me, in 
 feeling his little heart beat against my hand! Happy 
 he who returns to the place of his first attachment ; 
 that place where he fondly fixed his love on all around 
 him ; where every object appeared amiable to his 
 eyes; the fertile fields in which he used to run and 
 exercise himself; the orchards which he used to 
 pillage."* 
 
 These delightful sentiments engrave indelibly on 
 our hearts the remembrance of our infancy, of those 
 happy times which we passed with so much pleasure 
 in the charming Solitudes of our native country. 
 
 Thus, at every period of our existence, and in 
 every place, the freedom and tranquillity of a country 
 life will induce us to exclaim with the sacred orator, 
 
 * To this passage, in the French translation of this 
 work, is subjoined the following note : — " Not knowing the 
 traveller who is here alluded to, we beg his excuse for 
 having ventured to translate it into French from the text 
 in German." 
 
214 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 " How happy is the wise and virtuous man, who 
 knows how to enjoy tranquillity with true dignity 
 and perfect ease, independent of every thing around 
 him ! How preferable is this happy calm to the 
 deafening clamour, the false joys, the dazzling splen- 
 dour of the fashionable world ! What refined, noble, 
 generous sentiments rise and unfold themselves in 
 retirement, which, during the din of business and 
 the dissipations of pleasure, lie concealed at the 
 bottom of the soul, fearful of the contemptuous sneer 
 of wicked and unthinking minds !" 
 
 Oh my beloved Zollikofer!* I have felt in the 
 pleasures of a retired domestic life the truth of those 
 doctrines which you announced at Leipsic : doctrines 
 which do not inculcate a cold and sterile theology, 
 but wise and virtuous precepts which warm and ani- 
 mate the heart. I have seen, as you described, that 
 in the bowers of retirement the vexations of business 
 may be forgot ; that sorrow too poignant to remove 
 may be lulled to rest in the bosom of friendship, and 
 the heart revived by the charms of consolation ; that 
 the mind may be brightened by rising hopes, and 
 the storms of fortune suspended until returning for- 
 titude enables us to support them, or we gain suf- 
 ficient courage to drive them away. Studious men 
 frequently abandon their labour, and retreating from 
 recondite researches find, in the enjoyments of domes- 
 tic innocence, and the simple, honest manners of 
 their domestics, more happiness, tranquillity, cordial 
 
 * A celebrated preacher of Germany, 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 215 
 
 enjoyment, and mental pleasure, than even the arts 
 and sciences are capable of affording. In the private 
 economy of rural retirement, every one obtains the 
 exact portion of praise and approbation which he 
 merits, and he obtains them from those whose praise 
 and approbation it is his utmost ambition to acquire. 
 Here the unfortunate are relieved, the wretched made 
 happy, the wanderer put into his right way; and 
 every body rejoicing in satisfaction and content. 
 
 The calm of rural life inspires a soft and tranquil 
 disposition : which, while it renders the noisy plea- 
 sures of the world insipid, enables us to taste the 
 charms of Solitude with increased delight. The 
 happy indolence peculiar to Italians, who under the 
 pleasures of a clear unclouded sky, are always poor 
 but never miserable, contributes greatly to improve 
 the heart. The mildness of their climate, and the 
 fertility of their soil, compensate for every thing. 
 Doctor Moore, an English traveller, whose works 
 afford me great delight, says, that " the Italians are 
 the greatest loungers in the world ; and, while walk- 
 ing in the fields, or stretched in the shade, seem to 
 enjoy the serenity and genial warmth of their climate 
 with a degree of luxurious indulgence peculiar to 
 themselves. Without ever running into the daring 
 excesses of the English, or displaying the frisky 
 vivacity of the French, or the stubborn phlegm of 
 the Germans, the Italian populace discover a species 
 of sedate sensibility to every source of enjoyment, 
 from which, perhaps, they derive a greater degree of 
 happiness than any of the other." 
 
2 J 6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Under this pleasing- privation of those objects 
 which afflict and torment the heart, the mind un- 
 avoidably indulges agreeable chimeras and romantic 
 sentiments. This condition has its fair side. A ro- 
 mantic disposition may lead the mind into extrava- 
 gance and error, may frequently engender base and 
 contemptible passions, habitute it to a light and airy 
 mode of thinking, prevent it from directing its facul- 
 ties to rational ends, and obscure the prospect of true 
 happiness ; for the soul cannot easily quit the illusion 
 on which it dwells with such fond delight 3 and the or- 
 dinary duties of life, and its more noble and substan- 
 tial pleasures are perhaps, thereby obstructed;* but 
 romantic sentiments do not, in general, render the 
 
 * " The influence of the imagination on the conduct 
 of life," says Dr. Arbuthnot, " is one of the most important 
 points in moral philosophy. It were easy, by an induction 
 of facts, to prove that the imagination directs almost all the 
 passions, and mixes with almost every circumstance of ac- 
 tion or pleasure. Let any man, even of the coldest head 
 and soberest industry, analyse the idea of what he calls his 
 interest he will find that it consists chiefly of certain degrees 
 of decency, beauty, and order, variously combined into one 
 system, the idol of which he seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, 
 and self-denial. It is, on this account, of the last conse- 
 quence to regulate these images by the standard of nature 
 and the general good ; otherwise the imagination, by height- 
 ening some objects beyond their real existence and beauty, 
 or by representing others in a more odious and terrible 
 shape than they deserve, may of course engage us in pur- 
 suits utterly inconsistent with the moral order of things." — 
 Translator. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 217 
 
 mind unhappy. Who, alas! has ever really ex- 
 perienced the happiness he has enjoyed by the powers 
 of imagination ? 
 
 Rousseau, in his youth, was a great reader of 
 novels ; and being hurried away by the imaginary 
 objects with which this species of composition abounds, 
 and his own romantic mind, he became careless of 
 the world. From this source sprung that taste for 
 solitude which he preserved to an advanced period of 
 his life ; a taste in appearance dictated by melancholy 
 and misanthrophy, and which he attributed to the 
 kind, tender, and affectionate disposition of his heart. 
 Natural or experimental philosophy, therefore, not 
 being able to raise in his mind sentiments sufficiently 
 warm and animated, he sought, by constraint, the 
 field of fiction. 
 
 There are wanderings of the imagination which 
 may be indulged in solitude, without doing any in- 
 jury either to the sentiments of the mind or the sen- 
 sations of the heart. I have, in the varieties of my 
 fortune, always found some individual to whom my 
 heart has fondly attached itself. Oh ! if the friends 
 I left in Swisserland knew how frequently during the 
 silence of the night, I pass with them those hours 
 which should be sacred to sleep ; if they knew that 
 neither time nor absence can efface from my mind 
 the remembrance how dear they have been to me 
 from my earliest youth ; if they knew how speedily 
 the soft remembrance dissipates my sorrows, and 
 makes me forget misfortune ; they would perhaps 
 
218 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 rejoice to find that I still live among them in imagi- 
 nation, although I may be dead to them in reality. 
 
 Let not a solitary man, whose heart is warmed by 
 sentiments noble and refined, ever be thought un- 
 happy ! He, of whom the stupid vulgar so freely 
 complain; he, whom they conclude to be the victim 
 of every melancholy idea, of every sombrous reflec- 
 tion, frequently tastes the liveliest pleasures. The 
 French conceived Rousseau to be of a gloomy dispo- 
 sition. He certainly was not so during a great por- 
 tion of his life ; he certainly was not so when he 
 wrote to M, de Malherbe, the chancellor's son, " 1 
 cannot express to you, Sir, how much I am affected 
 by perceiving that you consider me the most unhappy 
 of mankind. The public will, without doubt, judge 
 of me as you do ; and this is the cause of my afflic- 
 tion. Oh ! that my feelings were but known to the 
 whole universe ! that every man would endeavour to 
 follow my example ! peace would then reign through- 
 out the world ; men would no longer dream of calum- 
 niating each other ; and there would no longer be 
 wicked men, when no one would find it their interest 
 to be wicked. — If it be asked, how I could find enjoy- 
 ment when Twas alone ? in myself, in the whole 
 universe, in every thing that does, in every thing that 
 can exist therein ; in all that the eye finds beautiful 
 in the real world, or the imagination in the intellec- 
 tual. I collected about me every thing that is flatter- 
 ing to the heart ; my desires were the rule of my 
 pleasures. No ! the most voluptuous have never ex- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 21Q 
 
 perienced such refined delights ; and I have always 
 enjoyed my chimeras much more than if they had 
 been realized." 
 
 There is undoubtedly a high and romantic style 
 in these expressions ; but oh ! ye stupid vulgar, who 
 would not prefer the warm wanderings of Rousseau's 
 fancy to your cold and creeping understandings? 
 Who would not joyfully renounce your vague con- 
 versation, your deceitful felicities, your boasted 
 urbanity, your noisy nonsense, puerile pastimes and 
 prejudices, for a quiet and contented life in the 
 bosom of a happy family ? Who w r ould not rather 
 seek in the silence of the woods, upon the daisied 
 borders of a peaceful lake, those pure and simple 
 pleasures of nature, which leave so delightful an im- 
 pression, and produce joys so pure, so affecting, so 
 different from your own. 
 
 Eclogues are fictions, but they are fictions of the 
 most natural and agreeable kind, the purest and most 
 sublime descriptions of rural happiness. 
 
 Real pleasure can only be found in retirement, 
 where the soul, disengaged from the torments of the 
 world, no longer feels those artificial desires which 
 render her unhappy both in prospect and fruition. 
 Content with little, satisfied with all, surrounded by 
 love and innocence, we perceive in retirement the 
 golden age of the poets revived, of which the worldly- 
 minded man regrets the loss. But these advantages 
 were not peculiar to the golden age : we may all live 
 in Arcadia if we please. The beauties of a chrystal 
 spring, a silent grove, a daisied meadow, will chasten 
 
 J 
 
220 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 the feelings of the heart, and afford at all times a 
 permanent and pure delight. 
 
 Pope ascribes the origin of poetry to the age that 
 immediately succeeded the creation. The first em- 
 ployment of mankind was the care of flocks, and 
 therefore the most ancient sort of poetry was probably 
 pastoral. It is natural to imagine, that anciently 
 shepherds must have endeavoured to divert the happy 
 leisure of their solitary and sedentary life ; and in 
 such a situation what diversion could be more agree- 
 able than singing > and in their songs what could be 
 more natural than to celebrate their own felicity ? 
 Such was probably, in the opinion of Pope, the origin 
 of pastorals ; descriptions of the calmness and tran- 
 quillity with which the life of a shepherd was attend- 
 ed, and designed to create in our bosoms a love and 
 esteem for the virtues of a former age. 
 
 These happy fictions communicate joy and glad- 
 ness, and we bless the poet who, in the ecstasy of 
 his own felicity, contributes to render others as 
 happy as himself. Sicily and Zurich have produced 
 two of these benefactors to mankind. The Idylls of 
 Theocritus and Gessner* represent nature in its most 
 
 * Perhaps no writer throughout Europe has more judi- 
 ciously criticised the Idylls of Gessner than the incompara- 
 ble Blair in his " Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres," 
 where he says, " Of all the moderns, M. Gessner, a Poet 
 of Swisserland,* has been the most successful in his pastoral 
 compositions. He has introduced into his Idylls (as he en- 
 titles them) many new ideas. His rural scenery is often 
 striking, and his descriptions are lively. He presents pas- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 221 
 
 beautiful aspect, and inspire the heart, on reading 
 them, with tenderness and delight. It is my peculiar 
 gratification, my dear Gessner, to recall the pleasures 
 I have received in your correspondence. 
 
 By these easy, simple modes, the beauties of 
 nature operate upon the heart and aid the imagina- 
 tion." The mind indeed, drawn away by these agree- 
 able images, often resigns itself too easily to the 
 illusions of romance ; but the ideas they create always 
 amend the heart without injuring ihe understanding, 
 and spread some of the sweetest flowers along the 
 most thorny paths of life. 
 
 The heart feels no repose, the highest happiness 
 on earth, except in Solitude : but this term must not 
 be construed into indolence and sloth. The transi- 
 tion from pain to pleasure, from the restraints of 
 business to the freedom of philosophy, is true repose. 
 This was the idea of P. Scipio when he said, that he 
 
 toral life to us with all the embellishments of which it is 
 susceptible ; but without any excess of refinement. What 
 forms the chief merit of this poet is, that he writes to the 
 heart, and has enriched the subject of his Idylls with inci- 
 dents which give rise to much tender sentiment. Scenes of 
 domestic felicity are beautifully painted. The mutual af- 
 fection of husbands and wives, of parents and children, of 
 brothers and sisters, as well as of lovers, are displayed in a 
 pleasing and touching manner. From not understanding 
 the language in which M. Gessner writes, I can be no judge 
 of the poetry of his style : but, in the subject and conduct of 
 his pastorals, he appears to me to have outdone all the 
 Moderns." 
 
222 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 was never less idle than in the hours of leisure, and 
 never less alone than when alone. Leisure is not a 
 state of mental torpidity, but of thought and action ; 
 when one employment is immediately succeeded by 
 another; for in Solitude it is the heart that finds 
 repose in the exercise of the mind. 
 
 It is but too true, alas ! that he who seeks for a 
 situation exempt from all inquietude follows a 
 chimera. To enjoy life repose must be sought, not 
 as an end, but only as a means of restoring lost 
 activity. Such employments therefore as are best 
 suited to the extent and nature of the capacity must 
 be preferred, and not those which promise com- 
 pensation without labour, and enjoyment without 
 pain. 
 
 To take immediate advantage of the first impulse 
 to action, will eventually lead the mind to repose. If 
 the misfortunes of those we love have rendered us 
 unhappy ; if the sufferings of others tear our hearts ; 
 if a sympathising tenderness destroys all pleasuse, 
 envelopes the mind in shades of the darkest melan- 
 choly, so as to render existence painful, and deprive 
 us even of ability to practise the virtues which we 
 feel; if we have long but vainly struggled to deliver 
 the heart from these cruel sufferings, Solitude is the 
 only refuge. But oh ! may the Beauty who accom- 
 panies our retreat be an Angel of Virtue, and in our 
 descent to the vale of death conduct and support us 
 by her wisdom in a noble and sublime tranquillity. 
 
 Amidst the misfortunes of which I was the sport 
 and victim, I knew no hours more happy than those 
 in which I forgot and was forgotten by the world. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 223 
 
 The silence of the groves relieved my pains ; and all 
 the oppression of my heart, the worldly vexation of 
 my mind, disgust, fear, or constraint, then fled far 
 away. The calm aspect of nature charmed me 5 and 
 while I enjoyed the scene, the softest and most de- 
 licious sensations filled my breast. 
 
 How often, on the approach of spring, has the 
 magnificent valley, where the ruins of the residence 
 of Rodolpho de Hapsburg rises upon the side of a 
 hill crowned with woods of variegated verdure, 
 afforded me the purest and most ineffable delight. 
 There the rapid Aar descends in torrents from the 
 lofty mountains ; sometimes forming a vast bason in 
 the vale ; at others, precipitating through narrow 
 passages across the rocks, winding its course majes- 
 tically through the middle of the vast and fertile 
 plains ; on the other side the Ruffs, and, lower down, 
 the Limmat bring their tributary streams, and peace- 
 ably unite with the waters of the Aar. In the mid- 
 dle of this rich and verdant carpet I beheld the Royal 
 Solitude where the remains of the Emperor Albert 
 the First repose in silence, with those of many Princes 
 of the House of Austria, Counts, Knights, and Gen- 
 tlemen, killed by the Swiss. At a distance I dis- 
 covered the long valley where lie the ruins of the 
 celebrated city of Vindonissa,* upon which I have 
 
 * Vindonissa was a very large and well-fortified Roman 
 village, which served as a fortress to the emperors against 
 the irruptions of the Germans. In this place they continually 
 kept a very numerous garrison to overawe those dangerous 
 
224 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 frequently sat and reflected on the vanity of human 
 greatness. Beyond this magnificent country, ancient 
 castles raise their lofty heads upon the hills, and the 
 far distant horizon is terminated by the romantic 
 and sublime summits of the Alps. In the midst of 
 all this grand scenery, my eyes were involuntarily 
 cast down into the deep valley immediately below 
 me, and continued fixed upon the little village where 
 I first drew my breath. I traced all the houses and 
 every window of the house which I had inhabited- 
 When I compared the sensations I then felt with 
 those which I had before experienced, I exclaimed 
 to myself, " Why, alas ! does my soul thus contract 
 itself, when surrounded by so many objects capable 
 
 neighbours, who frequently established themselves on the 
 borders of the Rhine, and pillaged the plains of the Aar> 
 notwithstanding the fortresses the Romans had erected on 
 the banks of that river. The emperor Constantine Chlorus 
 defeated the Germans in the year 297 between the Rhine 
 and the Aar ; but at the beginning of the fourth century, the 
 Romans lost all their power in that country, and Vindonissa 
 was taken and destroyed by the Germans. It appears, in- 
 deed, that it was rebult ; for the episcopal chair was, during 
 the reigns of the French emperors, established in this city, 
 but in consequence of being again destroyed, was, towards 
 the year 579, removed to Constantia. It was among the 
 remains of this celebrated city that the counts Windich and 
 Altemberg dwelt in the tenth century. Of all this grandeur, 
 the ruins only are now to be seen ; below which, near the 
 castles of Windich and Altemberg, is the little village of 
 Brugg, where I was born. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. £25 
 
 of inspiring- the sublimest sentiments ? Why does 
 the season, so lively and serene, appear to me so 
 turbulent and dismal ? Why do I feel, on casting my 
 eyes below, so much uneasiness and disgust, when 
 but a moment ago, on viewing those romantic ob- 
 jects, I felt my heart expand with tranquillity and 
 love, pardoned all the errors of misguided judgment, 
 and forgot the injuries I received ? Why is that little 
 knot of men who are assembled under my feet so 
 fretful and discordant ? Why is a virtuous character 
 so horrid to their sight ? Why is he who governs so 
 imperious, and he who is governed so abject? Why 
 are there in this place so little liberty and courage ? 
 Why are there so few among them who know them- 
 selves r Why is one so proud and haughty, another 
 so mean and grovelling ? Why, in short, among be- 
 ings who are by nature equal, does pride and arro- 
 gance so egregiously prevail, while they perceive the 
 natives of these groves perch without distinction 
 upon the highest and the lowest boughs, and unite 
 their songs to celebrate the praises of their Creator ?" 
 Having finished my soliloquy, I descended, satisfied 
 and peaceable, from my mountain ; made my most 
 profound reverences to messieurs the burgo-masters, 
 extended my hand with cordiality to one of my in- 
 feriors, and preserved the happiest tranquillity, until, 
 by mixing with the world, the sublime mountain, 
 smiling valley, and the friendly birds, vanished from 
 my mind. 
 
 Thus rural Solitude dissipates every unpleasant 
 idea, changes the bitterest feelings into the sweetest 
 
 . l3 
 
226 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 pleasures, and inspires an ecstasy and content whick 
 the votaries of the world can never experience. The 
 tranquillity of nature silences every criminal inclina- 
 tion in the corrupted heart ; renders us blithe, ami- 
 able, open, and confident; and strengthens our steps 
 in the paths of virtue, provided we direct the passions 
 to their proper end, and do not by an overheated 
 imagination fabricate fancied woes. 
 
 These advantages are with difficulty attained in 
 the hurry of the world. It appears easy for a man 
 to retire to his apartment, and raise his mind by 
 silent contemplation above the consideration of those 
 objects by which he is surrounded. But few persons 
 have this opportunity. Within doors, a thousand 
 things occur to interrupt reflection: and without 
 accidents continually happen to confound our vain 
 wisdom. The peevish, painful sensations, which 
 these interruptions excite, aggravate the heart, and 
 weaken the powers of the mind, unless it be upheld 
 by objects particularly affecting. 
 
 Rousseau was always unhappy in Paris.* This 
 extraordinary genius, indeed, wrote his immortal 
 works while he resided in the metropolis; but the 
 moment he quitted his house, his mind was bewildered 
 by a variety of opposite sentiments, his ideas aban- 
 doned him, and the brilliant writer, the profound 
 philosopher, he who was so intimately acquainted 
 
 * I can truly say, that all the time I lived at Paris was 
 only employed in seeking the means of being able to live 
 out of it. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITTDE. 227 
 
 with all the labyrinths of the human heart, became 
 almost a child. 
 
 In the country, we leave home with greater safety, 
 cheerfulness, and satisfaction. The solitary man, if 
 tired with meditating in his study, has only to open 
 his door and walk abroad : tranquillity attends his 
 steps, and new pleasures present themselves at every 
 turn. Beloved by all around him, he extends his 
 hand with cordial affection to every man he meets. 
 Nothing occurs to irritate his passions, here he dreads 
 not the disdain of some haughty countess or imperi- 
 ous baron. No monied upstart drives over him with 
 his coach. The frontless usurer dares not, under 
 the authority of musty title-deeds, threaten his re- 
 pose, or the insolence of wealth offer an indignity to 
 his modest virtue. 
 
 The man who is at peace with himself, and pos- 
 sesses sufficient strength of nerves, may, even in 
 Paris or any other city, experience happiness by 
 withdrawing from the tumults of the town. But 
 with feeble nerves every object in the least degree 
 displeasing irritates his mind, and he becomes the 
 sport of passions unworthy of a man. 
 
 The languors even of a weak constitution, though 
 surrounded by the most unpleasant objects, may be 
 quietly borne in the most active scenes of life, pro- 
 vided we are at peace with ourselves. The passions 
 are the gales by the aid of which man ought to steer 
 his course on the ocean of life, for it is the passions 
 alone which give motion to the soul : but when they 
 become impetuous, the vessel is in danger and runs 
 
228 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 a-ground. Pain and grief find no entrance into those 
 bosoms that are free from remorse. The virtuous 
 forget the past, form no idle speculations on the fu- 
 ture, and do not refine away their happiness, by 
 thinking that what is good may still be better. Every 
 thing is much better than we imagine. The anxious 
 wishes of an ardent mind are seldom satisfied ; for 
 with such characters fruition is indeed frequently 
 accompanied with discontent. The stream of con- 
 tent must flow from ourselves, taking its source from 
 a deliberate disposition to learn what is good, and a 
 determined resolution to seek for and enjoy it, how- 
 ever small the portion may be. 
 
 To acquire that happy tranquillity which men 
 expect to find in Solitude, it is not sufficient to re- 
 gard every object that presents itself to their view 
 with supineness or surprise. He who, without em- 
 ployment, without having a plan of conduct previ- 
 ously digested and arranged, hopes for happiness in 
 Solitude, will yawn at his cottage in the country just 
 as often as he did at his mansion in town, and would 
 do much better to employ himself in hewing wood 
 the whole day, than to loiter about in boots and 
 spurs. But he who, living in the most profound So- 
 litude, keeps himself continually employed, will ac- 
 quire, by means of labour, true tranquillity and 
 happiness. 
 
 Petrarch would have found this tranquillity in 
 his Solitude at Vaucluse, but that his heart sighed 
 so incessantly for his beloved Laura. He was, how- 
 ever, perfectly acquainted with the art of vanquish- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 229 
 
 ihg himself. " I rise/' said he, " at midnight ; I go 
 out by break of day. I study in the fields as well 
 as in my chamber. 1 read, I write, I think. I en- 
 deavour to conquer the least disposition to indolence, 
 and drive away sleep, effeminacy, and sensuality. I 
 traverse, from morning till night, the barren moun- 
 tains, the humid vallies, and the deep caverns. I 
 walk, accompanied only by my cares, along the 
 banks of my river. I do not meet a man to seduce 
 me from my path. Men daily become less annoying 
 to me ; for I place them either far before or much 
 behind me. I moralize on the past, and deliberate 
 on the future. I have found an excellent expedient 
 to induce a separation from the world. I attach 
 myself to the place of my residence ; and I am per- 
 suaded that I could form that attachment in any 
 place except at Avignon. In my present residence 
 at Vaucluse, I find Athens, Rome, or Florence, ac- 
 cording as the manners of the one or of the other 
 best pleases the disposition of my mind. Here I 
 enjoy all my friends, as well those with whom I have 
 lived, as those who have entered the vale of death 
 before me, and whom I only know by their good 
 works." 
 
