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diff --git a/12351-0.txt b/12351-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc243c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/12351-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20652 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12351 *** + +VOLUME VII + + +GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL + +BETTINA VON ARNIM + +KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN + +KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW + +ANASTASIUS GRÜN + +NIKOLAUS LENAU + +EDUARD MÖRIKE + +ANNETTE ELISABETH VON DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF + +FERDINAND FREILIGRATH + +MORITZ GRAF VON STRACHWITZ + +EMANUEL GEIBEL + +GEORG HERWEGH + + + + + +THE GERMAN CLASSICS + +Masterpieces of German Literature + +TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH + + + +PATRONS' EDITION +IN TWENTY VOLUMES + + +ILLUSTRATED + + + + + + +1914 + + + +THE GERMAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY + +CONTRIBUTORS AND TRANSLATORS + + +VOLUME VII + + * * * * * + + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII + + +#Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel# + +The Life of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. By J. Loewenberg. + +Introduction to the Philosophy of History. Translated by J. Sibree. + +The Philosophy of Law. Translated by J. Loewenberg. + +Introduction to the Philosophy of Art. Translated by J. Loewenberg. + +#Bettina von Arnim# + +The Life of Bettina von Arnim. By Henry Wood. + +Goethe's Correspondence with a Child. Translated by Wallace Smith Murray. + +#Karl Lebrecht Immermann# + + Immermann and His Drama _Merlin_. By Martin Schütze. + + Immermann's _Münchhausen_. By Allen Wilson Porterfield. + + The Oberhof. Translated by Paul Bernard Thomas. + +#Karl Ferdinand Gutzkow# + + Gutzkow and Young Germany. By Starr Willard Cutting. + + Sword and Queue. Translated by Grace Isabel Colbron. + +German Lyric Poetry from 1830 to 1848. By John S. Nollen. + +#Anastasius Grün# + + A Salon Scene. Translated by Sarah T. Barrows. + +#Nikolaus Lenau# + + Prayer. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + Sedge Songs. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. + + Songs by the Lake. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + The Postilion. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + To the Beloved from Afar. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + The Three Gipsies. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + My Heart. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + +#Eduard Mörike# + + An Error Chanced. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + A Song for Two in the Night. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + Early Away. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork. + + The Forsaken Maiden. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + Weyla's Song. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + Seclusion. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The Soldier's Betrothed. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The Old Weathercock: An Idyll. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + Think of It, My Soul. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + Erinna to Sappho. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + * * * * * + +Mozart's Journey from Vienna to Prague. Translated by Florence Leonard + +#Annette Elizabeth von Droste-Hülshoff# + + Pentecost. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The House in the Heath. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The Boy on the Moor. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + On the Tower. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The Desolate House. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The Jew's Beech-Tree. Translated by Lillie Winter + +#Ferdinand Freiligrath# + + The Duration of Love. Translated by M.G. in _Chambers' Journal_ + + The Emigrants. Translated by C.T. Brooks + + The Lion's Ride. Translated by C.T. Brooks + + The Spectre-Caravan. Translated by J.C. Mangan + + Had I at Mecca's Gate been Nourished. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + Wild Flowers. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + The Dead to the Living. Translated by Bayard Taylor + + Hurrah, Germania! In _Pall Mall Gazette_, London + + The Trumpet of Gravelotte. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + +#Moritz Graf von Strachwitz# + + Douglas of the Bleeding Heart. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + +#Georg Herwegh# + +The Stirrup-Cup. Translated by William G. Howard + +#Emanuel Geibel# + + The Watchman's Song. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman + + The Call of the Road. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman + + Autumn Days. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman + + The Death of Tiberius. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME VII + +Arco. By Benno Becker + +Georg Wilhelm Frederich Hegel. By Schlesinger + +Royal Old Museum in Berlin. By Schinkel + +Bettina von Arnim + +The Goethe Monument. By Bettina von Arnim + +Karl Lebrecht Immermann. By C.T. Lessing + +The Master of the Oberhof. By Benjamin Vautier + +The Oberhof. By Benjamin Vautier + +The Freemen's Tribunal. By Benjamin Vautier + +Lisbeth. By Benjamin Vautier + +Oswald, the Hunter. By Benjamin Vautier + +Karl Ferdinand Gutzkow + +The Potsdam Guard. By Adolph von Menzel + +King Frederick William I of Prussia. By R. Siemering + +King Frederick William I and His "Tobacco Collegium". By Adolph von Menzel + +Anastasius Grün + +Nikolaus Lenau + +Evening on the Shore. By Hans am Ende + +Eduard Mörike. By Weiss + +Annette von Droste-Hülshoff + +The Farm House. By Hans am Ende + +Ferdinand Freiligrath. By J Hasenclever + +Dusk on the Dead Sea. By Eugen Bracht + +Death on the Barricade. By Alfred Rethel + +George Herwegh + +Emanuel Geibel. By Hader + +Journeying. By Ludwig Richter + + + + + +THE LIFE OF GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL + +BY J. LOEWENBERG, PH.D. + +Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard University + + +Among students of philosophy the mention of Hegel's name arouses at once +a definite emotion. Few thinkers indeed have ever so completely +fascinated the minds of their sympathetic readers, or have so violently +repulsed their unwilling listeners, as Hegel has. To his followers Hegel +is the true prophet of the only true philosophic creed, to his +opponents, he has, in Professor James's words, "like Byron's corsair, +left a name 'to other times, linked with one virtue and a thousand +crimes.'" + +The feelings of attraction to Hegel or repulsion from him do not emanate +from his personality. Unlike Spinoza's, his life offers nothing to stir +the imagination. Briefly, some of his biographical data are as follows: +He was born at Stuttgart, the capital of Würtemberg, August 27, 1770. +His father was a government official, and the family belonged to the +upper middle class. Hegel received his early education at the Latin +School and the Gymnasium of his native town. At both these institutions, +as well as at the University of Tübingen which he entered in 1788 to +study theology, he distinguished himself as an eminently industrious, +but not as a rarely gifted student. The certificate which he received +upon leaving the University in 1793 speaks of his good character, his +meritorious acquaintance with theology and languages, and his meagre +knowledge of philosophy. This does not quite represent his equipment, +however, for his private reading and studies carried him far beyond the +limits of the regular curriculum. After leaving the University he spent +seven years as family tutor in Switzerland and in Frankfurt-on-the-Main. +Soon after, in 1801, we find him as _Privat-Docent_; then, in 1805, as +professor at the University of Jena. His academic activities were +interrupted by the battle of Jena. For the next two years we meet him as +an editor of a political journal at Bamberg, and from 1808 to 1816 as +rector of the Gymnasium at Nuremberg. He was then called to a +professorship of philosophy at Heidelberg. In 1818 he was called to +Berlin to fill the vacancy left by the death of Fichte. From this time +on until his death in 1831, he was the recognized dictator of one of the +most powerful philosophic schools in the history of thought. + +It is no easy task to convey an adequate idea of Hegel's philosophy +within the limits of a short introduction. There is, however, one +central thought animating the vast range of his whole philosophic system +which permits of non-technical statement. This thought will be more +easily grasped, if we consider first the well-known concept of +permanence and change. They may be said to constitute the most +fundamental distinction in life and in thought. Religion and poetry have +always dwelt upon their tragic meaning. That there is nothing new under +the sun and that we are but "fair creatures of an hour" in an +ever-changing world, are equally sad reflections. Interesting is the +application of the difference between permanence and change to extreme +types of temperament. We may speak loosely of the "static" and the +"dynamic" temperaments, the former clinging to everything that is +traditional, conservative, and abiding in art, religion, philosophy, +politics, and life; the latter everywhere pointing to, and delighting +in, the fluent, the novel, the evanescent. These extreme types, by no +means rare or unreal, illustrate the deep-rooted need of investing +either permanence or change with a more fundamental value. And to the +value of the one or the other, philosophers have always endeavored to +give metaphysical expression. + +[Illustration: SCHLIESINGER GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL] + +Some thinkers have proclaimed change to be the deepest manifestation of +reality, while others have insisted upon something abiding behind a +world of flux. The question whether change or permanence is more +essential arose early in Greek philosophy. Heraclitus was the first one +to see in change a deeper significance than in the permanence of the +Eleatics. A more dramatic opposition than the one which ensued between +the Heracliteans and the Eleatics can scarcely be imagined--both schools +claiming a monopoly of reason and truth, both distrusting the senses, +and each charging the other with illusion. Now the significance of +Hegel's philosophy can be grasped only when we bear in mind that it was +just this profound distinction between the permanent and the changing +that Hegel sought to understand and to interpret. He saw more deeply +into the reality of movement and change than any other philosopher +before or after him. + +Very early in his life, judging by the recently published writings of +his youth, Hegel became interested in various phases of movement and +change. The vicissitudes of his own inner or outer life he did not +analyze. He was not given to introspection. Romanticism and mysticism +were foreign to his nature. His temperament was rather that of the +objective thinker. Not his own passions, hopes, and fears, but those of +others invited his curiosity. With an humane attitude, the young Hegel +approached religious and historical problems. The dramatic life and +death of Jesus, the tragic fate of "the glory that was Greece and the +grandeur that was Rome," the discrepancies between Christ's teachings +and the positive Christian religion, the fall of paganism and the +triumph of the Christian Church--these were the problems over which the +young Hegel pondered. Through an intense study of these problems, he +discovered that evil, sin, longing, and suffering are woven into the +very tissue of religious and historical processes, and that these +negative elements determine the very meaning and progress of history and +religion. Thereupon he began a systematic sketch of a philosophy in +which a negative factor was to be recognized as the positive vehicle in +the development of the whole world. And thus his genius came upon a +method which revealed to him an orderly unfolding in the world with +stages of relative values, the higher developing from the lower, and all +stages constituting an organic whole. + +The method which the young Hegel discovered empirically, and which the +mature rationalist applied to every sphere of human life and thought, is +the famous Dialectical Method. This method is, in general, nothing else +than the recognition of the necessary presence of a negative factor in +the constitution of the world. Everything in the world--be it a +religious cult or a logical category, a human passion or a scientific +law--is, so Hegel holds, the result of a process which involves the +overcoming of a negative element. Without such an element to overcome, +the world would indeed be an inert and irrational affair. That any +rational and worthy activity entails the encounter of opposition and the +removal of obstacles is an observation commonplace enough. A +preëstablished harmony of foreseen happy issues--a fool's paradise--is +scarcely our ideal of a rational world. Just as a game is not worth +playing when its result is predetermined by the great inferiority of the +opponent, so life without something negative to overcome loses its zest. +But the process of overcoming is not anything contingent; it operates +according to a uniform and universal law. And this law constitutes +Hegel's most central doctrine--his doctrine of Evolution. + +In order to bring this doctrine into better relief, it may be well to +contrast it superficially with the Darwinian theory of transformation. +In general, Hegel's doctrine is a concept of value, Darwin's is not. +What Darwinians mean by evolution is not an unfolding of the past, a +progressive development of a hierarchy of phases, in which the later is +superior and organically related to the earlier. No sufficient criterion +is provided by them for evaluating the various stages in the course of +an evolutionary process. The biologist's world would probably have been +just as rational if the famous ape-like progenitor of man had chanced to +become his offspring-assuming an original environment favorable for such +transformation. Some criterion besides the mere external and accidental +"struggle for existence" and "survival of the fittest" must be furnished +to account for a progressive evolution. Does the phrase "survival of the +fittest" say much more than that those who happen to survive _are_ the +fittest, or that their survival proves their fitness? But that survival +itself is valuable: that it is better to be alive than dead; that +existence has a value other than itself; that what comes later in the +history of the race or of the universe is an advance over what went +before-that, in a word, the world is subject to an immanent development, +only a comprehensive and systematic philosophy can attempt to show. + +The task of Hegel's whole philosophy consists in showing, by means of +one uniform principle, that the world manifests everywhere a genuine +evolution. Unlike the participants in the biological "struggle for +existence," the struggling beings of Hegel's universe never end in +slaying, but in reconciliation. Their very struggle gives birth to a new +being which includes them, and this being is "higher" in the scale of +existence, because it represents the preservation of two mutually +opposed beings. Only where conflicts are adjusted, oppositions overcome, +negations removed, is there advance, in Hegel's sense; and only where +there is a passage from the positive through its challenging negative to +a higher form inclusive of both is there a case of real development. + +The ordinary process of learning by experience illustrates somewhat +Hegel's meaning. An individual finds himself, for instance, in the +presence of a wholly new situation that elicits an immediate, definite +reaction. In his ignorance, he chooses the wrong mode of behavior. As a +consequence, trouble ensues; feelings are hurt, pride is wounded, +motives are misconstrued. Embittered and disappointed with himself, he +experiences great mental sorrow. But he soon learns to see the situation +in its true light; he condemns his deed and offers to make amends. And +after the wounds begin to heal again, the inner struggles experienced +commence to assume a positive worth. They have led him to a deeper +insight into his own motives, to a better self-comprehension. And he +finally comes forth from the whole affair enriched and enlightened. Now +in this formal example, to which any content may be supplied, three +phases can be distinguished. First, we have the person as he meant to be +in the presence of the new situation, unaware of trouble. Then, his +wrong reaction engendered a hostile element. He was at war with himself; +he was not what he meant to be. And finally, he returned to himself +richer and wiser, including within himself the negative experience as a +valuable asset in the advance of his development. + +This process of falling away from oneself, of facing oneself as an enemy +whom one reconciles to and includes in one's larger self, is certainly +a familiar process. It is a process just like this that develops one's +personality. However the self may be defined metaphysically, it is for +every self-conscious individual a never-ceasing battle with conflicting +motives and antagonistic desires--a never-ending cycle of endeavor, +failure, and success through the very agency of failure. + +A more typical instance of this rhythmic process is Hegel's view of the +evolution of religion. Religion, in general, is based on a dualism which +it seeks to overcome. Though God is in heaven and man on earth, religion +longs to bridge the gulf which separates man and God. The religions of +the Orient emphasize God's infinity. God is everything, man is nothing. +Like an Oriental prince, God is conceived to have despotic sway over +man, his creature. Only in contemplating God's omnipotence and his own +nothingness can man find solace and peace. Opposed to this religion of +the infinite is the finite religion of Greece. + +Man in Greece stands in the centre of a beautiful cosmos which is not +alien to his spirit. The gods on high, conceived after the likeness of +man, are the expression of a free people conscious of their freedom. And +the divinities worshiped, under the form of Zeus, Apollo, +Aphrodite--what are they but idealized and glorified Greeks? Can a more +complete antithesis be imagined? But Christianity becomes possible after +this struggle only, for in Christianity is contained both the principle +of Oriental infinity and the element of Hellenic finitude, for in a +being who is both God and man--a God-man--the gulf between the infinite +and finite is bridged. The Christian, like the Greek, worships +man--Jesus; but this man is one with the eternal being of the Orient. +Because it is the outcome of the Oriental and Greek opposition, the +Christian religion is, in Hegel's sense, a higher one. Viewing the +Oriental and the Hellenic religions historically in terms of the +biological "struggle for existence," the extinction of neither has +resulted. The Christian religion is the unity of these two struggling +opposites; in it they are conciliated and preserved. And this for Hegel +is genuine evolution. + +That evolution demands a union of opposites seems at first paradoxical +enough. To say that Christianity is a religion of both infinity and +finitude means nothing less than that it contains a contradiction. +Hegel's view, strange as it may sound, is just this: everything includes +a contradiction in it, everything is both positive and negative, +everything expresses at once its Everlasting Yea and its Everlasting No. +The negative character of the world is the very vehicle of its progress. +Life and activity mean the triumph of the positive over the negative, a +triumph which results from absorbing and assimilating it. The myth of +the Phoenix typifies the life of reason "eternally preparing for +itself," as Hegel says, "a funeral pile, and consuming itself upon it; +but so that from its ashes it produces the new, renovated, fresh life." +That the power of negativity enters constitutively into the rationality +of the world, nay, that the rationality of the world demands negativity +in it, is Hegel's most original contribution to thought. His complete +philosophy is the attempt to show in detail that the whole universe and +everything it contains manifests the process of uniformly struggling +with a negative power, and is an outcome of conflicting, but reconciled +forces. An impressionistic picture of the world's eternal becoming +through this process is furnished by the first of Hegel's great works, +the _Phenomenology of Spirit_. The book is, in a sense, a cross-section +of the entire spiritual world. It depicts the necessary unfolding of +typical phases of the spiritual life of mankind. Logical categories, +scientific laws, historical epochs, literary tendencies, religious +processes, social, moral, and artistic institutions, all exemplify the +same onward movement through a union of opposites. There is eternal and +total instability everywhere. But this unrest and instability is of a +necessary and uniform nature, according to the one eternally fixed +principle which renders the universe as a whole organic and orderly. + +Organic Wholeness! This phrase contains the rationale of the restless +flow and the evanescent being of the Hegelian world. It is but from the +point of view of the whole that its countless conflicts, discrepancies, +and contradictions can be understood. As the members of the body find +only in the body as a whole their _raison d'être_, so the manifold +expressions of the world are the expressions of one organism. A hand +which is cut off, as Hegel somewhere remarks, still looks like a hand, +and exists; but it is not a real hand. Similarly any part of the world, +severed from its connection with the whole, any isolated historical +event, any one religious view, any particular scientific explanation, +any single social body, any mere individual person, is like an amputated +bodily organ. Hegel's view of the world as organic depends upon +exhibiting the partial and abstract nature of other views. In his +_Phenomenology_ a variety of interpretations of the world and of the +meaning and destiny of life are scrutinized as to their adequacy and +concreteness. When not challenged, the point of view of common sense, +for instance, seems concrete and natural. The reaction of common sense +to the world is direct and practical, it has few questions to ask, and +philosophic speculations appear to it abstract and barren. But, upon +analysis, it is the common sense view that stands revealed as abstract +and barren. For an abstract object is one that does not fully correspond +to the rich and manifold reality; it is incomplete and one-sided. + +Precisely such an object is the world of common sense. Its concreteness +is ignorance. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt +of by common sense. Its work-a-day world is not even a faint reflex of +the vast and complex universe. It sees but the immediate, the obvious, +the superficial. So instead of being concrete, it is, in truth, the very +opposite. Nor is empirical science with its predilection for "facts" +better off. Every science able to cope with a mere fragmentary aspect of +the world and from a partial point of view, is forced to ignore much of +the concrete content of even its own realm. Likewise, art and religion, +though in their views more synthetic and therefore more concrete, are +one-sided; they seek to satisfy special needs. Philosophy +alone--Hegelian philosophy--is concrete. Its aim is to interpret the +world in its entirety and complexity, its ideal is to harmonize the +demands of common sense, the interests of science, the appeal of art, +and the longing of religion into one coherent whole. This view of +philosophy, because it deals with the universe in its fulness and +variety, alone can make claim to real concreteness. Nor are the other +views false. They form for Hegel the necessary rungs on the ladder which +leads up to his own philosophic vision. Thus the Hegelian vision is +itself an organic process, including all other interpretations of life +and of the world as its necessary phases. In the immanent unfolding of +the Hegelian view is epitomized the onward march and the organic unity +of the World-Spirit itself. + +The technical formulation of this view is contained in his _Logic_. +This book may indeed be said to be Hegel's master-stroke. Nothing less +is attempted in it than the proof that the very process of reasoning +manifests the same principle of evolution through a union of opposites. +Hegel was well aware, as much as recent exponents of anti-intellectualism, +that through "static" concepts we transmute and falsify the "fluent" +reality. As Professor James says "The essence of life is its continuously +changing character; but our concepts are all discontinuous and +fixed ... When we conceptualize we cut out and fix, and exclude everything +but what we have fixed. A concept means a _that-and-no-other_." But are +our concepts static, fixed, and discontinuous? What if the very +concepts we employ in reasoning should exemplify the universal flow of +life? Hegel finds that indeed to be the case. Concepts we daily use, +such as quality and quantity, essence and phenomenon, appearance and +reality, matter and force, cause and effect, are not fixed and +isolated entities, but form a continuous system of interdependent +elements. Stated dogmatically the meaning is this: As concavity and +convexity are inseparably connected, though one is the very opposite +of the other--as one cannot, so to speak, live without the other, both +being always found in union--so can no concept be discovered that is +not thus wedded to its contradiction. Every concept develops, upon +analysis, a stubbornly negative mate. No concept is statable or +definable without its opposite; one involves the other. One cannot +speak of motion without implying rest; one cannot mention the finite +without at the same time referring to the infinite; one cannot define +cause without explicitly defining effect. Not only is this true, but +concepts, when applied, reveal perpetual oscillation. Take the terms +"north" and "south." The mention of the north pole, for example, +implies at once the south pole also; it can be distinguished only by +contrast with the other, which it thus _includes_. But it is a north +pole only by _excluding_ the south pole from itself--by being itself +and not merely what the other is not. The situation is paradoxical +enough: Each aspect--the negative or the positive--of anything appears +to exclude the other, while each requires its own other for its very +definition and expression. It needs the other, and yet is independent +of it. How Hegel proves this of all concepts, cannot here be shown. +The result is that no concept can be taken by itself as a +"that-and-no-other." It is perpetually accompanied by its "other" as +man is by his shadow. The attempt to isolate any logical category and +regard it as fixed and stable thus proves futile. Each category--to +show this is the task of Hegel's _Logic_--is itself an organism, the +result of a process which takes place within its inner constitution. +And all logical categories, inevitably used in describing and +explaining our world, form one system of interdependent and +organically related parts. Hegel begins with an analysis of a concept +that most abstractly describes reality, follows it through its +countless conflicts and contradictions, and finally reaches the +highest category which, including all the foregoing categories in +organic unity, is alone adequate to characterize the universe as an +organism. What these categories are and what Hegel's procedure is in +showing their necessary sequential development, can here not even be +hinted at. + +That the logical development of the categories of thought is the same as +the historical evolution of life--and _vice versa_--establishes for +Hegel the identity of thought and reality. In the history of philosophy, +the discrepancy between thought and reality has often been emphasized. +There are those who insist that reality is too vast and too deep for man +with his limited vision to penetrate; others, again, who set only +certain bounds to man's understanding, reality consisting, they hold, of +knowable and unknowable parts; and others still who see in the very +shifts and changes of philosophic and scientific opinion the delusion of +reason and the illusiveness of reality. The history of thought certainly +does present an array of conflicting views concerning the limits of +human reason. But all the contradictions and conflicts of thought prove +to Hegel the sovereignty of reason. The conflicts of reason are its own +necessary processes and expressions. Its dialectic instability is +instability that is peculiar to all reality. Both thought and reality +manifest one nature and one process. Hence reason with its "dynamic" +categories can comprehend the "fluent" reality, because it is flesh of +its flesh and bone of its bone. Hegel's bold and oft quoted words "What +is rational is real; and what is real is rational," pithily express his +whole doctrine. The nature of rationality and the nature of reality are, +for Hegel, one and the same spiritual process, the organic process of +triumphing over and conquering conflicts and contradictions. Where +reality conforms to this process it is rational (that which does not +conform to it is not reality at all, but has, like an amputated leg, +mere contingent existence); the logical formula of this process is but +an abstract account of what reality is in its essence. + +The equation of the real and the rational, or the discovery of one +significant process underlying both life and reason, led Hegel to +proclaim a new kind of logic, so well characterized by Professor Royce +as the "logic of passion." To repeat what has been said above, this +means that categories are related to one another as historical epochs, +as religious processes, as social and moral institutions, nay, as human +passions, wills, and deeds are related to one another. Mutual conflict +and contradiction appear as their sole constant factor amid all their +variable conditions. The introduction of contradiction into logical +concepts as their _sine qua non_ meant indeed a revolutionary departure +from traditional logic. Prior to Hegel, logical reasoning was reasoning +in accordance with the law of contradiction, i. e., with the assumption +that nothing can have at the same time and at the same place +contradictory and inconsistent qualities or elements. For Hegel, on the +contrary, contradiction is the very moving principle of the world, the +pulse of its life. _Alle Dinge sind an sich selbst widersprechend_, as +he drastically says. The deeper reason why Hegel invests contradiction +with a positive value lies in the fact that, since the nature of +everything involves the union of discrepant elements, nothing can bear +isolation and independence. Terms, processes, epochs, institutions, +depend upon one another for their meaning, expression, and existence; it +is impossible to take anything in isolation. But this is just what one +does in dealing with the world in art or in science, in religion or in +business; one is always dealing with error and contradiction, because +one is dealing with fragments or bits of life and experience. Hence--and +this is Hegel's crowning thought--anything short of the whole universe +is inevitably contradictory. In brief, contradiction has the same sting +for Hegel as it has for any one else. Without losing its nature of +"contradictoriness," contradiction has logically this positive meaning. +Since it is an essential element of every partial, isolated, and +independent view of experience and thought, one is necessarily led to +transcend it and to see the universe in organic wholeness. + +Thus, as Hegel puts his fundamental idea, "the truth is the whole." +Neither things nor categories, neither histories nor religions, neither +sciences nor arts, express or exhaust by themselves the whole essence of +the universe. The essence of the universe is the _life_ of the totality +of all things, not their _sum_. As the life of man is not the sum of his +bodily and mental functions, the whole man being present in each and all +of these, so must the universe be conceived as omnipresent in each of +its parts and expressions. This is the significance of Hegel's +conception of the universe as an organism. The World-Spirit--Hegel's +God--constitutes, thinks, lives, wills, and is _all_ in unity. The +evolution of the universe is thus the evolution of God himself. + +The task of philosophy, then, as Hegel conceives it, is to portray in +systematic form the evolution of the World-Spirit in all its necessary +ramifications. These ramifications themselves are conceived as +constituting complete wholes, such as logic, nature, mind, society, +history, art, religion, philosophy, so that the universe in its onward +march through these is represented as a Whole of Wholes--_ein Kreis von +Kreisen_. In Hegel's complete philosophy each of these special spheres +finds its proper place and elaborate treatment. + +Whether Hegel has well or ill succeeded in the task of exhibiting in +each and all of these spheres the one universal movement, whether or no +he was justified in reading into logic the same kind of development +manifested by life, or in making life conform to one logical +formula--these and other problems should arouse an interest in Hegel's +writings. The following selections may give some glimpse of their +spirit. + +In conclusion, some bare suggestions must suffice to indicate the reason +for Hegel's great influence. Hegel has partly, if not wholly, created +the modern historical spirit. Reality for him, as even this inadequate +sketch has shown, is not static, but is essentially a process. Thus +until the history of a thing is known, the thing is not understood at +all. It is the becoming and not the being of the world that constitutes +its reality. And thus in emphasizing the fact that everything has a +"past," the insight into which alone reveals its significant meaning, +Hegel has given metaphysical expression and impetus to the awakening +modern historical sense. His idea of evolution also epitomizes the +spirit of the nineteenth century with its search everywhere for geneses +and transformations--in religion, philology, geology, biology. Closely +connected with the predominance of the historical in Hegel's philosophy +is its explicit critique of individualism and particularism. According +to his doctrine, the individual as individual is meaningless. The +particular--independent and unrelated--is an abstraction. The isolation +of anything results in contradiction. It is only the whole that animates +and gives meaning to the individual and the particular. This idea of +subordinating the individual to universal ends, as embodied particularly +in Hegel's theory of the State, has left its impress upon political, +social, and economic theories of his century. Not less significant is +the glorification of reason of which Hegel's complete philosophy is an +expression. Reason never spoke with so much self-confidence and +authority as it did in Hegel. To the clear vision of reason the universe +presents no dark or mysterious corners, nay, the very negations and +contradictions in it are marks of its inherent rationality. But Hegel's +rationalism is not of the ordinary shallow kind. Reason he himself +distinguishes from understanding. The latter is analytical, its function +is to abstract, to define, to compile, to classify. Reason, on the other +hand, is synthetic, constructive, inventive. Apart from Hegel's special +use of the term, it is this synthetic and creative and imaginative +quality pervading his whole philosophy which has deepened men's insight +into history, religion, and art, and which has wielded its general +influence on the philosophic and literary constellation of the +nineteenth century. + + * * * * * + + + +GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL + +INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY[1] (1837) + +TRANSLATED BY J. SIBREE, M.A. + + +The subject of this course of lectures is the Philosophical History of +the World. And by this must be understood, not a collection of general +observations respecting it, suggested by the study of its records and +proposed to be illustrated by its facts, but universal history itself. +To gain a clear idea, at the outset, of the nature of our task, it seems +necessary to begin with an examination of the other methods of treating +history. The various methods may be ranged under three heads: + + I. Original History. + II. Reflective History. + III. Philosophical History. + +I. Of the first kind, the mention of one or two distinguished names will +furnish a definite type. To this category belong Herodotus, Thucydides, +and other historians of the same order, whose descriptions are for the +most part limited to deeds, events, and states of society, which they +had before their eyes and whose spirit they shared. They simply +transferred what was passing in the world around them to the realm of +re-presentative intellect; an external phenomenon was thus translated +into an internal conception. In the same way the poet operates upon the +material supplied him by his emotions, projecting it into an image for +the conceptive faculty. + +These original historians did, it is true, find statements and +narratives of other men ready to hand; one person cannot be an +eye-and-ear witness of everything. But, merely as an ingredient, they +make use only of such aids as the poet does of that heritage of an +already-formed language to which he owes so much; historiographers bind +together the fleeting elements of story, and treasure them up for +immortality in the temple of Mnemosyne. Legends, ballad-stories, and +traditions must be excluded from such original history; they are but dim +and hazy forms of historical apprehension, and therefore belong to +nations whose intelligence is but half awakened. Here, on the contrary, +we have to do with people fully conscious of what they were and what +they were about. The domain of reality--actually seen, or capable of +being so-affords a very different basis in point of firmness from that +fugitive and shadowy element in which were engendered those legends and +poetic dreams whose historical prestige vanishes as soon as nations have +attained a mature individuality. + +Such original historians, then, change the events, the deeds, and the +states of society with which they are conversant, into an object for the +conceptive faculty; the narratives they leave us cannot, therefore, be +very comprehensive in their range. Herodotus, Thucydides, Guicciardini, +may be taken as fair samples of the class in this respect. What is +present and living in their environment is their proper material. The +influences that have formed the writer are identical with those which +have molded the events that constitute the matter of his story. The +author's spirit and that of the actions he narrates are one and the +same. He describes scenes in which he himself has been an actor, or at +any rate an interested spectator. It is short periods of time, +individual shapes of persons and occurrences, single, unreflected +traits, of which he makes his picture. And his aim is nothing more than +the presentation to posterity of an image of events as clear as that +which he himself possessed in virtue of personal observation, or +lifelike descriptions. Reflections are none of his business, for he +lives in the spirit of his subject; he has not attained an elevation +above it. If, as in Cæsar's case, he belongs to the exalted rank of +generals or statesmen, it is the prosecution of his own aims that +constitutes the history. + +Such speeches as we find in Thucydides, for example, of which we can +positively assert that they are not _bona fide_ reports, would seem to +make against our statement that a historian of his class presents us no +reflected picture, that persons and people appear in his works in +_propria persona_ ... Granted that such orations as those of +Pericles--that most profoundly accomplished, genuine, noble +statesman--were elaborated by Thucydides, it must yet be maintained that +they were not foreign to the character of the speaker. In the orations +in question, these men proclaim the maxims adopted by their countrymen +and formative of their own character; they record their views of their +political relations and of their moral and spiritual nature, and publish +the principles of their designs and conduct. What the historian puts +into their mouths is no supposititious system of ideas, but an +uncorrupted transcript of their intellectual and moral habitudes. + +Of these historians whom we must make thoroughly our own, with whom we +must linger long if we would live with their respective nations and +enter deeply into their spirit--of these historians to whose pages we +may turn, not for the purposes of erudition merely, but with a view to +deep and genuine enjoyment, there are fewer than might be imagined. +Herodotus, the Father, namely the Founder, of History, and Thucydides +have been already mentioned. Xenophon's _Retreat of the Ten Thousand_ is +a work equally original. Cæsar's _Commentaries_ are the simple +masterpiece of a mighty spirit; among the ancients these annalists were +necessarily great captains and statesmen. In the Middle Ages, if we +except the bishops, who were placed in the very centre of the political +world, the monks monopolize this category as naïve chroniclers who were +as decidedly isolated from active life as those elder annalists had been +connected with it. In modern times the relations are entirely altered. +Our culture is essentially comprehensive, and immediately changes all +events into historical representations. Belonging to the class in +question, we have vivid, simple, clear narrations--especially of +military transactions--which might fairly take their place with those of +Cæsar. In richness of matter and fulness of detail as regards strategic +appliances and attendant circumstances, they are even more instructive. +The French "Memoirs" also fall under this category. In many cases these +are written by men of mark, though relating to affairs of little note; +they not unfrequently contain such a large amount of anecdotal matter +that the ground they occupy is narrow and trivial. Yet they are often +veritable masterpieces in history, as are those of Cardinal Retz, which, +in fact, trench on a larger historical field. In Germany such masters +are rare, Frederick the Great in his _Histoire de mon temps_ being an +illustrious exception. Writers of this order must occupy an elevated +position, for only from such a position is it possible to take an +extensive view of affairs--to see everything. This is out of the +question for him who from below merely gets a glimpse of the great world +through a miserable cranny. + +II. The second kind of history we may call the _Reflective._ It is +history whose mode of representation is not really confined by the limits +of the time to which it relates, but whose spirit transcends the +present. In this second order a strongly marked variety of species may +be distinguished. + +1. It is the aim of the investigator to gain a view of the entire +history of a people, of a country, or of the world in short, what we +call universal history. In this case the working up of the historical +material is the main point. The workman approaches his task with his own +spirit--a spirit distinct from that of the element he is to manipulate. + +Here a very important consideration is the principles to which the +author refers the bearing and motives of the actions and events which he +describes, as well as those which determine the form of his narrative. +Among us Germans this reflective treatment and the display of ingenuity +which it affords assume a manifold variety of phases. Every writer of +history proposes to himself an original method. The English and French +confess to general principles of historical composition, their viewpoint +being more nearly that of cosmopolitan or national culture. Among us, +each labors to invent a purely individual point of view; instead of +writing history, we are always beating our brains to discover how +history ought to be written. + +This first kind of Reflective history is most nearly akin to the +preceding, when it has no further aim than to present the annals of a +country complete. Such compilations (among which may be mentioned the +works of Livy, Diodorus Siculus, Johannes von Müller's _History of +Switzerland_) are, if well performed, highly meritorious. Among the best +of the kind may be included such annalists as approach those of the +first-class writers who give so vivid a transcript of events that the +reader may well fancy himself listening to contemporaries and +eye-witnesses. But it often happens that the individuality of tone which +must characterize a writer belonging to a different culture is not +modified in accordance with the periods which such a record must +traverse. The spirit of the writer may be quite apart from that of the +times of which he treats. Thus Livy puts into the mouths of the old +Roman kings, consuls, and generals, such orations as would be delivered +by an accomplished advocate of the Livian era, and which strikingly +contrast with the genuine traditions of Roman antiquity--witness, for +example, the fable of Menenius Agrippa. In the same way he gives us +descriptions of battles as if he had been an actual spectator; but their +salient points would serve well enough for battles in any period, for +their distinctness contrasts, even in his treatment of chief points of +interest, with the want of connection and the inconsistency that prevail +elsewhere. The difference between such a compiler and an original +historian may be best seen by comparing Polybius himself with the style +in which Livy uses, expands, and abridges his annals in those periods of +which Polybius' account has been preserved. Johannes von Müller, in the +endeavor to remain faithful in his portraiture to the times he +describes, has given a stiff, formal, pedantic aspect to his history. We +much prefer the narratives we find in old Tschudi; all is more naïve and +natural than when appearing in the garb of a fictitious and affected +archaism. + +A history which aspires to traverse long periods of time, or to be +universal, must indeed forego the attempt to give individual +representations of the past as it actually existed. It must foreshorten +its pictures by abstractions, and this includes not merely the omission +of events and deeds, but whatever is involved in the fact that Thought +is, after all, the most trenchant epitomist. A battle, a great victory, +a siege no longer maintains its original proportions, but is put off +with a mere allusion. When Livy, for instance, tells us of the war with +the Volsci, we sometimes have the brief announcement: "This year war was +carried on with the Volsci." + +2. A second species of Reflective history is what we may call the +pragmatical. When we have to deal with the past and occupy ourselves +with a remote world, a present rises into being for the mind--produced +by its own activity, as the reward of its labor. The occurrences are, +indeed, various; but the idea which pervades them-their deeper import +and connection--is one. This takes the occurrence out of the category of +the past and makes it virtually present. Pragmatical (didactic) +reflections, though in their nature decidedly abstract, are truly and +indefeasibly of the present, and quicken the annals of the dead past +with the life of today. Whether, indeed, such reflections are truly +interesting and enlivening depends on the writer's own spirit. Moral +reflections must here be specially noticed--the moral teaching expected +from history; the latter has not infrequently been treated with a direct +view to the former. It may be allowed that examples of virtue elevate +the soul and are applicable in the moral instruction of children for +impressing excellence upon their minds. But the destinies of people and +states, their interests, relations, and the complicated tissue of their +affairs, present quite another field. Rulers, statesmen, nations, are +wont to be emphatically commended to the teaching which experience +offers in history; yet what experience and history teach is this-that +peoples and governments have never learned anything from history, nor +have they acted on principles deduced from it. Each period is involved +in such peculiar circumstances, exhibits a condition of things so +strictly idiosyncratic, that its conduct must be regulated by +considerations connected with itself, and itself alone. Amid the +pressure of great events a general principle gives no help. + +It is useless to revert to similar circumstances in the past. The pallid +shades of memory struggle in vain with the life and freedom of the +present. Looked at in this light nothing can be shallower than the +oft-repeated appeal to Greek and Roman examples during the French +Revolution; nothing is more diverse than the genius of those nations and +that of our times. Johannes von Müller, in his _Universal History_ as +also in his _History of Switzerland_, had such moral aims in view. He +designed to prepare a body of political doctrines for the instruction of +princes, governments, and peoples (he formed a special collection of +doctrines and reflections, frequently giving us in his correspondence +the exact number of apothegms which he had compiled in a week); but he +cannot assert that this part of his labor was among the best he +accomplished. It is only a thorough, liberal, comprehensive view of +historical relations (such for instance, as we find in Montesquieu's +_L'Esprit des Lois_) that can give truth and interest to reflections of +this order. One Reflective history, therefore, supersedes another. The +materials are patent to every writer; each is prone to believe himself +capable of arranging and manipulating them, and we may expect that each +will insist upon his own spirit as that of the age in question. +Disgusted by such reflective histories, readers have often returned with +pleasure to narratives adopting no particular point of view--which +certainly have their value, although, for the most part, they offer only +material for history. We Germans are content with such; but the French, +on the other hand, display great genius in reanimating bygone times and +in bringing the past to bear upon the present condition of things. + +3. The third form of Reflective history is the _Critical_. This deserves +mention as preeminently