 When we are thus resolved, and find resources 
 like these within our minds, Solitude enables us to 
 accomplish whatever we please. Love however pre- 
 vented Petrarch from improving the opportunities 
 which Solitude afforded, and his heart was a stranger 
 to repose ; which, as Lavater has observed, consists 
 in quietude of conscience and the exercise of virtue. 
 
230 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Employment will produce content in the most 
 frightful deserts. The dairo of Japan banishes the 
 grandees of the empire who incur his displeasure 
 into the island of Fatsisio. The shores of this island, 
 which was formerly inhabited, are of a surprising- 
 height. It has no haven, is entirely barren, and its 
 access so difficult, that the exiles and their provision 
 are obliged to be landed by means of cranes. The 
 sole employment of these unhappy men in this me- 
 lancholy residence is to manufacture silk stuffs and 
 gold-tissues, which are so highly beautiful, that they 
 are not suffered to be purchased by strangers. I 
 confess that I should not like to fall under the dis- 
 pleasure of the Emperor of Japan ; but I neverthe- 
 less conceive, that there is more internal tranquillity 
 in the island of Fatsisio than the emperor and his 
 whole court enjoy. 
 
 Every thing which conveys a spark of comfort to 
 the soul of man should be anxiously preserved ; not 
 by seeking to raise an eternal flame, but by taking 
 care that the last spark be not extinguished. It is 
 by this means that we acquire in the country that 
 quietude which flees from the tumults of the town, 
 and those advantages of which the worldly-minded 
 have no idea. 
 
 What epicure ever enjoyed so much satisfaction 
 in the midst of all his splendid entertainments, as 
 Rousseau experienced in his frugal repasts ? " I re- 
 turn slowly home," says he, " my mind in some de- 
 gree fatigued, but my heart contented : I experience, 
 on my return, the most agreeable relief, in resigning 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 231 
 
 myself to the impression of objects, without exercis- 
 ing my thoughts, indulging my imagination, or doing 
 any thing but feeling the peace and happiness of my 
 situation. I find my table ready spread on my lawn. 
 I eat my supper with appetite in the company of my 
 little family. No trace of servitude or dependence 
 interrupts the love and kindness by which we are 
 united: my dog himself is my friend, and not my 
 slave : he never obeys me, for we have always the 
 same inclinations. My gaiety testifies the Solitude 
 in which I pass the day; for I am very different when 
 company has interrupted me; I am seldom contented 
 with others, and never with myself; and at night sit 
 either grumbling or silent. This remark is my 
 housekeeper's ; and since she mentioned it to me, I 
 have found it invariably true from my own observa- 
 tions. At length, after having taken a few turns in 
 my garden, or sung some air to the music of my 
 spinette, I experience upon my pillow a repose both 
 of body and mind a hundred times more sweet than 
 sleep itself/' 
 
 Nature and a tranquil heart are to the Divinity a 
 more beautiful and magnificent temple than the 
 church of St. Peter at Rome, or the cathedral of St. 
 Paul in London. The most savage desert is filled 
 with the immensity of the Almighty, and his pre- 
 sence sanctifies the solitary hill upon which a pure 
 and peaceful heart offers up its sacrifice to him. He 
 reads the hearts of all his creatures ; he every where 
 hears the prayers of those whose invocations are 
 sincere. Whether on the hill or in the dale, we do 
 
932 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 not find a grata of dust that is not filled with his 
 spirit. But no places inspire ideas more religious 
 than those happy scites, which, uniting the most 
 sublime and beautiful appearances of nature, ravish 
 the heart with voluptuous sensations, and excite in 
 the mind sentiments of love, admiration, and repose. 
 
 I never recall to my memory, without feeling 
 the softest emotions, the sublime and magnificent 
 scene which I enjoyed in the year 1775, when, during 
 a fine day, accompanied by my friend Lavater, I as- 
 cended the terrace of the house he then inhabited ; 
 the house in which he was bcrn and educated. In 
 whatever direction I turned my eyes, whether walk- 
 ing or sitting, I experienced nearly the same sensa- 
 tion which Brydone describes himself to have felt 
 upon the top of iEtna.* I included in one view the 
 city of Zurich, the smiling country which surrounds 
 it, its tranquil and expanded lake, and the high 
 mountains covered with frost and snow, lifting their 
 majestic heads to Heaven. A divine tranquillity 
 surrounded me while I beheld this scene. 
 
 Upon this terrace I discovered the mystery which 
 enabled Lavater, while he enjoyed so delicious a sen- 
 sation of his existence and his powers, to walk calmly 
 through the streets of Zurich, exposed to the obser- 
 
 * Brydone says, " In proportion as we are raised above 
 the habitations of men, all low and vulgar sentiments are 
 left behind ; and the soul, in approaching the aethereal re- 
 gions, shakes off its earthly affections, and already contracts 
 .something of their invariable purity." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 233 
 
 vations of the critics of that city, who were in the 
 daily practice of venting their abuse against him, 
 and of whom he so humbly asked pardon for the in- 
 nocence of his life, which, according to the laws at 
 least, they were unable to destroy. 
 
 Upon this terrace I discovered the cause of his 
 still cherishing with such unfeigned tenderness his 
 implacable enemies, those learned critics of Zurich, 
 whose rage the sound of his name was sufficient to 
 excite, who felt with the greatest repugnance every 
 thing that was praise-worthy in his character, and 
 exposed with the highest feelings of joy those foibles 
 and defects from which no man is entirely free ; who 
 could not restrain their fury when his merits were 
 praised, or his foibles extenuated ; who rejected with 
 aversion every thing in his favour, and listened with 
 eager triumph to the calumnies against him ; who 
 are humbled by his glory as much as they are de- 
 graded by their own infamy ; and who have the ac- 
 complishment of his disgrace as much at heart as 
 their own personal advantage; in whose breasts 
 Lavater's happiness becomes a source of misery, and 
 his misfortunes a fountain of joy ; who affect silence 
 on his virtues, and loudly aggravate his defects, 
 which they industriously circulate, rather indeed to 
 their own injury than to his disgrace, for by these 
 means they frequently increase the glory which they 
 seek to extinguish ; who insidiously request the im- 
 partial stranger to see the man, and judge for him. 
 self; and have almost uniformly the mortification of 
 perceiving, that Lavater is found to possess a charac- 
 
234 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 ter diametrically opposite to that, which the en- 
 venomed tongues and pens of his enemies at Zurich 
 have represented. 
 
 At the village of Riehterswyl, a few leagues from 
 Zurich, in a situation still more delicious and serene 
 than even that where Lavater lived, surrounded by 
 every object the most smiling, beautiful, and roman- 
 tic, that Swisserland presents, dwells a celebrated 
 physician. His soul is as tranquil and sublime as 
 the scene of nature which surrounds him. His ha- 
 bitation is the temple of health, friendship, and 
 every peaceful virtue. The village is situated on the 
 borders of the Lake, at a place where two projecting 
 points of land form a natural bay of nearly half a 
 league. On the opposite shores, the Lake, which is 
 not quite a league in extent, is inclosed from the 
 north to the east by pleasant hills, covered with vine- 
 leaves, intermixed w r ith fertile meadows, orchards, 
 fields, groves, and thickets, with little villages, 
 churches, villas, and cottages, scattered up and 
 down the scene. 
 
 A wide and magnificent amphitheatre, which no 
 artist has yet attempted to paint except in detached 
 scenes, opens itself from the east to the south. The 
 view towards the higher part of the Lake, which on 
 this side is four leagues long, presents to the eye 
 points of land, distant islands, the little town of Rap- 
 perswyl built on the side of a hill, the bridge of 
 which extends itself from one side of the Lake to the 
 other. Beyond the town, the inexhaustible valley 
 rises in a half circle to the sight. Upon the first 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 235 
 
 ground plot is a peak of land, with hills about half 
 a league distant from each other ; and, behind these, 
 rise a range of mountains covered with trees and 
 verdure, and interspersed with villages and detached 
 houses. In the back-ground are discovered the fertile 
 and majestic Alps, twisted one among the other, 
 and exhibiting alternate shades of the lightest and 
 darkest azure. Behind these Alps, rocks covered 
 with eternal snows rear their majestic heads, and 
 touch the clouds. Towards the south, the opening 
 of the amphitheatre is continued by a new chain of 
 mountains. This incomparable scene, thus enriched, 
 continually affords new delights. 
 
 The mountains extend themselves from the south 
 to the west; the village of Richterswyl is situated at 
 their feet upon the banks of the Lake : deep forests 
 of firs cover the summit, and the middle is filled with 
 fruit-trees, interspersed with rich fallows and fertile 
 pastures, among which, at certain distances, a few 
 houses are scattered. The village itself is neat, the 
 streets are paved, and the houses, built of stone, are 
 painted on the outside s. Around the village are 
 walks formed on the banks of the Lake, or cut 
 through shady forests to the hills. On every side, 
 scenes, beautiful or sublime, strike the eye, and 
 ravish the heart of the admiring traveller,- he stops 
 and contemplates, with eager joy, the accumulating 
 beauties ; his bosom swells with excess of pleasure ; 
 and his breath continues for a time suspended, as if 
 fearful of interrupting the fulness of his delight. 
 Every acre of this charming country is in the highest 
 
Q36 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 state of cultivation and improvement. No part t)f it 
 is suffered to lie un tilled ; every hand is at work ; and 
 men, women, and children, from infancy to age, are 
 all usefully employed. 
 
 The two houses of the Physician are each of them 
 surrounded by a garden 5 and, although situated in 
 the middle of the village, are as rural and sequestered 
 as if they had been built in the bosom of the country. 
 Through the gardens, and in view of the chamber of 
 my dear friend, flows a limpid stream, on the oppo- 
 site side of which is the great road, where, during a 
 succession of ages, a crowd of pilgrims have almost 
 daily passed m their way to the hermitage. From 
 these houses and gardens, at about the distance of a 
 league, you behold, towards the south, the majestic 
 Ezeberg rear its head : black forests conceal its top ; 
 while below, on the declivity of the hill* hangs a 
 village with a beautiful church, on the steeple of 
 which the sun suspends his departing rays every 
 evening before its course is finished. In the front is 
 the lake of Zurich, the peaceful waters of which are 
 secured from the violence of tempests, while its 
 transparent surface reflects the beauties of its de- 
 lightful banks. 
 
 During the silence of night, if you repair to the 
 chamber window, or indulge in a lonely walk through 
 the gardens, to taste the refreshing scents which ex- 
 hale from the surrounding flowers, while the moon, 
 rising above the mountains, reflects on the expanse 
 of the Lake a broad beam of light ; you hear, during 
 this awful sleep of nature, the sound of the village 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 23T 
 
 clocks echoing from the opposite shores ; and on the 
 Richterswyl side the shrill proclamations of the 
 watchmen blended with the barkings of the faithful 
 dog. At a distance you hear the little boats softly 
 gliding down the stream, dividing the water with 
 their oars ; and perceive them, as they cross the 
 moon's translucent beam, playing among the spark- 
 ling waves. On viewing the Lake of Geneva in its 
 full extent, the majesty of such a sublime picture 
 strikes the spectator dumb; he thinks that he has 
 discovered the chef d'oeuvre of creation; but here, 
 near the Lake of Zurich at Richterswyl, the objects, 
 being upon a smaller scale, are more soft, agreeable 
 and touching. 
 
 Riches and luxury are no where to be seen in the 
 habitation of this philanthropist. His chairs are 
 made of straw ; his tables worked from the wood of 
 the country ; and he entertains his friends on a ser- 
 vice of earthen plates. Neatness and convenience 
 reign throughout. Drawings, paintings, and engrav- 
 ings, of which he has a large collection, are his sole 
 expence. The first beams of Aurora light the little 
 chamber where this philosophic sage sleeps in peace- 
 ful repose, and opens his eyes to every new day. 
 Rising from his bed, he is saluted by the cooings of 
 the turtle doves, and the morning song of birds who 
 sleep with him in an adjoining chamber. 
 
 The first hour of the morning and the last at 
 night are sacred to himself ; but he devotes all the 
 intermediate hours of the day to a diseased and 
 afflicted multitude, who daily attend him for advice 
 
238 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and assistance. The benevolent exercise of his pro- 
 fession engrosses every moment of his life, but it 
 also constitutes his happiness and joy. The inhabi- 
 tants of the mountains of Swisserland, as well as of 
 the valleys of the Alps, resort to his house, and 
 vainly seek for language to express the grateful feel- 
 ings of their hearts. They are persuaded that the 
 doctor sees and knows every thing ; they answer his 
 questions with frankness and fidelity; they listen to 
 his words, treasure up his advice like grains of gold, 
 and leave him with more regret, consolation, hope, 
 and virtuous resolution, than they quit their confes- 
 sors at the hermitage. After a day spent in this 
 manner, can it be imagined that any thing is want- 
 ing to complete the happiness of this friend of man- 
 kind? Yes; when a simple and ingenuous female, 
 who had trembled with fear for the safety of her be- 
 loved husband, enters his chamber, and seizing him 
 fondly by the hand, exclaims, " My husband, sir, 
 was very ill when I first came to you; but in the 
 space of two days he quite recovered ! Oh, my dear 
 sir, I am under the greatest obligations to you," 
 then this philanthropic character feels that which 
 ought to fill the bosom of a monarch in the moment 
 when he confers happiness on his people. 
 
 Of this description is the country of Swisserland, 
 where doctor Hotze, the ablest physician of the pre- 
 sent age, resides ; a physician and philosopher, 
 whose pervading genius, profound judgment, and 
 great experience, have placed him with Tissot and 
 Hirtzel, the dearest friends of my heart. It is in 
 
ZJMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 239 
 
 this manner he passes the hours of his life ; all uni- 
 form, and all of them happy. His mind, active and 
 full of vigour, never seeks repose ; but a divine 
 quietude dwells within his heart. Palaces, alas 1 
 seldom contain such characters. Individuals, how- 
 ever, of every description, may cultivate an equal 
 degree of happiness, although they do not reside 
 amidst scenes so delightful as those of my beloved 
 Hotze at Richterswyl, the convent of Capuchins 
 near Albano, or the mansion of my sovereign at 
 Windsor. 
 
 The man who requires no more than he possesses 
 is happy ; and such felicity is easily found at Rich- 
 terswyl, and upon the banks of the Lake. It is not, 
 however, confined to spots like these, but may be 
 found even in such a chamber as that in which I am 
 now writing this Treatise upon Solitude, where dur- 
 ing seven years I had nothing to look at but some 
 broken tiles and a vane upon the spire of an old 
 church. 
 
 Content must always derive its source from the 
 heart : and in Solitude the bosom dilates more easily 
 to receive it, with all the virtues by which it is ac- 
 companied. How good, how affectionate does the 
 heart become on the border of a clear spring, or 
 under the shade of a branching pine ! In Solitude, 
 the tranquillity of nature glides into the heart ; 
 but, in society, we find much more occasion to flee 
 from ourselves than from others. To be at peace 
 with ourselves, we must be in peace with man- 
 kind. While the heart is tranquil, the mind con- 
 
240 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 siders men and things in the most favourable and 
 pleasing* point of view. In rural retirements, where 
 it is open only to agreeable sensations, we learn to 
 love our fellow-creatures. While all nature smiles 
 around us, and our souls overflow with benevolence, 
 we wish for more hearts than one to participate in 
 our happiness. 
 
 By mild and peaceful dispositions, therefore, the 
 felicities of domestic life are relished in a much 
 higher degree in rural retirement, than in any other 
 situation whatever. The most splendid courts in 
 Europe afford no joys to equal these; and their 
 vain pleasures can never assuage the justifiable grief 
 of him who, contrary to his inclination, feels himself 
 torn from such a felicity, dragged into the palaces of 
 kings, and obliged to conform to the frivolous amuse- 
 ments practised there, where people do nothing but 
 game and yawn, and among whom the reciprocal 
 communication of languors, hatred, envy, flattery, 
 and calumny, alone prevails.* 
 
 It is in rural life alone that true pleasures, the 
 love, the honour, and the chaste manners of ancient 
 days are revived. Rousseau, therefore, says with 
 
 * Madanie de Maintenon wrote from Marli to raadame 
 de Caylus, " We pass our lives here in a very singular 
 manner : wit, gallantry, and cheerfulness should prevail ; 
 but of all these qualities we are totally destitute : we game, 
 yawn, fatigue ourselves, reciprocally receive and communi- 
 cate vexations, hate, envy, caress, and calumniate each 
 other.' 
 
ZIMMERMANN OS SOLITUDE. 241 
 
 great truth to [the inhabitants of cities, that the 
 country affords delights of which they have no idea ; 
 that these delights are less insipid, less unpolished, 
 than they can conceive; that taste, variety, and deli- 
 cacy, may be enjoyed there; that a man of merit, 
 who retires with his family into the country, and 
 employs himself in farming, will find his days pass 
 as pleasantly as in the most brilliant assemblies; 
 that a good housewife in the country may be a 
 charming woman, adorned with every agreeable 
 qualification, and possess graces much more capti- 
 vating than all those prim and affected females whom 
 we see in towns. 
 
 The mind under refreshing shades, in agree- 
 able vallies, and delightful retreats, forgets all the 
 unpleasant circumstances it encountered in the 
 world. The most profligate and wicked charac- 
 ters are no longer remembered in society, when 
 they are no longer seen. It is only in the tumultu- 
 ous scenes of civil life, and under the heavy yoke 
 of subordination, that the continual shock of reason 
 and good-sense against the stupidity of those who 
 govern spreads a torrent of miseries over human life. 
 Fools in power render the lives of their inferiors 
 bitter, poison their pleasures, overturn all social 
 order, spread thorns in the path of genius and virtue, 
 and make this world a vale of tears. Oh ! that ho-, 
 nourablemen, brave and skilful generals, able states- 
 men, should have reason to exclaim with the philo- 
 sopher, " Had I the wings of a dove, I would fly 
 where inclination leads me, and fix my dwelling as 
 
 M 
 
242 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 chance might direct. Distant should be my flight 1 
 I would seek some desert ; and hasten to escape the 
 surrounding- tempest of the court, the army, and the 
 city, where hypocrisy, malice, falsehood, and disor- 
 der prevail." 
 
 Stupidity, when it has gained credit and autho- 
 rity, becomes more dangerous and hurtful than any 
 other quality ; it always inclines to render every 
 thing as little as itself, gives to every thing a 
 false name, and mistakes every character for the 
 opposite to what it really is; in a word, stupidity 
 changes white into black, and black into white. 
 Men of frank, honest, liberal dispositions, therefore, 
 if they would escape from its persecution, must act 
 like the fox of Saadi, the Indian fabulist. 
 
 A person one day observing a fox running with 
 great speed towards his hole, called out to him, 
 " Reynard, where are you running in so great a 
 hurry ? Have you done any mischief for which you 
 are fearful of being punished?" — " No, sir," replied 
 the fox, " my conscience is clear, and does not re- 
 proach me with any thing; but I have just overheard 
 the hunters wish that they had a camel to hunt this 
 morning." — "Well, but how does that concern you? 
 You are not a camel." — " Oh ! sir," replied the fox, 
 "sagacious heads always have enemies. If any should 
 point me out to the huntsmen, and say, ' There runs 
 a camel V those gentlemen would immediately seize 
 me, and load me with chains, without once enquiring 
 whether I was in fact the kind of animal the infor- 
 mer had described me to be." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 243 
 
 Reynard was perfectly right in his observation : 
 but it is lamentable that men should be wicked in 
 proportion as they are stupid, or that they should be 
 wicked only because they are envious. If I should 
 ever become an object of wrath to such characters, 
 from their conceiving- that I enjoy more happiness 
 than themselves, and it is impossible for me to 
 escape from their persecutions, I will revenge myself 
 by letting them perceive that no man living is to me 
 an object of scandal. 
 
 The self-love of that breast which feels no desire 
 for more than it possesses, is invulnerable. The temper 
 which results from a life simple, regular, and serene, 
 guards the heart against the excess of desire. A con- 
 stant examination of our characters discovers to us 
 our deficiency in many of those qualifications which, 
 in the opinions of others, we are supposed to possess; 
 and in consequence the advantages we gam, as well 
 as all the happiness we feel, appear to be the effect 
 of favours conferred on us. This reason alone ren- 
 ders it impossible that we should repine at the hap- 
 piness of another; for candour will force a man who 
 lives continually by himself, and acts with sincerity 
 of heart, to reflect upon his own defects, and to do 
 justice to the superior merit of other men. 
 
 " I should wish to end my days in the delightful 
 Solitudes of Lausanne," says a French historian of 
 that province, " far retired from the tumultuous 
 scenes of the world, from avarice and deceit ; in those 
 Solitudes where a thousand innocent pleasures are 
 enjoyed and renewed without end : there we escape 
 
244 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 from profligate discourse, from unmeaning* chatter, 
 from envy, detraction, and jealousy. Smiling plains^ 
 the extent of which the astonished eye is incapable 
 of measuring, and which it is impossible to see with- 
 out admiring the goodness of the Divine Creator ; 
 so many different animals wandering peaceably 
 among each other; so many birds making the woods 
 re-echo to their songs ; so many wonders of na- 
 ture wooing the mind to awful contemplation." 
 
 In Germany, whichever way you turn your eyes, 
 you find, as in the Solitudes of Lausanne, happy 
 families, enjoying more pure and genuine pleasures 
 than are ever seen or felt in fashionable life. The 
 industrious citizen returning in the evening to his 
 wife and children, after having honourably per- 
 formed the labours of the day, feels without doubt 
 more real content than any courtier. If the voice 
 of the public or his fellow-citizens, instead of ren- 
 dering the esteem and honour which his character 
 merits, treats his zeal with contempt, and his good 
 works with ungrateful neglect; he forgets the in- 
 justice in the bosom of his happy family, when he 
 sees their arms open ready to receive him, and ob- 
 tains from them the praise and approbation he 
 deserves. With what delight his heart feels the 
 value of their fondness and affection ! If the eclat of 
 fashionable life, the splendour of courts, the triumph 
 of power and grandeur, have left his bosom cold and 
 comfortless; if the base practices of fraud, false- 
 hood, hypocrisy, and puerile vanities, have irritated 
 and soured his mind; he no sooner mixes in the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITDE. 245 
 
 circle of those whom he cherishes, than a genial 
 warmth re-animates his dejected heart, the tenderest 
 sentiments inspire his soul with courage, and the 
 truth, freedom, probity, and innocence by which he 
 is surrounded, reconcile him to the lot of huma- 
 nity. — On the contrary, the man who enjoys a more 
 elevated situation, the favourite of a minister, the 
 companion of the great, loved by the women, and 
 admired in every public place as the leader of the 
 fashion, his birth high, and his fortunes rich; yet if 
 his home be the seat of discord and jealousy, and the 
 bosom of his family a stranger to that peace which 
 the wise and virtuous taste under a roof of thatch, 
 would all these dazzling pleasures compensate for 
 this irreparable loss ? 
 
 These are my sentiments on the advantages which 
 Solitude possesses to reconcile us to the lot of huma- 
 nity and the practices of the world : but I shall here 
 only cite the words of another; the words of a doctor 
 of divinity of the same tenets with myself; a judi- 
 cious theologian, who does not inculcate imperious 
 doctrines, or propagate a religion which offends the 
 heart. They are the words of his sermon upon Do- 
 mestic Happiness, of that incomparable discourse 
 which men of every description ought to read, as 
 well as all the other sermons of Zollikofer. 
 
 " Solitude," says this divine, " secures us from 
 the aspersions of light and frivolous minds, from the 
 unjust contempt and harsh judgments of the envious; 
 preserves us from the afflicting spectacle of follies, 
 crimes, and misery, which so frequently disgrace the 
 theatre of active and social life ; extinguishes the fire 
 
246 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of those passions which are too lively and ardent; 
 and establishes peace in our hearts/* 
 
 These are the sentiments of my beloved Zolli- 
 kofer; the truth of which I have experienced. 
 When my enemies conceived that accidents, how- 
 ever trifling-, would trouble my repose 5 when I was 
 told with what satisfaction the coteries would hear 
 of my distress, that less belles dames would leap for 
 joy, and form a cluster round the man who detailed 
 the injuries I had received, and those which were 
 yet in store for me ; I said to myself, " Although my 
 enemies should have sworn to afflict me with a thou- 
 sand deaths, what harm can they really do me ? What 
 can epigrams and pleasantries prove ? What sting do 
 those satirical engravings carry, which they have 
 taken the pains to circulate through every part of 
 Swisserland and Germany ?" 
 