the mode, now current in Germany, of treating +history. It is not history itself that is here presented. We might more +properly designate it as a History of History--a criticism of historical +narratives and an investigation of their truth and credibility. Its +peculiarity, in point of fact as well as intention, consists in the +acuteness with which the writer extorts from the records something +which was not in the matters recorded. The French have given us much +that is profound and judicious in this class of composition, but have +not endeavored to make a merely critical procedure pass for substantial +history; their judgments have been duly presented in the form of +critical treatises. Among us, the so-called "higher criticism," which +reigns supreme in the domain of philology, has also taken possession of +our historical literature; it has been the pretext for introducing all +the anti-historical monstrosities that a vain imagination could suggest. +Here we have the other method of making the past a living reality; for +historical data subjective fancies are substituted, whose merit is +measured by their boldness--that is, the scantiness of the particulars +on which they are based and the peremptoriness with which they +contravene the best established facts of history. + +4. The last species of Reflective history announces its fragmentary +character on its very face. It adopts an abstract position; yet, since +it takes general points of view (such, for instance, as the History of +Art, of Law, of Religion), it forms a transition to the Philosophical +History of the World. In our time this form of the history of ideas has +been especially developed and made prominent. Such branches of national +life stand in close relation to the entire complex of a people's annals; +and the question of chief importance in relation to our subject is, +whether the connection of the whole is exhibited in its truth and +reality, or is referred to merely external relations. In the latter +case, these important phenomena (art, law, religion, etc.), appear as +purely accidental national peculiarities. It must be remarked, if the +position taken is a true one, that when Reflective history has advanced +to the adoption of general points of view, these are found to constitute +not a merely external thread, a superficial series, but are the inward +guiding soul of the occurrences and actions that occupy a nation's +annals. For, like the soul-conductor, Mercury, the Idea is, in truth, +the leader of peoples and of the world; and Spirit, the rational and +necessitated will of that conductor, is and has been the director of +the events of the world's history. To become acquainted with Spirit in +this, its office of guidance, is the object of our present undertaking. + +III. The third kind of history is the _Philosophical_. No explanation +was needed of the two previous classes; their nature was self-evident. +It is otherwise with the last, which certainly seems to require an +exposition or justification. The most general definition that can be +given is, that the philosophy of history means nothing but the +thoughtful consideration of it. Thought is, indeed, essential to +humanity. It is this that distinguishes us from the brutes. In +sensation, cognition, and intellection, in our instincts and volitions, +as far as they are truly human, thought is a constant element. To insist +upon thought in this connection with history may, however, appear +unsatisfactory. In this science it would seem as if thought must be +subordinate to what is given, to the realities of fact--that this is its +basis and guide; while philosophy dwells in the region of self-produced +ideas, without reference to actuality. Approaching history thus +prepossessed, speculation might be supposed to treat it as a mere +passive material, and, so far from leaving it in its native truth, to +force it into conformity with a tyrannous idea, and to construe it, as +the phrase is, _a priori_. But as it is the business of history simply +to adopt into its records what is and has been-actual occurrences and +transactions; and since it remains true to its character in proportion +as it strictly adheres to its data, we seem to have in philosophy a +process diametrically opposed to that of the historiographer. This +contradiction, and the charge consequently brought against speculation, +shall be explained and confuted. We do not, however, propose to correct +the innumerable special misrepresentations, whether trite or novel, that +are current respecting the aims, the interests, and the modes of +treating history and its relation to philosophy. + +The only thought which philosophy brings with it to the contemplation +of history, is the simple conception of Reason; that Reason is the +sovereign of the world; that the history of the world, therefore, +presents us with a rational process. This conviction and intuition is a +hypothesis in the domain of history as such; in that of philosophy it is +no hypothesis. It is there proved by speculative cognition that +Reason--and this term may here suffice us, without investigating the +relation sustained by the universe to the Divine Being--is substance, as +well as Infinite Power; its own Infinite Material is that underlying all +the natural and spiritual life which it originates, as also the Infinite +Form--that which sets this material in motion. On the one hand, Reason +is the substance of the universe--viz., that by which and in which all +reality has its being and subsistence. On the other hand, it is the +infinite energy of the universe; since Reason is not so powerless as to +be incapable of producing anything but a mere ideal, a mere +intention--having its place outside reality, nobody knows where; +something separate and abstract in the heads of certain human beings. It +is the _infinite complex of things_, their entire essence and truth. It +is its own material which it commits to its own active energy to work +up--not needing, as finite action does, the conditions of an external +material of given means from which it may obtain its support and the +objects of its activity. It supplies its own nourishment and is the +object of its own operations. While it is exclusively its own basis of +existence and absolute final aim, it is also the energizing power +realizing this aim, developing it not only in the phenomena of the +natural, but also of the spiritual universe--the history of the world. +That this "Idea" or "Reason" is the _true_, the _eternal_, the +absolutely _powerful_ essence; that it reveals itself in the world, and +that in that world nothing else is revealed but this and its honor and +glory--is the thesis which, as we have said, has been proved in +philosophy and is here regarded as demonstrated. + +In entering upon this course of lectures, I may fairly presume, at +least, the existence in those of my hearers who are not acquainted with +philosophy, of a belief in Reason, a desire, a thirst for acquaintance +with it. It is, in fact, the wish for rational insight, not the ambition +to amass a mere heap of acquirements, that should be presupposed in +every case as possessing the mind of the learner in the study of +science. If the clear idea of Reason is not already developed in our +minds, in beginning the study of universal history, we should at least +have the firm, unconquerable faith that Reason does exist there, and +that the world of intelligence and conscious volition is not abandoned +to chance, but must show itself in the light of the self-cognizant Idea. +Yet I am not obliged to make such a preliminary demand upon your faith. +What I have said thus provisionally, and what I shall have further to +say, is, even in reference to our branch of science, not to be regarded +as hypothetical, but as a summary view of the whole, the result of the +investigation we are about to pursue--a result which happens to be known +to _me_, because I have traversed the entire field. It is only an +inference from the history of the world that its development has been a +rational process, that the history in question has constituted the +rational necessary course of the World-Spirit--that Spirit whose nature +is always one and the same, but which unfolds this, its one nature, in +the phenomena of the world's existence. This must, as before stated, +present itself as the ultimate result of history; but we have to take +the latter as it is. We must proceed historically--empirically. Among +other precautions we must take care not to be misled by professed +historians who (especially among the Germans, and those enjoying a +considerable authority) are chargeable with the very procedure of which +they accuse the philosopher--introducing _a priori_ inventions of their +own into the records of the past. It is, for example, a widely current +fiction that there was an original primeval people, taught directly by +God, endowed with perfect insight and wisdom, possessing a thorough +knowledge of all natural laws and spiritual truth; that there have been +such or such sacerdotal peoples; or, to mention a more specific claim, +that there was a Roman Epos, from which the Roman historians derived the +early annals of their city, etc.... + +I will mention only two phases and points of view that concern the +generally diffused conviction that Reason has ruled, and is still ruling +in the world, and consequently in the world's history; because they give +us, at the same time, an opportunity for more closely investigating the +question that presents the greatest difficulty, and for indicating a +branch of the subject which will have to be enlarged on in the sequel. + +1. One of these points is that passage in history which informs us that +the Greek Anaxagoras was the first to enunciate the doctrine that +[GREEK: nous],--Understanding in general, or Reason, governs the world. +It is not intelligence as self-conscious Reason--not a spirit as such +that is meant; and we must clearly distinguish these from each other. +The movement of the solar system takes place according to unchangeable +laws. These laws are Reason, implicit in the phenomena in question; but +neither the sun nor the planets which revolve around it according to +these laws can be said to have any consciousness of them. + +A thought of this kind--that nature is an embodiment of Reason, that is, +unchangeably subordinate to universal laws--appears nowise striking or +strange to us. We are accustomed to such conceptions and find nothing +extraordinary in them; and I have mentioned this extraordinary +occurrence partly to show how history teaches that ideas of this kind, +which may seem trivial to us, have not always been in the world; that, +on the contrary, such a thought makes an epoch in the annals of human +intelligence. Aristotle says of Anaxagoras, as the originator of the +thought in question, that he appeared as a sober man among the drunken. +Socrates adopted the doctrine from Anaxagoras, and it forthwith became +the ruling idea in philosophy--except in the school of Epicurus, who +ascribed all events to chance. "I was delighted with the sentiment," +Plato makes Socrates say, "and hoped I had found a teacher who would +show me Nature in harmony with Reason, who would demonstrate in each +particular phenomenon its specific aim, and, in the whole, the grand +object of the universe. I would not have surrendered this hope for a +great deal. But how very much was I disappointed, when, having zealously +applied myself to the writings of Anaxagoras, I found that he adduces +only external causes, such as atmosphere, ether, water, and the like." +It is evident that the defect which Socrates complains of respecting +Anaxagoras' doctrine does not concern the principle itself, but the +shortcoming of the propounder in applying it to nature in the concrete. +Nature is not deduced from that principle; the latter remains, in fact, +a mere abstraction, inasmuch as the former is not comprehended and +exhibited as a development of it--an organization produced by and from +Reason. I wish, at the very outset, to call your attention to the +important difference between a conception, a principle, a truth limited +to an abstract form, and its determinate application and concrete +development. This distinction affects the whole fabric of philosophy; +and among other bearings of it there is one to which we shall have to +revert at the close of our view of universal history, in investigating +the aspect of political affairs in the most recent period. + +We have next to notice the rise of this idea that Reason directs the +world, in connection with a further application of it well known to +us--in the form, viz., of the religious truth that the world is not +abandoned to chance and external contingent causes, but that a +Providence controls it. I stated above that I would not make a demand on +your faith in regard to the principle announced. Yet I might appeal to +your belief in it, in this religious aspect, if as a general rule, the +nature of philosophical science allowed it to attach authority to +presuppositions. To put it in another shape--this appeal is forbidden, +because the science of which we have to treat proposes itself to furnish +the proof, not indeed of the abstract truth of the doctrine, but of its +correctness as compared with facts. The truth, then, that a Providence +(that of God) presides over the events of the world consorts with the +proposition in question; for Divine Providence is wisdom, endowed with +an infinite power, which realizes its aim, viz., the absolute rational +design of the world. Reason is thought conditioning itself with perfect +freedom. But a difference--rather a contradiction--will manifest itself +between this belief and our principle, just as was the case in reference +to the demand made by Socrates in the case of Anaxagoras' dictum. For +that belief is similarly indefinite; it is what is called a belief in a +general providence, and is not followed out into definite application, +or displayed in its bearing on the grand total--the entire course of +human history. But to explain history is to depict the passions of +mankind, the genius, the active powers, that play their part on the +great stage; and the providentially determined process which these +exhibit constitutes what is generally called the "plan" of Providence. +Yet it is this very plan which is supposed to be concealed from our +view, which it is deemed presumption even to wish to recognize. The +ignorance of Anaxagoras as to how intelligence reveals itself in actual +existence was ingenuous. Neither in his consciousness, nor in that of +Greece at large, had that thought been further expanded. He had not +attained the power to apply his general principle to the concrete, so as +to deduce the latter from the former; it was Socrates who took the first +step in comprehending the union of the concrete with the universal. +Anaxagoras, then, did not take up a hostile position toward such an +application; the common belief in Providence does; at least it opposes +the use of the principle on a large scale, and denies the possibility of +discerning the plan of Providence. In isolated cases this plan is +supposed to be manifest. Pious persons are encouraged to recognize in +particular circumstances something more than mere chance, to acknowledge +the guiding hand of God; for instance, when help has unexpectedly come +to an individual in great perplexity and need. But these instances of +providential design are of a limited kind, and concern the +accomplishment of nothing more than the desires of the individual in +question. But in the history of the world, the individuals we have to do +with are peoples, totalities that are States. We cannot, therefore, be +satisfied with what we may call this "peddling" view of Providence, to +which the belief alluded to limits itself. Equally unsatisfactory is the +merely abstract, undefined belief in a Providence, when that belief is +not brought to bear upon the details of the process which it conducts. +On the contrary our earnest endeavor must be directed to the recognition +of the ways of Providence, the means it uses, and the historical +phenomena in which it manifests itself; and we must show their +connection with the general principle above mentioned. But in noticing +the recognition of the plan of Divine Providence generally, I have +implicitly touched upon a prominent question of the day, viz., that of +the possibility of knowing God; or rather--since public opinion has +ceased to allow it to be a matter of question--the doctrine that it is +impossible to know God. In direct contravention of what is commanded in +holy Scripture as the highest duty--that we should not merely love, but +know God--the prevalent dogma involves the denial of what is there +said--namely, that it is the Spirit, _der Geist_, that leads into truth, +knows all things, penetrates even into the deep things of the Godhead. +While the Divine Being is thus placed beyond our knowledge and outside +the limit of all human things, we have the convenient license of +wandering as far as we list, in the direction of our own fancies. We are +freed from the obligation to refer our knowledge to the Divine and True. +On the other hand, the vanity and egoism which characterize our +knowledge find, in this false position, ample justification; and the +pious modesty which puts far from itself the knowledge of God can well +estimate how much furtherance thereby accrues to its own wayward and +vain strivings. I have been unwilling to leave out of sight the +connection between our thesis--that Reason governs and has governed the +world--and the question of the possibility of a knowledge of God, +chiefly that I might not lose the opportunity of mentioning the +imputation against philosophy of being shy of noticing religious truths, +or of having occasion to be so; in which is insinuated the suspicion +that it has anything but a clear conscience in the presence of these +truths. So far from this being the case, the fact is that in recent +times philosophy has been obliged to defend the domain of religion +against the attacks of several theological systems. In the Christian +religion God has revealed Himself--that is, He has given us to +understand what He is, with the result that He is no longer a concealed +or secret existence. And this possibility of knowing Him, thus afforded +us, renders such knowledge a duty. God wishes for His children no +narrow-hearted souls or empty heads, but those whose spirit is of itself +indeed, poor, but rich in the knowledge of Him, and who regard this +knowledge of God as the only valuable possession. That development of +the thinking spirit, which has resulted from the revelation of the +Divine Being as its original basis, must ultimately advance to the +intellectual comprehension of what was presented, in the first instance, +to feeling and imagination. The time must eventually come for +understanding that rich product of active Reason which the history of +the world offers to us. It was for a while the fashion to profess +admiration for the wisdom of God, as displayed in animals, plants, and +isolated occurrences. But if it be allowed that Providence manifests +itself in such objects and forms of existence, why not also in universal +history? This is deemed too great a matter to be thus regarded. But +divine wisdom, i. e., Reason, is one and the same in the great as in the +little; and we must not imagine God to be too weak to exercise his +wisdom on the grand scale. Our intellectual striving aims at realizing +the conviction that what was intended by eternal wisdom is actually +accomplished in the domain of existent, active Spirit, as well as in +that of mere Nature. Our mode of treating the subject is, in this +aspect, a Theodicaea--a justification of the ways of God--which Leibnitz +attempted metaphysically in his method, i. e., in indefinite abstract +categories--so that the ill that is found in the world may be +comprehended, and the thinking Spirit reconciled with the fact of the +existence of evil. Indeed, nowhere is such a harmonizing view more +pressingly demanded than in universal history; and it can be attained +only by recognizing the positive existence, in which that negative +element is a subordinate and vanquished nullity. On the one hand, the +ultimate design of the world must be perceived, and, on the other, the +fact that this design has been actually realized in it, and that evil +has not been able permanently to establish a rival position. But this +conviction involves much more than the mere belief in a superintending +[GREEK: nous] or in "Providence." "Reason," whose sovereignty over the +world has been maintained, is as indefinite a term as "Providence," +supposing the term to be used by those who are unable to characterize it +distinctly, to show wherein it consists, so as to enable us to decide +whether a thing is rational or irrational. An adequate definition of +Reason is the first desideratum; and whatever boast may be made of +strict adherence to it in explaining phenomena, without such a +definition we get no farther than mere words. With these observations we +may proceed to the second point of view that has to be considered in +this Introduction. + +2. The inquiry into the essential destiny of Reason, as far as it is +considered in reference to the world, is identical with the question +_What is the ultimate design of the world?_ And the expression implies +that that design is destined to be realized. Two points of consideration +suggest themselves: first, the _import_ of this design--its abstract +definition; secondly, its _realization_. + +It must be observed at the outset that the phenomenon we +investigate--universal history--belongs to the realm of "spirit." The +term "World" includes both physical and psychical nature. Physical +nature also plays its part in the world's history, and attention will +have to be paid to the fundamental natural relations thus involved. But +Spirit, and the course of its development, is our substantial object. +Our task does not require us to contemplate nature as a rational system +in itself--though in its own proper domain it proves itself such-but +simply in its relation to _Spirit_. On the stage on which we are +observing it--universal history--Spirit displays itself in its most +concrete reality. Notwithstanding this (or rather for the very purpose +of comprehending the general principles which this, its form of concrete +reality, embodies) we must premise some abstract characteristics of the +nature of Spirit. + +We have therefore to mention here + + (1) The abstract characteristics of the nature of + Spirit. + + (2) What means Spirit uses in order to realize its + Idea. + + (3) Lastly, we must consider the shape which the + perfect embodiment of Spirit assumes--the + State. + +(1) The nature of Spirit may be understood by a glance at its direct +opposite--Matter. As the essence of Matter is gravity, so, on the other +hand, we may affirm that the substance, the essence of Spirit is freedom. +All will readily assent to the doctrine that Spirit, among other +properties, is also endowed with freedom; but philosophy teaches that +all the qualities of Spirit exist only through freedom; that all are but +means for attaining freedom; that all seek and produce this and this +alone. It is a result of speculative philosophy that freedom is the sole +truth of Spirit. Matter possesses gravity in virtue of its tendency toward +a central point. It is essentially composite, consisting of parts that +_exclude_ one another. It seeks its unity; and therefore exhibits itself +as self-destructive, as verging toward its opposite--an indivisible point. +If it could attain this, it would be Matter no longer; it would have +perished. It strives after the realization of its Idea; for in unity it +exists ideally. Spirit, on the contrary, may be defined as that which has +its centre in itself. It has not a unity outside itself, but has already +found it; it exists in and with itself. Matter has its essence out of +itself; Spirit is self-contained existence (Bei-sich-selbst-seyn). Now +this is freedom, exactly. For if I am dependent, my being is referred to +something else which I am not; I cannot exist independently of something +external. I am free, on the contrary, when my existence depends upon +myself. This self-contained existence of Spirit is none other than +self-consciousness-consciousness of one's own being. Two things must be +distinguished in consciousness; first, the fact _that I know_; +secondly, _what I know_. In self-consciousness these are merged in +one; for Spirit knows itself. It involves an appreciation of its own +nature, as also an energy enabling it to realize itself; to make itself +actually what it is potentially. According to this abstract definition it +may be said of universal history that it is the exhibition of Spirit in +the process of working out the knowledge of that which it is potentially. +And as the germ bears in itself the whole nature of the tree and the taste +and form of its fruits, so do the first traces of Spirit virtually contain +the whole of that history. The Orientals have not attained the knowledge +that Spirit--Man _as such_--is free; and because they do not know +this, they are not free. They only know that one is free; but on this +very account, the freedom of that one is only caprice; ferocity--brutal +recklessness of passion, or a mildness and tameness of the desires, which +is itself only an accident of nature--is mere caprice like the former. +That _one_ is therefore only a despot, not a _free man_. The +consciousness of freedom first arose among the Greeks, and therefore they +were free; but they, and the Romans likewise, knew only that _some_ are +free, not man as such. Even Plato and Aristotle did not know this. The +Greeks, therefore, had slaves, and their whole life and the maintenance +of their splendid liberty was implicated with the institution of +slavery--a fact, moreover, which made that liberty, on the one hand, +only an accidental, transient and limited growth, and on the other, a +rigorous thraldom of our common nature--of the Human. The Germanic +nations, under the influence of Christianity, were the first to attain +the consciousness that man is free; that it is the freedom of Spirit +which constitutes its essence. This consciousness arose first in +religion, the inmost region of Spirit; but to introduce the principle +into the various relations of the actual world involves a more extensive +problem than its simple implantation--a problem whose solution and +application require a severe and lengthened process of culture. In +proof of this we may note that slavery did not cease immediately on the +reception of Christianity. Still less did liberty predominate in States; +or governments and constitutions adopt a rational organization, or +recognize freedom as their basis. That application of the principle to +political relations, the thorough molding and interpenetration of the +constitution of society by it, is a process identical with history +itself. I have already directed attention to the distinction here +involved, between a principle as such and its application--that is, its +introduction and fulfilment in the actual phenomena of Spirit and life. +This is a point of fundamental importance in our science, and one which +must be constantly respected as essential. And in the same way as this +distinction has attracted attention in view of the Christian principle +of self-consciousness--freedom, it also shows itself as an essential one +in view of the principle of freedom generally. The history of the world +is none other than the progress of the consciousness of freedom--progress +whose development, according to the necessity of its nature, it is our +business to investigate. + +The general statement given above of the various grades in the +consciousness of freedom-which we applied in the first instance to the +fact that the Eastern nations knew only that one is free, the Greek and +Roman world only that _some_ are free, while we know that all men +absolutely (man as man) are free--supplies us with the natural division +of universal history, and suggests the mode of its discussion. This is +remarked, however, only incidentally and anticipatively; some other +ideas must be first explained. + +The destiny of the spiritual world, and--since this is the substantial +world, while the physical remains subordinate to it, or, in the language +of speculation, has no truth as against the spiritual--the final cause +of the world at large we allege to be the consciousness of its own +freedom on the part of Spirit, and, _ipso facto_, the reality of that +freedom. But that this term "freedom" is, without further +qualification, an indefinite, incalculable, ambiguous term, and that, +while what it represents is the _ne plus ultra_ of attainment, it is +liable to an infinity of misunderstandings, confusions, and errors, and +to become the occasion for all imaginable excesses--has never been more +clearly known and felt than in modern times. Yet, for the present, we +must content ourselves with the term itself without further definition. +Attention was also directed to the importance of the infinite difference +between a principle in the abstract and its realization in the concrete. +In the process before us the essential nature of freedom--which involves +absolute necessity--is to be displayed as coming to a consciousness of +itself (for it is in its very nature, self-consciousness) and thereby +realizing its existence. Itself is its own object of attainment and the +sole aim of Spirit. This result it is at which the process of the +world's history has been continually aiming, and to which the sacrifices +that have ever and anon been laid on the vast altar of the earth, +through the long lapse of ages, have been offered. This is the only aim +that sees itself realized and fulfilled, the only pole of repose amid +the ceaseless change of events and conditions, and the sole efficient +principle that pervades them. This final aim is God's purpose with the +world; but God is the absolutely perfect Being, and can, therefore, will +nothing other than Himself--His own will. The nature of His will--that +is His nature itself--is what we here call the idea of freedom, +translating the language of religion into that of thought. The question, +then, which we may next put, is What means does this principle of +freedom use for its realization? This is the second point we have to +consider. + +(2) The question of the means by which freedom develops itself to a +world conducts us to the phenomenon of history itself. Although freedom +is, primarily, an undeveloped idea, the means it uses are external and +phenomenal, presenting themselves in history to our sensuous vision. The +first glance at history convinces us that the actions of men proceed +from their needs, their passions, when the occasion seems to call for +it--is that what we call principle, aim, destiny, or the nature and idea +of Spirit, is something merely general and abstract. Principle--Plan of +Existence--Law--is a hidden, undeveloped essence which, as such--however +true in itself--is not completely real. Aims, principles, etc., have a +place in our thoughts, in our subjective design only, but not as yet in +the sphere of reality. That which exists for itself only is a +possibility, a potentiality, but it has not emerged into existence. A +second element must be introduced in order to produce actuality--viz., +actuation, realization; and its motive power is the will--the activity +of man in the widest sense. It is only by this activity that that Idea, +as well as abstract characteristics generally, are realized, actualized; +for of themselves they are powerless. The motive power that puts them in +operation and gives them determinate existence, is the need, instinct, +inclination, and passion of man. That some conception of mine should be +developed into act and existence, is my earnest desire; I wish to assert +my personality in connection with it; I wish to be satisfied by its +execution. If I am to exert myself for any object, it must in some way +or other be _my_ object. In the accomplishment of such or such designs I +must at the same time find _my_ satisfaction; although the purpose for +which I exert myself includes a complication of results, many of which +have no interest for me. This is the absolute right of personal +existence--to find _itself_ satisfied in its activity and labor. If men +are to interest themselves for anything, they must, so to speak, have +part of their existence involved in it and find their individuality +gratified by its attainment. Here a mistake must be avoided. We intend +blame, and justly impute it as a fault, when we say of an individual +that he is "interested" (in taking part in such or such +transactions)--that is, seeks only his private advantage. In +reprehending this we find fault with him for furthering his personal +aims without any regard to a more comprehensive design, of which he +takes advantage to promote his own interest or which, with this view, +he even sacrifices. But he who is active in promoting an object is not +simply "interested," but interested in that object itself. Language +faithfully expresses this distinction. Nothing therefore happens, +nothing is accomplished, unless the individuals concerned seek their own +satisfaction in the issue. They are particular units of society--that +is, they have special needs, instincts, and interests generally, +peculiar to themselves. Among these needs are not only such as we +usually call necessities--the stimuli of individual desire and +volition--but also those connected with individual views and +convictions; or--to use a term expressing less decision--leanings of +opinion, supposing the impulses of reflection, understanding, and +reason, to have been awakened. In these cases people demand, if they are +to exert themselves in any direction, that the object should commend +itself to them, that, in point of opinion-whether as to its goodness, +justice, advantage, profit they should be able to "enter into it" +(_dabei sein_). This is a consideration of special importance in our +age, when people are less than formerly influenced by reliance on +others, and by authority; when, on the contrary, they devote their +activities to a cause on the ground of their own understanding, their +independent conviction and opinion. + +We assert then that nothing has been accomplished without interest on +the part of the actors; and--if interest be called passion, inasmuch as +the whole individuality, to the neglect of all other actual or possible +interests and claims, is devoted to an object with every fibre of +volition, concentrating all its desires and powers upon it--we may +affirm absolutely that nothing great in the world has been accomplished +without passion. Two elements, therefore, enter into the object of our +investigation--the first the Idea, the second the complex of human +passions; the one the warp, the other the woof of the vast arras-web of +universal history. The concrete mean and union of the two is liberty, +under the conditions of morality in a State. We have spoken of the idea +of freedom as the nature of Spirit, and the absolute goal of history. +Passion is regarded as a thing of sinister aspect, as more or less +immoral. Man is required to have no passions. Passion, it is true, is +not quite the suitable word for what I wish to express. I mean here +nothing more than human activity as resulting from private interests, +special, or if you will, self-seeking designs--with this qualification, +that the whole energy of will and character is devoted to their +attainment, and that other interests (which would in themselves +constitute attractive aims), or, rather, all things else, are sacrificed +to them. The object in question is so bound up with the man's will that +it entirely and alone determines the "hue of resolution" and is +inseparable from it; it has become the very essence of his volition. For +a person is a specific existence--not man in general (a term to which no +real existence corresponds); but a particular human being. The term +"character" likewise expresses this idiosyncrasy of will and +intelligence. But character comprehends all peculiarities whatever, the +way in which a person conducts himself in private relations, etc., and +is not limited to his idiosyncrasy in its practical and active phase. I +shall, therefore, use the term "passion," understanding thereby the +particular bent of character, as far as the peculiarities of volition +are not limited to private interest but supply the impelling and +actuating force for accomplishing deeds shared in by the community at +large. Passion is, in the first instance, the subjective and therefore +the formal side of energy, will, and activity--leaving the object or aim +still undetermined. And there is a similar relation of formality to +reality in merely individual conviction, individual views, individual +conscience. It is always a question of essential importance--what is the +purport of my conviction, what the object of my passion--in deciding +whether the one or the other is of a true and substantial nature. +Conversely, if it is so, it will inevitably attain actual existence--be +realized. + +From this comment on the second essential element in the historical +embodiment of an aim, we infer--glancing at the institution of the State +in passing--that a State is well constituted and internally powerful when +the private interest of its citizens is one with the common interest of +the State, when the one finds its gratification and realization in the +other--a proposition in itself very important. But in a State many +institutions must be adopted, and much political machinery invented, +accompanied by appropriate political arrangements--necessitating long +struggles of the understanding before what is really appropriate can be +discovered--involving, moreover, contentions with private interest and +passions and a tedious discipline of the latter in order to bring about +the desired harmony. The epoch when a State attains this harmonious +condition marks the period of its bloom, its virtue, its vigor, and its +prosperity. But the history of mankind does not begin with a conscious +aim of any kind, as is the case with the particular circles into which +men form themselves of set purpose. The mere social instinct implies a +conscious purpose of security for life and property; and when society has +been constituted this purpose becomes more comprehensive. The history of +the world begins with its general aim--the realization of the idea of +Spirit--only in an implicit form (_an sich_), that is, as nature--a +hidden, most profoundly hidden, unconscious instinct; and the whole +process of history (as already observed) is directed to rendering this +unconscious impulse a conscious one. Thus appearing in the form of +merely natural existence, natural will--that which has been called the +subjective side--physical craving, instinct, passion, private interest, +as also opinion and subjective conception, spontaneously present +themselves at the very commencement. This vast congeries of volitions, +interests, and activities, constitute the instruments and means of the +World-Spirit for attaining its object, bringing it to consciousness and +realizing it. And this aim is none other than finding itself--coming to +itself--and contemplating itself in concrete actuality. But that those +manifestations of vitality on the part of individuals and peoples, in +which they seek and satisfy their own purposes, are, at the same time, +the means and instruments of a higher and broader purpose of which they +know nothing-which they realize unconsciously might be made a matter of +question-rather has been questioned, and, in every variety of form, +negatived, decried, and contemned as mere dreaming and "philosophy." But +on this point I announced my view at the very outset and asserted our +hypothesis--which, however, will appear in the sequel in the form of a +legitimate inference--and our belief that Reason governs the world and +has consequently governed its history. In relation to this independently +universal and substantial existence all else is subordinate, subservient +to it, and the means for its development. The union of universal +abstract existence generally with the individual--the subjective--that +this alone is truth belongs to the department of speculation and is +treated in this general form in logic. But in the process of the world's +history itself--as still incomplete--the abstract final aim of history +is not yet made the distinct object of desire and interest. While these +limited sentiments are still unconscious of the purpose they are +fulfilling, the universal principle is implicit in them and is realizing +itself through them. The question also assumes the form of the union of +freedom and necessity, the latent abstract process of Spirit being +regarded as necessity, while that which exhibits itself in the conscious +will of men, as their interest, belongs to the domain of freedom. As the +metaphysical connection (i. e., the connection in the Idea) of these +forms of thought, belongs to logic, it would be out of place to analyze +it here. The chief and cardinal points only shall be mentioned. + +Philosophy shows that the Idea advances to an infinite antithesis--that, +namely, between the Idea in its free, universal form, in which it exists +for itself, and the contrasted form of abstract introversion, reflection +on itself, which is formal existence-for-self, personality, formal +freedom, such as belongs to Spirit only. The universal Idea exists thus +as the substantial totality of things on the one side, and as the +abstract essence of free volition on the other. This reflection of the +mind on itself is individual self-consciousness--the polar-opposite of +the Idea in its general form and therefore existing in absolute +limitation. This polar-opposite is consequently limitation, +particularization for the universal absolute being; it is the side of +the definite existence, the sphere of its formal reality, the sphere of +the reverence paid to God. To comprehend the absolute connection of this +antithesis is the profound task of metaphysics. This limitation +originates all forms of particularity of whatever kind. The formal +volition (of which we have spoken) wills itself and desires to make its +own personality valid in all that it purposes and does; even the pious +individual wishes to be saved and happy. This pole of the antithesis, +existing for itself, is--in contrast with the Absolute Universal +Being--a special separate existence, taking cognizance of speciality +only and willing that alone. In short, it plays its part in the region +of mere phenomena. This is the sphere of particular purposes, in +effecting which individuals exert themselves on behalf of their +individuality--give it full play and objective realization. This is also +the sphere of happiness and its opposite. He is happy who finds his +condition suited to his special character, will, and fancy, and so +enjoys himself in that condition. The history of the world is not the +theatre of happiness. Periods of happiness are blank pages in it, for +they are periods of harmony--periods when the antithesis is in abeyance. +Reflection of self--the freedom above described--is abstractly defined +as the formal element of the activity of the absolute Idea. The +realizing activity of which we have spoken is the middle term of the +syllogism, one of whose extremes is the universal essence, the _Idea_, +which reposes in the penetralia of Spirit; and the other, the complex of +external things--objective matter. That activity is the medium by which +the universal latent principle is translated into the domain of +objectivity. + +I will endeavor to make what has been said more vivid and clear by +examples. The building of a house is, in the first instance, a +subjective aim and design. On the other hand we have, as means, the +several substances required for the work--iron, wood, stones. The +elements are made use of in working up this material--fire to melt the +iron, wind to blow the fire, water to set the wheels in motion in order +to cut the wood, etc. The result is that the wind, which has helped to +build the house, is shut out by the house; so also are the violence of +rains and floods and the destructive powers of fire, so far as the house +is made fire-proof. The stones and beams obey the law of gravity--press +downward--and so high walls are carried up. Thus the elements are made +use of in accordance with their nature, and yet are made to coöperate +for a product by which their operation is limited. It is thus that the +passions of men are gratified; they develop themselves and their aims in +accordance with their natural tendencies and build up the edifice of +human society, thus fortifying a position for Right and Order _against +themselves_. + +The connection of events above indicated involves also the fact that, in +history, an additional result is commonly produced by human actions +beyond what they aim at and obtain what they immediately recognize and +desire. They gratify their own interest; but something further is +thereby accomplished, latent in the actions in question, though not +present to their consciousness and not included in their design. An +analogous example is offered in the case of a man who, from a feeling of +revenge--perhaps not an unjust one, but produced by injury on the +other's part--burns that other man's house. A connection is immediately +established between the deed itself, taken abstractly, and a train of +circumstances not directly included in it. In itself it consisted in +merely bringing a small flame into contact with a small portion of a +beam. Events not involved in that simple act follow of themselves. The +part of the beam which was set afire is connected with its remote +portions, the beam itself is united with the woodwork of the house +generally, and this with other houses, so that a wide conflagration +ensues which destroys the goods and chattels of many other persons +besides those belonging to the person against whom the act of revenge +was first directed, perhaps even costs not a few men their lives. This +lay neither in the deed intrinsically nor in the design of the man who +committed it. But the action has a further general bearing. In the +design of the doer it was only revenge executed against an individual in +the destruction of his property, but it is, moreover, a crime, and that +involves punishment also. This may not have been present to the mind of +the perpetrator, still less in his intention; but his deed itself, the +general principles it calls into play, its substantial content, entail +it. By this example I wish only to impress on you the consideration +that, in a simple act, something further may be implicated than lies in +the intention and consciousness of the agent. The example before us +involves, however, the additional consideration that the substance of +the act, consequently, we may say, the act itself, recoils upon the +perpetrator--reacts upon him with destructive tendency. This union of +the two extremes--the embodiment of a general idea in the form of direct +reality and the elevation of a speciality into connection with universal +truth--is brought to pass, at first sight, under the conditions of an +utter diversity of nature between the two and an indifference of the one +extreme toward the other. The aims which the agents set before them are +limited and special; but it must be remarked that the agents themselves +are intelligent thinking beings. The purport of their desires is +interwoven with general, essential considerations of justice, good, +duty, etc.; for mere desire--volition in its rough and savage +forms--falls not within the scene and sphere of universal history. Those +general considerations, which form at the same time a norm for directing +aims and actions, have a determinate purport; for such an abstraction +as "good for its own sake," has no place in living reality. If men are +to act they must not only intend the Good, but must have decided for +themselves whether this or that particular thing is a good. What special +course of action, however, is good or not, is determined, as regards the +ordinary contingencies of private life, by the laws and customs of a +State; and here no great difficulty is presented. Each individual has +his position; he knows, on the whole, what a just, honorable course of +conduct is. As to ordinary, private relations, the assertion that it is +difficult to choose the right and good--the regarding it as the mark of +an exalted morality to find difficulties and raise scruples on that +score--may be set down to an evil or perverse will, which seeks to evade +duties not in themselves of a perplexing nature, or, at any rate, to an +idly reflective habit of mind--where a feeble will affords no sufficient +exercise to the faculties--leaving them therefore to find occupation +within themselves and to expand themselves on moral self-adulation. + +It is quite otherwise with the comprehensive relations with which +history has to do. In this sphere are presented those momentous +collisions between existing, acknowledged duties, laws, and rights, and +those contingencies which are adverse to this fixed system, which assail +and even destroy its foundations and existence, and whose tenor may +nevertheless seem good--on the large scale, advantageous--yes, even +indispensable and necessary. These contingencies realize themselves in +history; they involve a general principle of a different order from that +on which depends the permanence of a people or a State. This principle +is an essential phase in the development of the creating Idea, of Truth +striving and urging toward (consciousness of) itself. Historical +men--world-famous individuals--are those in whose aims such a general +principle lies. + +Cæsar, in danger of losing a position--not perhaps at that time of +superiority, yet at least of equality with the others who were at the +head of the State, and of succumbing to those who were just on the point +of becoming his enemies--belongs essentially to this category. These +enemies--who were at the same time pursuing their own personal aims--had +on their side the form of the constitution, and the power conferred by +an appearance of justice. Cæsar was contending for the maintenance of +his position, honor, and safety; and, since the power of his opponents +included the sovereignty over the provinces of the Roman Empire, his +victory secured for him the conquest of that entire Empire; and he thus +became--though leaving the form of the constitution--the autocrat of the +State. What secured for him the execution of a design, which in the +first instance was of negative import--the autocracy of Rome--was, +however, at the same time an independently necessary feature in the +history of Rome and of the world. It was not, then, his private gain +merely, but an unconscious impulse that occasioned the accomplishment of +that for which the time was ripe. Such are all great historical men, +whose own particular aims involve those large issues which are the will +of the World-Spirit. They may be called heroes, inasmuch as they have +derived their purposes and their vocation, not from the calm, regular +course of things, sanctioned by the existing order, but from a concealed +fount--one which has not attained to phenomenal, present existence--from +that inner Spirit, still hidden beneath the surface, which, impinging on +the outer world as on a shell, bursts it in pieces, because it is +another kernel than that which belonged to the shell in question. They +are men, therefore, who appear to draw the impulse of their life from +themselves, and whose deeds have produced a condition of things and a +complex of historical relations which appear to be only their own +interest and their own work. + +Such individuals had no consciousness of the general Idea they were +unfolding, while prosecuting their aims; on the contrary, they were +practical, political men. But, at the same time, they were thinking men, +who had an insight into the requirements of the time--_what was ripe +for development_. This was the very truth for their age, for their +world--the species next in order, so to speak, and which was already +formed in the womb of time. It was theirs to know this nascent +principle, the necessary, directly sequent step in progress, which their +world was to take, to make this their aim, and to expend their energy in +promoting it. World-historical men--the heroes of an epoch--must, +therefore, be recognized as its clear-sighted ones; their deeds, their +words are the best of that time. Great men have formed purposes to +satisfy themselves, not others. Whatever prudent designs and counsels +they might have learned from others would be the more limited and +inconsistent features in their career; for it was they who best +understood affairs, from whom others learned, and approved, or at least +acquiesced in, their policy. For that Spirit which had taken this fresh +step in history is the inmost soul of all individuals, but in a state of +unconsciousness which the great men in question aroused. Their fellows, +therefore, follow these soul-leaders; for they feel the irresistible +power of their own inner Spirit thus embodied. If we go on to cast a +look at the fate of these world-historical persons, whose vocation it +was to be the agents of the World-Spirit, we shall find it to have been +no happy one. They attained no calm enjoyment; their whole life was +labor and trouble; their whole nature was naught else but their +master-passion. When their object is attained they fall off like empty +husks from the kernel. They die early, like Alexander; they are +murdered, like Cæsar; transported to St. Helena, like Napoleon. This +fearful consolation--that historical men have not enjoyed what is called +happiness, and of which only private life (and this may be passed under +various external circumstances) is capable--this consolation those may +draw from history who stand in need of it; and it is craved by envy, +vexed at what is great and transcendent, striving, therefore, to +depreciate it and to find some flaw in it. Thus in modern times it has +been demonstrated _ad nauseam_ that princes are generally unhappy on +their thrones; in consideration of which the possession of a throne is +tolerated, and men acquiesce in the fact that not themselves but the +personages in question are its occupants. The free man, we may observe, +is not envious, but gladly recognizes what is great and exalted, and +rejoices that it exists. + +It is in the light of those common elements which constitute the +interest and therefore the passions of individuals that these historical +men are to be regarded. They are great men, because they willed and +accomplished something great--not a mere fancy, a mere intention, but +whatever met the case and fell in with the needs of the age. This mode +of considering them also excludes the so-called "psychological" view, +which, serving the purpose of envy most effectually, contrives so to +refer all actions to the heart, to bring them under such a subjective +aspect, that their authors appear to have done everything under the +impulse of some passion, mean or grand, some morbid craving, and, on +account of these passions and cravings, to have been immoral men. +Alexander of Macedon partly subdued Greece, and then Asia; therefore he +was possessed by a morbid craving for conquest. He is alleged to have +acted from a craving for fame, for conquest; and the proof that these +were the impelling motives is that he did what resulted in fame. What +pedagogue has not demonstrated of Alexander the Great, of Julius Cæsar, +that they were instigated by such passions, and were consequently +immoral men? From this the conclusion immediately follows that he, the +pedagogue, is a better man than they, because he has not such +passions--a proof of which lies in the fact that he does not conquer +Asia, or vanquish Darius and Porus, but, while he enjoys life himself, +lets others enjoy it too. These psychologists are particularly fond of +contemplating those peculiarities of great historical figures which +appertain to them as private persons. Man must eat and drink; he +sustains relations to friends and acquaintances; he has passing +impulses and ebullitions of temper. "No man is a hero to his +valet-de-chambre," is a well-known proverb; I have added--and Goethe +repeated it ten years later--"but not because the former is no hero, but +because the latter is a valet." He takes off the hero's boots, assists +him to bed, knows that he prefers champagne, etc. Historical personages +waited upon in historical literature by such psychological valets come +poorly off; they are brought down by these their attendants to a level +with, or, rather, a few degrees below the level of, the morality of such +exquisite discerners of spirits. The Thersites of Homer who abuses the +kings is a standing figure for all times. Blows--that is, beating with a +solid cudgel--he does not get in every age, as in the Homeric one; but +his envy, his egotism, is the thorn which he has to carry in his flesh; +and the undying worm that gnaws him is the tormenting consideration that +his excellent views and vituperations remain absolutely without result +in the world. But our satisfaction at the fate of Thersitism also, may +have its sinister side. + +A world-famous individual is not so unwise as to indulge a variety of +wishes to divide his regards. He is devoted to the one aim, regardless +of all else. It is even possible that such men may treat other great, +even sacred interests, inconsiderately--conduct which is deserving of +moral reprehension. But so mighty a form must trample down many innocent +flowers and crush to pieces many an object in its path. + +The special interest of passion is thus inseparable from the active +development of a general principle; for it is from the special and +determinate, and from its negation, that the universal results. +Particularity contends with its like, and some loss is involved in the +issue. It is not the general idea that is implicated in opposition and +combat, and that is exposed to danger. It remains in the background, +untouched and uninjured. This may be called the cunning of reason--that +it sets the passions to work for itself, while that which develops its +existence through such impulsion pays the penalty and suffers loss. For +it is _phenomenal_ being that is so treated, and, of this, a portion is +of no value, another is positive and real. The particular is, for the +most part, of too trifling value as compared with the general; +individuals are sacrificed and abandoned. The Idea pays the penalty of +determinate existence and of corruptibility, not from itself, but from +the passions of individuals. + +But though we might tolerate the idea that individuals, their desires, +and the gratification of them, are thus sacrificed, and their happiness +given up to the empire of chance, to which it belongs, and that, as a +general rule, individuals come under the category of means to an +ulterior end, there is one aspect of human individuality which we should +hesitate to regard in that subordinate light, even in relation to the +highest, since it is absolutely no subordinate element, but exists in +those individuals as inherently eternal and divine--I mean morality, +ethics, religion. Even when speaking of the realization of the great +ideal aim by means of individuals, the subjective element in them--their +interest and that of their cravings and impulses, their views and +judgments, though exhibited as the merely formal side of their +existence--was spoken of as having an infinite right to be consulted. +The first idea that presents itself in speaking of means is that of +something external to the object, yet having no share in the object +itself. But merely natural things--even the commonest lifeless +objects--used as means, must be of such a kind as adapts them to their +purpose; they must possess something in common with it. Human beings, +least of all, sustain the bare external relation of mere means to the +great ideal aim. Not only do they, in the very act of realizing it, make +it the occasion of satisfying personal desires whose purport is diverse +from that aim, but they share in that ideal aim itself, and are, for +that very reason, objects of their own existence--not formally merely, +as the world of living beings generally is, whose individual life is +essentially subordinate to that of man and its properly used up as an +instrument. Men, on the contrary, are objects of existence to +themselves, as regards the intrinsic import of the aim in question. To +this order belongs that in them which we would exclude from the category +of mere means--morality, ethics, religion. That is to say, man is an +object of existence in himself only in virtue of the Divine that is in +him--the quality that was designated at the outset as Reason, which, in +view of its activity and power of self-determination, was called +freedom. And we affirm--without entering at present on the proof of the +assertion--that religion, morality, etc., have their foundation and +source in that principle, and so are essentially elevated above all +alien necessity and chance. And here we must remark that individuals, to +the extent of their freedom, are responsible for the depravation and +enfeeblement of morals and religion. This is the seal of the absolute +and sublime destiny of man--that he knows what is good and what is evil; +that his destiny is his very ability to will either good or evil--in one +word, that he is the subject of moral imputation, imputation not only of +evil, but of good, and not only concerning this or that particular +matter, and all that happens _ab extra_, but also the good and evil +attaching to his individual freedom. The brute alone is simply innocent. +It would, however, demand an extensive explanation--as extensive as the +analysis of moral freedom itself--to preclude or obviate all the +misunderstandings which the statement that what is called innocence +imports the entire unconsciousness of evil--is wont to occasion. + +In contemplating the fate which virtue, morality, even piety experience +in history, we must not fall into the Litany of Lamentations, that the +good and pious often, or for the most part, fare ill in the world, while +the evil-disposed and wicked prosper. The term prosperity is used in a +variety of meanings--riches, outward honor, and the like. But in +speaking of something which in and for itself constitutes an aim of +existence, that so-called well or ill faring of these or those isolated +individuals cannot be regarded as an essential element in the rational +order of the universe. With more justice than happiness--or a fortunate +environment for individuals--it is demanded of the grand aim of the +world's existence that it should foster, nay, involve the execution and +ratification of good, moral, righteous purposes. What makes men morally +discontented (a discontent, by the way, on which they somewhat pride +themselves), is that they do not find the present adapted to the +realization of aims which they hold to be right and just--more +especially, in modern times, ideals of political constitutions; they +contrast unfavorably things as they are, with their idea of things as +they ought to be. In this case it is not private interest nor passion +that desires gratification, but reason, justice, liberty; and, equipped +with this title, the demand in question assumes a lofty bearing and +readily adopts a position, not merely of discontent, but of open revolt +against the actual condition of the world. To estimate such a feeling +and such views aright, the demands insisted upon and the very dogmatic +opinions asserted must be examined. At no time so much as in our own, +have such general principles and notions been advanced, or with greater +assurance. If, in days gone by, history seems to present itself as a +struggle of passions, in our time--though displays of passion are not +wanting--it exhibits, partly a predominance of the struggle of notions +assuming the authority of principles, partly that of passions and +interests essentially subjective but under the mask of such higher +sanctions. The pretensions thus contended for as legitimate in the name +of that which has been stated as the ultimate aim of Reason, pass +accordingly for absolute aims--to the same extent as religion, morals, +ethics. Nothing, as before remarked, is now more common than the +complaint that the ideals which imagination sets up are not realized, +that these glorious dreams are destroyed by cold actuality. These ideals +which, in the voyage of life, founder on the rocks of hard reality may +be in the first instance only subjective and belong to the idiosyncrasy +of the individual, imagining himself the highest and wisest. Such do not +properly belong to this category. For the fancies which the individual +in his isolation indulges cannot be the model for universal reality, +just as universal law is not designed for the units of the mass. These +as such may, in fact, find their interests thrust decidedly into the +background. But by the term "Ideal" we also understand the ideal of +Reason--of the good, of the true. Poets--as, for instance, +Schiller--have painted such ideals touchingly and with strong emotion, +and with the deeply melancholy conviction that they could not be +realized. In affirming, on the contrary, that the Universal Reason does +realize itself, we have indeed nothing to do with the individual, +empirically regarded; that admits of degrees of better and worse, since +here chance and speciality have received authority from the Idea to +exercise their monstrous power; much, therefore, in particular aspects +of the grand phenomenon, might be criticized. This subjective +fault-finding--which, however, only keeps in view the individual and its +deficiency, without taking notice of Reason pervading the whole--is +easy; and inasmuch as it asserts an excellent intention with regard to +the good of the whole, and seems to result from a kindly heart, it feels +authorized to give itself airs and assume great consequence. It is +easier to discover a deficiency in individuals, in States, and in +Providence, than to see their real import and value. For in this merely +negative fault-finding a proud position is taken--one which overlooks +the object without having entered into it, without having comprehended +its positive aspect. Age generally makes men more tolerant; youth is +always discontented. The tolerance of age is the result of the ripeness +of a judgment which, not merely as the result of indifference, is +satisfied even with what is inferior, but, more deeply taught by the +grave experience of life, has been led to perceive the substantial, +solid worth of the object in question. The insight, then, to which--in +contradistinction to those ideals--philosophy is to lead us, is, that +the real world is as it ought to be--that the truly good, the universal +divine Reason, is not a mere abstraction, but a vital principle capable +of realizing itself. This Good, this Reason, in its most concrete form, +is God. God governs the world; the actual working of His government, the +carrying out of His plan, is the history of the world. This plan +philosophy strives to comprehend; for only that which has been developed +as the result of it possesses _bona fide_ reality. That which does not +accord with it is negative, worthless existence. Before the pure light +of this divine Idea--which is no mere Ideal--the phantom of a world +whose events are an incoherent concourse of fortuitous circumstances, +utterly vanishes. Philosophy wishes to discover the substantial purport, +the real side of the divine idea, and to justify the so much despised +reality of things; for Reason is the comprehension of the divine work. +But as to what concerns the perversion, corruption, and ruin of +religious, ethical, and moral purposes and states of society generally, +it must be affirmed that, in their essence, these are infinite and +eternal, but that the forms they assume may be of a limited order, and +consequently may belong to the domain of mere nature and be subject to +the sway of chance; they are therefore perishable and exposed to decay +and corruption. Religion and morality--in the same way as inherently +universal essences--have the peculiarity of being present in the +individual soul, in the full extent of their Idea, and therefore truly +and really; although they may not manifest themselves in it _in extenso_ +and are not applied to fully developed relations. The religion, the +morality of a limited sphere of life, for instance that of a shepherd or +a peasant, in its intensive concentration and limitation to a few +perfectly simple relations of life has infinite worth--the same worth as +the religion and morality of extensive knowledge and of an existence +rich in the compass of its relations and actions. This inner focus, this +simple region of the claims of subjective freedom, the home of +volition, resolution, and action, the abstract sphere of +conscience--that which comprises the responsibility and moral value of +the individual--remains untouched and is quite shut out from the noisy +din of the world's history--including not merely external and temporal +changes but also those entailed by the absolute necessity inseparable +from the realization of the idea of freedom itself. But, as a general +truth, this must be regarded as settled, that whatever in the world +possesses claims as noble and glorious has nevertheless a higher +existence above it. The claim of the World-Spirit rises above all +special claims. + +These observations may suffice in reference to the means which the +World-Spirit uses for realizing its Idea. Stated simply and abstractly, +this mediation involves the activity of personal existences in whom +Reason is present as their absolute, substantial being, but a basis, in +the first instance, still obscure and unknown to them. But the subject +becomes more complicated and difficult when we regard individuals not +merely in their aspect of activity, but more concretely, in conjunction +with a particular manifestation of that activity in their religion and +morality--forms of existence which are intimately connected with Reason +and share in its absolute claims. Here the relation of mere means to an +end disappears, and the chief bearings of this seeming difficulty in +reference to the absolute aim of Spirit have been briefly considered. + +(3) The third point to be analyzed is, therefore: What is the object to +be realized by these means--that is, What is the form it assumes in the +realm of reality? We have spoken of means; but, in carrying out of a +subjective, limited aim, we have also to take into consideration the +element of a material either already present or which has to be +procured. Thus the question would arise: What is the material in which +the Ideal of Reason is wrought out? The primary answer would be: +Personality itself, human desires, subjectivity generally. In human +knowledge and volition as its material element Reason attains positive +existence. We have considered subjective volition where it has an object +which is the truth and essence of reality--viz., where it constitutes a +great world-historical passion. As a subjective will, occupied with +limited passions, it is dependent, and can gratify its desires only +within the limits of this dependence. But the subjective will has also a +substantial life, a reality, in which it moves in the region of +essential being and has the essential itself as the object of its +existence. This essential being is the union of the subjective with the +rational will; it is the moral whole, the _State_, which is that form of +reality in which the individual has and enjoys his freedom, but on the +condition of his recognizing, believing in, and willing that which is +common to the whole. And this must not be understood as if the +subjective will of the social unit attained its gratification and +enjoyment through that common will, as if this were a means provided for +its benefit, as if the individual, in his relations to other +individuals, thus limited his freedom, in order that this universal +limitation, the mutual constraint of all, might secure a small space of +liberty for each. Rather, we affirm, are law, morality, government, and +these alone, the positive reality and completion of freedom. Freedom of +a low and limited order is mere caprice, which finds its exercise in the +sphere of particular and limited desires. + +Subjective volition, passion, is that which sets men in activity, that +which effects "practical" realization. The Idea is the inner spring of +action; the State is the actually existing, realized moral life. For it +is the unity of the universal, essential will, with that of the +individual; and this is "morality." The individual living in this unity +has a moral life and possesses a value that consists in this +substantiality alone. Sophocles in his _Antigone_ says, "The divine +commands are not of yesterday, nor of today; no, they have an infinite +existence, and no one could say whence they came." The laws of morality +are not accidental, but are the essentially rational. It is the very +object of the State that what is essential in the practical activity of +men and in their dispositions should be duly recognized; that it should +have a manifest existence and maintain its position. It is the absolute +interest of Reason that this moral whole should exist; and herein lies +the justification and merit of heroes who have founded States, however +rude these may have been. In the history of the world, only those +peoples can come under our notice which form a State; for it must be +understood that the State is the realization of freedom, i. e., of the +absolute final aim, and that it exists for its own sake. It must further +be understood that all the worth which the human being possesses--all +spiritual reality--he possesses only through the State. For his +spiritual reality consists in this, that his own essence, Reason, is +objectively present to him, that it possesses objective immediate +existence for him. Thus only is he fully conscious; thus only is he a +partaker of morality, of a just and moral social and political life. For +truth is the unity of the universal and subjective will; and the +universal is to be found in the State, in its laws, and in its universal +and rational arrangements. The State is the Divine Idea as it exists on +earth. We have in it, therefore, the object of history in a more +definite shape than before--that in which freedom obtains objectivity +and lives in the enjoyment of this objectivity. For law is the +objectivity of Spirit, volition in its true form. Only that will which +obeys law is free; for it obeys itself--it is independent and, +therefore, free. When the State or our country constitutes a community +of existence, when the subjective will of man submits to laws, the +contradiction between liberty and necessity vanishes. The rational has +necessary existence, as being the reality and substance of things, and +we are free in recognizing it as law and following it as the substance +of our own being. The objective and the subjective will are then +reconciled and present one identical homogeneous whole. For the +morality (_Sittlichkeit_) of the State is not of that ethical +(_moralische_) reflective kind, in which one's own conviction bears +sway; the latter is rather the peculiarity of the modern time, while the +true antique morality is based on the principle of abiding by one's duty +(to the State at large). An Athenian citizen did what was required of +him, as it were from instinct; but if I reflect on the object of my +activity I must have the consciousness that my will has been called into +exercise. But morality is duty--substantial right, a "second nature," as +it has been justly called; for the first nature of man is his primary, +merely animal, existence. + +The development _in extenso_ of the idea of the State belongs to the +philosophy of jurisprudence; but it must be observed that in the +theories of our time various errors are current respecting it, which +pass for established truths