 The thorns over which the steady foot walks 
 unhurt, or kicks from beneath it with contempt, 
 inflict no wounds; they hurt only effeminate minds, 
 who feel that as a serious injury of which others 
 think nothing. Characters of this description require 
 to be treated, like young and tender flowers, with 
 delicacy and attention, for; they cannot bear the touch 
 of rude and violent hands. But he who has exercised 
 his powers in the severest trials, and combated with 
 adversity, who feels his soul superior to the false 
 opinions and prejudices of the world, neither sees 
 nor feels the blow ; he resigns trifles to the narrow 
 minds which they occupy, and looks down with 
 courage and contempt upon the vain boastings of 
 such miserable insects. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 247 
 
 To despise or forget the malice of our enimies, 
 however, it is not always necessary to call to our 
 assistance soft zephyrs, clear springs, well-stored 
 rivers, thick forests, refreshing grottoes, verdant 
 banks, or fields adorned with flowers- Oh ! how soon, 
 in the tranquillity of retirement, every antipathy is 
 obliterated ! All the little crosses of life, obloquies, 
 injustice, every low and trifling care, vanish like 
 smoke before him who has courage to live according 
 to his own taste and inclination. That which we do 
 voluntarily always affords pleasure. The restraints 
 of the world, and the slavery of society, poison the 
 pleasures of free minds, and deprive them of every 
 satisfaction, content, and power, even when placed 
 in a sphere of elegance, easy in fortune, and sur- 
 rounded by affluence. 
 
 Solitude, therefore, not only brings quietude to 
 the heart, renders it kind and virtuous, and raises it 
 above the malevolence of envy, wickedness, and stu- 
 pidity, but affords advantages still more valuable. 
 Liberty, true liberty, is no where so easily found as 
 in a distant retirement from the tumults of men, and 
 every forced connection with the world. It has been 
 truly said, that in Solitude Man recovers from that 
 distraction which had torn him from himself; that he 
 feels in his mind a clear and intimate knowledge of 
 what he was, and of what he may become; that he 
 lives more within himself and for himself than in 
 external objects ; that he enters into the state of na- 
 ture and freedom ; no longer plays an artificial part, 
 no longer represents a different personage, but 
 
248 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 thinks, speaks, and acts according to his proper 
 character and sentiments ; that he discovers the whole 
 extent of his character, and does not act beyond it ; 
 that he no longer dreads a severe master, an impe- 
 rious tyrant; he ridicules no one, is himself proof 
 against the shafts of calumny, and neither the con- 
 straints of business nor the ceremonies of fashion 
 disquiet his mind ; but, breaking through the shackles 
 of servile habit and arbitrary custom, he thinks with 
 confidence and courage, and the sensibilities of his 
 heart resign themselves to the sentiments of his 
 mind. 
 
 Madame de Stael considered it as a great and 
 vulgar error to suppose that freedom and liberty 
 could be enjoyed at court; where, even in the most 
 minute actions of our lives, we are obliged to be so 
 observant; where it is impossible to think aloud; 
 where our sentiments must be regulated by the cir- 
 cumstances of those around us ; where every person 
 we approach assumes the right of scrutinizing our 
 characters; and where we never have the smallest 
 enjoyment of ourselves* " The enjoyment of one's- 
 self," says she, " can only be found in Solitude. It 
 was within the walls of the Bastile that I first became 
 acquainted with myself." 
 
 Men of liberal minds are as ill qualified by nature 
 to be chamberlains, and to conduct the etiquette of a 
 court, as women are to be religieuses. The courtier, 
 fearful of every thing he sees, always upon the watch, 
 incessantly tormented by suspicion, yet obliged to 
 preserve the face of serenity and satisfaction, is like 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 249 
 
 the old woman always lighting one taper to Michael 
 the archangel, and another to the Devil, because he 
 does not know for which of them he may have most 
 occasion. 
 
 Such precautions and restraints are insupportable 
 to every man who is not born a courtier. In situa- 
 tions therefore less connected with the world, men of 
 liberal minds, sound understandings, and active dis- 
 positions, break all the chains by which they are 
 withheld. To find any pleasure in the fumes of 
 fashion, it is necessary to have been trained up in 
 the habits of a court. The defect of judgment which 
 reigns in courts, without doubt magnifies the most 
 trifling details into matters of high importance; and 
 the long constraint which the soul there endures, 
 makes many things appear easy to a courtier which, 
 for want of habit, would carry torment to the bosom 
 of another. Who has not experienced what it is to 
 be forced to remain fixed upon one's chair a whole 
 evening, even in common society, without knowing 
 on what subject to converse, and of course without 
 being able to say any thing ? Who has not occasion- 
 ally found himself in company with those who wil- 
 lingly listen to sensible conversation, but never con- 
 tribute a single idea to the promotion of it themselves ? 
 Who has not seen his thoughts fall upon minds so 
 barren, that they produce no return, and slide through 
 the ears of auditors like water upon oil-cloth ? 
 
 How many men of contemplative minds are the 
 slaves of fools and madmen ! How many rational 
 beings pass their lives in bondage, by being unfortu- 
 
 M 3 
 
250 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 
 
 nately attached to a worthless faction ! How many 
 men of excellent understandings are condemned to 
 perform a pitiful part in many provincial towns! 
 The company of a man who laughs at every thing 
 that is honourable, and rejects those sentiments 
 which lead to love and esteem, soon becomes in* 
 supportable. There are no worse tyrants than the 
 prejudices of mankind j and the chains of servitude 
 become weighty in proportion to the public ignorance. 
 To form a serious thought of pleasing in public life, 
 is vain ; for to succeed in such an endeavour, we 
 must sacrifice all thought, surrender every real sen- 
 timent, despise every thing which rational minds 
 esteem, and esteem every thing that a man of under- 
 standing and good sense despises, or else, by blindly 
 dashing forward upon all occasions, hazard content, 
 tranquillity, and fortune. 
 
 A rural residence, or a tranquil and domestic life 
 in town, will secure us from these constraints, and 
 is the only mean of rendering us free and independent 
 of those situations which are as hostile to happiness 
 as they are repugnant to good sense. But to render 
 Solitude free from constraint, we must neither take 
 the habit of monachism, nor like the doge of Venice, 
 wear the diadem of sovereignty. This abject slave 
 cannot visit a friend, or receive a foreign ambassador, 
 without a special permission from the senate for the 
 purpose. Solitude and dependence are universally 
 acknowledged to be the highest prerogatives of his 
 crown. 
 
 The soul, relieved from these torments, becomes 
 
2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. £51 
 
 sensible in Solitude of its powers, and attains a clear 
 and intimate knowledge of its perfections. Liberty 
 and leisure, therefore, always render a rational and 
 active mind indifferent to every other kind of hap- 
 piness. 
 
 The love of liberty rendered all the pleasures of 
 the world odious to the mind of Petrarch. In his 
 old age he was solicited to officiate as secretary to dif- 
 ferent popes, at whatever salary he thought proper 
 to fix ; and indeed every inducement that emolu- 
 ment could afford was insidiously made use of to 
 turn his views that way, (< Riches," replied Petrarch, 
 (< when acquired at the expence of liberty, are the 
 cause of real misery; and a yoke made of gold or 
 silver is not less oppressive than if made of iron or 
 lead." To him the world afforded no wealth equal 
 in value to liberty and leisure ; and he told his 
 patrons, that he could not renounce the pleasures of 
 science ; that he had despised riches at a time when 
 he was most in need of them, and it would be shame- 
 ful to seek them now, when it was more easy for 
 him to do without them ; that he should apportion 
 the provision for his journey according to the dis- 
 tance he had to travel; and that having almost 
 reached the end of his course, he ought to think 
 more of his reception at the inn than of his expences 
 on the road. 
 
 A distaste of the manners of a court led Petrarch 
 into Solitude when he was only three and twenty 
 years of age, although in his outward appearance, in 
 his attention to dress, and even in his constitution, 
 
252 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 he possessed all the attributes of a complete courtier. 
 He was in every respect formed to please : the beauty 
 of his figure excited universal admiration, and people 
 stopped and pointed him out as he walked along. His 
 eyes were bright and full of fire : his lively counte- 
 nance proclaimed the vivacity of his mind; the 
 freshest colour glowed upon his cheeks; his features 
 were distinct and manly; his shape fine and elegant; 
 his person tall, and his presence noble. The genial 
 climate of Avignon increased the warmth of his con- 
 stitution. The fire of youth, the beauties assembled 
 at the court of the pope from every nation in Europe, 
 and, above all, the dissolute manners of the court 
 led him very early into connections with women. A 
 great portion of the day was spent at his toilet in the 
 decorations of dress : his habit was always white ; and 
 the least spot or an improper fold gave his mind the 
 greatest uneasiness. Even in the fashion of his shoes 
 he avoided every form that appeared inelegant ; they 
 were extremely tight, and cramped his feet to such a 
 degree, that it would in a short time have been im- 
 possible for him to walk, if he had not recollected 
 that it was much better to shock the eyes of the 
 ladies than to make himself a cripple. In walking 
 through the streets, he endeavoured to avoid the 
 rudeness of the wind by every possible means ; not 
 that he was afraid of taking cold, but because he 
 was fearful of deranging the dress of his hair. A love, 
 however, as elevated as it was ardent, for virtue and 
 the belles lettres, always counterbalanced his devo- 
 tion to the sex. To express his passion for the fair, 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 253 
 
 he wrote all his poetry in Italian, and only used 
 the learned languages upon serious and important 
 subjects. But, notwithstanding the warmth of his 
 constitution, he was always chaste. He held all de- 
 bauchery in the utmost detestation ; the least devia- 
 tion from virtue tortured his feelings with remorse ; 
 and he inveighed with acrimony against the sensibi- 
 lity by which he had been betrayed : " I should like," 
 said he, f ' to have a heart as hard as adamant, rather 
 than be so continually tormented by such seducing 
 passions." Among the number of fine women who 
 adorned the court at Avignon, there were some who 
 endeavoured to captivate his heart. Seduced by their 
 charms, and drawn aside by the facility with which he 
 obtained the happiness of their company, he became, 
 upon closer acquaintance, obedient to all their wishes; 
 but the inquietudes and torments of love so much 
 alarmed his mind, that he endeavoured to shun her 
 toils. Before his acquaintance with Laura he was 
 wilder than a stag; and, if tradition maybe believed, 
 he had not, until the age of thirty-five, any occasion 
 to reproach himself with misconduct. Religion, 
 virtue, and the fruits of the education he received 
 from his mother, preserved him from the numerous 
 dangers by which he was surrounded. 
 
 The practice of the civil law was at this period 
 the only road to eminence at Avignon ; but Petrarch 
 detested the venality of the profession. Previous to 
 devoting himself to the church, he exercised for some 
 time the profession of an advocate, and gained many 
 causes ; but he reproached himself with it afterwards. 
 
£54 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 *' In my youth," said he, " I devoted myself to the 
 trade of selling words, or rather of telling* lies ; but 
 that which we do against our inclination is seldom 
 attended with success. My fondness was for Solitude* 
 and I therefore attended the practice of the bar with 
 the greater detestation." The secret consciousness 
 which he entertained of his own merit gave him, it is 
 true, all the vain confidence of youth ; and filled his 
 mind with that lofty spirit which begets the pre- 
 sumption of being equal to every thing; but his 
 inveterate hatred of the manners of the court impeded 
 his exertions. <e I have no hope/' said he, in the 
 thirty-fifth year of his age, " of making my fortune 
 in the court of the vicar of Jesus Christ ; to accom- 
 plish that, I must assiduously visit the palaces of the 
 great ; I must flatter, lie, and deceive." Petrarch was 
 not capable of doing this. He neither hated men nor 
 disliked advancement, but he detested the means he 
 must necessarily have used to attain it. He loved 
 glory, and ardently sought it, though not by the ways 
 in which it is generally obtained. He delighted to 
 walk in the most unfrequented paths, and, of course, 
 he renounced the world. 
 
 The aversion which he felt from the manners 
 which are peculiar to courts was the particular occa- 
 sion of his Essay upon Solitude. In the year 1346 
 he was, as usual, during Lent, at Vaucluse. The 
 bishop of Cavaillon, anxious to enjoy the conversa- 
 tion of his friend, and to taste the sweets of retire- 
 ment, fixed his residence at the castle, a mansion 
 situated upon the summit of a high rock, and, in 
 
2JMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 255 
 
 appearance, better constructed for the habitation of 
 birds than men; the ruins of which at present only 
 remain. The scenes of which the bishop and Pe- 
 trarch had been witnesses at Avignon and Naples, 
 inspired them with disgust of cities, and with con- 
 tempt for the manners of a profligate court. They 
 weighed all the unpleasant circumstances they had 
 before experienced, and opposed the situations which 
 produced them to the advantages of Solitude. This 
 was the usual subject of their conversation at the 
 castle, and that which gave birth in the mind of 
 Petrarch to the resolution of uniting in one work all 
 his own ideas and those of others upon this delight- 
 ful subject. It was begun in Lent, and finished at 
 Easter ; but he revised and corrected it afterwards, 
 making many alterations, and adding every thing 
 which occurred to his mind previous to the publica- 
 tion. It was not till the year 1366, twenty years 
 afterwards, that he sent it to the bishop of Cavaillon* 
 to whom it was dedicated. 
 
 If all that I have said of Petrarch in the course of 
 this work were to be collected into one point of view, 
 it would be seen what very important sacrifices he 
 made to Solitude. But his mind and his heart were 
 framed to enjoy the advantages it affords with a 
 superior degree of delight; a happiness which he 
 obtained from his hatred of a court and his love of 
 liberty. 
 
 The love of liberty was also the cause of Rous- 
 seau's violent disgust for society, and in Solitude 
 became the source of all his pleasures. His letters 
 
S56 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 to Malherbe discover the genius of the writer and the 
 nature of the man, as much as his Confessions, which 
 have not been better understood than his character, 
 " I mistook for a great length of time," says he in 
 one of them, the cause of that invincible disgust 
 which I always felt in the commerce of the world. 1 
 attributed it to the mortification of not possessing 
 that quick and ready talent necessary to discover in 
 conversation the little knowledge I possessed ; and 
 this beat back an idea that I did not occupy that 
 station in the opinion of mankind which I conceived 
 I merited. But after having scribbled a great quan- 
 tity of paper, 1 was perfectly convinced that even in 
 saying many ridiculous things I was in no danger of 
 being taken for a fool, when I perceived myself 
 sought after by all the world, and honoured with 
 much more consideration than even my own ridicu- 
 lous vanity would have ventured to expect; and that, 
 notwithstanding this, I felt the same disgust rather 
 augmented than diminished, I concluded that it must 
 arise from some other cause, and that these were not 
 the kind of enjoyments for which I must look. 
 " What then, in fact, is the cause of it ? It is no 
 other than that invincible spirit of liberty which 
 nothing can overcome, and in comparison with which 
 honour, fortune, and even fame itself, are to me no- 
 thing. It is certain that this spirit of liberty is 
 engendered less by pride, than by indolence; but 
 this indolence is incredible ; it is alarmed at every 
 thing; it renders the most trifling duties of civil life 
 insupportable: to be obliged to speak a word, to 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 257 
 
 write a letter, or to pay a visit, are to me, from the 
 moment the obligation arises, the severest punish- 
 ments. This is the reason why, although the 
 ordinary commerce of men is odious to me, the 
 pleasures of private friendship are so dear to my 
 heart; for in the indulgence of private friendships 
 there are no duties to perform; we have only to 
 follow the feelings of the heart, and all is done. 
 This is the reason also why I have so much dreaded 
 to accept of favours ; for every act of kindness de- 
 mands an acknowledgment; and I feel that my heart 
 J s ungrateful, only because gratitude becomes a duty. 
 The kind of happiness, in short, which pleases me 
 best, does not consist so much in doing what I wish, 
 as in avoiding that which is repugnant to my inclina- 
 tion. Active life affords no temptations to me; I 
 would a hundre I times rather do nothing at all than 
 that which I dislike ; and I have frequently thought 
 that I should not have lived very unhappily even in 
 the B as tile, provided I was free from every other re- 
 straint than that of merely residing within its walls.'* 
 The advantages of a tranquil leisure were never 
 felt with higher delight than by Rousseau ; these 
 enjoyments, however, are equally within the reach of 
 every individual. <c When my torments," says this 
 amiable philosopher, " oblige me to count the long 
 and sorrowful progress of the night, and the violence 
 of my fever prevents me from enjoying one moment's 
 sleep, I frequently forget my condition in reflecting 
 on the various events of my life, and recollection, 
 repentance, regret, and pity, divide those attention, 
 
258 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 in which I bury, for a few moments, all my sufferings. 
 What situations do you conceive, sir, I most fre- 
 quently and most cheerfully recall to my mind in 
 these meditations ? Not the pleasures of my youth ; 
 they were too few, too much blended with bitterness, 
 and are now too distant from my thoughts ; but the 
 pleasures of my retirement, my solitary walks, the 
 transient though delicious days which I passed en- 
 tirely with myself, with my good old housekeeper, 
 my faithful well-beloved dog, my old cat, the birds 
 of the fields, and the beasts of the forests, surrounded 
 by all the charms of nature, and their divine and in- 
 comprehensible Author. Repairing to my garden 
 before day-break, to wait for and contemplate the 
 rising sun, my first prayer was, when I discovered 
 the symptoms of a fine day, that neither messages 
 nor visitors might disturb the charm. After having 
 devoted the morning to various cares, which, as I 
 could put them off till another time, I always attended 
 to with pleasure, I hastened to my dinner, that I 
 might avoid unpleasant visitors, and thereby procure 
 a longer afternoon. Before one o'clock, even in the 
 hottest days of summer, while the sun shone in 
 meridian splendour, I walked forth with my faithful 
 Achates, hurrying along, fearful lest some one might 
 seize hold of me before I was secure in my escape ; 
 but when I had once turned a certain corner, and felt 
 myself free from danger, with what palpitation of 
 heart, with what lively joy I drew my breath, and 
 exclaimed, Now I am master of my time for the 
 remainder of the day ! I then walked with tranquil 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 250, 
 
 steps in search of some wild sequestered spot in the 
 forest, some desert place, where no object, touched 
 by the hands of men, announced servitude and domi- 
 nation ; some asylum, into which I might fancy that 
 I alone had first entered, and where no impertinent 
 intruder might interpose between nature and my- 
 self." 
 
 Who would not willingly ronounce the dissipa- 
 tions of the world for these calm enjoyments of the 
 heart? the splendid slavery of society for this in- 
 estimable liberty? I am perfectly aware, that man- 
 kind in general are not in a situation so favourable 
 to self-enjoyment; let them however try the pure 
 pleasures of the country, and they will find that one 
 day of liberty, one hour of quiet, will effectually cure 
 them of their anxiety for feasts, shows, finery, and 
 all the noisy nonsense of fashion and folly. 
 
 Pope Clement the sixth offered to Petrarch not 
 only the office of apostolic secretary, but many con- 
 siderable bishoprics. Petrarch constantly refused 
 him. " You will not accept of any thing I offer to 
 you I" said the holy father : " Ask of me what you 
 please." Two months afterwards Petrarch wrote to 
 one of his friends, Every degree of elevation creates 
 new suspicions in my mind, because I perceive the 
 misfortunes that attend them. Would they but 
 grant me that happy mediocrity so preferable to 
 gold, and which they have promised me, I should 
 accept the gift with gratitude and cordiality ; but if 
 they only intend to invest me with some important 
 employment, I shall refuse it. I will shake off the 
 
260 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 yoke ; for I had much rather live poor than become 
 a slave." 
 
 An Englishman somewhere asks, " Why are the 
 inhabitants of the rich plains of Lombard y, where 
 nature pours her gifts in such profusion, less opulent 
 than those of the mountains of Swisserland? Be- 
 cause freedom, whose influence is more benign than 
 sunshine and zephyrs ; who covers the rugged rock 
 with soil, drains the sickly swamp, and clothes the 
 brown heath in verdure ; who dresses the labourer's 
 face with smiles, and makes him behold his increas- 
 ing family with delight and exultation ; freedom has 
 abandoned the fertile fields of Lombardy, and dwells 
 among the mountains of Swisserland." 
 
 This is the warm enthusiasm of poetry ; but it is 
 literally true at Uri, Schwitz, Underwald, Zug, Gla- 
 ris, and Appenzel. For he who has more than his 
 wants require is rich ; and whoever is enbled to 
 think, to speak, and to employ himself as his inclina- 
 tion may direct, is free. 
 
 Competency and liberty, therefore, are the true 
 sweeteners of life. That state of mind, so rarely 
 possessed, in which we can sincerely say " I have 
 enough," is the highest attainment of philosophy. 
 Happiness consists not in having too much, but suf- 
 ficient. Kings and princes are unhappy, because 
 they always desire more than they possess, and are 
 continually stimulated to accomplish more than it is 
 within their power to attain. Great and good kings 
 are not to blame, if they sometimes say, " My sod, I 
 am deaf to-day on my left ear." 
 
ZIMHERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 26l 
 
 Men in general endeavour to appear much hap- 
 pier than in fact they are ; and consider every thing 
 which detracts from this appearance as a real mis- 
 fortune. But happiness ought to be concealed, ex- 
 cept from the eye of friendship and love; for envy is 
 its direst foe ; ever watchful to find its way to the 
 happy bosom, and eager to destroy its repose. 
 
 He who only wants little has always enough. " I 
 am contented," says Petrarch, in a letter to his friends 
 the cardinals Taleyrand and Bologno, " I desire no- 
 thing more. I have placed limits to my desire. I 
 enjoy every thing that is necessary to life. Cincin- 
 natus, Curius, Fabricius, and Regulus, after having 
 conquered nations and led kings in triumph, were 
 not so rich as I am. But I should always be poor if 
 I were to open a door to my passions. Luxury, am- 
 bition, avarice, know no bounds ; and desire is a fa- 
 thomless abyss. I have clothes to cover me, victuals 
 to support me; horses to carry me; lands to lie down 
 or walk upon while I am alive, and to receive my 
 remains when I die. What more did any Roman 
 emperor possess ? My body is healthy ; and the flesh, 
 subdued by labour, is less rebellious against the 
 spirit. I have books of every kind, which to me are 
 inestimable treasures ; they fill my soul with a vo- 
 luptuous delight untinctured with remorse. I have 
 friends, whom I consider more precious than any 
 thing I possess, provided their counsels do not tend 
 to deprive me of my liberty. I know of no other 
 enemies than those which envy has raised against 
 me. I despise them from the bottom of my heart ; 
 
262 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and perhaps it would be unhappy for ine if they were 
 not my enemies. I still reckon among my riches 
 the love and kindness of all the good men who are 
 upon earth, even of those whom 1 have never seen* 
 and perhaps never shall see." 
 
 From this passage we discover that envy followed 
 Petrarch into the retreats of Solitude. He frequently 
 complains of it ; but in this letter he treats it pro- 
 perly. He despises his envious enemies, and would 
 be sorry if he were without them. 
 
 Solitude discovers to mankind their real wants. 
 Where great simplicity of manners prevails, men 
 always possess sufficient for the enjoyment of life. 
 Ignorant of those things which others desire or pos- 
 sess, the mind cannot entertain an idea of any good 
 which they can possibly produce. An old country 
 curate residing upon a lofty mountain near the lake 
 of Thun, in the canton of Bern, was one day pre- 
 sented with a moor-cock. The good man was igno- 
 rant of the rarity he had received, and consulted 
 with his cook what he should do with it. The pas- 
 tor and the cook agreed to bury it in the ground. 
 Alas ! were we all as ignorant of moor-cocks, we 
 should all be as happy as the curate of the mountain 
 near the lake of Thun. 
 
 He who places limits to his real wants is more 
 wise, more rich, and more contented than us all. The 
 system upon which he acts partakes of the noble 
 simplicity of his mind. He finds felicity in the most 
 obscure life, in situations at the greatest distance 
 from the world. Truth is the only object of his af- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 263 
 
 fection ; he follows that philosophy which requires 
 but little, has few wants, and seeks his highest hap- 
 piness in a contented mind. 
 
 Pope, when only twelve years of age, wrote an 
 affecting and agreeable Ode upon the subject of So- 
 litude, which comprehends the very essence of this 
 philosophy. 
 
 ODE ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Happy the man whose wish and care 
 
 A few paternal acres bound, 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 
 In his own ground. 
 
 Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire, 
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
 In winter, fire. 
 
 Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
 
 Hours, days and years slide soft away, 
 In health of body, peace of mind, 
 
 Quiet by day. 
 
 Sound sleep by night 5 study and ease, 
 Together mix'd • sweet recreation ! 
 And innocence, which most does please 
 With meditation. 
 
 Thus let me live unseen, unknown, 
 
 Thus unlamented let me die, 
 Steal from the world, and not a stone 
 Tell where I lie. 
 
 A calm and tranquil life renders even sensuality 
 itself more simple, peaceful, and less alarming. The 
 
264 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 field of sensual pleasures is to the worldly-minded 
 parched up and barren ; it is noisy and tumultuous ; 
 filled with vineyards, banqueting-houses, wanton 
 dancing's, infirmaries, tombs upon which the roses 
 fade, and dark shades for the purpose of guilty assig- 
 nations. But to the mind of him who shuns such 
 brutal joys, such gross voluptuousness, the pleasures 
 of sense are of a more elevated kind ; soft, sublime, 
 pure, permanent, and tranquil. 
 
 The insolence of wealth disappears in the sim- 
 plicity of rural life. The bosom learns to enjoy sen- 
 sations very different from those it experienced in 
 the world. The sentiments of the mind are ren- 
 dered more free ; the feelings of the heart more pure ; 
 neither heated by profusion, nor extinguished by 
 satiety. 
 
 Petrarch one day inviting his friend the cardinal 
 Colonna to visit his retirement at Vaucluse, wrote 
 to him " If you prefer the tranquillity of the country 
 to the tu mults of the town, come here, and enjoy 
 yourself. Do not be alarmed at the simplicity of my 
 table, or the hardness of my beds. Kings them- 
 selves are sometimes disgusted with luxury, and pre- 
 fer the pleasures of a more frugal repast. They are 
 pleased by the change of scene; and occasional in- 
 terruption does not render their pleasures less lively. 
 But if you wish only to enjoy your accustomed lux- 
 ury, what is to prevent your bringing with you the 
 most exquisite viands, the wines of Vesuvius, dishes 
 of sil ver, and every thing that can delight the senses. 
 Leave the rest to me. I promise to provide you with 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 26j 
 
 a bed of the finest turf, a cooling shade, a concert of 
 nightingales, figs, raisins, water drawn from the 
 freshest springs, and, in short, every thing that the 
 hand of nature presents to true pleasure." 
 
 Ah ! who would not willingly renounce those 
 things which only produce disquietude in the mind, 
 for those which render it contented ? The art of oc- 
 casionally diverting the imagination, taste, and pas- 
 sions, affords new and unknown enjoyments to the 
 mind, and confers pleasure without pain, and luxury 
 without repentance. The senses, deadened by sa- 
 tiety, revive to new enjoyments. The lively twitter 
 of the groves, and the murmur of the brooks, yield 
 a more delicious pleasure to the ear than the music 
 of the opera, or the compositions of the ablest mas- 
 ters. The eye reposes more agreeably on the con- 
 cave firmament, on an expanse of waters, on moun- 
 tains covered with rocks, than it does on balls, as- 
 semblies, and petits soupers. The mind enjoys in 
 Solitude objects which were before insupportable ; 
 and reclining on the bosom of simplicity, easily re- 
 nounces every vain delight. Petrarch wrote from 
 Vaucluse to one of his friends, " I have made war 
 against my corporeal powers, for I find they are my 
 enemies. My eyes, which have occasioned me to 
 commit so many follies, are now confined to the view 
 of a single woman, old, black, and sun-burnt. If 
 Helen and Lucretia had possessed such a face, Troy 
 would never have been reduced to ashes, or Tarquin 
 driven from the empire of the world. But to com- 
 pensate these defects, she is faithful, submissive, and 
 
 N 
 
266 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 industrious. She passes whole days in the fields ; 
 and her shrivelled skin defies the burning* sun, even 
 in the hottest dog-days. My wardrobe still contains 
 fine clothes, but I never wear them : and you would 
 take me for a common labourer or a simple shep- 
 herd; I who was formerly so anxious about my dress. 
 But the reasons which then prevailed no longer exist; 
 the fetters by which I was enslaved are broken ; the 
 eyes which I was anxious to please are shut ; and if 
 they were still open, they would not perhaps now be 
 able to maintain the same empire over my heart." 
 
 Solitude, by stripping worldly objects of that 
 false splendour with which the imagination arrays 
 them, destroys the vain ambition of the mind. Ac- 
 customed to rural pleasure, and indifferent to every 
 other, a wise man no longer feels power and dignities 
 worthy of his desires. Cincinnatus, a noble Roman, 
 was overwhelmed with tears on being obliged to ac- 
 cept the consulship, because it would for one year 
 deprive him of the pleasure of cultivating his fields. 
 He was called from the plough to the command of 
 the army of the empire ; he defeated the enemy, pos- 
 sessed himself of the provinces, made his triumphal 
 entry into Rome, and at the expiration of sixteen 
 days returned to his plough. 
 
 The inmate of an humble cottage, who is forced 
 to earn his daily bread by labour, and the owner of 
 a spacious mansion, for whom every luxury is pro- 
 vided, are not held in equal estimation by mankind. 
 But let the man who has experienced both these 
 situations be asked, under which of them he experi 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 267 
 
 enced the most content. The cares and inquietudes 
 of the palace are innumerably greater than those of 
 the cottage ; in the former, discontent poisons every 
 enjoyment, and its superfluity is only misery in dis- 
 guise. The princes of Germany do not digest all the 
 palatable poison which their cooks prepare, so well 
 as a peasant upon the heaths of Limbourg digests 
 his buck-wheat pie. And those who may differ from 
 me in this opinion will be forced to acknowledge, 
 that there is great truth in the reply which a pretty 
 French country girl made to a young and amiable 
 nobleman, who solicited her to abandon her solitary 
 rural situation, and retire with him to Paris. " Ah ! 
 monsieur le marquis, the farther we remove from 
 ourselves, the greater is our distance from happiness." 
 A single passion, which we are neither able to 
 subdue nor inclined to satisfy, frequently poisons 
 our days with the bitterest sorrow *. There are mo- 
 
 * " Wise men, " says Lord Bolingbroke, " are certainly 
 superior to all the evils of exile : but, in a strict sense, he 
 who has left any one passion of his soul unsubdued, will not 
 deserve that appellation. It is not enough that we have 
 studied all the duties of public and private life, that we are 
 perfectly acquainted with them, and that we live up to them 
 in the eye of the world ; a passion that lies dormant in the 
 heart, and has escaped our scrutiny, or which we have ob- 
 served and indulged as venal, or which we have perhaps 
 encouraged as a principle to excite and aid our virtue, may 
 one time or ether destroy our tranquillity, and disgrace our 
 whole character. When virtue has steeled the mind on 
 every side, we are invulnerable on every side, but Achilles 
 
268 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 ments in which the mind is discontented with itself, 
 tired of its existence, disgusted with every thing, in- 
 capable of relishing either Solitude or Dissipation, 
 lost to all repose, and alienated from every pleasure. 
 Under such a situation, time, although unemployed, 
 appears horribly tedious ; an impenetrable chaos of 
 sentiment and ideas prevails ; the present affords no 
 enjoyment, and we wait with impatience for the fu- 
 ture. The mind in reality, wants the true salt of 
 life ,• and, without that, existence is insipid. 
 
 But where is this precious salt to be found ? Is 
 it in the passion of love ? Love, without doubt, fre- 
 quently preserves life, and sometimes gives it new 
 vigour and animation; but a passion which under- 
 mines and consumes, can neither afford permanency 
 nor tranquillity. The love capable of raising itself to 
 the strength and power of being permanent, must 
 descend into a sincere friendship, or it will destroy 
 itself or its object ; and, by adding fuel to a subtle 
 flame, will reduce the lover and beloved to a heap of 
 cinders. The salt of life, therefore, can only be ex- 
 tracted from passions which do not require extraneous 
 aid; from passions which supply their own aliment, 
 acquire force by indulgence, and, being free and 
 independent, raise the soul superior to every thing 
 that surrounds it. 
 
 Solitude and limited desires afford a true happi- 
 
 was wounded in the heel. The least part overlooked or ne- 
 glected, may expose us to receive a mortal blow." 
 
 Translator. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 269 
 
 ness to the statesman, whether only dismissed from 
 his office, or exiled from the state. Every great 
 minister does not, indeed, retire from his employ- 
 ments, like Neekar, through the portals of everlasting 
 fame. But every one, without distinction, ought to 
 raise his grateful hands to Heaven, on finding 
 himself suddenly conveyed from the troubled ocean 
 of public life to the calm repose of his native fields, 
 to the pastoral care of his flocks and herds, under the 
 shades of those trees which his ancestors planted. In 
 France, the minister who incurs the displeasure of 
 his sovereign is ordered to retire ; that is, to visit an 
 estate highly embellished and made a most agreeable 
 retreat. But alas ! this delightful retreat, being a 
 place of exile, becomes intolerable; he no longer 
 tastes its beauties with pleasure ; sleep flies from his 
 eyes, since he is no longer his own master: the 
 leisure he possesses renders him an impatient hypo- 
 chondriac; he turns with aversion from every object; 
 and his ill humour tinctures every thing he sees The 
 disgrace of a minister in France is frequently fatal to 
 his political existence *. But, in England, they con- 
 gratulate the minister on his retirement, as they 
 would a man just recovered from a dangerous distem- 
 per. He retains many and better friends than before 
 
 * " It is to this end," says one of our writers, " that dis_ 
 grace of almost every kind conducts men. The credit, 
 authority, and consideration, which they before enjoyed, are 
 like those transient fires which shine during the night ; and, 
 being suddenly extinguished, only render the darkness and 
 solitude in which the traveller is involved more visible." 
 
270 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 he was dismissed; for those who accompany his 
 retreat must be attached to him by sincere esteem ; 
 but perhaps those who adhered to him in power were 
 only influenced by interest. Thanks, generous 
 Britons ! for the examples you have given to us of 
 men sufficiently bold and independent to weigh events 
 in the scales of reason, and to guide themselves by 
 the intrinsic and real merit of each case ! For, 
 notwithstanding the rashness with which many 
 Englishmen have revolted against the Supreme Being, 
 notwithstanding the laugh and mockery with which 
 they have so frequently insulted virtue, good man- 
 ners, and decorum, there are many more among 
 them, who, especially at an advanced period of their 
 lives, perfectly understand the art of living by them- 
 selves; and, in their tranquil and delighted villas, 
 think and live with more freedom, dignity, and real 
 happiness, than any presumptuous peer in the zenith 
 of parliamentary power. 
 
 It is said, that among those ministers who receive 
 the public thanks, or are forced by age to retire, 
 more than half finish their career by becoming 
 gardeners and country gentlemen. So much the 
 better for these ex-ministers ; for they, like the 
 excellent chancellor De la Roche at Spire, certainly 
 possess much more content with the shovel and the 
 rake, than they enjoyed in the most prosperous 
 hours of their administration. 
 
 Sentiments like these furnish an excellent theme 
 to those who, ignorant of the manners of the world, 
 and unacquainted with men, are fond of moralizing 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 9! \ 
 
 and of extolling a contempt of human greatness. 
 They contend that rural innocence and amusement* 
 the pure and simple pleasures of nature, and the en- 
 joyment of a calm content so arduously required, 
 very seldom form any portion of those boasted advan- 
 tages which Solitude is said to possess. They add 
 also, that a minister in office, though surrounded by 
 endless difficulties, subject to incessant torments, 
 obliged to rack his brains, and to employ every art 
 and cunning to attain his ends, begins by his success 
 to feel that he has attained, what until this period he 
 had never before possessed, the character of master 
 and sovereign ; that he is then enabled to create and 
 to destroy, to plant and to root up, to make altera- 
 tions when and where he pleases ; that he may pull 
 down a vineyard, and erect an English grove on its 
 scite ; make hills where hills were never seen before ; 
 level eminences with the ground, compel the stream 
 to flow as his inclination shall direct ; force woods 
 and shrubberies to grow where he pleases ; graft or 
 lop as it shall strike his idea; open views and shut 
 out boundaries; construct ruins where ruins never 
 happened ; erect temples, of which he alone is high- 
 priest, and build hermitages where he may seclude 
 himself at pleasure ; that all this is not a reward for 
 the restraints he formerly experienced, but a natural 
 inclination, since now he may give orders without 
 being himself obliged to obey; for that a minister 
 must be, from the habits of his life, fond of command 
 and sovereignty to the end of his days, whether he 
 continues at the head of an extensive empire, or 
 directs the management of a poultry-yard. 
 
272 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 To maintain that it is necessary to renounce the 
 natural passions of the human mind, in order to 
 enjoy the advantages of Solitude, would, without 
 doubt, not only be moralizing very awkwardly, but 
 discover a great ignorance of the world, and of the 
 nature of man. That which is planted in the breast 
 of man must there remain. If therefore a minister 
 be not satiated with the exercise of power and 
 authority, if in his retirement he still retain the weak- 
 ness to wish for command, let him require obedience 
 from his chickens, whenever he pleases, provided 
 such a gratification is essential to his happiness, and 
 tends to suppress the desire of again exposing him- 
 self to those tempests and shipwrecks which he can 
 only avoid in the safe harbour of rural life.* An 
 ex-minister must sooner or later learn to despise the 
 appearances of human grandeur; for in his retirement 
 he will perceive that true greatness frequently begins 
 at that period of life which statesmen are apt to con- 
 sider as a dreary void ; he will discover that the re- 
 gret of being no longer able to do more good, is only 
 ambition in disguise ; and feel that the inhabitants of 
 the country, in cultivating their cabbages and as- 
 paragus, are a hundred times happier than the 
 greatest minister. 
 
 Under such circumstances it is only necessary to 
 
 * " Marshal de Boufflers has retired to cultivate his 
 fields/' said Madame Maintenon : " I am of opinion that 
 this Cincinnatus would not be sorry to be fetched from hi* 
 plough. At his departure he charged us all to think of him, 
 if any thing was wanted during his absence, which may 
 perhaps continue fifteen days." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 2/3 
 
 be contented with ourselves, to forget the superflui- 
 ties of life, and to render the little we possess as 
 palatable as possible. The first year which Pe- 
 trarch passed at Vaucluse, he was almost always 
 alone, and had no other company than his dog, no 
 other servant than a neighbouring fisherman, who 
 served him with every thing he wanted- The do- 
 mestics who attended him at Avignon, not being able 
 to accustom themselves to this manner of living, 
 quitted his service. Beside, he was badly lodged, 
 having only a poor cottage for his residence, which 
 he afterwards rebuilt without any art, merely to 
 render it tenantable, and even the traces of which no 
 longer remain. His fare was coarse and frugal ; no- 
 thing that flatters the senses was to be seen. His 
 best friends therefore called upon him very seldom, 
 and when they came their visits were very short; 
 others only visited him from the same charitable 
 feelings which lead men to the chamber of the sick, 
 or the dungeon of the prisoner. He wrote to his 
 friend Philip de Carrabold, bishop of Cavaillon, who 
 was then at Naples, " Let others run after riches 
 and honours ; let them be princes and kings ; I shall 
 never attempt to impede their career. I am con- 
 tented with the humble character of poet. And why, 
 my good bishop, will you continually wander from 
 place to place merely to discover the road to prefer- 
 ment ? You know the snares which are laid in the 
 courts of princes, the anxieties which corrode the 
 heart, the risks which are run, and the storms to 
 which life is there exposed. Return therefore to 
 
 N 3 
 
274 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 your diocese, return to tranquillity and repose. You 
 may do this with honour, while fortune smiles upon 
 you. You will there find every thing- you can desire ♦ 
 Leave superfluity to the avaricious. The rooms, 
 although not decorated with tapestry, are commo- 
 diously furnished. If our table be not sumptuous, 
 yet we have enough to satisfy hunger ; and although 
 our beds are not decorated with gold and purple, we 
 do not sleep in them with less comfort. The hour 
 of death approaches, and warns me to renounce all 
 the extravagant vanities of life. To cultivate my 
 gardens is now the only pleasure I pursue. I plant 
 fruit-trees, in hope that while I am fishing on my 
 rocks, they will cover me with their shade. But 
 my trees are old, and require to be replaced ; I must 
 therefore request that you will desire your attendants 
 to bring me some plants of the peach and pear-tree 
 from Naples. The enjoyments of my old age are 
 purchased by labour ; and I live in the expectation 
 of future pleasures, which I intend to participate 
 with you alone : this is what the hermit on the banks 
 of the Sergue writes to you from the middle of the 
 forest." 
 
 Solitude, however, will not procure us all these 
 advantages, unless we renounce the mania of refining 
 upon happiness. By endeavouring to make things 
 better than they are, we abandon those that are 
 good. He who always views things on the unfavour- 
 able side, who wishes that all those things which are 
 wrong, and which ought to remain wrong, were 
 marie right, voluntarily surrenders a large portion of 
 
^immerMann on solitude. 275 
 
 his pleasures ; /for without so great a number of 
 Wrongheads in the world, life would not be half so 
 entertaining as it is./ r %% & ^#^#0* 
 
 To live happily, it is an excellent maxim to take 
 things just as they are; or to admit with a celebrated 
 German philosopher, as the foundation of all mora- 
 lity, that it is our duty to do as much good as pos- 
 sible, and to be contented with every thing as we 
 find it. This species of morality is certainly founded 
 in toleration and good-nature ; but it is apt to dege- 
 nerate too easily into a looser kind of philosophy,* 
 destructive in some minds both of freedom and vir- 
 tue. It is true, however, that there is no character 
 in the world so unhappy as he who is continually 
 finding fault with every thing he sees. 
 
 My barber at Hanover, while he was preparing to 
 shave me, exclaimed with a deep sigh, " It is terribly 
 hot to-day.''— " You place Heaven," said I to him, 
 " in great difficulties : for these nine months past 
 you have regularly told me every other day " It is' 
 terribly cold to-day." Cannot the Almighty, then, 
 any longer govern the Universe without these gentle- 
 men barbers finding something to be discontented 
 with ? u Is it not," I asked him, " much better to 
 take the seasons as they change, and to receive with 
 
 * u Let the world go as it pleases," says an ingenious 
 writer ; " to do one's duty tolerably well, and speak always 
 in praise of the good prior, is an ancient maxim of the 
 monks : but it may lead the discipline of convents into a 
 state of mediocrity, relaxation, and contempt." 
 
276 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 equal gratitude from the hands of God the winter's 
 cold and summer's warmth?"—" Oh ! certainly," re- 
 plied the barber. 
 
 Competency and content therefore may, in gene- 
 ral, be considered as the basis of earthly happiness ; 
 and Solitude, in many instances, favours both the 
 one and the other. 
 
 One of the advantages we still owe to Solitude is, 
 that it enables us by habit to relinquish the society 
 of men. For, as it is impossible always to procure 
 agreeable and interesting company, we soon lose the 
 desire to attain it, and console ourselves with the 
 idea that it is incomparably more easy to drive away 
 languor and discontent in retirement than in the 
 world ; beside, as it very rarely happens that on quit- 
 ting a public assembly we enter with great good hu- 
 mour into the examination of ourselves, this ought 
 to be still another reason to induce us the more 
 easily to renounce it. The less, therefore, we form 
 connections with other men, the more we are qualified 
 for an intercourse with ourselves. 
 
 It is frequently difficult to find an amiable and 
 sensible character with whom we may form connec- 
 tion, and to whom we can freely communicate our 
 thoughts, our pleasures, and our pains. In this case 
 nothing but employment and activity can divert our 
 minds. The idle and unemployed, not being able to 
 drive away lassitude and discontent by yawning, ex- 
 pect that relief from the coming on of time which 
 the industrious enjoy every moment of their lives. 
 The coldness of indolence freezes all the functions of 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 27? 
 
 the heart, and the dread of labour poisons every 
 pleasure; but the man who seriously adopts some 
 useful course of life, who immediately executes what- 
 ever his station calls upon him to perform, always 
 enjoys a contented mind. To him the day appears 
 too short, the night too long-. Vexation and disquie- 
 tude vanish from the breast of him, who never leaves 
 for the performance of to-morrow that which may be 
 done to-day, who makes himself master of the pre- 
 sent moment, and does not indiscreetly rely upon an 
 uncertain futurity. 
 
 A situation in a small village, or a country retire- 
 ment, is best suited to this species of employment. 
 The great world is a scene of agitation from morn- 
 ing to night ; although, strictly speaking, nothing is 
 done during the day. In a small village, or more 
 sequestered situation, the mind has time to think j we 
 view every object with more interest, and discharge 
 every duty with higher pleasure. We do not read as 
 the world reads, merely to say that we have read, but 
 to enjoy and benefit by the information which read- 
 ing affords. Every thing we read in silence, in 
 tranquillity, sinks deep into the mind, unites itself 
 more closely with our thoughts, and operates more 
 forcibly on the heart. A judicious use of time, in 
 such a situation, soon lessens our inclination to 
 society, and, at length, we esteem ourselves com- 
 pletely happy in finding it totally extinguished. 
 
 The silence of the country therefore is, to the 
 female mind, frequently the school of true philo- 
 sophy. In England, where the face of nature is so 
 
278 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 beautiful, and where the inhabitants are hourly 
 adding new embellishments to her charms, rural life 
 possesses in itself inexpressible delights : but among 
 that active people, the love of Solitude is, perhaps, 
 in general much stronger in the women than the men. 
 A nobleman who employs the day in riding over his 
 estate, or in following the hounds, does not enjoy 
 the Solitude of rural life with the same pleasure as 
 his lady, who devotes her time to needle-work or to 
 reading, in her romantic pleasure-grounds, some 
 instructive or affecting work. In England, where 
 ideas flow so rapidly, where in general the people 
 love so much to think, the calm of retirement be- 
 comes more valuable, and the enjoyments of the 
 mind more interesting. Learning, which has so con- 
 siderably increased among the ladies of Germany, 
 certainly owes its origin to rural life; for among those 
 who pass their time in rural- retirement, and im- 
 prove their minds by reading, we find in general 
 much more true wit and sentiment than among the 
 beaux esprits of the metropolis. 
 
 How would those who occasionally reside in the 
 country abridge the time of their residence in town, 
 if they weighed and felt the advantages of a rural 
 situation ! The frivolous enjoyments of the metropo- 
 lis would then vex and disgust their minds 5 they 
 would soon be discontented to see men employ time 
 with so little improvement to themselves ; running 
 incessantly after every thing that is strange, devot- 
 ing their whole lives to dress, to gaming, and to 
 visits, without ever resigning themselves to those 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 279 
 
 sublime reflections which elevate and ennoble the 
 heart. Possessed of goodness, liberality, and sim- 
 plicity, a country life, after having lived in town, 
 affords so many opportunities of being happy, that 
 it is impossible to be languid or discontented, pro- 
 vided we are neither negligent, idle, sick, nor in love. 
 How sweet, how consoling it is, in the tranquil- 
 lity of retirement, to call to remembrance our absent 
 friends ! Ah, this remembrance alone makes us taste 
 again in Solitude all the pleasures we have enjoyed 
 in their society.—-" You are far removed, but I am 
 notwithstanding always near to you. There is the place 
 where you used to sit. I have the identical chair still 
 by me. You gave me that picture ; that charming tran- 
 quil landscape. With what soft effusion, with what a 
 natural overflow of feeling and sentiment we enjoyed 
 the view of that engraving, representing lively images 
 of a happy tranquillity ! Is it possible to be unhappy 
 when we never live with higher joy, with more re. 
 fined delight, than when we are only one day's 
 journey from each other !" — By the aid of these light 
 artifices of imagination, these flattering illusions, 
 which Solitude suggests, two men may live in con- 
 tinual intercourse with each other, even when se- 
 parated by oceans ; when they no longer listen to the 
 voice or distinguish the approaching steps of the 
 object they respectively love. 
 