and have become fixed prejudices. We will +mention only a few of them, giving prominence to such as have a +reference to the object of our history. + +The error which first meets us is the direct opposite of our principle +that the State presents the realization of freedom--the opinion--that +man is free by nature, but that in society, in the State, to which +nevertheless he is irresistibly impelled, he must limit this natural +freedom. That man is free by nature is quite correct in one sense, +namely, that he is so according to the idea of humanity; but we imply +thereby that he is such only in virtue of his destiny--that he has an +undeveloped power to become such; for the "nature" of an object is +exactly synonymous with its "idea." But the view in question imports +more than this. When man is spoken of as "free by nature," the mode of +his existence as well as his destiny is implied; his merely natural and +primary condition is intended. In this sense a "state of nature" is +assumed in which mankind at large is in the possession of its natural +rights with the unconstrained exercise and enjoyment of its freedom. +This assumption is not raised to the dignity of the historical fact; it +would indeed be difficult, were the attempt seriously made, to point +out any such condition as actually existing or as having ever occurred. +Examples of a savage state of life can be pointed out, but they are +marked by brutal passions and deeds of violence; while, however rude and +simple their, conditions, they involve social arrangements which, to use +the common phrase, "restrain freedom." That assumption is one of those +nebulous images which theory produces, an idea which it cannot avoid +originating, but which it fathers upon real existence without sufficient +historical justification. + +What we find such a state of nature to be, in actual experience, answers +exactly to the idea of a merely natural condition. Freedom as the ideal +of that which is original and natural does not exist as original and +natural; rather must it first be sought out and won, and that by an +incalculable medial discipline of the intellectual and moral powers. The +state of nature is, therefore, predominantly that of injustice and +violence, of untamed natural impulses, of inhuman deeds and feelings. +Limitation is certainly produced by society and the State, but it is a +limitation of the mere brute emotions and rude instincts, as also, in a +more advanced stage of culture, of the premeditated self-will of caprice +and passion. This kind of constraint is part of the instrumentality by +which only the consciousness of freedom and the desire for its +attainment, in its true--that is, its rational and ideal form--can be +obtained. To the ideal of freedom, law and morality are indispensably +requisite; and they are, in and for themselves, universal existences, +objects, and aims, which are discovered only by the activity of thought, +separating itself from the merely sensuous and developing itself in +opposition thereto, and which must, on the other hand, be introduced +into and incorporated with the originally sensuous will, and that +contrarily to its natural inclination. The perpetually recurring +misapprehension of freedom consists in regarding that term only in its +formal, subjective sense, abstracted from its essential objects and +aims; thus a constraint put upon impulse, desire, passion--pertaining to +the particular individual as such--a limitation of caprice and +self-will is regarded as a fettering of freedom. We should, on the +contrary, look upon such limitation as the indispensable proviso of +emancipation. Society and the State are the very conditions in which +freedom is realized. + +We must notice a second view, contravening the principle of the +development of moral relations into a legal form. The patriarchal +condition is regarded, either in reference to the entire race of man or +to some branches of it, as exclusively that condition of things in which +the legal element is combined with a due recognition of the moral and +emotional parts of our nature, and in which justice, as united with +these, truly influences the intercourse of the social units. The basis +of the patriarchal condition is the family relation, which develops the +primary form of conscious morality, succeeded by that of the State as +its second phase. The patriarchal condition is one of transition, in +which the family has already advanced to the position of a race of +people, where the union, therefore, has already ceased to be simply a +bond of love and confidence and has become one of plighted service. + +We must first examine the ethical principle of the Family, which may be +reckoned as virtually a single person, since its members have either +mutually surrendered their individual personality and consequently their +legal position toward one another, with the rest of their particular +interests and desires, as in the case of the parents, or, in the care of +children who are primarily in that merely natural condition already +mentioned, have not yet attained such an independent personality. They +live, therefore, in a unity of feeling, love, confidence, and faith in +one another, and, in a relation of mutual love, the one individual has +the consciousness of himself in the consciousness of another; he lives +out of self; and in this mutual self-renunciation each regains the life +that had been virtually transferred to the other--gains, in fact, the +other's existence and his own, as involved with that other. The ultimate +interests connected with the necessities and external concerns of life, +as well as the development that has to take place within their circle, +i. e., of the children, constitute a common object for the members of the +family. The spirit of the family--the _Penates_--form one substantial +being, as much as the spirit of a people in the State; and morality in +both cases consists in a feeling, a consciousness, and a will, not +limited to individual personality and interest, but embracing the common +interests of the members generally. But this unity is, in the case of +the family, essentially one of feeling, not advancing beyond the limits +of the merely natural. The piety of the family relation should be +respected in the highest degree by the State; by its means the State +obtains as its members individuals who are already moral (for as mere +persons they are not) and who, in uniting to form a State, bring with +them that sound basis of a political edifice--the capacity of feeling +one with a whole. But the expansion of the family to a patriarchal unity +carries us beyond the ties of blood-relationship--the simply natural +elements of that basis; and outside of these limits the members of the +community must enter upon the position of independent personality. A +review of the patriarchal condition, _in extenso_, would lead us to give +special attention to the theocratical constitution. The head of the +patriarchal clan is also its priest. If the family in its general +relations is not yet separated from civic society and the State, the +separation of religion from it has also not yet taken place; and so much +the less since the piety of the hearth is itself a profoundly subjective +state of feeling. + +We have considered two aspects of freedom--the objective and the +subjective; if, therefore, freedom is asserted to consist in the +individuals of a State, all agreeing in its arrangements, it is evident +that only the subjective aspect is regarded. The natural inference from +this principle is, that no law can be valid without the approval of all. +It is attempted to obviate this difficulty by the decision that the +minority must yield to the majority; the majority therefore bears sway; +but long ago J.J. Rousseau remarked that, in that case, there would no +longer be freedom, for the will of the minority would cease to be +respected. At the Polish Diet each individual member had to give his +consent before any political step could be taken; and this kind of +freedom it was that ruined the State. Besides, it is a dangerous and +false prejudice that the people alone have reason and insight, and know +what justice is; for each popular faction may represent itself as the +people, and the question as to what constitutes the State is one of +advanced science and not of popular decision. + +If the principle of regard for the individual will is recognized as the +only basis of political liberty, viz., that nothing should be done by or +for the State to which all the members of the body politic have not +given their sanction, we have, properly speaking, no constitution. The +only arrangement found necessary would be, first, a centre having no +will of its own, but which should take into consideration what appeared +to be the necessities of the State, and, secondly, a contrivance for +calling the members of the State together, for taking the votes, and for +performing the arithmetical operations of reckoning and comparing the +number of votes for the different propositions, and thereby deciding +upon them. The State is an abstraction, having even its generic +existence in its citizens; but it is an actuality, and its simply +generic existence must embody itself in individual will and activity. +The want of government and political administration in general is felt; +this necessitates the selection and separation from the rest of those +who have to take the helm in political affairs, to decide concerning +them, and to give orders to other citizens, with a view to the execution +of their plans. If, for instance, even the people in a democracy resolve +on a war, a general must head the army. It is only by a constitution +that the abstraction--the State--attains life and reality; but this +involves the distinction between those who command and those who obey. +Yet obedience seems inconsistent with liberty, and those who command +appear to do the very opposite of that which the fundamental idea of the +State, viz., that of freedom, requires. It is, however, urged that +though the distinction between commanding and obeying is absolutely +necessary, because affairs could not go on without it, and indeed, this +seems only a compulsory limitation, external to and even contravening +freedom in the abstract--the constitution should be at least so framed +that the citizens may obey as little as possible and the smallest +modicum of free volition be left to the commands of the superiors; that +the substance of that for which subordination is necessary, even in its +most important bearings, should be decided and resolved on by the +people, by the will of many or of all the citizens; though it is +supposed to be thereby provided that the State should be possessed of +vigor and strength as a reality--an individual unity. The primary +consideration is, then, the distinction between the governing and the +governed, and political constitutions in the abstract have been rightly +divided into monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; this gives occasion, +however, for the remark that monarchy itself must be further divided +into despotism and monarchy proper; that in all the divisions to which +the leading idea gives rise, only the generic character is to be made +prominent, it being not intended thereby that the particular category +under review should be exhausted as a form, order, or kind in its +concrete development. But it must especially be observed that the above +mentioned divisions admit of a multitude of particular modifications--not +only such as lie within the limits of those classes themselves but also +such as are mixtures of several of these essentially distinct classes +and which are consequently misshapen, unstable, and inconsistent forms. +In such a collision, the concerning question is: What is the best +constitution--that is, by what arrangement, organization, or mechanism +of the power of the State can its object be most surely attained? This +object may indeed be variously understood; for instance, as the calm +enjoyment of life on part of the citizens, or as universal happiness. +Such aims have suggested the so-called ideals of constitutions, and, +as a particular branch of the subject, Ideals of the education of +princes (Fénelon), or of the governing body, the aristocracy at large +(Plato); for the chief point they treat of is the condition of those +subjects who stand at the head of affairs, and in these ideals the +concrete details of political organization are not at all considered. +The inquiry into the best constitution is frequently treated as if not +only the theory were an affair of subjective independent conviction, +but as if the introduction of a constitution recognized as the best, +or as superior to others, could be the result of a resolve adopted in +this theoretical manner, as if the form of a constitution were a matter +of free choice, determined by nothing else but reflection. Of this +artless fashion was that deliberation--not indeed of the Persian people, +but of the Persian grandees, who had conspired to overthrow the +pseudo-Smerdis and the Magi, after their undertaking had succeeded +and when there was no scion of the royal family living--as to what +constitution they should introduce into Persia; and Herodotus gives an +equally naïve account of this deliberation. + +In the present day, the constitution of a country and people is not +represented as so entirely dependent on free and deliberate choice. The +fundamental, but abstractly and therefore imperfectly, entertained +conception of freedom, has resulted in the republic being very generally +regarded--in theory--as the only just and true political constitution. +Even many who occupy elevated official positions under monarchical +constitutions, so far from being opposed to this idea are actually its +supporters; only they see that such a constitution, though the best, +cannot be realized under all circumstances, and that, while men are what +they are, we must be satisfied with less freedom, the monarchical +constitution, under the given circumstances and the present moral +condition of the people, being even regarded as the most advantageous. +In this view also the necessity of a particular constitution is made to +depend on the condition of the people as though the latter were +non-essential and accidental. This representation is founded on the +distinction which the reflective understanding makes between an idea and +the corresponding reality. This reflection holding to an abstract and +consequently untrue idea, not grasping it in its completeness, or--which +is virtually, though not in point of form, the same--not taking a +concrete view of a people and a State. We shall have to show, further, +on, that the constitution adopted by a people makes one substance, one +spirit, with its religion, its art, and its philosophy, or, at least, +with its conceptions, thoughts and culture generally--not to expatiate +upon the additional influences _ab extra_, of climate, of neighbors, of +its place in the world. A State is an individual totality, of which you +cannot select any particular side, although a supremely important one, +such as its political constitution, and deliberate and decide respecting +it in that isolated form. Not only is that constitution most intimately +connected with and dependent on those other spiritual forces, but the +form of the entire moral and intellectual individuality, comprising all +the forces it embodies, is only a step in the development of the grand +whole, with its place pre-appointed in the process--a fact which gives +the highest sanction to the constitution in question and establishes its +absolute necessity. The origin of a State involves imperious lordship on +the one hand, instinctive submission on the other. But even +obedience--lordly power, and the fear inspired by a ruler--in itself +implies some degree of voluntary connection. Even in barbarous states +this is the case; it is not the isolated will of individuals that +prevails; individual pretensions are relinquished, and the general will +is the essential bond of political union. This unity of the general and +the particular is the Idea itself, manifesting itself as a State, and +which subsequently undergoes further development within itself. The +abstract yet necessitated process in the development of truly +independent states is as follows: They begin with regal power, whether +of patriarchal or military origin; in the next phase, particularity and +individuality assert themselves in the form of aristocracy and +democracy; lastly, we have the subjection of these separate interests to +a single power, but one which can be absolutely none other than one +outside of which those spheres have an independent position, viz., the +monarchical. Two phases of royalty, therefore, must be distinguished--a +primary and a secondary. This process is necessitated to the end that +the form of government assigned to a particular stage of development +must present itself; it is therefore no matter of choice, but is the +form adapted to the spirit of the people. + +In the constitution the main feature of interest is the self-development +of the rational, that is, the political condition of a people, the +setting free of the successive elements of the Idea, so that the several +powers in the State manifest themselves as separate, attain their +appropriate and special perfection, and yet, in this independent +condition, work together for one object and are held together by +it--i. e., form an organic whole. The State is thus the embodiment of +rational freedom, realizing and recognizing itself in an objective form. +For its objectivity consists in this--that its successive stages are not +merely ideal, but are present in an appropriate reality, and that in +their separate and several workings they are absolutely merged in that +agency by which the totality, the soul, the individuate unity, is +produced, and of which it is the result. + +The State is the Idea of Spirit in the external manifestation of human +will and its freedom. It is to the State, therefore, that change in the +aspect of history indissolubly attaches itself; and the successive +phases of the idea manifest themselves in it as distinct political +principles. The constitutions under which world-historical peoples have +reached their culmination, are peculiar to them, and therefore do not +present a generally applicable political basis. Were it otherwise the +differences of similar constitutions would consist only in a peculiar +method of expanding and developing that generic basis, whereas they +really originate in diversity of principle. From the comparison +therefore of the political institutions of the ancient world-historical +peoples, it so happens that, for the most recent principle of a +constitution for the principle of our own times, nothing, so to speak, +can be learned. In science and art it is quite otherwise--that is, the +ancient philosophy is so decidedly the basis of the modern that it is +inevitably contained in the latter and constitutes its basis. In this +case the relation is that of a continuous development of the same +structure, whose foundation-stone, walls, and roof have remained what +they were. In art, the Greek itself, in its original form, furnishes us +the best models, but in regard to political constitution it is quite +otherwise; here the ancient and the modern have not their essential +principle in common. Abstract definitions and dogmas respecting just +government--importing that intelligence and virtue ought to bear +sway--are, indeed, common to both, but nothing is so absurd as to look +to Greeks, Romans, or Orientals, for models for the political +arrangements of our time. From the East may be derived beautiful +pictures of a patriarchal condition, of paternal government, and of +devotion to it on the part of peoples; from Greeks and Romans, +descriptions of popular liberty. Among the latter we find the idea of a +free constitution admitting all the citizens to a share in deliberations +and resolves respecting the affairs and laws of the commonwealth. In our +times, too, this is its general acceptation; only with this +modification, that--since our States are so large, and there are so many +of "the many," the latter (direct action being impossible) should by the +indirect method of elective substitution express their concurrence with +resolves affecting the common weal--that is, that for legislative +purposes generally the people should be represented by deputies. The +so-called representative constitution is that form of government with +which we connect the idea of a free constitution; and this notion has +become a rooted prejudice. On this theory people and government are +separated. But there is a perversity in this antithesis, an +ill-intentioned ruse designed to insinuate that the people are the +totality of the State. Besides, the basis of this view is the principle +of isolated individuality--the absolute validity of the subjective +will--a dogma which we have already investigated. The great point is +that freedom, in its ideal conception, has not subjective will and +caprice for its principle, but the recognition of the universal will, +and that the process by which freedom is realized is the free +development of its successive stages. The subjective will is a merely +formal determination--a _carte blanche_--not including what it is that +is willed. Only the rational will is that universal principle which +independently determines and unfolds its own being and develops its +successive elemental phases as organic members. Of this Gothic-cathedral +architecture the ancients knew nothing. + +At an earlier stage of the discussion we established the two elemental +considerations: First, the _idea_ of freedom as the absolute and final +aim; secondly, the _means_ for realizing it, i. e., the subjective side +of knowledge and will, with its life, movement, and activity. We then +recognized the State as the moral whole and the reality of freedom, and +consequently as the objective unity of these two elements. For although +we make this distinction in two aspects for our consideration, it must +be remarked that they are intimately connected, and that their +connection is involved in the idea of each when examined separately. We +have, on the one hand, recognized the Idea in the definite form of +freedom, conscious of and willing itself, having itself alone as its +object, involving at the same time the pure and simple Idea of Reason +and, likewise, what we have called Subject, self-consciousness, Spirit, +actually existing in the world. If, on the other hand, we consider +subjectivity, we find that subjective knowledge and will is thought. But +by the very act of thoughtful cognition and volition, I will the +universal object--the substance of absolute Reason. We observe, +therefore, an essential union between the objective side--the Idea, and +the subjective side--the personality that conceives and wills it. The +objective existence of this union is the State, which is therefore the +basis and centre of the other concrete elements of the life of a +people--of art, of law, of morals, of religion, of science. All the +activity of Spirit has only this object--the becoming conscious of this +union, i. e., of its own freedom. Among the forms of this conscious union +_religion_ occupies the highest position. In it Spirit-rising above the +limitations of temporal and secular existence--becomes conscious of the +Absolute Spirit, and, in this consciousness of the Self-Existent Being, +renounces its individual interest; it lays this aside in devotion--a +state of mind in which it refuses to occupy itself any longer with the +limited and particular. By sacrifice man expresses his renunciation of +his property, his will, his individual feelings. The religious +concentration of the soul appears in the form of feeling; it +nevertheless passes also into reflection; a form of worship (_cultus_) +is a result of reflection. The second form of the union of the objective +and subjective in the human spirit is art; this advances farther into +the realm of the actual and sensuous than religion. In its noblest walk +it is occupied with representing, not, indeed, the Spirit of God, but +certainly the Form of God; and, in its secondary aims, that which is +divine and spiritual generally. Its office is to render visible the +divine, presenting it to the imaginative and intuitive faculty. But the +true is the object not only of conception and feeling, as in +religion--and of intuition, as in art--but also of the thinking faculty; +and this gives us the third form of the union in question--philosophy. +This is consequently the highest, freest, and wisest place. Of course we +are not intending to investigate these three phases here; they have only +suggested themselves in virtue of their occupying the same general +ground as the object here considered the _State._ + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHY OF LAW (1832) + +BY GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL + +TRANSLATED BY J. LOEWENBERG, PH.D. Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard +University + +THE STATE + +IDEA AND AIM OF THE STATE + + +The State is the realization of the ethical idea. It is the ethical +spirit as revealed, self-conscious, substantial will. It is the will +which thinks and knows itself, and carries out what it knows, and in so +far as it knows. The unreflected existence of the State rests on custom, +and its reflected existence on the self-consciousness of the individual, +on his knowledge and activity. The individual, in return, has his +substantial freedom in the State, as the essence, purpose, and product +of his activity. + +The true State is the ethical whole and the realization of freedom. It +is the absolute purpose of reason that freedom should be realized. The +State is the spirit, which lives in the world and there realizes itself +consciously; while in nature it is actual only as its own other or as +dormant spirit. Only as present in consciousness, knowing itself as an +existing object, is it the State. The State is the march of God through +the world, its ground is the power of reason realizing itself as will. +The idea of the State should not connote any particular State, or +particular institution; one must rather consider the Idea only, this +actual God, by itself. Because it is more easy to find defects than to +grasp the positive meaning, one readily falls into the mistake of +emphasizing so much the particular nature of the State as to overlook +its inner organic essence. The State is no work of art. It exists in the +world, and thus in the realm of caprice, accident, and error. Evil +behavior toward it may disfigure it on many sides. But the ugliest man, +the criminal, the invalid, and the cripple, are still living human +beings. The affirmative, life, persists in spite of defects, and it is +this affirmative which alone is here in question. + +In the State, everything depends upon the unity of the universal and the +particular. In the ancient States the subjective purpose was absolutely +one with the will of the State. In modern times, on the contrary, we +demand an individual opinion, an individual will and conscience. The +ancients had none of these in the modern sense; the final thing for them +was the will of the State. While in Asiatic despotisms the individual +had no inner self and no self-justification, in the modern world man +demands to be honored for the sake of his subjective individuality. + +The union of duty and right has the twofold aspect that what the State +demands as duty should directly be the right of the individual, since +the State is nothing but the organization of the concept of freedom. The +determinations of the individual will are given by the State +objectivity, and it is through the State alone that they attain truth +and realization. The State is the sole condition of the attainment of +the particular end and good. + +Political disposition, called patriotism--the assurance resting in truth +and the will which has become a custom--is simply the result of the +institutions subsisting in the State, institutions in which reason is +actually present. + +Under patriotism one frequently understands a mere willingness to +perform extraordinary acts and sacrifices. But patriotism is essentially +the sentiment of regarding, in the ordinary circumstances and ways of +life, the weal of the community as the substantial basis and the final +end. It is upon this consciousness, present in the ordinary course of +life and under all circumstances, that the disposition to heroic effort +is founded. But as people are often rather magnanimous than just, they +easily persuade themselves that they possess the heroic kind of +patriotism, in order to save themselves the trouble of having the truly +patriotic sentiment, or to excuse the lack of it. + +Political sentiment, as appearance, must be distinguished from what +people truly will. What they at bottom will is the real cause, but they +cling to particular interests and delight in the vain contemplation of +improvements. The conviction of the necessary stability of the State in +which alone the particular interests can be realized, people indeed +possess, but custom makes invisible that upon which our whole existence +rests; it does not occur to any one, when he safely passes through the +streets at night, that it could be otherwise. The habit of safety has +become a second nature, and we do not reflect that it is the result of +the activity of special institutions. It is through force this is +frequently the superficial opinion-that the State coheres, but what +alone holds it together is the fundamental sense of order, which is +possessed by all. + +The State is an organism or the development of the idea into its +differences. These different sides are the different powers of the State +with their functions and activities, by means of which the universal is +constantly and necessarily producing itself, and, being presupposed in +its own productive function, it is thus always actively present. This +organism is the political constitution. It eternally springs from the +State, just as the State in turn maintains itself through the +constitution. If these two things fall asunder, if both different sides +become independent of each other, then the unity which the constitution +produces is no longer operative; the fable of the stomach and the other +organs may be applied to it. It is the nature of an organism that all +its parts must constitute a certain unity; if one part asserts its +independence the other parts must go to destruction. No predicates, +principles, and the like suffice to express the nature of the State; it +must be comprehended as an organism. + +The State is real, and its reality consists in the interest of the whole +being realized in particular ends. Actuality is always the unity of +universality and particularity, and the differentiation of the universal +into particular ends. These particular ends seem independent, though +they are borne and sustained by the whole only. In so far as this unity +is absent, no thing is real, though it may exist. A bad State is one +which merely exists. A sick body also exists; but it has no true +reality. A hand, which is cut off, still looks like a hand and exists, +but it has no reality. True reality is necessity. What is real is +internally necessary. + +To the complete State belongs, essentially, consciousness and thought. +The State knows thus what it wills, and it knows it under the form of +thought. + +The essential difference between the State and religion consists in that +the commands of the State have the form of legal duty, irrespective of +the feelings accompanying their performance; the sphere of religion, on +the other hand, is in the inner life. Just as the State, were it to +frame its commands as religion does, would endanger the right of the +inner life, so the church, if it acts as a State and imposes punishment, +degenerates into a tyrannical religion. + +In the State one must want nothing which is not an expression of +rationality. The State is the world which the spirit has made for +itself; it has therefore a determinate and self-conscious course. One +often speaks of the wisdom of God in nature, but one must not believe +that the physical world of nature is higher than the world of spirit. +Just as spirit is superior to nature, so is the State superior to the +physical life. We must therefore adore the State as the manifestation of +the divine on earth, and consider that, if it is difficult to comprehend +nature, it is infinitely harder to grasp the essence of the State. It is +an important fact that we, in modern times, have attained definite +insight into the State in general and are much engaged in discussing and +making constitutions; but that does not advance the problem much. It is +necessary to treat a rational matter in the light of reason, in order to +learn its essential nature and to know that the obvious does not always +constitute the essential. + +When we speak of the different functions of the powers of the State, we +must not fall into the enormous error of supposing each power to have an +abstract, independent existence, since the powers are rather to be +differentiated as elements in the conception of the State. Were the +powers to be in abstract independence, however, it is clear that two +independent things could never constitute a unity, but must produce war, +and the result would be destruction of the whole or restoration of unity +by force. Thus, in the French Revolution, at one time the legislative +power had swallowed up the executive, at another time the executive had +usurped the legislative power. + + +THE CONSTITUTION + +The constitution is rational, in so far as the State defines and +differentiates its functions according to the nature of its concept. + +Who shall make the constitution? This question seems intelligible, yet +on closer examination reveals itself as meaningless, for it presupposes +the existence of no constitution, but only a mere mass of atomic +individuals. How a mass of individuals is to come by a constitution, +whether by its own efforts or by those of others, whether by goodness, +thought, or force, it must decide for itself, for with a disorganized +mob the concept of the State has nothing to do. But if the question does +presuppose an already existing constitution, then to make a constitution +means only to change it. The presupposition of a constitution implies, +however, at once, that any modification in it must take place +constitutionally. It is absolutely essential that the constitution, +though having a temporal origin, should not be regarded as made. It (the +principle of constitution) is rather to be conceived as absolutely +perpetual and rational, and therefore as divine, substantial, and above +and beyond the sphere of what is made. + +Subjective freedom is the principle of the whole modern world--the +principle that all essential aspects of the spiritual totality should +develop and attain their right. From this point of view one can hardly +raise the idle question as to which form is the better, monarchy or +democracy. One can but say that the forms of all constitutions are +one-sided that are not able to tolerate the principle of free +subjectivity and that do not know how to conform to the fully developed +reason. + +Since spirit is real only in what it knows itself to be, and since the +State, as the nation's spirit, is the law permeating all its affairs, +its ethical code, and the consciousness of its individuals, the +constitution of a people chiefly depends upon the kind and the character +of its self-consciousness. In it lies both its subjective freedom and +the reality of the constitution. + +To think of giving a people a constitution _a priori_, though according +to its content a more or less rational one--such a whim would precisely +overlook that element which renders a constitution more than a mere +abstract object. Every nation, therefore, has the constitution which is +appropriate to it and belongs to it. + +The State must, in its constitution, permeate all situations. A +constitution is not a thing just made; it is the work of centuries, the +idea and the consciousness of what is rational, in so far as it is +developed in a people. No constitution, therefore, is merely created by +the subjects of the State. The nation must feel that its constitution +embodies its right and its status, otherwise the constitution may exist +externally, but has no meaning or value. The need and the longing for a +better constitution may often indeed be present in individuals, but that +is quite different from the whole multitude being permeated with such an +idea--that comes much later. The principle of morality, the inwardness +of Socrates originated necessarily in his day, but it took time before +it could pass into general self-consciousness. + + +THE POWER OF THE PRINCE + +Because sovereignty contains in ideal all special privileges, the common +misconception is quite natural, which takes it to be mere force, empty +caprice, and synonymous with despotism. But despotism means a state of +lawlessness, in which the particular will as such, whether that of +monarch or people (_ochlocracy_), is the law, or rather instead of the +law. Sovereignty, on the contrary, constitutes the element of ideality +of particular spheres and functions under lawful and constitutional +conditions. + +The sovereignty of the people, conceived in opposition to the +sovereignty residing in the monarch, stands for the common view of +democracy, which has come to prevail in modern times. The idea of the +sovereignty of the people, taken in this opposition, belongs to a +confused idea of what is commonly and crudely understood by "the +people." The people without its monarch and without that whole +organization necessarily and directly connected with him is a formless +mass, which is no longer a State. In a people, not conceived in a +lawless and unorganized condition, but as a self-developed and truly +organic totality--in such a people sovereignty is the personality of the +whole, and this is represented in reality by the person of the monarch. + +The State must be regarded as a great architectonic edifice, a +hieroglyph of reason, manifesting itself in reality. Everything +referring merely to utility, externality, and the like, must be excluded +from its philosophic treatment. That the State is the self-determining +and the completely sovereign will, the final decision being necessarily +referred to it--that is easy to comprehend. The difficulty lies in +grasping this "I will" as a person. By this it is not meant that the +monarch can act arbitrarily. He is bound, in truth, by the concrete +content of the deliberations of his council, and, when the constitution +is stable, he has often nothing more to do than to sign his name--but +this name is important; it is the point than which there is nothing +higher. + +It may be said that an organic State has already existed in the +beautiful democracy of Athens. The Greeks, however, derived the final +decision from entirely external phenomena, from oracles, entrails of +sacrificial animals, and from the flight of birds. Nature they +considered as a power which in this wise made known and gave expression +to what was good for the people. Self-consciousness had at that time not +yet attained to the abstraction of subjectivity; it had not yet come to +the realization that an "I will" must be pronounced by man himself +concerning the decisions of the State. This "I will" constitutes the +great difference between the ancient and the modern world, and must +therefore have its peculiar place in the great edifice of the State. +Unfortunately this modern characteristic is regarded as merely external +and arbitrary. + +It is often maintained against the monarch that, since he may be +ill-educated or unworthy to stand at the helm of the State, its fortunes +are thus made to depend upon chance. It is therefore absurd to assume +the rationality of the institution of the monarch. The presupposition, +however, that the fortunes of the State depend upon the particular +character of the monarch is false. In the perfect organization of the +State the important thing is only the finality of formal decision and +the stability against passion. One must not therefore demand objective +qualification of the monarch; he has but to say "yes" and to put the dot +upon the "i." The crown shall be of such a nature that the particular +character of its bearer is of no significance. Beyond his function of +administering the final decision, the monarch is a particular being who +is of no concern. Situations may indeed arise in which his particularity +alone asserts itself, but in that case the State is not yet fully +developed, or else is ill constructed. In a well-ordered monarchy the +law alone has objective power to which the monarch has but to affix the +subjective "I will." + +Monarchs do not excel in bodily strength or intellect, and yet millions +permit themselves to be ruled by them. To say that the people permit +themselves to be governed contrary to their interests, aims, and +intentions is preposterous, for people are not so stupid. It is their +need, it is the inner power of the idea, which, in opposition to their +apparent consciousness, urges them to this situation and retains them +therein. + +Out of the sovereignty of the monarch flows the prerogative of pardoning +criminals. Only to the sovereignty belongs the spiritual power to undo +what has been done and to cancel the crime by forgiving and forgetting. + +Pardon is the remission of punishment, but does not abolish right. Right +remains, and the pardoned is a criminal as he was before the pardon. The +act of mercy does not mean that no crime has been committed. This +remission of punishment may be effected in religion, for by and in +spirit what has been done can be made un-done. But in so far as +remission occurs in the world, it has its place only in majesty and is +due only to its arbitrary decision. + + +THE EXECUTIVE + +The main point upon which the function of the government depends is the +division of labor. This division is concerned with the transition from +the universal to the particular and the individual; and the business is +to be divided according to the different branches. The difficulty lies +in harmonizing the superior and the inferior functions. For some time +past the main effort has been spent in organizing from above, the lower +and bulky part of the whole being left more or less unorganized; yet it +is highly important that it should become organic, for only thus is it a +power and a force; otherwise it is but a heap or mass of scattered +atoms. Authoritative power resides only in the organic state of the +particular spheres. + +The State cannot count on service which is capricious and voluntary (the +administration of justice by knights-errant, for instance), precisely +because it is capricious and voluntary. Such service presupposes acting +according to subjective opinion, and also the possibility of neglect and +of the realization of private ends. The opposite extreme to the +knight-errant in reference to public service would be the State-servant +who was attached to his task solely by want, without genuine duty and +right. + +The efficiency of the State depends upon individuals, who, however, are +not entitled to carry on the business of the State through natural +fitness, but according to their objective qualification. Ability, skill, +character, belong to the particular nature of the individual; for a +particular office, however, he must be specially educated and trained. +An office in the State can, therefore, be neither sold nor bequeathed. + +Public service demands the sacrifice of independent self-satisfaction +and the giving up of the pursuit of private ends, but grants the right +of finding these in dutiful service, and in it only. Herein lies the +unity of the universal and the particular interests which constitutes +the concept and the inner stability of the State. + +The members of the executive and the officials of the State form the +main part of the middle class which represents the educated intelligence +and the consciousness of right of the mass of a people. This middle +class is prevented by the institutions of sovereignty from above and the +rights of corporation from below, from assuming the exclusive position +of an aristocracy and making education and intelligence the means for +caprice and despotism. Thus the administration of justice, whose object +is the proper interest of all individuals, had at one time been +perverted into an instrument of gain and despotism, owing to the fact +that the knowledge of the law was hidden under a learned and foreign +language, and the knowledge of legal procedure under an involved +formalism. + +In the middle class, to which the State officials belong, resides the +consciousness of the State and the most conspicuous cultivation: the +middle class constitutes therefore the ground pillar of the State in +regard to uprightness and intelligence. The State in which there is no +middle class stands as yet on no high level. + + +THE LEGISLATURE + +The legislature is concerned with the interpretation of the laws and +with the internal affairs of the State, in so far as they have a +universal content. This function is itself a part of the constitution +and thus presupposes it. Being presupposed, the constitution lies, to +that degree, outside the direct province of the legislature, but in the +forward development of the laws and the progressive character of the +universal affairs of government, the constitution receives its +development also. + +The constitution must alone be the firm ground on which the legislature +stands; hence it must not be created for purposes of legislation. But +the constitution not only is, its essence is also to _become_--that is, +it progresses with the advance of civilization. This progress is an +alteration which is imperceptible, but has not the form of an +alteration. Thus, for example, the emperor was formerly judge, and went +about the empire administering justice. Through the merely apparent +advance of civilization it has become practically necessary that the +emperor should gradually yield his judicial function to others, and thus +came about the transition of the judicial function from the person of +the prince to a body of judges; thus the progress of any condition is an +apparently calm and imperceptible one. In this way and after a lapse of +time a constitution attains a character quite different from what it had +before. + +In the legislative power as a whole are operative both the monarchical +element and the executive. To the former belongs the final decision; the +latter as advisory element possesses concrete knowledge, perspective +over the whole in all its ramifications, and acquaintance with the +objective principles and wants of the power of the State. Finally, in +the legislature the different classes or estates are also active. These +classes or estates represent in the legislature the element of +subjective formal freedom, the public consciousness, the empirical +totality of the views and thought of the many. + +The expression "The Many" [Greek: oi polloi] characterizes the empirical +totality more correctly than the customary word "All." Though one may +reply that, under this "all," children, women, etc., are obviously meant +to be excluded, yet it is more obvious that the definite expression +"all" should not be used when something quite indefinite is in question. + +There are, in general, current among the public so unspeakably many +distorted and false notions and phrases about the people, the +constitution, and the classes, that it would be a vain task to mention, +explain, and correct them. The prevalent idea concerning the necessity +and utility of an assembly of estates amounts to the assumption that the +people's deputies, nay, the people itself, best understand what would +promote the common weal, and that they have indubitably the good will to +promote it. As for the first point, the case is just the reverse. The +people, in so far as this term signifies a special part of the citizens, +stands precisely for the part that does not know what it wills. To know +what one wills, and, what is more difficult, to know what the absolute +will, viz., reason, wills, is the fruit of deep knowledge and insight; +and that is obviously not a possession of the people. As for the +especially good will, which the classes are supposed to have for the +common good, the usual point of view of the masses is the negative one +of suspecting the government of a will which is evil or of little good. + +The attitude of the government toward the classes must not be +essentially a hostile one. Belief in the necessity of this hostile +relation is a sad mistake. The government is not one party in opposition +to another, so that both are engaged in wresting something from each +other. When the State is in such a situation it is a misfortune and not +a mark of health. Furthermore, the taxes, for which the classes vote, +are not to be looked upon as gifts, but are consented to for the best +interests of those consenting. What constitutes the true meaning of the +classes is this--that through them the State enters into the subjective +consciousness of the people and thus the people begin to share in the +State. + +In despotic countries, where there are only princes and people, the +people assert themselves, whenever they act, as a destructive force +directed against the organization, but the masses, when they become +organically related to the State, obtain their interests in a lawful and +orderly way. When this organic relation is lacking, the self-expression +of the masses is always violent; in despotic States the despot shows, +therefore, indulgence for his people, and his rage is always felt by +those surrounding him. Moreover, the people of a despotic State pay +light taxes, which in a constitutional State are increased through the +very consciousness of the people. In no other country are taxes so heavy +as they are in England. + +There exists a current notion to the effect that, since the private +class is raised in the legislature to a participation in the universal +cause, it must appear in the form of individuals--either that +representatives are chosen for the function, or that every individual +exercises a vote. This abstract atomic view prevails neither in the +family nor in civic society, in both of which the individual appears +only as a member of a universal. The State, however, is in essence an +organization of members, and these members are themselves spheres; in it +no element shall show itself as an unorganized mass. The many, as +individuals, whom one chooses to call the people, are indeed a +collection, but only as a multitude, a formless mass, whose movement and +action would be elemental, irrational, savage, and terrible. + +The concrete State is the whole, organized into its particular spheres, +and the member of the State is a member of such a particular class. +Only in this objective determination can the individual find recognition +in the State. Only in his coöperate capacity, as member of the community +and the like, can the individual first find a real and vital place in +the universal. It remains, of course, open to him to rise through his +skill to any class for which he can qualify himself, including even the +universal class. + +It is a matter of great advantage to have among the delegates +representatives of every special branch of society, such as trade, +manufacture, etc.