 Friends, whom destiny has separated from each 
 other, do not any where feel their sentiments so noble 
 and refined as in those places where nothing inter- 
 rupts this soft intercourse, and where the pleasures 
 
280 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of the world cannot interpose between their sympa- 
 thising hearts. Mutual ill-humour, those mortifica_ 
 tions which a commerce with the world daily inflicts, 
 and a number of little incidents, may sometimes 
 lessen the delight which the company of the dearest 
 friend would otherwise afford. In these subacid 
 moments, the mind, influenced by the feelings of the 
 heart, never recurs to those soft intercourses which 
 once prevailed. The friend who until this moment 
 engaged my love, now repels it by ill-humour : but 
 how many agreeable sentiments, how many delightful 
 pleasures would be lost, were I to forget the past in 
 the present, and to return his peevishness with ill- 
 humour ! Vexations will occasionally render the 
 mildest temper petulant, and obscure for a moment 
 the brightness in which my friend is accustomed to 
 appear before me, whose presence always raised such 
 delightful sensations in my heart, diffused felicity 
 and pleasure over my life, charmed every vexation 
 from my breast, banished my ill-humour, and who, 
 until the present moment, has ever concealed his ill- 
 humour from my view. This conduct is thought by 
 some to be the privilege of intimacy. But friends 
 ought not to w T reak their discontents on each other ; 
 friends, who have heretofore shared together in all 
 the misfortunes of life, who have mutually suffered 
 for, and endeavoured to relieve the feelings of each 
 other's breast. Friendship demands sincerity : but 
 she also, in common benevolence, demands a mutual 
 indulgence and accommodation; and requires that 
 mildness should be opposed to anger, and patience to 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 281 
 
 ill-humour. This, however, can never happen where, 
 crossed by the embarrassments of life, each indulges 
 the peevish asperities of his temper ; and, forgetting 
 every attention and civility himself, complains that 
 they are not observed to him. How quickly do all 
 these inconveniences disappear in Solitude ! Solitude 
 sanctifies the memory of those we love, and cancels 
 all recollection but that which contributes to the 
 enjoyments of friendship ? Constancy, security, con- 
 fidence, there appear again in all their brightness, 
 and re- assume their empire in the heart- Every 
 pulse of the soul beats in perfect harmony: I listen 
 with pleasure to my friend ; he attends to me in 
 return: although distant he is always near to me. 
 I communicate to him all my thoughts, and all my 
 sensations. I preserve, as sacred to our friendship, 
 all the flowers that he strews over the thorny path of 
 my life ; and all those which I perceive I gather for 
 him. 
 
 Solitude not only refines the enjoyments of friend- 
 ship, but places us in a situation to gain friends, 
 whom neither time nor accident can take away, 
 from whom nothing can alienate our souls, and to 
 whose arms we never fly in vain. 
 
 The friends of Petrarch sometimes wrote apologies 
 to him for their absence. " It is impossible to live 
 with you/' say they; " the life which you lead at 
 Vaucluse is repugnant to human nature. In winter 
 you sit, like an owl, with your face over the fire ; in 
 the summer you are incessantly running about the 
 fields : seldom do we find you seated under the shade 
 
282 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of a tree.'' — Petrarch smiled at these representations : 
 €i These people," said he, " consider the pleasures 
 of the world as their supreme good, and not to be 
 renounced. But I have friends of a different de- 
 scription, whose society is extremely agreeable to 
 me. They are of all countries, and of all ages ; they 
 are distinguished in war, in politics, and in the 
 sciences. It is very easy to see them; they are 
 always at my service : I call for their company, and 
 send them away whenever I please ; they are never 
 troublesome, and immediately answer all my ques- 
 tions. Some relate to me the events of ages past j 
 others reveal the secrets of nature : these teach me 
 how to live with happiness ; and those how to die in 
 quiet : these drive away every care by the enjoyment 
 they afford me, and increase my gaiety by the liveli- 
 ness of their wit ; while others harden my heart against 
 sufferings, teach me to restrain my desires, and en- 
 able me to depend only on myself. In one word, 
 they open to me an avenue to all the arts, to all 
 the sciences, and upon their information I safely 
 rely. In return for these great services, they only 
 require of me a chamber in one corner of my 
 small mansion, where they may repose in peace. In 
 short, I carry them with me into the fields, with the 
 tranquillity of which they are much better pleased 
 than the tumults of the town." 
 
 Love ! the most precious gift of Heaven, that 
 happy sensibility from which arises every emotion 
 of the heart, appears to merit a distinguished rank 
 among the advantages of Solitude, provided we 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 283 
 
 manage this powerful passion so as to render it 
 auxiliary to happiness. 
 
 Love associates itself willingly with the aspect of 
 beautiful nature. The view of a pleasing prospect 
 inspires the heart with the tenderest emotions. The 
 lonely mountain, the silent grove, and the stillness 
 of a fine evening, increase the susceptibility of the 
 female bosom, inspire the mind with rapturous en- 
 thusiasm, and r like all warm and violent emotions, 
 sooner or later draw aside and subjugate the heart. 
 
 Women most certainly feel the pure and tran- 
 quil pleasures of rural life with more exquisite sen- 
 sibility than men. They enjoy, in a much higher 
 degree, the beauties of a lonely walk, the freshness 
 of a shady forest, and admire with higher ecstasy the 
 charms and grandeur of nature. Minds apparently 
 insensible in the atmosphere of a metropolis open 
 themselves with rapture in the country. This is the 
 reason why the return of spring fills every tender 
 breast with love. u What can more resemble love," 
 said a celebrated German philosopher, " than the 
 feeling with which my soul is inspired at the sight of 
 this magnificent valley thus illumined by the setting 
 sun I" 
 
 Rousseau felt an inexpressible pleasure on view- 
 ing the early blossoms of the spring : the arrival of 
 that gay season gave new life to his mind : increased 
 the tender inclinations of his soul ; and assimilated 
 the charms of his mistress with the beauties that 
 surrounded him. The sorrows of his heart were 
 lightened by the view of an extensive and pleasing 
 
284 ZiMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 prospect; and he sighed with pleasure among the 
 flowers of a garden, or the fruits of the orchard. 
 
 Lovers seek retirement to indulge in uninter- 
 rupted quietude the contemplation of that object for 
 whom alone they live. Of what importance to them 
 are all the transactions of cities, or any thing indeed 
 that does not tend to indulge their passion ? Obscure 
 chambers, black forests of firs, or lonely lakes, are 
 the only confidants of their souls. Forests filled 
 with gloomy shades, and echoing to the tremendous 
 eagle's cry, are the same to their minds as the live- 
 liest champaign country. A lovely shepherdess of- 
 fering her fostering bosom to the infant she is nurs- 
 ing, while at her side her well-beloved partner sits, 
 dividing with her his morsel of hard black bread, is 
 a hundred times more happy than all the fops of the 
 town. Love inspires the mind in the highest degree 
 with all that is elevated, pleasant, and affecting in 
 nature, and warms the coldest bosoms with sensibility 
 and rapture. 
 
 Love's softest images spring up anew in Solitude. 
 The remembrance of those emotions which the first 
 blush of conscious tenderness, the first gentle pres- 
 sure of the hand, the first dread of interruption, 
 create, are there indelible ! Time, it is said, extin- 
 guishes the flame of love ; but Solitude renews the 
 fire, and calls forth those agents which lie long con- 
 cealed, and only wait a proper moment to display 
 their power. The whole course of youthful feeling 
 again beams forth; and the mind — delicious recol- 
 lection ! — fondly retracing the first affection of the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 285 
 
 heart, fills the bosom with an indelible sense of those 
 high ecstasies, which a connoisseur has said, with as 
 much truth as energy, proclaim, for the first tim e 
 that happy discovery, that fortunate moment, when 
 two lovers first perceive their mutual fondness. * 
 
 A mind fond of reflecting in retirement on the 
 passion of love, and which has experienced its plea- 
 sures, feels again, in these ever-recurring thoughts, 
 the most delicious enjoyments. Herder says, he 
 doe3 not know who the people in Asia were, whose 
 mythology thus divided the epochs of the most re- 
 mote antiquity : — u That men, once more become 
 celestial spirits, were immediately beloved during a 
 thousand years, first by looks, then by a kiss, after- 
 wards by alliance." 
 
 Wieland, during the warmest moments of his 
 youth, sublimely enjoyed this noble passion for a 
 lady of Zurich, handsome, amiable, and sensible : 
 for that great genius well knew that love, mysterious 
 love ! begins in the first sigh, and expires, in a cer- 
 tain degree, with the first kiss. T one day asked this 
 young lady, when Wieland had kissed her for the first 
 time? " Wieland," replied the lovely girl, "kissed 
 my hand, for the first time, four years after our ac- 
 quaintance commenced." 
 
 * No person has described the recollection of that pre- 
 cious moment with so much harmony, sweetness, tender- 
 ness, and sentiment, as Rousseau. " Precious moments, so 
 much regretted ! Oh, begin again your delightful course ; 
 flow on with longer duration in my remembrance, if it be 
 possible, than you did in reality in your fugitive succes- 
 sion." 
 
286 Z4MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Young persons, in general, however, do not, like 
 Wieland, adopt the mystic refinements of love. Lis- 
 tening to those sentiments which the passions inspire, 
 less familiar with their abstractions, and their minds 
 unoccupied by other ideas, they feel at an earlier 
 age, in the tranquillity of Solitude, that irresistible 
 impulse to the union of the sexes, which nature has 
 implanted in the breast. 
 
 A lady who lived upon the banks of the Lake of 
 Geneva, solitary and separated from all connection 
 with the world, had three daughters, brunes piquan- 
 tes, as beautiful in their persons as they were amia- 
 ble in their manners. When the eldest was about 
 fourteen years of age, and the youngest about nine, 
 they were presented with a tame bird, which hopped 
 and flew about the chamber the whole day, and 
 formed the sole amusement and pleasure of their 
 lives. Placing themselves on their knees, they of- 
 fered with unwearied delight their lovely little fa- 
 vourite a piece of biscuit from their fingers, in order 
 to lure him to their bosoms ; but the bird, the mo- 
 ment he had gotten the biscuit, with cunning coy- 
 ness disappointed their expectations, and hopped 
 away. The bird, however, soon died. A year after 
 this event, the youngest of the three sisters said to 
 her mother, ' ' Oh the dear little bird, mamma ! if we 
 could but procure such another !" " No," replied her 
 eldest sister, " what I should l'ke better than any 
 thing else in the world is a little dog. I could catch 
 a little dog, take him upon my knee, and hug him in 
 my arms : but a bird is good for nothing ; he perches 
 a little while on your finger, flies away, and there is 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITDE. 287 
 
 no catching him again. But a little dog, Oh how 
 charming !" 
 
 I shall never forget the poor religieuse in whose 
 apartment I found a breeding-cage of canary-birds ; 
 or forgive myself for having burst into a fit of laugh- 
 ter at the sight of this aviary. Alas ! it was the sug- 
 gestion of nature ; and who can resist what nature 
 suggests ? This mystic wandering of religious minds, 
 this celestial epilepsy of love, this premature fruit 
 of Solitude, is only the fond application of one na- 
 tural inclination raised superior to all the others. 
 
 Absence and tranquillity appear so favourable to 
 the passion of love, that lovers frequently chuse to 
 quit the beloved object, and to reflect in Solitude on 
 her charms. Who does not recollect to have read, 
 in the Confessions of Rousseau, the story related by 
 Madame de Luxemberg, of the man who quitted the 
 company of his mistress only that he might have the 
 pleasure of writing to her ! Rousseau told Madame 
 Luxemberg, that he wished he had been that man ; 
 and he was right : for who has ever loved, and does 
 not know, that there are times when the pen expres- 
 ses the feelings of the heart infinitely better than 
 the voice with its miserable organ of speech ? The 
 tongue has no eloquence, it expresses nothing; but 
 when lovers in silent ecstasy gaze on each other, 
 where is greater eloquence to be found ? 
 
 Lovers not only feel with higher ecstasy, but ex- 
 press their sentiments with greater happiness, in So- 
 litude, than in any other situation. What fashionable 
 lover has ever painted his passion for an imperious 
 
288 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 mistress with the same felicity, as the chorister of a 
 village in Hanover for a young and beautiful country 
 girl ? On her death, the chorister raised, in the ce- 
 metery of the cathedral, a sepulchral stone to her 
 memory; and carving, in an artless manner, the 
 figure of a Rose on its front, inscribed these words 
 underneath : " C'est ainsi qu'elle fut ." 
 
 Under the rocks of Vaucluse, or in retirements 
 still more solitary, Petrarch composed his finest 
 sonnets ; deploring the absence, or complaining of 
 the cruelty of his beloved Laura. Upon the subject 
 of love he is, in the opinion of the Italians, superior 
 to every other poet in the world, before or since his 
 time, whether in the Greek, Latin, or Tuscan lan- 
 guages. " Ah ! that pure and tender language of the 
 heart !" say they ; " nobody possessed any know- 
 ledge of it but Petrarch, who added to the three 
 Graces a fourth — the Grace of Delicacy. " 
 
 Love, however, in the ardency of a youthful ima- 
 gination, and assisted by the inspiration of a lonely 
 and romantic place, frequently assumes a more 
 outre and extravagant character ; and when blended 
 with religious enthusiasm, and a melancholy dispo- 
 sition, makes a whimsical compound of the feelings 
 of the heart. A lover of this description, when he 
 is inclined to be serious, takes from the text of the 
 Apocalypse his first declaration of love ; and ex- 
 claims, that it is but an eternal melancholy; but 
 when he is inclined to sharpen the dart within his 
 breast, his inspired mind views the beloved object as 
 the fairest model of divine perfection. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 289 
 
 Two lovers of this divine angelic cast, placed in 
 some ancient, solitary, romantic castle, soar far be- 
 yond the common tribe; and their passion grows 
 sublime in proportion to the refinement of their 
 ideas. The beloved youth, surrounded by stupend- 
 ous rocks, and impressed by the awful stillness of the 
 scene, possesses not only the moral qualities of hu- 
 manity in their highest degree, but raises his mind 
 to the celestial attributes of God.* The inspired 
 mind of the fond female fancies her bosom to be the 
 sanctuary of love, and conceives her affection for the 
 youthful idol of her heart to be an emanation from 
 heaven ; a ray of the Divinity itself. Ordinary lovers, 
 without doubt, in spite of absence, unite their souls, 
 write by every post, seize all occasions to converse 
 with or to hear from each other, but our more sub- 
 lime and exalted female introduces into the romance 
 of passion every butterfly she meets with, and all the 
 feathered songsters of the groves ; and except in the 
 object of her love, no longer sees any thing as it 
 really is. Reason and sense no longer guide ; the 
 refinement of love directs all her movements ; she 
 tears the world from its poles, and the sun from its 
 axis ; establishes a new gospel ; adopts a new system 
 
 * " When the passion of love is at its height," says 
 Rousseau, " it arrays the beloved object in every possible 
 perfection ; makes it an idol, places it in heaven j and as the 
 enthusiasm of devotion borrows the language of love, the 
 enthusiasm of love also borrows the language of devotion* 
 The lover beholds nothing but paradise, angels, the virtues 
 of saints and the felicities of heaven." 
 
 o 
 
290 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 of morality for herself and her lover ; and is con- 
 vinced that every thing she does is right. 
 
 These effects of Love cannot be avoided by any 
 of the advantages of Solitude. 
 
 Love, even of the most tranquil kind, that species 
 which lies silent in the breast, which does not raise 
 the chimeras in the mind, which does not resign 
 himself to the delirium of an ardent imagination, 
 and which is not carried into these excesses, in time 
 consumes the lover, and renders him miserable. 
 
 The 3 over's mind occupied by the idea of one 
 object, whom he adores beyond all others, all the 
 faculties of the soul become absorbed, and when he 
 finds himself separated for ever from the lovely 
 object, who has made even the highest sacrifice to 
 him in her power; who administered consolation 
 under all his afflictions, afforded happiness under the 
 greatest calamities, and supported him when all the 
 powers of his soul were fled ; who continued a sin- 
 cere friend when every other friend had left him, 
 when oppressed by domestic sorrows, when ren- 
 dered incapable of either thought or action ; he aban- 
 dons a world which for him no longer possesses any 
 charms, and to languish in a slothful Solitude be- 
 comes his only pleasure. The night is passed in 
 sleepless agonies; while a disgust of life, a desire of 
 death, an abhorrence of all society, and a love of the 
 most frightful deserts, drive him day after day, wan- 
 dering, as chance may direct, through the most soli- 
 tary retirements, far from the hateful traces of man- 
 kind. Were he, however, to wander from the Elbe 
 

 j?JBiocL?s sc.. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 . 
 
 LOHDOI; 
 rriblisbe&'by T.GriffLths. 2!Waxwk"k C^TioTborru 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 20,1 
 
 to the Lake of Geneva ; to seek relief from the north 
 to the west, even to the shores of the sea, he would 
 still be like the hind described in Virgil, 
 
 " Stung with the stroke, and madding with the pain, 
 She wildly flies from wood to wood in vain ; 
 Shoots o'er the Cretan lawns with many a bound, 
 
 The cleaving dart still rankling in the wound !" 
 
 Virgil, Book iv, line 110. 
 
 Petrarch experienced the accumulated torments 
 of love in his new residence at Vaucluse. Scarcely 
 had he arrived there, when the image of Laura in- 
 cessantly haunted his mind. He beheld her at all 
 times, in every place, under a thousand different 
 forms. " Three times," says he, " in the dead of 
 night, when every door was closed, she appeared to 
 me at the feet of my bed with a certain look which 
 announced the power of her charms. Fear spread a 
 chilling dew over all my limbs. My blood thrilled 
 through my veins towards my heart. If any one had 
 then entered my room with a candle, they would 
 have beheld me as pale as death, with every mark of 
 terror on my face. Before day-break I rose trem- 
 bling from my bed, and hastily leaving my house, 
 where every thing excited alarm, I climbed to the 
 summit of the rocks, ran through the woods, casting 
 my eyes continually around to see if the form that 
 had disturbed my repose still pursued me. I could 
 find no asylum : in the most sequestered places, 
 where I flattered myself that I should be alone, I 
 frequently saw her issuing from the trunk of a tree, 
 
292 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 from the head of a clear spring, from the cavity of a 
 rock. Fear rendered me insensible, and I neither 
 knew what I did nor where I went." 
 
 To an imagination subject to such violent con- 
 vulsions, Solitude affords no remedy. Ovid, there- 
 fore, has very justly said, 
 
 " But Solitude must never be allow'd ; 
 
 A lover's ne'er so safe as in a crowd ; 
 
 For private places private griefs increase ; 
 
 What haunts you there in company will cease ; 
 
 If to the gloomy desert you repair, 
 
 Your mistress' angry form will meet you there." 
 
 Ovid's Remedy of Love. 
 
 Petrarch learned, from the first emotions of his 
 passion, how useless are all attempts to flee from 
 love ; and he sought the rocks and forests in vain. 
 There is no place, however savage and forlorn, where 
 love will not force its way. The pure and limpid 
 stream of Vaucluse, the shady woods adorning the 
 little valley in which the stream arose, appeared to 
 him the only places to abate the fierceness of those 
 fires which consumed his heart. The most frightful 
 deserts, the deepest forests, mountains almost inac- 
 cessible, were to him the most agreeable abodes. 
 But Love pursued his steps wherever he went, and 
 left him no place of refuge. His whole soul flew 
 back to Avignon. 
 
 Solitude also affords no remedy for Love when it 
 is injurious to virtue. To an honest mind the pre- 
 sence of the beloved object is never dangerous, 
 although the passion may have taken a criminal turn 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 2y3 
 
 In the heart. On the contrary, while absence and 
 Solitude foment all the secret movements of the 
 senses and the imagination, the sight of the beloved 
 object destroys, in a virtuous breast, every forbidden 
 desire ; for in absence the lover thinks himself secure, 
 and consequently indulges his imagination without 
 restraint. Solitude, more than any other situation, 
 recalls to the mind every voluptuous idea, every thing 
 that animates desire and inflames the heart : no 
 danger being apprehended, the lover walks boldly on 
 in the flattering paths of an agreeable illusion, until 
 the passion acquires a dangerous empire in his 
 breast. 
 
 The heart of Petrarch was frequently stimulated 
 by ideas of voluptuous pleasure, even among the 
 rocks of Vaucluse, where he sought an asylum from 
 Love and Laura.* But he soon banished sensuality 
 
 * We read in a variety of books now no longer known, 
 that Petrarch lived at Vaucluse with Laura, and that he had 
 formed a subterraneous passage from her house to his own. 
 Petrarch was not so happy. Laura was married, and 
 lived with her husband, Hugues de Sades, at Avignon, the 
 place of her nativity, and where she died. She was the mother 
 of eleven children, which had so debilitated her constitution, 
 that at nve-and-thirty years of age no traces of her former 
 beauty remained. She experienced also many domestic 
 sorrows. Her husband was ignorant of the value of her 
 virtues, and the propriety of her conduct. He was jealous 
 without cause, and even without love, which to a woman 
 was still more mortifying. Petrarch, on the contrary, loved 
 Laura during the course of twenty years ; but he was never 
 
294 ZIMMEIiMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 from his mind : the passion of his soul then became 
 refined, and acquired that vivacity and heavenly 
 purity, which breathe in every line of those immortal 
 lyrics he composed upon the rocks. The city of Avig- 
 non, where his Laura resided, was, however, too near 
 to him, and he visited it too frequently. A love like 
 his never leaves the heart one moment of tranquillity 
 it is a fever of the soul, which afflicts the body with 
 a complication of the most painful disorders. Let a 
 lover, therefore, while his mind is yet able to controul 
 the emotions of his heart, seat himself on the banks 
 of a rivulet, and think that his passion, like the stream 
 which now precipitates itself with noise down the 
 rocks, may, in peaceful shades and solitary bowers, 
 flow across the meadows and the plains in silence and 
 tranquillity. 
 
 Love unites itself to tranquillity, when the mind 
 submits with humility to all the dispensations of Hea- 
 ven. If, when death bereaves a lover of the object 
 
 suffered to visit her at her own house ; for her husband 
 seldom, if ever, left her alone. He therefore had no oppor- 
 tunity of beholding his charming, his amiable Laura, except 
 at church, at assemblies, or in the public walks, and then 
 never alone. Her husband frequently forbad her to walk 
 even with her dearest friends, and his mind was rendered 
 furious whenever she indulged in the slightest pleasure. 
 Laura was born in the year 1307 or 1308 , and was two or 
 three years younger than Petrarch. She died of the plague 
 in the year 1348. Seven years after her death her husband 
 married again. Petrarch survived her till about the com- 
 mencement of the year 1374. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 2Qo 
 
 of his affection, he be unable to live, except in those 
 places where she was used to dwell, and all the world 
 beside looks desert and forlorn, death alone can stop 
 the torrent of his tears. But it is not by yielding, 
 himself to the pressure of his affliction, that he can 
 be said to devote himself to God. The lover, when 
 oppressed by sorrow, constantly attaches himself to 
 the object which is no more, and never can return. 
 He seeks for what he can never find; he listens, 
 but hears nothing ,• he fancies that he beholds the 
 lovely form alive and breathing, when it is only a 
 phantom, produced in mental vision by his heated 
 imagination. He gathers roses from the tomb of 
 her on whom all the happiness of his life depended ; 
 he waters them with his tears, cultivates them with 
 the tenderest care, places them in his bosom, kisses 
 them with rapture, and enjoys their soothing fra- 
 grance with melancholy transport; but these plea- 
 sures also vanish ; the roses droop their heads, and 
 die. It is not until the lover has long wrestled with 
 the rigours of fate, until the arms have long been in 
 vain extended to embrace the beloved object, until 
 the eye has long fixed its view upon the cherished 
 shade, until all hope of re-union is gone, that the 
 mind begins gradually to feel its returning powers, 
 assumes an heroic courage against misfortune, and, 
 by endeavouring to conquer the weakness of the 
 heart, feels the return of its former tranquillity. 
 These cures, however, can only be effected in vigorous 
 minds, which alone crown whatever they undertake 
 with success ; vigorous minds alone find in Solitude 
 
2Q6 zimmermann on solitude. 
 
 that peace, which the whole universe, with all its 
 pleasures and dissipations, cannot procure. 
 
 The victory which the virtuous Petrarch acquired 
 over the passion which assailed his heart, must afford 
 pleasure to every mind. When he sought refuge in 
 Italy from Love and Laura, his friends in France 
 used every endeavour to induce him to return. One 
 of them wrote to him : " What demon possesses you - ? 
 How could you quit a country, where you enjoyed all 
 the delights of youth, and where that graceful person, 
 which you formerly adorned with so much care pro- 
 cured you so many pleasures? How can you live 
 thus exiled from Laura, whom you love with so much 
 tenderness, and whose heart, is so deeply afflicted by 
 your absence I" 
 
 Petrarch replied : " Your anxiety is vaia ; I am 
 resolved to continue where I am. I am here at 
 anchor ; and neither the impetuosity of the Rhone, 
 nor the powers of eloquence, shall ever drive me 
 from it. To persuade me to change this resolution, 
 you place before my eyes the deviations of my youth, 
 which I ought to forget ; a passion which left me no 
 other resource than a precipitate flight, and the con- 
 temptible merit of a handsome person, which too long 
 occupied my attenion. The period is arrived when 
 I must no longer think of those follies; I have left 
 them behind me ; and I rapidly approach to the end 
 of my career- My mind is now occupied by more 
 serious and important objects. God forbid, that, 
 listening to your flattering counsel, T should again 
 throw myself into the snares of Love ; again put on 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 20f 
 
 a yoke I have already so severely felt ; it was con- 
 sistent with the age of youth, but I should now blush 
 to be a subject of conversation to the world, and to 
 see myself pointed at as I walk along". I consider 
 all your solicitations, and, indeed, all you tell me, 
 as a severe censure upon my conduct. My love of 
 Solitude takes root in this place ;* I fly from town, 
 and stroll at random about the fields, without care, 
 without inquietude. In summer I stretch myself 
 beneath the shade upon the verdant turf, or saunter 
 on the borders of a purling stream, and defy the heats 
 of Italy. On the approach of Autumn I seek the woods 
 
 * Lord Bolingbroke, after having experienced all the 
 pleasures and pains of ambition, retired, on his return from 
 exile, into rural Solitude at Lord Tankerville's seat at Daw- 
 ley. In communicating the extreme happiness he felt in 
 the pursuit of moral tranquillity, he thus expresses himself 
 in the exultation of his heart: " I am in my own farm, 
 and here I shoot strong and tenacious roots ; I have caught 
 hold of the earth, to use a gardener's phrase, and neither 
 my enemies nor my friends will find it an easy matter to 
 transplant me again." But his lordship, like Petrarch, mis- 
 took his passion for Solitude, and supposed that to be the 
 fruit of philosophy, which was only the effect of spleen. He 
 soon quitted this delightful abode, and once more entered 
 into the bustle of public business ; but he had occasion to 
 lament this conduct : He again retired, at the age of sixty, 
 to France, far from the noise and hurry of party ; for he 
 found that his seat at Dawley was too near the theatre of his 
 ambition, to permit him to devote the rest of his life to 
 study and retirement. — Translator, 
 
 o 3 
 
2 98 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and job the Muses' train. This mode of life appears 
 to me preferable to a life at court; a life occupied 
 only by ambition and envy. I walk with pleasure on 
 the plains of Italy ; I feel the climate to be serene and 
 pure. When death terminates my labours, I only 
 risk the consolation of reposing my head upon the 
 bosom of a friend, whose eyes, while he closes mine, 
 will deplore my loss, and whose kind care will convey 
 me to a tomb in the bosom of my country ." 
 
 These were the sentiments, the philosophic senti- 
 ments of Petrarch ; but he returned soon afterwards 
 to Avignon. 
 
 Petrarch himself acknowledges, with a frankness 
 natural to his character, that his unsettled soul 
 wavered between Love and Reason. He wrote from 
 Vaucluse to his friend Pastrengo, 6C Perceiving that 
 there is no other way to effect my cure than to aban- 
 don Avignon, I have determined to leave it, not- 
 withstanding all the efforts of my friends to detain 
 me. Alas ! their friendship only tends to render me 
 unhappy ! I sought this Solitude as an asylum against 
 the tempests of life, and to live a little while retired 
 and alone before I die. I already perceive that I am 
 near my end ; but I feel with infinite pleasure that 
 my mind is free; and I here enjoy the life of the 
 blessed in heaven. Observe, however, the prevalence 
 of habit, and the force of passion; for without having 
 any business, I frequently return to that hateful 
 city. I run voluntarily into the same snares by 
 which I was first caught. An adverse wind drives 
 me from the port which I have entered, upon that 
 
ZIMMEHMANN ON SOLITUDE. 29$ 
 
 troubled ocean where I have so frequently been 
 shipwrecked. I am no sooner there than I feel 
 myself tossed by the tempest ; the heavens seem on 
 fire, the sea rages, and dangers attack me on every 
 side. I perceive the period of my days : but alas ! 
 though I turn from life with aversion, yet, worse 
 than death, I dread that which is to come/' 
 
 Pastrengo replied like a friend who knew not only 
 what Petrarch practised, but the kind of sentiments 
 which would make him feel that which he was de- 
 lighted to perform : " It is with pleasure I learn," 
 says he, " that you have burst open the doors of your 
 prison, shaken off your chains and set yourself free ; 
 that after a violent tempest you have at last reached 
 the port you wished to gain, and ride safe in the 
 harbour of a quiet life. I can at this distance 
 discover every thing you do, day after day, in your 
 retreat at Vaucluse. At the earliest dawn of day, 
 awakened by the warblers of your groves, and the 
 murmurs of your spring, you climb the hills yet 
 covered with the dew, and thence view the fertile 
 plains and cultivated vallies smiling at your feet, 
 discovering now and then the distant sea bearing the 
 freighted vessels to their ports. The tablets are 
 ready in your hand, to note down the thoughts which 
 fill your mind. When the sun rises above the horizon, 
 you seek your humble cot, partake of a frugal repast, 
 and enjoy undisturbed repose. To avoid the meridian 
 heat of the day, you retire into the vales, where your 
 delightful spring, precipitating over rocks with echo- 
 ing sounds, pours forth its wandering streams, and 
 
300 ZIMMEMRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 forms the charming river which fertilizes the valley 
 of Vaucluse. I see the cavern through which the 
 water, sometimes low and tranquil, enters; and 
 where, even in the hottest day of summer, there 
 breathes so fresh an air. Within the shade of that 
 grotto, the arched and lofty roof of which hangs o'er 
 the moving chrystal of the stream, I perceive you en- 
 joying with ravished eyes the enchanting view which 
 lies before you : your imagination warms, your soul 
 takes its intellectual flight, and then you produce 
 your choicest works. Thus retired, the vanities of this 
 world appear like a light and transient shadow, and 
 you quietly surrender them to a more useful employ- 
 ment of your time. When you quit the grotto your 
 tablets are full. Do not, however, flatter yourself 
 that you alone enjoy these treasures of your soul ; 
 for mine, which never quits you, participates with 
 you in all your delights." 
 
 The felicity which, in the midst of so many dan- 
 gers, Petrarch thus tasted at Vaucluse, the impatience 
 of his passion would have destroyed ; but Solitude, 
 judiciously employed, dissipates all the pangs with 
 which Love afflicts the heart, and affords full compen- 
 sation for the pleasures it takes away. Solitude, how- 
 ever, does not deprive the bosom of the unhappy lover 
 of its usual comforts ; he reviews his past pleasures 
 without danger, and laments their transitory nature 
 without regret ; he ceases in time to weep and suffer; 
 and when death arrives, exclaims with a tranquil 
 sigh, " O lovely object of my soul ! if you should 
 learn my fate, a love like mine may well deserve the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 301 
 
 tribute of a tear, and call one gentle sigh from your 
 relenting heart. Forget my faults, and while my 
 virtues live, let my follies die within your bosom !" 
 
 It was thus, in struggling against the prevalence 
 of his passion, that Petrarch rose to that sublimity, 
 and acquired that richness of imagination, which 
 distinguished his character, and gave him an ascen- 
 dancy over the age in which he lived greater than 
 any individual has since, in any country, been able 
 to obtain. His mind passed with the happiest facility 
 from grave to gay ; and he was enabled, when the 
 occasion required, to adopt the boldest resolutions, 
 and perform the most courageous actions. He who, 
 at the feet of his mistress, wept, sighed, and sobbed 
 like a child ; who only wrote soft and tender verses 
 in her praise ; no sooner turned his eyes towards 
 Rome, than his mind assumed a bolder tone, and he 
 wrote with all the strength and spirit of the Augustan 
 age. Monarehs,* in reading his lyric poetry, have 
 forgotten the calls of hunger and the charms of sleep -, 
 but he was then no longer the sighing Muse of Love, 
 chaunting only amorous verses to the relentless fair : 
 he no longer effeminately kissed the enslaving chains 
 of an imperious female, who treated him with aversion 
 and contempt; but with republican intrepidity he 
 regenerated, by his writings, the spirit of liberty 
 throughout Italy, and sounded aloud alarm to tyranny 
 
 * Robert King of Naples frequently relinquished the 
 most serious affairs to read the works of Petrarch, without 
 thinking either of his meals or his bed. 
 
302 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 and tyrants. Great as a statesman, profound and 
 judicious as a minister, he was consulted upon every 
 important transaction of Europe, and frequently en- 
 gaged in the most arduous negotiations. A zealous 
 friend to humanity, he endeavoured upon all occasions 
 to extinguish the torch of discord. Princes solicited 
 his company, revered his genius, formed their minds 
 from his precepts, and learned from his good sense 
 and humanity the noble art of rendering their sub- 
 jects happy. 
 
 Petrarch therefore, notwithstanding the violence 
 of his passion, enjoyed all the advantages of Solitude. 
 His visits to Vaucluse were not, as is generally con- 
 ceived, that he might be nearer to Laura ; for Laura 
 resided altogether at Avignon ; but that he might 
 avoid the frowns of his mistress and the corruptions 
 of the court. Seated in his little garden, which was 
 situate at the foot of a lofty mountain and surrounded 
 by a rapid stream, his soul rose superior to the ad- 
 versities of his fate. He was, indeed, by nature, 
 restless and unquiet ; displeased because he was not 
 at some distant place, to which it was impossible he 
 could ever go; anxious to attain every thing the 
 instant he wished for it; looking continually for 
 what it was impossible to find ; troubled, in short, 
 by that solicitude which generally accompanies genius. 
 But in his moments of tranquillity, a sound judg- 
 ment, joined to an exquisite sensibility, enabled him 
 to enjoy the delights of Solitude superior to any 
 mortal that ever existed either before or since his 
 time ; and in these moments, Vaucluse was, to his 
 
ZIMMBRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 303 
 
 feelings, the Temple of Peace, the residence of calm 
 repose, and a safe harbour against all the tempests 
 of the soul. 
 
 Solitude therefore, although it cannot conquer 
 Love, purines its most ardent flame. Man, although 
 he cannot extirpate the passions which the God of 
 nature has planted in his breast, may direct them to 
 their proper ends. If, therefore, you feel an inclina- 
 tion to be happier than Petrarch, share the pleasures 
 of your retirement with some amiable character, 
 who, better than the cold precepts of philosophy, 
 will beguile or banish, by the charms of conversa- 
 tion, all the cares and torments of life. A truly wise 
 man has said, that the presence of one thinking being 
 like ourselves, whose bosom glows with sympathy 
 and love, so far from destroying the advantages of 
 Solitude, renders them more favourable. If, like me/ 
 you owe your happiness to the fond affection of a 
 wife, she will soon induce you to forget the society 
 of men, by a tender and unreserved communication 
 of every sentiment of her mind, of every secret feeling 
 of her heart ; and the employments, the business, 
 the vicissitudes of life will render, by their variety, 
 the subjects of confidential discourse and sweet 
 domestic converse proportionably diversified. The 
 orator, who speaks upon this subject with so much 
 truth and energy, must have felt with exquisite sen- 
 sibility the pleasures of domestic happiness. 
 
 " Here," says he, (< every kind expression is remem- 
 bered, the emotions of one heart re-act with corre- 
 spondent effects upon the other ; every thought is 
 
304 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 treasured up ; every testimony of affection returned ; 
 the happy pair enjoy in each other's company all the 
 pleasures of the mind, and there is no feeling which 
 does not communicate itself to their hearts. To 
 beings thus united by the sincerest affection and the 
 closest friendship, every thing that is said or done, 
 every wish, and every event, become mutually im- 
 portant. Beings thus united, and they alone, regard 
 the advantages, which they severally possess, with a 
 joy and satisfaction untinctured by envy. It is only 
 under such an union that faults are pointed out with 
 cautious tenderness, and without ill-nature ; that 
 looks bespeak the inclination of the soul ; that the 
 gratification of every wish and desire is anticipated ; 
 that every view and intention is assimilated; that 
 the sentiments of the one conform to those of the 
 other ; and that each rejoices with cordiality at the 
 smallest advantage which the other acquires."* 
 
 Thus it is that the Solitude which we share with 
 
 * On reading this description of the effects of virtuous 
 love, it is impossible not to recollect those beautiful lines in 
 Pope's Eloisa to Abelard : 
 
 " Oh happy state ! when souls each other draw, 
 
 When Love is Liberty, and Nature Law ; 
 
 All then is full, possessing and possest, 
 
 No cravirjg void left aching in the breast ; 
 
 Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 
 
 And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. 
 
 This sure is bliss, if bliss on earth there be, 
 
 And, once the lot of Abelard and Me." 
 
ZIMMERMANN 0\ T SOLITUDE. 305 
 
 an amiable object procures us tranquillity, satisfac- 
 tion, heartfelt joy; and makes the humblest cottage 
 a dwelling-place of the purest pleasure. Love in 
 the retreats of Solitude, while the mind and the 
 heart are in harmony with each other, is capable of 
 preserving the noblest sentiments in the soul, of 
 raising the understanding to the highest degree of 
 elevation, of filling the bosom with new benevolence, 
 of rooting out all the seeds of vice, of strengthening 
 and extending all the virtues. The attacks of ill- 
 humour are by these means subdued, the violence of 
 the passions moderated, and the bitter cup of affliction 
 sweetened. It is thus that a happy love renders So- 
 litude serene, alleviates all the sufferings of the 
 world, and strews the sweetest flowers along the 
 paths of life. 
 
 Solitude frequently converts the deep anguish of 
 distress into a soothing melancholy. Gentleness is 
 a balm to the wounded heart. Every malady there- 
 fore, both of the body and the mind, feels sensible 
 effects from the consolatory expressions, the kind 
 affability, the interesting anxieties of a virtuous wife. 
 When, alas ! the buffets of the world had broke 
 down my mind ; rendered every thing around me dis- 
 pleasing : destroyed all the vigour and energy of my 
 soul ; extinguished even the hope of relief; and 
 concealing the beauties of nature from my eyes, 
 rendered the whole universe a lifeless tomb; the 
 kind attentions of a wife conveyed a secret charm, a 
 silent and consolatory virtue to my mind. Oh! 
 nothing can so sweetly soften all our sufferings as a 
 conviction that woman is not indifferent to our fate. 
 
306 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 The varieties of rural scenery afford to the dis- 
 tracted bosom the same tranquillity, which the atten- 
 tions and conversation of an amiable wife procure 
 to a sick and suffering husband, and change unutter- 
 able affliction into soft sorrow and plaintive grief. 
 
 Persons even of the tend erest years, young females 
 from fifteen to eighteen years of age, who possess 
 fine sensibilities and lively imaginations, frequently 
 experience the tender melancholy which Solitude in- 
 spires, when, in the retirement of rural life, they feel 
 the first desires of love -, and wandering every where 
 in search of a beloved object, sigh for one alone, 
 although unconscious of any particular object of 
 affection. This species of melancholy is not symp- 
 tomatic; for I have frequently seen it an original 
 malady* Rousseau was attacked with it at Vevai 
 upon the banks of the Lake of Geneva. " My heart," 
 says he, ee rushed with ardour from my bosom into a 
 thousand innocent felicities ; melting to tenderness, 
 I sighed and wept like a child. How frequently, 
 stopping to indulge my feelings, and seating myself 
 on a piece of broken rock, did I amuse myself with 
 seeing my tears drop into the stream!" I cannot 
 transcribe these lines without shedding tears on recol- 
 lecting, that in the seventeenth year of my age I 
 frequently seated myself with similar agitation under 
 the peaceful shades of those delightful shores. Love 
 relieved my pains; love, so sweetly enjoyed among 
 the groves which adorn the banks of the Lake of 
 Geneva;* love, the only disease which Solitude 
 
 * There is no native, or indeed any person possessing 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 307 
 
 cannot cure ; and which indeed we willingly endure 
 without wishing for relief. To suffer with so much 
 softness and tranquillity ; to indulge in tender sorrow 
 without knowing why, and still to prefer retirement; 
 to love the lonely margin of a limpid lake ; to wan- 
 der alone upon broken rocks, in deep caverns, in 
 dreary forests ; to feel no pleasures but in the sublime 
 and beautiful of nature, in those beauties which the 
 world despise ; to desire the company of only one 
 other being to whom we may communicate the sen- 
 sations of the soul, who would participate in all our 
 pleasures, and forget every thing else in the universe ; 
 this is a condition for which every young man ought 
 to wish, who wishes to fiy from the merciless ap- 
 proaches of a cold contentless old age.* 
 
 It is not, however, to every species of affliction 
 that Solitude will afford relief. Oh my beloved Hirsch- 
 feld! I can never restrain my tears from flowing 
 
 sensibility, of whatever country he may be, who has ever 
 beheld, without feeling the tenderest emotion, the delight- 
 ful borders of the Lake of Geneva; the enchanting spectacle 
 which nature there exhibits ; and the vast and majestic 
 horizon which that mass cf water presents to the view. Who 
 has ever returned from this scene without casting back his 
 eyes on this interesting picture, and experiencing the same 
 affliction with which the heart separates from a beloved 
 friend whom we have no expectation ever to see again 1 
 
 * This reflection of Petrarch is very affecting and very 
 just. " Illos annos egi tanta in requie, tantaque dulcedine, 
 ut illud ferme tempus solum mihi vita fuerit, reliquum omne 
 gupplicium." 
 
308 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 with increased abundance, whenever I read, in thy 
 immortal work upon the pleasures of a country life, 
 the following affecting passage, which always sinks 
 deeply into my heart : " The tears of affliction dry up 
 under the sympathising breath of zephyrs : the heart 
 expands and only feels a tranquil sorrow. The bloom 
 of nature presents itself to our eyes on every side ; 
 and in the enjoyment of its fragrance we feel relief 
 from woe. Every sad and sorrowful idea gradually 
 disappears. The mind no longer rejects consolatory 
 meditations; and as the evening sun absorbs the 
 damp vapours of a rainy day, a happy tranquillity 
 dissipates the troubles of the soul, and disposes us 
 to enjoy the peaceful charms of rural life." 
 
 There are, however, bosoms so alive to misfortune, 
 that the continual remembrance of those who were 
 once dear to their hearts preys upon their vitals, and 
 by slow degrees consumes their lives. The reading 
 of a single line, written by the hand they loved, 
 freezes their blood: the very sight of the tomb, 
 which has swallowed up the remains of all their soul 
 held dear, is intolerable to their eyes. On such beings, 
 alas 1 the Heavens smile in vain. The early violet 
 and the twittering groves, proclaiming, with the 
 approach of spring, the regeneration of all nature, 
 bring to them no charms. The garden's variegated 
 hues irritate their feelings, and, during the remainder 
 of their lives, they behold with horror those retreats, 
 to which they were kindly invited to sooth the violence 
 of their distress. They refuse to follow the com- 
 passionate hand extended to lead them from their 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 30Q 
 
 house of sorrow to the verdant plains of happiness 
 and peace. Such characters generally possess warm 
 and strong passions ; but the fineness of their feel- 
 ings becomes a real malady ; and they require to be 
 treated with great attention and with constant 
 kindness. 
 
 Softer minds, under circumstances equally dis- 
 tressful, derive a very powerful charm from Solitude. 
 The misfortunes they feel partake of the tranquillity 
 of their nature ; they plant upon the fatal tomb the 
 weeping willow and the ephemeral rose, as striking 
 emblems of their sorrow and misfortune ; they erect 
 mausolea and compose funeral dirges ; their hearts are 
 continually occupied by the idea of those whom their 
 eyes deplore, and they exist, under the sensations of 
 the truest and most sincere sorrow, in a kind of 
 middle state between earth and heaven. Such cha- 
 racters, I am conscious, feel misfortunes to their full 
 extent ; but their sorrows, provided they are undis- 
 turbed, appear to me of the happiest kind. I do not 
 pretend jto say their sorrows are insincere, or that 
 their grief is less than that of those who give them- 
 selves up to fits of violence, and sink under the 
 pressure of their misfortunes ; this would be a spe- 
 cies of stupidity, an enormity, of the consequences 
 of which I am fully sensible : but I call them happy 
 mourners, because their constitutions are so framed, 
 that their grief and sorrow do not decrease the force 
 and energy of their minds. They find enjoyments in 
 those things from which minds of a different texture 
 would feel aversion. They feel celestial joys in the 
 
SJO ZJMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 unceasing recollection of those persons whose loss 
 they deplore. 
 
 Every adversity of life is much more easily over- 
 come in Solitude than in the world, provided the 
 soul will nobly bend its flight towards a different 
 object, When a man thinks that he has no resources 
 but in despair or death, he deceives himself; for 
 despair is no resource. Let him retire to his study, 
 and there seriously trace out the consequences of 
 some settled truth, and his tears will no longer fall, 
 the weight of his misfortunes will grow light, and 
 the pangs of sorrow fly from his breast. 
 
 In Solitude the most trifling emotion of the heart, 
 every appearance of domestic felicity or rural pleasure, 
 drives away impatience and ill-humour. Ill-humour 
 is an uneasy and insupportable condition, into which 
 the soul frequently falls, when soured by a number 
 of those petty vexations, which we daily experience 
 in every step of our progress through life ; but we 
 need only to shut the door in order to avoid this 
 scourge of happiness. Impatience is a stifled anger, 
 which men silently manifest by looks and gestures, 
 and weak minds ordinarily reveal by a shower of 
 complaints. A grumbler is never farther from his 
 proper sphere than when he is in company ; Solitude 
 is his only asylum. 
 
 Vexations, however, of almost every kind are 
 much sooner healed in the silence of retirement than 
 in the noise of the world. When we have attained 
 a cheerful disposition, and do not suffer any thing to 
 thwart, restrain, or sour the temper of our minds -, 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 311 
 
 when we have learned the art of vanquishing our- 
 selves; no worldly vexations can then obstruct our 
 happiness. The deepest melancholy and most settled 
 weariness of life have, by these means, been frequently 
 banished from the breast. The progress to this end 
 is, in truth, much more rapid in women than in men. 
 The mind of a lively female flies immediately to hap- 
 piness, while that of a melancholy man still creeps 
 on with pain. The soft bosoms of the fair are easily 
 elevated or depressed : but these effects must be 
 produced by means less abstracted than Solitude ; by 
 something that will strike their senses, and by their 
 assistance penetrate to the heart. On the con- 
 trary, the mental diseases of men augment by slow 
 degrees, take deeper root, lay stronger hold of the 
 breast : and to drive them away it is necessary to 
 apply the most efficacious remedies with unshaken 
 constancy; for here feeble prescriptions are of no 
 avail. The only chance of success is by exerting every 
 endeavour to place the body under the regimen of the 
 mind. Vigorous minds frequently banish the most in- 
 veterate evils, or form a powerful shield against all the 
 darts of fate, and by braving every danger drive away 
 those feelings by which others are irritated and de- 
 stroyed. They boldly turn their eyes from what things 
 are, to what they ought to be ; and with determined 
 resolution support the bodies they are designed to 
 animate, while weaker minds surrender every thing 
 committed to their care. 
 
 The soul, however, always yields to those circum- 
 stances which are most agreeable to its peculiar 
 
312 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 character. The gaming-table, luxurious feasts, and 
 brilliant assemblies, are the most palatable aliments, 
 the most pleasing comforts to the generality of men ; 
 while the bosoms of those who sigh for Solitude, 
 from a consciousness of all the advantages it affords, 
 feel no tranquillity or enjoyment but in peaceful 
 shades. 
 
 These reflections upon the advantages which the 
 heart derives from Solitude bring me, at last, to this 
 important question : Whether it be easier to live 
 virtuously in Solitude or in the world? 
 
 In society, the virtues are frequently practised 
 from a mere sense of duty. The clergy feel it their 
 duty to afford instruction to the ignorant and con- 
 solation to the afflicted. The judges think it their 
 duty to render justice to the injured or oppressed. 
 The physician pays his visit to the sick, and cures 
 them, ill or well : and ail for the sake of humanity, 
 say these gentlemen. But all this is false ; the clergy 
 afford consolation, the lawyer renders justice, the 
 physician cures, not always from the decided inclina- 
 tion of the heart, but because he must, because his 
 duty requires it ; because the one must do honour to 
 his gown, the other is placed in the seat of justice, 
 and the third has pledged his skill on such and such 
 prognostics. The words " your known humanity," 
 which always shock my feelings, and are introduc- 
 tory to the contents of a thousand letters I have re- 
 ceived, are nothing more than the style of custom, a 
 common flattery and falsehood. Humanity is a vir- 
 tue, a nobleness of soul of the highest rank ; and 
 
Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 313 
 
 Low can any one know whether I do such and such 
 things from the love of virtue, or because I am bound 
 by duty to perform them ? 
 
 Good works, therefore, are not always acts of 
 virtue. The heart of that man, who never detaches 
 himself from the affairs of the world, is frequently 
 shut against every thing that is good. It is possible 
 to do good and not be virtuous ; for a man may be 
 great in his actions and little in his heart.* Virtue 
 is a quality much more rare than is generally ima- 
 gined. It is therefore necessary to be frugal of the 
 words humanity, virtue, patriotism, and others of 
 the same import ; they ought only to be mentioned 
 upon great occasions ; for by too frequent use their 
 meaning is weakened, and the qualities they describe 
 brought into contempt. AVho would not blush to be 
 called learned or humane, when he hears the know- 
 ledge of so many ignorant persons boasted of, and 
 " the well-known humanity" of so many villains 
 praised ? 
 
 The probability is, that men will do more good 
 in the retreats of Solitude than in the world. In 
 fact, a virtuous man, of whatever description he may 
 be, is not virtuous in consequence of example, for 
 virtuous examples are unhappily too rarely seen in the 
 world, but because in the silence of reflection he feels 
 
 * " Viri potestatibus sublimes/' says lord chancellor 
 Bacon," ipsi tibi ignoti sunt. Et dum negotiis distrahuntur, 
 tempore carent, quo sanitati aut corporis aut animae suas 
 consulant." 
 
 p 
 
314 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 that the pleasures of a good heart surpass every other^ 
 and constitute the true happiness of life. The greater 
 part, therefore of virtuous actions are exercised in 
 silence and obscurity. 
 
 Virtuous actions are more easily and more freely 
 performed in Solitude than in the world. In Soli- 
 tude no man blushes at the sight of Virtue, but in 
 the world she drags on an obscure existence, and 
 seems afraid to shew her face in public. The inter- 
 course of the world is the education of vice. Men 
 possessed of the best inclinations are surrounded by 
 so many snares and dangers, that they all commit 
 some fault every day of their lives. One man who 
 plays a first-rate character upon the theatre of the 
 world, is deficient in virtuous inclinations ; in an- 
 other of the same class, his inclinations are good 
 while his actions are vicious. In the chamber, before 
 we engage in the complicated business of the day, 
 we are, perhaps, kind, impartial, and candid, for then 
 the current of our tempers has received no contra- 
 diction ; but with the greatest attention, with the 
 most scrupulous vigilance, it is impossible to con- 
 tinue through the day completely masters of our- 
 selves, oppressed as we are with cares and vexations, 
 obliged to conform to a series of disgusting circum- 
 stances, to give audience to a multitude of men, and 
 to endure a thousand absurd and unexpected ac- 
 cidents which distract the mind. The folly, there- 
 fore, of mystic minds was in forgetting that their 
 souls were subjected to a body, and aiming, in con- 
 sequence of that error, at the highest point of specu- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 310 
 
 lative virtue. The nature of human beings cannot be 
 altered merely by living in a hermitage. The ex- 
 ercise of virtue is only easy in those situations where 
 it is not exposed to danger, and then it loses all its 
 merit. God created many hermits too weak to save 
 themselves when plunged into the abyss, because he 
 rendered them strong enough not to fall into it. 
 
 I shall here subjoin an excellent observation of a 
 celebrated Scottish philosopher — " It is the peculiar 
 effect of virtue to make a man's chief happiness 
 arise from himself and his own conduct. A bad 
 man is wholly the creature of the world. He hangs 
 upon its favour, lives by its smiles, and is happy or 
 miserable in proportion to his success. But to a 
 virtuous man, success in worldly matters is but a se- 
 condary object. To discharge his own part with 
 integrity and honour is his chief aim ; having done 
 properly what was incumbent on him to do, his mind 
 is at rest, and he leaves the event to Providence. His 
 witness is in Heaven, and his record is on high. 
 Satisfied with the approbation of God and the tes- 
 timony of a good conscience, he enjoys himself, and 
 despises the triumphs of guilt. In proportion as 
 such manly principles rule your heart, you will be- 
 come independent of the world, and will forbear com- 
 plaining of its discouragements." 
 
 To recommend this independence of the world is 
 the first aim and only end of the little philosophy 
 which may be found in this Treatise upon Solitude. 
 It is not my doctrine to lead men into the deserts, or 
 to place their residence, like that of owls, in the 
 
316 ZTMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 trunks of hollow trees ; but I would willingly re- 
 move from their minds the excessive fear of men and 
 of the world. I would, as far as is practicable, ren- 
 der them independent; I would break their fetters, 
 inspire them with a contempt of public society, and 
 leave them to devote their minds to Solitude, in 
 order that they may be able to say, at least during 
 the course of two hours in a day, " We are free" 
 
 Such a state of independence cannot be displeas- 
 ing even to the greatest enemies of Liberty ; for it 
 simply carries the mind to a rational use of Soli- 
 tude. It is by intellectual collection, by the mind's 
 strengthening itself in the sepure and noble senti- 
 ments, that we are rendered more able and more 
 anxious to fill our respective stations in life with 
 propriety. 
 
 The true apostles of Solitude have said, "It is 
 only by employing with propriety the hours of a 
 happy leisure, that we adopt firm and solid resolu- 
 tions to govern our minds and guide our actions. It 
 is there only that we can quietly reflect upon the 
 transactions of life, upon the temptations to which 
 we are most exposed, upon those weaker sides of the 
 heart which we ought to guard with the most unceas- 
 ing care, and previously arm ourselves against what- 
 ever is dangerous in our commerce with mankind. 
 Perhaps though virtue may appear, at first sight, to 
 contract' the bounds of enjoyment, you will find, upon 
 reflection, that in truth it enlarges them ; if it re- 
 strain the excess of some pleasures, it favours and 
 increases others; it precludes you from none but 
 
%-IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 317 
 
 such as are either fantastic and imaginary, or per- 
 nicious and destructive. The rich proprietor love s 
 to amuse himself in a contemplation of his wealthy 
 the voluptuary in his entertainments, the man of the 
 world with his friends and his assemblies ; but the 
 truly good man finds his pleasure in the scrupulous 
 discharge of the august duties of life. He sees a 
 new sun shining before him ; thinks himself sur- 
 rounded by a more pure and lively splendour ; every 
 object is embellished, and he gaily pursues his career. 
 He who penetrates into the secret causes of things, 
 who reads in the respectable obscurity of a wise So- 
 litude, will return us public thanks. We immedi- 
 ately acquit ourselves more perfectly in business, we 
 resist with greater ease the temptations of vice, and 
 we owe all these advantages to the pious recollection 
 which Solitude inspires, to our separation from man- 
 kind, and to our independence of the world." 
 
 Liberty, leisure, a quiet conscience, and a retire- 
 ment from the world, are therefore the surest and 
 most infallible means to arrive at virtue. Under 
 such circumstances, it is not necessary to restrain 
 the passions merely to prevent them from disturb- 
 ing the public order, or to abate the fervour of ima- 
 gination ; for in our review of things we willingly 
 leave them as they are, because we have learned to 
 laugh at their absurdity. Domestic life is no longer, 
 ^s in the gay world, a scene of languor and disgust ; 
 the field of battle to every base and brutal passion ; 
 the dwelling of envy, vexation, and ill-humour. 
 Peace and happiness inhabit those bosoms that re- 
 
318 ZfMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 nounce the poisonous springs of pleasure ; and the 
 mind is thereby rendered capable of communicating 
 its purest joys to all around. He who shuns the 
 contaminated circles of the vicious ; who flies from 
 the insolent looks of proud stupidity, and the arro- 
 gance of successful villainy ; who beholds the void 
 which all the idle entertainments and vain preten- 
 sions of public life leave within the breast, is never 
 discontented or disturbed at home. 
 
 The pleasures of the world lose their charms on 
 every sacrifice made in Solitude at the altar of vir- 
 tue. " I love rather to shed tears myself, than to 
 make others shed them/' said a German lady to me 
 one day. She did not seem conscious that it is almost 
 impossible either to say or do any thing more gene- 
 rous. Virtue like this affords more real content to 
 the heart than all the enjoyments of the world, and 
 all the amusements which are hourly sought to de- 
 stroy time, and to steal the bosom from itself. The 
 mind is always happy in finding itself capable of ex- 
 ercising faculties which it was not before conscious 
 it possessed. Solitude opens the soul to every noble 
 pleasure ; fills it with intelligence, serenity, calmness 
 and content, when we expected nothing but tears of 
 sorrow ; it, in short, repays every misfortune by a 
 thousand new and unalterable delights. 
 
 There is not a villain in existence whose mind 
 does not silently acknowledge, that Virtue is the 
 corner-stone of all felicity, in the world, as well as 
 in Solitude. Vice, however, is continually spreading 
 her silken nets to ensnare multitudes of every rank 
 
-ZIMMERMANN OX SOLITUDE. 319 
 
 and every station. To watch all the seductive in- 
 clinations of the heart, not only when they are pre- 
 sent, but while they yet lie dormant in the breast, to 
 vanquish every desire by employing the mind in the 
 pursuit of noble pleasures, has ever been considered 
 the greatest conquest which the soul is capable of 
 gaining- over the world and itself; and inward peace 
 has ever been the price of this victory. 
 
 Happy is the man who carries with him into So- 
 litude this inward peace of mind, and there preserves 
 it unaltered. Of what service would it be to leave 
 the town, and seek the calmness and tranquillity of 
 retirement, if misanthropy still lurk within the heart, 
 and we there continue our sacrifices to this fatal 
 passion ? Divine content, a calm and open counten- 
 ance, will, under such circumstances, be as seldom 
 found in the flower-enamelled meadows, as in the 
 deepest night of Solitude, or in the silent shades of 
 obscure cells. To purify and protect the heart, is 
 the first and last duty which we have to perform in 
 Solitude : this task once accomplished, our happi- 
 ness is secure; for we have then learned the value 
 of the tranquillity, the leisure, and the liberty we 
 enjoy. Hatred to mankind ought not to be the 
 cause of our leaving the world ; we may shun their 
 society, and still maintain our wishes for their 
 felicity. 
 
 An essential portion of the happiness which we 
 taste in Solitude arises from our ability to appreciate 
 things according to their true value, independently 
 of the public opinion. When Rome, after the con- 
 
320 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 quest of the pirates, removed Lucullus from the head 
 of the army, in order to give the command of it to 
 Pompey, and resigned by this act the government of 
 the empire to the discretion of a single man, that 
 artful citizen beat his breast, as a sign of grief, at 
 being invested with the honour, and exclaimed - f 
 " Alas ! is there no end to my conflicts ? How much 
 better would it have been to have remained one of 
 the undistinguished Many, than to be perpetually 
 engaged in war, and have my body continually locked 
 in armour ! Shall I never be able to fly from envy to 
 a rural retreat, to domestic happiness, to 'conjugal 
 endearments !" — Pompey spoke the sentiments of 
 truth in the language of dissimulation ; for he had 
 not yet learned really to esteem that which all men 
 possessed of native ambition and the lust of power 
 despise ; nor did he yet contemn that which at this 
 period of the republic every Roman, who was eager 
 to command, esteemed more than all other things : 
 unlike Manius Curius, the greatest Roman of his 
 age, who, after having vanquished several warlike na- 
 tions, driven Pyrrhus out of Italy, and enjoyed three 
 times the honours of a triumph,* retired to his cot- 
 tage in the country, and with his own victorious 
 hands cultivated his little farm, where the ambassa- 
 
 * Manius Curius Dentatus triumphed twice in his first 
 consulate in the 463d of Rome ; first over the Samnites, 
 and afterwards over the Sabines ; and eight years after- 
 wards, in his third consulate, he triumphed over Pyrrhus. 
 After this he led up the less triumph, called Ovation, for his 
 victory over the Lucanians. — Translator. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 221 
 
 dors of the Samnites came to offer him a large pre- 
 sent of gold, and found him seated in the chimney- 
 corner dressing turnips.* 
 
 No king or prince was ever so happy as was 
 Manius Curius in the humble employment of dress- 
 ing his turnips. Princes know too well, that under 
 many circumstances they are deprived of friends ; 
 and this is the reason why they ask the advice of 
 many, but confide in none. The honest subjects of 
 a nation, every man of reflection and good sense, 
 pity the conditions of virtuous sovereigns ; for even 
 the best of sovereigns are not altogether exempt 
 from fears, jealousies, and torments. Their felicity 
 never equals that of a laborious and contented hus- 
 bandman ; their pleasures are not so permanent ; 
 they never experience the same tranquillity and 
 content. The provision of a peasant is coarse, but 
 to his appetite it is delicious ; his bed is hard, but he 
 goes to it fatigued with the honest labours of the day, 
 and sleeps sounder on his mat of straw, than monarchs 
 on their beds of down. 
 
 The pleasures of Solitude may be enjoyed by 
 every description of men, without exception of rank 
 or. fortune. The freshness of the breeze, the mag- 
 nificence of the forests, the rich tints of the meadows, 
 
 * Dentatus absolutely refused the present, and gave the 
 ambassadors this answer : " A man who can be satisfied 
 with such a supper has no need of gold ; and I think it 
 more glorious to conquer the owners of it, than to possess it 
 myself." — Translator. 
 
 P 3 
 
322 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 the inexhaustible variety which summer spreads over 
 the face of all nature, enchant not only philosophers, 
 kings, and heroes, but the beautiful picture ravishes 
 the mind of the most ignorant spectator with ex- 
 quisite delight. An English author has very justly 
 observed, " It is not necessary that he who looks 
 with pleasure on the colours of a flower should study 
 the principles of vegetation, or that the Ptolemaick 
 and Copernican systems should be compared, before 
 the light of the sun can gladden, or its warmth invi- 
 gorate. Novelty is itself a source of gratification ,• 
 and Milton justly observes, that to him who has been 
 long pent up in cities no rural object can be pre- 
 sented, which will not delight or refresh some of his 
 senses." 
 
 Exiles themselves have frequently felt the advan- 
 tages and enjoyments of Solitude. To supply the 
 place of the world from which they are banished, 
 they create in retirement a new world for themselves , 
 forget those factitious pleasures exclusively attached 
 to the condition of the great ; habituate themselves 
 to others of a nobler kind, more worthy the attention 
 of a rational being;* and, to pass their days in tran- 
 quillity, find out a thousand little felicities, which are 
 only to be met with at a distance from all society, far 
 
 * Cicero says, " Multa praeclare Dyoriisius Phalereus in 
 illo exilio scripsit, non in usum aliquem suum, quo erat or 
 batus ; sed animi cultus ille erat ei quasi quidam humanita- 
 tis cibus ." 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 323 
 
 removed from all consolation, far from their country, 
 their family, and their friends. 
 
 But to procure happiness, exiles, like other men, 
 must fix their minds upon some one object; they 
 must adopt some particular pursuit, capable of creat- 
 ing future hopes, or of affording immediate pleasure. 
 Exiles, alas ! aspire to the attainment of happiness, 
 and would still live for the sake of virtue. 
 
 Maurice prince of Isenbourg distinguished him- 
 self by his courage, during a service of twenty years, 
 under Ferdinand duke of Brunswick, and marshal 
 Broglio, in the wars between the Russians and the 
 Turks. Health and repose were sacrificed to the 
 gratification of his ambition and love of glory. During 
 his service in the Russian army, he fell under the 
 displeasure of the empress, and was sent into exile. 
 The nature of exile in Russia is well known ; but he 
 contrived to render even a Russian banishment 
 agreeable. At first his mind and his body were op- 
 pressed by the sorrows and disquietude of his situa- 
 tion ; and he became a mere shadow. The little 
 work written by Lord Bolingbroke upon exile fell 
 accidentally into his hands. He read it several 
 times ; and " in proportion to the number of times I 
 read/' said the prince, in the preface of the elegant 
 and nervous translation which he made of this work, 
 " I felt all my sorrows and disquietudes vanish." 
 
 This treatise of Lord Bolingbroke upon the sub- 
 ject of exile is a master-piece of stoic philosophy and 
 fine writing. He there boldly examines all the 
 dversities of life. " Let us,' 5 says he, " set all our 
 
324 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 past and our present afflictions at once before our 
 eyes. Let us resolve to overcome them, instead of 
 flying from them, or wearing out the sense of them, 
 by long and ignominious patience. Instead of pal- 
 liating remedies, let us use the incision knife and the 
 caustic, search the wound to the bottom, and work 
 an immediate and radical cure." 
 
 The mind, without doubt, strengthens its powers 
 under the circumstances of perpetual banishment in 
 the same manner as in uninterrupted Solitude ; and 
 habit supplies the necessary power to support its 
 misfortune. To exiles who are inclined to indulge 
 all the pleasing emotions of the heart, Solitude 
 indeed becomes an easy situation; for they there ex- 
 perience pleasures which were before unknown, and 
 from that moment forget those which they tasted in 
 the happier situations of life. When Brutus saw 
 Marcellus in exile at Myteline, he found him sur- 
 rounded by the highest felicity of which human 
 nature is susceptible, and devoted, as before his 
 banishment, to the study of every useful science. 
 The sight made so deep an impression on his mind, 
 that when he was again returning to the world, he 
 felt that it was Brutus who was going into exile, and 
 not Marcellus, whom he left behind. 
 
 Quintus Metellus Numidicus had suffered the 
 same fate some years before. While the people 
 were laying, under the conduct of Marius, the 
 foundations of that tyranny which Caesar afterwards 
 erected, Metellus singly, in the midst of an alarmed 
 senate, and surrounded by an enraged populace, 
 
2IMMEItMANN ON SOLITUDE. 325 
 
 refused to take the oath imposed by the pernicious 
 laws of the tribune Saturninus. His constancy 
 became his crime, and exile his punishment ; he was 
 dragged from his seat like the vilest of criminals by 
 the licentious rabble, and exposed to the indignity of 
 a public impeachment. The most virtuous of the 
 citizens still offered to share his fortunes, and protect 
 his integrity by force 3 but he generously declined to 
 increase the confusion of the commonwealth by 
 asserting his innocence; for he thought it a duty 
 which he owed to the laws not to suffer any sedition 
 to take place ; he judged in the frenzy of the Roman 
 commonwealth, as Plato had before judged in the 
 dotage of the Athenian : " If the times should mend/' 
 said he, " 1 shall recover my station; if not, it is a 
 happiness to be absent from Rome." He went there- 
 fore voluntarily into exile, and wherever he passed 
 he carried the sure sympton of a sickly state, and the 
 certain prognostic of an expiring republic*. 
 
 * This event took place during the sixth cousulate of 
 Marius U. C. 653. Saturninus, to satisfy his hungry fol- 
 lowers, had proposed that those lands on the Po, which had 
 been desolated by the irruptions of the Barbarians, should 
 be seized, and distributed by the direction of Marius ; but 
 when he had assembled the people to confirm this project, 
 Quintus Servilius Caepio, with a band of faithful attendants, 
 broke the rails, overset the urns, and dispersed the multi- 
 tude. This resistance, however, only served to impel 
 Saturninus to more decisive measures ; and among a variety 
 of new regulations it was declared treason for any one to 
 interrupt a tribune in putting a question to the people ; that 
 the acts of the tribes should be considered as laws ; and that 
 
326 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 Rutilius also, feeling equal contempt for the 
 sentiments and manners of the age, withdrew from 
 the corrupted city. He had defended Asia against 
 the extortions of the publicans, according to the 
 strict justice of which he made profession, and to the 
 particular duty of his office This generosity irritated 
 the equestrian order and motives equally base ex- 
 asperated IMarius's party against him. The most 
 virtuous and innocent citizen of the republic was 
 accused of corruption, and prosecuted by the vile 
 and infamous Apicius. The authors of this false 
 
 every senator, on pain of expulsion, should swear to confirm 
 these acts within five days after they had been sanctioned 
 by the approbation of the people. Marius, however, art- 
 fully proposed to reject the oath demanded ; the majority of 
 the senators applauded his sentiments ; and Metellus 
 declared his resolution never to submit to the degrading- 
 engagement. But Marius was no sooner assured of the 
 firmness of this noble Roman, against whom he entertained 
 an implacable hatred, than he changed the language he had 
 so lately held ; and when the moment of trial arrived, he 
 demanded and received the oath, amidst the acclamations 
 of Saturninus and his adherents. The astonished and 
 trembling senate followed his example. Metellus, bold in 
 conscious virtue, alone refused to retract from his former 
 declaration ; and while he rejected the importunities of his 
 friends, who represented the danger to which he was ex- 
 posed, " To act ill in any circumstance/' said he, " is the 
 effect of a corrupt heart ; to act well when there is nothing 
 to fear, is the merit of a common man ; but to act well when 
 a man exposes himself to the greatest hazards is peculiar to 
 the truly virtuous. " — Translator. 
 
ZIMMERMAN'N ON SOLITUDE. 32? 
 
 accusation sat as judges ; and Rutilius was of course 
 condemned ; for he scarcely condescended to defend 
 the cause. Retiring into the east, the Roman virtue, 
 which Rome was too degenerate to bear, was received 
 with every mark of affection and respect. Before the 
 term of his banishment expired, he shewed still 
 greater contempt to Rome: for when Sylla would 
 have recalled him, he not only refused to return, but 
 removed the place of his residence to a greater 
 distance. 
 
 To all these instances * of happy and contented 
 exiles, Cicero is a memorable exception. He pos- 
 sessed all the resources, all the sentiments necessary 
 
 * These instances are also adduced in that truly great 
 and philosophic work, " Reflections upon Exile," by Lord 
 Bolingbroke. " I propose by these examples," says his 
 lordship, " to shew that as a change of place, simply con- 
 sidered, can render no man unhappy, so the other evils 
 which are objected to exile either cannot happen to wise 
 and virtuous men, or if they do happen to them, cannot 
 render them miserable. Stones are hard, and cakes of ice 
 cold, and all who feel them feel alike : but the good or the 
 bad events, which fortune brings upon us, are felt according 
 to the qualities that we not they possess. They are in 
 themselves indifferent and common accidents, and they 
 acquire strength by nothing but our vice or our weakness. 
 Fortune can dispense neither felicity nor infelicity, unless 
 we co-operate with her, Few men who are unhappy under 
 the loss of an estate would be happy in the possession of it ; 
 and those who deserve to enjoy the advantages which exile 
 takes away will not be unhappy when they are deprived of 
 them." — Translator. 
 
328 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE* 
 
 to draw the greatest advantages from Solitude ; but 
 he had not sufficient strength of mind to support 
 himself under the adversity of banishment. This 
 great man, who had been the saviour of his country, 
 who had feared, in the support of that cause, 
 neither the menaces of a dangerous faction, nor the 
 poniards of assassins, when he came to suffer for the 
 same cause sunk under the weight. He had before 
 lamented the weakness of his constitution, but after 
 exile he became quite dejected, and when that once 
 happens, all power of mind is gone ; the soul imme- 
 diately loses all its energies, and becomes equally 
 incapable of suggesting vigorous measures, or of 
 performing heroic actions. Cicero dishonoured that 
 banishment which indulgent Providence meant to be 
 the means of rendering his glory complete. Uncer- 
 tain whether he should go, or what he should do, 
 fearful as a woman, and froward as a child, he 
 lamented the loss of his rank, of his riches, and of 
 his splendid popularity. His eloquence served only 
 to paint his ignominy in stronger colours. He wept 
 over the ruins of his fine house which Clodius had 
 demolished : and his separation from Terentia, whom 
 he repudiated not long afterwards, was perhaps an 
 affliction to him at this time. Every thing becomes 
 intolerable to the man who is once subdued by grief. 
 He regrets what he took no pleasure in enjoying; 
 and, overloaded already, he shrinks at the weight of 
 a feather. Cicero's behaviour, in short, was such, 
 that his friends, as well as his enemies, believed him 
 to have lost his senses. Caesar beheld, with secret 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 329 
 
 satisfaction, the man who had refused to be his lieu- 
 tenant weeping under the scourge of Clodius 
 Pompey hoped to find some excuse for his own ingra- 
 titude, in the contempt to which the friend whom he 
 had abandoned exposed himself. Nay, Atticus 
 judged him too meanly attached to his former fortune, 
 and reproached him for it. Atticus, whose great 
 talents were usury and trimming, who placed his 
 principal merit in being rich, and who would have 
 been noted with infamy at Athens for keepiug well 
 with all sides and venturing on none ; even Atticus 
 blushed for Tully, and the most plausible man alive 
 assumed the style of Cato. Solitude lost all its in- 
 fluence over Cicero; because weak and melancholy 
 sentiments continually depressed his mind, and 
 turned the worst side of every object to his view. He 
 died, however, like a hero, and not like a dejected 
 coward. " Approach, old soldier," cried he from 
 his litter, to Pompilius Loenas, his client and his 
 murderer $ " and, if you have the courage, take my 
 life." 
 
 A man under the adversity of banishment cannot 
 hope to see his days glide quietly away in rural de- 
 lights and philosophic repose, except he has honour- 
 ably discharged those duties which he owed to the 
 world, and given that bright example to future ages, 
 which every character exhibits who is as great after 
 his fall as he was at the most brilliant period of his 
 prosperity. 
 
 Solitude affords an unalterable felicity under the 
 pressures of old age, and in the decline of life. The 
 
330 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 life of man is a voyage of short duration, and his old 
 age a fleeting day. The mind is enabled by Solitude 
 to forget the tempests of which it was so long the 
 sport : old age therefore, if we consider it as the time 
 of repose, as an interval between the affairs of this 
 world and the higher concerns of death, a harbour 
 whence we quietly view the rocks on which w r e were 
 in danger of being wrecked, is, perhaps, the most 
 agreeable period of our lives. 
 
 The human mind, anxious to increase its stores of 
 knowledge, resorts in general to outward and distant 
 objects, instead of applying to its own internal 
 powers, and to those objects that are more immedi- 
 ately within its reach. We wander to foreign shores 
 in search of that which might perhaps be better 
 found at home. True and useful wisdom, such as 
 will give discretion to youth, and the advantages of 
 experience to age, can only be learned in Solitude, 
 and taught by self-examination. Solitude will repress 
 the levity of youth, render manhood cheerful and 
 serene, and banish the depression which too fre- 
 quently accompanies old age. 
 
 Youth enters gaily on the sea of life ; and fondly 
 dreams each wind and star his friend, until the storm 
 of sorrow shakes his shattered bark, and experience 
 teaches him to guard against the rock by which he 
 was surprised. Acquainted with the shoals and dan- 
 gers by which he is surrounded in the world, caution 
 insures success ; he no longer complains of the tem- 
 pest which obstructed his voyage, but looks with 
 happy omens towards the haven of tranquillity and 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 331 
 
 repose; and relies for happiness upon that knowledge 
 which at an earlier period of his life he has gained 
 of himself. 
 
 A celebrated German has sagely observed, that 
 there are political as well as religious chartreux; 
 and that both the one and the other order are fre- 
 quently the best and most pious of men. " In the 
 deepest recesses of the forest/' says this writer, 
 " dwells the peaceful sage, the tranquil observer, 
 the friend of truth, the lover of his country. His 
 wisdom excites the admiration of mankind 3 they 
 derive lustre from the beams of his knowledge, adore 
 his love of truth, and feel his affection to his fellow 
 creatures. They are anxious to gain his confidence 
 and his friendship : and are as much astonished at the 
 wisdom which proceeds from his lips, and the rec- 
 titude which accompanies all his actions, as they are 
 at the obscurity of his name, and the mode of his 
 existence. They endeavour to draw him from his 
 Solitude, and place him on the throne; but they im- 
 mediately perceive inscribed upon his forehead, 
 beaming with sacred fire, ' Odi profanum vulgus et 
 arceo/ and, instead of being his seducers, they be- 
 come his Proselytes." 
 
 But, alas ! this political chartreux is no more. I 
 saw him formerly in Wetravia. His animated figure, 
 announcing the highest degree of wisdom and tran- 
 quillity, filled my bosom with respect and filial love. 
 There did not, perhaps, at that time exist a character 
 more profound in any court 5 he was intimately ac- 
 quainted with all, and corresponded personally with 
 
332 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 some of the most celebrated sovereigns of Europe. I 
 never found a man who penetrated with so much 
 skill and certainty into the thoughts and actions of 
 others ; who had formed such true opinions of the 
 world in general, and of the most important cha- 
 racters on its theatre ; never was a mind more free, 
 more open, more energetic, or more mild ; an eye 
 more lively and penetrating ; I never, in short, knew 
 a man, in whose company I could have lived with 
 higher pleasure, or died with greater comfort. The 
 place of his retirement was modest and simple ; his 
 grounds without art; and his table frugal. The 
 charm which I felt in the rural retreat of Wateravia, 
 the residence of the venerable Baron de Schauten- 
 bach, is inexpressible. 
 
 Did youth ever possess more energy and fire, 
 were the hours of Solitude ever better employed, 
 than by Rousseau during the latter years of his life ? 
 It was in his old age that he wrote the greater and 
 the best parts of his works. The poor philosopher, 
 when he felt himself verging to the period of his ex- 
 istence, endeavoured to find tranquillity of heart 
 among the shades of Solitude; but his endeavours 
 were in vain. Rousseau had experienced too fre- 
 quently the fury of those who are enemies to truth ; 
 his feelings had been too frequently exposed to the 
 severest and most unremitted persecutions. Before 
 he discovered the danger of his situation, he had 
 suffered, as well from his weak constitution, as from 
 the little care he had taken of his health, a long and 
 painful sickness. In the last years of his life, the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 333 
 
 effects of melancholy and chagrin were more appa- 
 rent than ever. He frequently fainted, and talked 
 wildly when he was ill. " All that Rousseau " wrote 
 during his old age," says one of our refined critics, 
 " was nonsense." " Yes," replied his fair friend, 
 with great truth, " but he wrote nonsense so agree- 
 ably, that we sometimes like to talk nonsense with 
 him." 
 
 Old age appears to be the properest season of 
 meditation. The ardent fire of youth is stifled ; the 
 meridian heat of life's short day is passed, and suc- 
 ceeded by the soft tranquillity and refreshing quie- 
 tude of evening. It is therefore useful to devote 
 some time to meditation before we leave the world, 
 whenever we can procure an interval of repose. The 
 thought alone of the arrival of this happy period 
 recreates the mind : it is the first fine day of spring, 
 after a long and dreary winter. 
 
 Petrarch scarcely perceived the approaches of old 
 age. By constant activity he rendered his retirement 
 always happy, and every year passed, in pleasure 
 and tranquillity, unperceived away. From a little 
 verdant arbour in the neighbourhood of a Carthusian 
 monastery, he wrote to his friend Settimo with a 
 naivete unknown to modern manners : (< Like a 
 wearied traveller, I iucrease my ^>eace in proportion 
 as 1 draw nearer the end of my journey. I read and 
 write night and day ; they alternately relieve each 
 other. These are my only occupations, and the 
 source of all my pleasures. I lie awake a great part 
 of the night. I labour ; I divert my mind ; and make 
 
334 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE., 
 
 every effort in my power : the more difficulties I 
 encounter, the more my ardour increases: novelty 
 incites ; obstacles sharpen me : the labour is certain ; 
 but the success precarious. My eyes are dimmed by 
 watchings ; my hand tired of holding the pen, my 
 wish is, that posterity may know me. If I do not 
 succeed in this wish, the age in which I live, or at 
 least the friends who have known me, will do me 
 justice, and that is sufficient. My health is so good, 
 my constitution so robust, my temperament so warm, 
 that neither the maturity of age, the most serious 
 occupations, the habit of continency, nor the power 
 of time, can vanquish the rebellious enemy which I 
 am obliged incessantly to attack. 1 rely upon Pro_ 
 vidence, without which, as it has frequently happened 
 before, I should certainly become its victim. At the 
 end of winter I frequently take up arms against the 
 flesh ; and am even at this moment fighting for my 
 liberty against its most dangerous enemy." 
 
 In old age, the most obscure retirement in the 
 country adds still greater glory to those ardent and 
 energetic minds who fly from the world to terminate 
 their career in Solitude. Though far removed from 
 the theatre of their fame, they shine with higher 
 lustre than in the days of their youth. " It is in 
 Solitude, in exile, oh the bed of death," says Pope, 
 " that the noblest characters of antiquity shone with 
 the greatest splendour; it was then that they per. 
 formed the greatest services ; for they then commu- 
 nicated their knowledge to mankind." 
 
 Rousseau may be included in this observation. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 335 
 
 " It is certainly doing some service," says he, " to 
 give men an example of the life which they ought to 
 lead. It is certainly useful, when all power of mind 
 or strength of body is decayed, boldly to make men 
 listen to the voice of truth. It is of some service to 
 inform men of the absurdity of those opinions which 
 render them miserable. I should be much more 
 useless to my countrymen living amongst them, than 
 I can be in the occasion of my retreat. Of what 
 importance is it where I live, if I act as I ought?" 
 
 But a young lady of Germany did not understand 
 things in this way. She maintained that Rousseau 
 was a dangerous seducer of the youthful mind ; and 
 that he had acted extremely wrong in discovering in 
 his Confessions all his faults, his vicious inclinations, 
 and the worst side of his heart " Such a work 
 written by a man of virtue," said she, " would be 
 immediately decried ; but Rousseau, by whose writ- 
 ings the wicked are so captivated, in his story of the 
 ' ruban vole' evinces a heart of the blackest dye ! There 
 are a thousand passages in that book from which we 
 may clearly see that his pen was guided by vanity 
 alone, and others where we feel that he utters senti- 
 ments against his own conviction. There is nothing, 
 in short, throughout the work which bears the mark 
 of truth : all that we learn from it is, that Madame 
 de Warens was the original from which Rousseau 
 copied his Julia The Confessions of Rousseau, 
 generally speaking, contain a great many fine words 
 with very few good thoughts. If, instead of rejecting 
 e/ery opportunity of advancing himself in life, Rous- 
 
36 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 seau had engaged in any kind of trade, he would have 
 been more useful to the world than he has been by 
 the publication of his dangerous writings." 
 
 This incomparable criticism upon Rousseau merits 
 preservation, because I believe it is the only one of 
 its kind. The Confessions of Rousseau are certainly 
 not proper for the eye of youth ; but to me they are 
 works as replete with philosophy, and as worthy of 
 attention, as any the present age has produced. 
 Their inimitable style and enchanting tints are their 
 least merit. The remotest posterity will read the 
 Confessions of Rousseau, without asking how old the 
 author was when he gave to the age in which he 
 lived this last instance of the sincerity of his heart. 
 
 The days of a virtuous old man, who has attained 
 to the perfection of his pleasures, flow on with unin- 
 terrupted gaiety; he then receives the reward for the 
 good actions he has performed, and carries with him 
 the benedictions of all around him. The eye is 
 never afraid to review the transactions of an honour- 
 able and virtuous life. The energetic mind never 
 shudders at the sight of the tomb. The empress 
 Maria-Theresa has caused her own mausoleum to be 
 erected ; and frequently stops to view a monument, 
 the dreadful thoughts of which so few can bear: she 
 points it out to the observation of her children, and 
 says, " Is it possible for us to be arrogant, when we 
 here behold what, in the course of a few years, will 
 become the depositary of emperors?'* 
 
 There are few men who think with so much sub- 
 limity. Every one, however, may retire from the 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 337 
 
 world; appreciate the past by its just value 3 and 
 during the remainder of his days cultivate and extend 
 the knowledge he has acquired. The tomb will then 
 lose its menacing aspect ; and man will look upon 
 death like the calm closing of a fine day. 
 
 The pure enjoyments of the heart frequently en- 
 gender religious ideas, which reciprocally augment 
 the pleasures of Solitude A simple, innocent, and 
 tranquil life qualifies the heart to raise itself towards 
 God. The contemplation of nature disposes the 
 mind to religious devotion, and the highest effect of 
 religion is tranquillity. 
 
 When the heart is penetrated with true senti- 
 ments of religion, the world loses all its charms, and 
 the bosom feels with less anguish the miseries and 
 torments attached to humanity. You live continually 
 in verdant meadows, and see yourself surrounded by 
 the fresh springs, upon the borders of which the 
 shepherd of Israel fed his nocks. The tumultuous 
 hurry of the world appears like thunder rolling at a 
 distance ; like the murmuring noise of distant waters, 
 the course of which you perceive, while its waves 
 break against the rock upon which you are safely 
 seated. When Addison perceived that he was given 
 over by his physicians, and felt his end approaching, 
 he sent for a young man of a disposition naturally 
 good, and who was sensible of the loss with which he 
 was threatened. He arrived ; but Addison, who was 
 extremely feeble, and whose life at this moment 
 hung quivering on his lips, observed a profound 
 silence. After a long pause, the youth at length 
 
 Q 
 
338 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 addressed him, " Sir, you desired to see me; signify 
 your commands, and I will execute them with religi- 
 ous punctuality." Addison took him by the hand, 
 and replied in his dying voice, " observe with what 
 tranquillity a Christian can die*," 
 
 Such is the consolation and tranquillity which 
 religion affords ; such is the peace of mind which a 
 life of simplicity and innocence procures ; a condition 
 rarely experienced in the world. Even when it is 
 not altogether in our own power to remove the ob- 
 stacles to this inward peace; to oppose upon all 
 occasions the victory of the world; the idea of 
 sacrificing to God is very natural and affecting to 
 every warm and virtuous heart. Why, therefore, are 
 we so continually discontented and miserable ? Why 
 do we so frequently complain of the want of happi- 
 ness and enjoyment, if it be not because we permit 
 the mind to be imposed upon by false appearances ; 
 because sensuality frequently predominates over 
 reason ; because we prefer deceitful gifts and fleeting 
 pleasures to more essential and permanent enjoy- 
 ments ; because, in one word, the bosom is insensible 
 of the august precepts of our holy religion? 
 
 * The person here alluded to was Lord Warwick, a 
 young man of very irregular life, and perhaps of loose 
 opinions. Addison, for whom he did not want respect, had 
 very diligently endeavoured to reclaim him; but his 
 arguments and expostulations had no effect : when he found 
 his life near its end, therefore, he directed the young lord 
 to be called, and made this last experiment to reclaim him. 
 What effect this awful scene had on the earl is unknown ; 
 he likewise died himself in a short time. — The Translator. 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 339 
 
 But he who has studied the doctrines of the 
 gospel, and meditated upon them in silence, has 
 nothing more to desire. He is at last sensible of the 
 kind of character which he forms in the world ; of 
 that which he may acquire in Solitude; and of that 
 which it is his duty to attain. If he be inclined to 
 think like a philosopher, and live like a Christian, he 
 will renounce the poisoned pleasures of that world, 
 which enervate his mind> banish every serious 
 thought, and prevent the heart from rising to its 
 God. Disgusted with the frivolous chimeras of vanity 
 and folly, he retires to a distance from them to con- 
 template his own character ; to elevate his mind to 
 virtuous resolutions, and to resign himself stedfastly 
 and entirely to the emotions of his heart. If he con- 
 tinue to sail upon that tempestuous sea, still he will 
 with prudence avoid the rocks and sands of life; will 
 turn, during the storm, from those dangers by which 
 he may be wrecked; and feel less joy in those hours 
 when he sails in a fair wind and favourable sky, than 
 in those when he eludes the perils which surround 
 him. 
 
 To the man who has accustomed his mind silently 
 to collect its thoughts, the hours which he consecrates 
 to God in Solitude are the happiest of his life. Every 
 time we silently raise our minds to God, we are 
 carried back into ourselves. We become less sensible 
 of the absence of those things on which we placed 
 our happiness ; and experience much less pain in 
 retiring from the noise of the world to the silence of 
 Solitude. We acquire, by degrees, a more intimate 
 
340 ZIMMEMRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 knowledge of ourselves, and learn to look into the 
 human breast with a more philosophic eye. We 
 scrutinize our character with greater severity; feel 
 with higher sensibility the necessity of reforming our 
 conduct ; and reflect more maturely on that which is 
 the end of our lives. Conscious that our actions 
 become more acceptable in the sight of God, in pro- 
 portion to the virtuous motives from which they 
 spring, men ought benevolently to suppose that we 
 do good for virtue's sake ; but every good work ad- 
 mits of so many secondary views, that the real 
 motive is not always perhaps under the direction of 
 the heart. Every good action, without doubt, con- 
 veys quietude to the breast; but is this quietude 
 always pure ? Was not the mind merely actuated by 
 the consideration of profane and worldly views to 
 gratify a transient passion ; or influenced by self-love, 
 rather than by the feelings of brotherly affection? 
 We certainly discuss our thoughts and actions much 
 better, and probe the emotions of the heart with 
 greater sincerity, when we select for the examination 
 of great and important truths those hours when we 
 are alone before God. 
 
 It is thus that in Solitude we renounce our inti- 
 mate connection with men, to look back upon the 
 transactions of life ; to discuss our conduct in the 
 world ; to prepare for ourselves a more rational em- 
 ployment in future; and to render "an account of 
 those actions we have yet to perform. It is thus that 
 the wounds whioh we have received in the hostilities 
 of life are healed. In the intervals of a religious 
 
ZlMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 341 
 
 retirement, virtuous resolutions are more easily 
 acquired ; the heart is more easily appeased ; and we 
 discover with greater certainty the safe road through 
 all the formidable perils of life. It is thus that we 
 are never less alone than Avhen no human being is 
 near us, because we are then in the presence of Him 
 whose will it is of the highest importance to our 
 happiness to obey. 
 
 Solitude always calls us from weakness to power, 
 from seduction to resistance, from that which is 
 present to that which is to come. Men, it is true, 
 do not always enter into Solitude to commune with 
 God ; but they willingly quit noisy and tumultuous 
 assemblies for the quietude which ever reigns in his 
 tranquil house, and rejoice that they are no longer 
 obliged to lend themselves to pleasures which possess 
 neither delicacy nor morality. In every peaceful 
 moment of our existence, we are more immediately 
 under the eye of Him whom it is so important to us 
 to please, and whose eye is not unmindful of our 
 sage and silent meditations. 
 
 The apostles of society raise every where a con- 
 tinual clamour, as if they had matters of very high 
 importance to transact in the world. Every one 
 ought certainly to do more than the strict line of 
 duty calls upon him to perform ; but, unhappily, we 
 all do less than our duty, and leave the affairs of the 
 world to go on as they may. The energy necessary 
 to the performance of great actions, elevation of cha- 
 racter, and stability and firmness in virtue, are no 
 where so easily acquired as in Solitude, and never 
 
312 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 so efficaciously as by Religion. — Religion disenga- 
 ges the heart from every vain desire, renders it 
 tranquil under the pressure of misf o rtunes, hum- 
 ble before God, bold before men, and teaches it to 
 rely with confidence upon the protection of Pro- 
 vidence. Solitude and religion refine all our moral 
 sentiments while we remain uninfected with the 
 leaven of fanaticism ; and at the conclusion of a life 
 passed in the practice of every virtue, we receive the 
 reward from all the hours which we have consecrated 
 to God in silence ; of that constant and religious 
 zeal with which we have raised towards him pure 
 hands and a chaste heart. 
 
 The low desires of this world disappear when we 
 have courage enough to think that the actual state of 
 lasting content has some analogy to the joys of eter- 
 nity. A complete liberty to be and to do whatever we 
 please, because that in Heaven, in those regions of 
 love and kindness, we cannot possess an unjust or 
 improper inclination ; a life of innocence ; a jus- 
 tification of the ways of Providence; an implicit 
 confidence in God; an eternal communion with 
 those whom our souls loved on earth ; are, at least, 
 the wishes and the hopes which we may be, I trust, 
 permitted, in our worldly apprehensions, to indulge, 
 and which so agreeably flatter our imagination- But 
 these hopes and wishes, which at present shed a 
 glimmering light,, must remain like dreams and 
 visions of the mind, until the tomb, thick clouds, and 
 darkness, no longer hide eternity from human eyes ; 
 until the veil shall be removed, and the Eternal re- 
 
ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 343 
 
 veals to us those things which no eye has ever seen, 
 which no ear has ever heard, which have never en- 
 tered into the heart of man ; for with silent submis- 
 sion I acknowledge, that eternity, to human fore- 
 sight, is like what the colour of scarlet appeared to 
 be in the mind of a blind man, who compared it to 
 the sound of a trumpet. * 
 
 In this world, full of restraints and embarass- 
 ments, of troubles and of pains, the enjoyments of 
 liberty, leisure, and tranquillity, are of inestimable 
 value ; every one sighs to obtain them, as the sailor 
 sighs at sea for land, and shouts with triumph when 
 he sees it; but in order to be sensible of their worth, 
 it is necessary to have felt the want of them. We 
 resemble the inhabitant of Terra Firma, who cannot 
 conceive an idea of the feelings which fill the bosom 
 of a navigator, For myself, I do not know a more 
 
 * Men, in general, fondly hope in eternity for all that is 
 flattering to their taste, inclinations, desires, and passions 
 on earth. I therefore entirely concur in opinion with a ce- 
 lebrated German philosopher, Mr. Garve, that those persons 
 cannot possess humility of heart who hope that God will 
 hereafter reward them with riches and honour. It was these 
 sentiments which occasioned a young lady of Germany, ex- 
 tremely handsome, to say, she hoped to carry with her into 
 the next world a habit of fine silver tissue, zoned with 
 feathers, and to walk in i -I. aven on carpets of rose-leaves 
 spread upon the firmament. This also was the reason why, 
 in a full assembly of women of fashion, where the question 
 was agitated, Whether marriages were good to all eternity? 
 they all unanimously exclaimed, God preserve us from it ! 
 
344 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 comfortable notion than that eternity promises a con- 
 stant and uninterrupted tranquillity, although I per- 
 fectly feel that it is not possible to form any idea of 
 the nature of that enjoyment which is produced by a 
 happiness without end An eternal tranquillity is 
 the highest happiness of my imagination, for I know 
 of no felicity upon earth that can equal peace of 
 mind. 
 
 Since therefore internal or external tranquillity is 
 upon earth an incontestible commencement of bea- 
 titude, it may be extremely useful to believe, that 
 in a rational and moderate absence from the tumults 
 of society we may highly rectify the faculties of the 
 soul, and acquire elements of that happiness we ex- 
 pect to enjoy in the world to come. 
 
 I now conclude my reflections upon the Advan- 
 tages of Solitude to the heart. May they give 
 greater currency to useful sentiments, to consolatory 
 truths, and contribute, in some degree, to diffuse the 
 enjoyment of a happiness, which is so much within 
 our reach! All my desires will then be satisfied. i\s 
 for the rest, let every one live according to his in- 
 clination, exercise virtue where he pleases, and 
 choose such pleasures as he likes best, in the enjoy- 
 ment of which he will be certain of receiving, both 
 here and hereafter, the approbation of God and his 
 own conscience. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 T. White, Printer, 
 
 Johnson's Court, Fleet Street. 
 
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