--individuals thoroughly familiar with their branch and +belonging to it. In the notion of a loose and indefinite election this +important matter is left to accident; every branch, however, has the +same right to be represented as every other. To view the delegates as +representatives has, then, an organic and rational meaning only if they +are not representatives of mere individuals, of the mere multitude, but +of one of the essential spheres of society and of its large interests. +Representation thus no longer means substitution of one person by +another, but it means, rather, that the interest itself is actually +present in the representative. + +Of the elections by many separate individuals it may be observed that +there is necessarily an indifference, especially in large States, about +using one's vote, since one vote is of such slight importance; and those +who have the right to vote will not do so, no matter how much one may +extol the privilege of voting. Hence this institution turns into the +opposite of what it stands for. The election becomes the business of a +few, of a single party, of a special interest, which should, in fact, be +neutralized. + +Through the publicity of the assembly of classes public opinion first +acquires true thoughts and an insight into the condition and the notion +of the State and its affairs, and thus develops the capacity of judging +more rationally concerning them; it learns, furthermore, to know and +respect the routine, talents, virtues, and skill of the authorities and +officers of the State. While publicity stimulates these talents in +their further development and incites their honorable display, it is +also an antidote for the pride of individuals and of the multitude, and +is one of the greatest opportunities for their education. + +It is a widespread popular notion that everybody already knows what is +good for the State, and that it is this common knowledge which finds +expression in the assembly. Here, in the assembly, are developed +virtues, talents, skill, which have to serve as examples. To be sure, +the ministers may find these assemblies onerous, for ministers must +possess large resources of wit and eloquence to resist the attacks which +are hurled against them. Nevertheless, publicity is one of the best +means of instruction in the interests of the State generally, for where +publicity is found the people manifest an entirely different regard for +the State than in those places where there are no assemblies or where +they are not public. Only through the publication of every one of their +proceedings are the chambers related to the larger public opinion; and +it is shown that what one imagines at home with his wife and friends is +one thing, and what happens in a great assembly, where one feat of +eloquence wrecks another, is quite a different thing. + + +PUBLIC OPINION + +Public opinion is the unorganized way in which what a people wants and +thinks is promulgated. That which is actually effective in the State +must be so in an organic fashion. In the constitution this is the case. +But at all times public opinion has been a great power, and it is +particularly so in our time, when the principle of subjective freedom +has such importance and significance. What shall now prevail, prevails +no longer through force, little through use and custom, but rather +through insight and reasons. + +Public opinion contains, therefore, the eternal substantial principles +of justice, the true content, and the result of the whole constitution, +legislation, and the universal condition in general. The form +underlying public opinion is sound common sense, which is a fundamental +ethical principle winding its way through everything, in spite of +prepossessions. But when this inner character is formulated in the shape +of general propositions, partly for their own sake, partly for the +purpose of actual reasoning about events, institutions, relations, and +the recognized wants of the State, there appears also the whole +character of accidental opinion, with its ignorance and perversity, its +false knowledge and incorrect judgment. + +It is therefore not to be regarded as merely a difference in subjective +opinion when it is asserted on the one hand-- + +"Vox populi, vox dei"; + +and on the other (in Ariosto, for instance)--[2] + + "Che'l Volgare ignorante ogn' un riprenda + E parli piü di quel che meno intenda." + +Both sides co-exist in public opinion. Since truth and endless error are +so directly united in it, neither one nor the other side is truly in +earnest. Which one is in earnest, is difficult to decide--difficult, +indeed, if one confines oneself to the direct expression of public +opinion. But as the substantial principle is the inner character of +public opinion, this alone is its truly earnest aspect; yet this insight +cannot be obtained from public opinion itself, for a substantial +principle can only be apprehended apart from public opinion and by a +consideration of its own nature. No matter with what passion an opinion +is invested, no matter with what earnestness a view is asserted, +attacked, and defended, this is no criterion of its real essence. And +least of all could public opinion be made to see that its seriousness is +nothing serious at all. + +A great mind has publicly raised the question whether it is permissible +to deceive a people. The answer is that a people will not permit itself +to be deceived concerning its substantial basis, the essence, and the +definite character of its spirit, but it deceives itself about the way +in which it knows this, and according to which it judges of its acts, +events, etc. + +Public opinion deserves, therefore, to be esteemed as much as to be +despised; to be despised for its concrete consciousness and expression, +to be esteemed for its essential fundamental principle, which only +shines, more or less dimly, through its concrete expression. Since +public opinion possesses within itself no standard of discrimination, no +capacity to rise to a recognition of the substantial, independence of it +is the first formal condition of any great and rational enterprise (in +actuality as well as in science). Anything great and rational is +eventually sure to please public opinion, to be espoused by it, and to +be made one of its prepossessions. + +In public opinion all is false and true, but to discover the truth in it +is the business of the great man. The great man of his time is he who +expresses the will and the meaning of that time, and then brings it to +completion; he acts according to the inner spirit and essence of his +time, which he realizes. And he who does not understand how to despise +public opinion, as it makes itself heard here and there, will never +accomplish anything great. + + +FREEDOM OF THE PRESS + +The freedom of public utterance (of which the press is one means, having +advantage over speech in its more extended reach, though inferior to it +in vivacity), the gratification of that prickling impulse to express and +to have expressed one's opinion, is directly controlled by the police +and State laws and regulations, which partly hinder and partly punish +its excesses. The indirect guarantee lies in its innocuousness, and +this again is mainly based on the rationality of the constitution, the +stability of the government, and also on the publicity given to the +assemblies of the classes. Another security is offered by the +indifference and contempt with which insipid and malicious words are, as +a rule, quickly met. + +The definition of the freedom of the press as freedom to say and write +what one pleases, is parallel to the one of freedom in general, viz., as +freedom to do what one pleases. Such views belong to the uneducated +crudity and superficiality of naïve thinking. The press, with its +infinite variety of content and expression, represents what is most +transient, particular, and accidental in human opinion. Beyond the +direct incitation to theft, murder, revolt, etc., lies the art of +cultivating the expression which in itself seems general and indefinite +enough, but which, in a measure, conceals a perfectly definite meaning. +Such expressions are partly responsible for consequences of which, since +they are not actually expressed, one is never sure how far they are +contained in the utterances and really follow from them. It is this +indefiniteness of the content and form of the press which prevents the +laws governing it from assuming that precision which one demands of +laws. Thus the extreme subjectivity of the wrong, injury, and crime +committed by the press, causes the decision and sentence to be equally +subjective. The laws are not only indefinite, but the press can, by the +skill and subtlety of its expressions, evade them, or criticise the +judgment of the court as wholly arbitrary. Furthermore, if the utterance +of the press is treated as an offensive deed, one may retort that it is +not a deed at all, but only an opinion, a thought, a mere saying. +Consequently, impunity is expected for opinions and words, because they +are merely subjective, trivial, and insignificant, and, in the same +breath, great respect and esteem is demanded for these opinions and +words--for the opinions, because they are mine and my mental property, +and for the words, because they are the free expression and use of that +property. And yet the basic principle remains that injury to the honor +of individuals generally, abuse, libel, contemptuous caricaturing of the +government, its officers and officials, especially the person of the +prince, defiance of the laws, incitement to revolt, etc., are all +offenses and crimes of different grades. + +However, the peculiar and dangerous effect of these acts for the +individuals, the community, and the State depends upon the nature of the +soil on which they are committed, just as a spark, if thrown upon a heap +of gunpowder, has a much more dangerous result than if thrown on the +mere ground, where it vanishes and leaves no trace. But, on the whole, a +good many such acts, though punishable by law, may come under a certain +kind of nemesis which internal impotence is forced to bring about. In +entering upon opposition to the superior talents and virtues, by which +impotence feels oppressed, it comes to a realization of its inferiority +and to a consciousness of its own nothingness, and the nemesis, even +when bad and odious, is, by treating it with contempt, rendered +ineffectual. Like the public, which forms a circle for such activity, it +is confined to a harmless malicious joy, and to a condemnation which +reflects upon itself. + + +MEANING OF WAR + +There is an ethical element in war. It must not be regarded as an +absolute ill, or as merely an external calamity which is accidentally +based upon the passions of despotic individuals or nations, upon acts of +injustice, and, in general, upon what ought not to be. The recognition +of the finite, such as property and life, as accidental, is necessary. +This necessity is at first wont to appear under the form of a force of +nature, for all things finite are mortal and transient. In the ethical +order, in the State, however, nature is robbed of its force, and the +necessity is exalted to a work of freedom, to an ethical law. The +transient and negative nature of all things is transformed in the State +into an expression of the ethical will. War, often painted by edifying +speech as a state in which the vanity of temporal things is +demonstrated, now becomes an element whereby the ideal character of the +particular receives its right and reality. War has the deep meaning that +by it the ethical health of the nations is preserved and their finite +aims uprooted. And as the winds which sweep over the ocean prevent the +decay that would result from its perpetual calm, so war protects the +people from the corruption which an everlasting peace would bring upon +it. History shows phases which illustrate how successful wars have +checked internal unrest and have strengthened the entire stability of +the State. + +In peace, civic life becomes more extended, every sphere is hedged in +and grows immobile, and at last all men stagnate, their particular +nature becoming more and more hardened and ossified. Only in the unity +of a body is health, and, where the organs become stiff, there is death. +Eternal peace is often demanded as an ideal toward which mankind should +move. Thus Kant proposed an alliance of princes, which should settle the +controversies of States, and the Holy Alliance probably aspired to be an +institution of this kind. The State, however, is individual, and in +individuality negation is essentially contained. A number of States may +constitute themselves into a family, but this confederation, as an +individuality, must create an opposition and so beget an enemy. Not only +do nations issue forth invigorated from their wars, but those nations +torn by internal strife win peace at home as a result of war abroad. War +indeed causes insecurity in property, but this real insecurity is only a +necessary commotion. From the pulpits much is preached concerning the +insecurity, vanity, and instability of temporal things, and yet every +one, though he may be touched by his own words, thinks that he, at +least, will manage to hold on to his possessions. Let the insecurity +finally come, in the form of Hussars with glistening sabres, and show +its earnest activity, and that touching edification which foresaw all +this now turns upon the enemy with curses. In spite of this, wars will +break out whenever necessity demands them; but the seeds spring up anew, +and speech is silenced before the grave repetitions of history. + +The military class is the class of universality. The defense of the +State is its privilege, and its duty is to realize the ideality +contained in it, which consists in self-sacrifice. There are different +kinds of bravery. The courage of the animal, or the robber, the bravery +which arises from a sense of honor, the chivalrous bravery, are not yet +the true forms of it. In civilized nations true bravery consists in the +readiness to give oneself wholly to the service of the State, so that +the individual counts but as one among many. Not personal valor, but the +important aspect of it, lies in self-subordination to the universal +cause. + +To risk one's life is indeed something more than mere fear of death, but +this is only negative; only a positive character--an aim and +content--gives meaning to bravery. Robbers and murderers in the pursuit +of crime, adventurers in the search of their fanciful objects, etc., +also possess courage, and do not fear death. The principle of the modern +world--the power of thought and of the universal--has given to bravery a +higher form; the higher form causes the expression of bravery to appear +more mechanical. The brave deeds are not the deeds of any particular +person, but those of the members of a whole. And, again, since hostility +is directed, not against separate individuals, but against a hostile +whole, personal valor appears as impersonal. This principle it is which +has caused the invention of the gun; it is not a chance invention that +has brought about the change of the mere personal form of bravery into +the more abstract. + + +INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS + +Just as the individual is not a real person unless related to other +persons, so the State is no real individuality unless related to other +States. The legitimate power of a State, and more especially its +princely power, is, from the point of view of its foreign relations, a +wholly internal affair. A State shall, therefore, not interfere with the +internal affairs of another State. On the other hand, for a complete +State, it is essential that it be recognized by others; but this +recognition demands as a guarantee that it shall recognize those States +which recognize it, and shall respect their independence. Hence its +internal affairs cannot be a matter of indifference to them. + +When Napoleon, before the peace of Campoformio, said, "The French +Republic requires recognition as little as the sun needs to be +recognized," his words suggest nothing but the strength of existence, +which already carries with it the guarantee of recognition, without +needing to be expressed. + +When the particular wills of the State can come to no agreement their +controversy can be decided only by war. What offense shall be regarded +as a breach of a treaty, or as a violation of respect and honor, must +remain indefinite, since many and various injuries can easily accrue +from the wide range of the interests of the States and from the complex +relations of their citizens. The State may identify its infinitude and +honor with every one of its single aspects. And if a State, as a strong +individuality, has experienced an unduly protracted internal rest, it +will naturally be more inclined to irritability, in order to find an +occasion and field for intense activity. + +The nations of Europe form a family according to the universal principle +of their legislation, their ethical code, and their civilization. But +the relation among States fluctuates, and no judge exists to adjust +their differences. The higher judge is the universal and absolute Spirit +alone--the World-Spirit. + +The relation of one particular State to another presents, on the largest +possible scale, the most shifting play of individual passions, +interests, aims, talents, virtues, power, injustice, vice, and mere +external chance. It is a play in which even the ethical whole, the +independence of the State, is exposed to accident. The principles which +control the many national spirits are limited. Each nation as an +existing individuality is guided by its particular principles, and only +as a particular individuality can each national spirit win objectivity +and self-consciousness; but the fortunes and deeds of States in their +relation to one another reveal the dialectic of the finite nature of +these spirits. Out of this dialectic rises the universal Spirit, the +unlimited World-Spirit, pronouncing its judgment--and its judgment is +the highest--upon the finite nations of the world's history; for the +history of the world is the world's court of justice. + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART (1820-21) + +BY GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL + +TRANSLATED BY J. LOEWENBERG, PH.D. Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard +University + +THE MEANING OF ART + + +The appropriate expression for our subject is the "Philosophy of Art," +or, more precisely, the "Philosophy of Fine Arts." By this expression we +wish to exclude the beauty of nature. In common life we are in the habit +of speaking of beautiful color, a beautiful sky, a beautiful river, +beautiful flowers, beautiful animals, and beautiful human beings. But +quite aside from the question, which we wish not to discuss here, how +far beauty may be predicated of such objects, or how far natural beauty +may be placed side by side with artistic beauty, we must begin by +maintaining that artistic beauty is higher than the beauty of nature. +For the beauty of art is beauty born--and born again--of the spirit. And +as spirit and its products stand higher than nature and its phenomena, +by so much the beauty that resides in art is superior to the beauty of +nature. + +To say that spirit and artistic beauty stand higher than natural beauty, +is to say very little, for "higher" is a very indefinite expression, +which states the difference between them as quantitative and external. +The "higher" quality of spirit and of artistic beauty does not at all +stand in a merely relative position to nature. Spirit only is the true +essence and content of the world, so that whatever is beautiful is truly +beautiful only when it partakes of this higher essence and is produced +by it. In this sense natural beauty appears only as a reflection of the +beauty that belongs to spirit; it is an imperfect and incomplete +expression of the spiritual substance. + +[Illustration: ROYAL OLD MUSEUM IN BERLIN _By Schinkel_] + +Confining ourselves to artistic beauty, we must first consider certain +difficulties. The first that suggests itself is the question whether art +is at all worthy of a philosophic treatment. To be sure, art and beauty +pervade, like a kindly genius, all the affairs of life, and joyously +adorn all its inner and outer phases, softening the gravity and the +burden of actual existence, furnishing pleasure for idle moments, and, +where it can accomplish nothing positive, driving evil away by occupying +its place. Yet, although art wins its way everywhere with its pleasing +forms, from the crude adornment of the savages to the splendor of the +temple with its marvelous wealth of decoration, art itself appears to +fall outside the real aims of life. And though the creations of art +cannot be said to be directly disadvantageous to the serious purposes of +life, nay, on occasion actually further them by holding evil at bay, on +the whole, art belongs to the relaxation and leisure of the mind, while +the substantial interests of life demand its exertion. At any rate, such +a view renders art a superfluity, though the tender and emotional +influence which is wrought upon the mind by occupation with art is not +thought necessarily detrimental, because effeminate. + +There are others, again, who, though acknowledging art to be a luxury, +have thought it necessary to defend it by pointing to the practical +necessities of the fine arts and to the relation they bear to morality +and piety. Very serious aims have been ascribed to art. Art has been +recommended as a mediator between reason and sensuousness, between +inclination and duty, as the reconcilor of all these elements constantly +warring with one another. But it must be said that, by making art serve +two masters, it is not rendered thereby more worthy of a philosophic +treatment. Instead of being an end in itself, art is degraded into a +means of appealing to higher aims, on the one hand, and to frivolity and +idleness on the other. + +Art considered as means offers another difficulty which springs from +its form. Granting that art can be subordinated to serious aims and that +the results which it thus produces will be significant, still the means +used by art is deception, for beauty is appearance, its form is its +life; and one must admit that a true and real purpose should not be +achieved through deception. Even if a good end is thus, now and then, +attained by art its success is rather limited, and even then deception +cannot be recommended as a worthy means; for the means should be +adequate to the dignity of the end, and truth can be produced by truth +alone and not by deception and semblance. + +It may thus appear as if art were not worthy of philosophic +consideration because it is supposed to be merely a pleasing pastime; +even when it pursues more serious aims it does not correspond with their +nature. On the whole, it is conceived to serve both grave and light +interests, achieving its results by means of deception and semblance. + +As for the worthiness of art to be philosophically considered, it is +indeed true that art can be used as a casual amusement, furnishing +enjoyment and pleasure, decorating our surroundings, lending grace to +the external conditions of life, and giving prominence to other objects +through ornamentation. Art thus employed is indeed not an independent or +free, but rather a subservient art. That art might serve other purposes +and still retain its pleasure-giving function, is a relation which it +has in common with thought. For science, too, in the hands of the +servile understanding is used for finite ends and accidental means, and +is thus not self-sufficient, but is determined by outer objects and +circumstances. On the other hand, science can emancipate itself from +such service and can rise in free independence to the pursuit of truth, +in which the realization of its own aims is its proper function. + +Art is not genuine art until it has thus liberated itself. It fulfils +its highest task when it has joined the same sphere with religion and +philosophy and has become a certain mode of bringing to consciousness +and expression the divine meaning of things, the deepest interests of +mankind, and the most universal truths of the spirit. Into works of art +the nations have wrought their most profound ideas and aspirations. Fine +Art often constitutes the key, and with many nations it is the only key, +to an understanding of their wisdom and religion. This character art has +in common with religion and philosophy. Art's peculiar feature, however, +consists in its ability to represent in _sensuous form_ even the highest +ideas, bringing them thus nearer to the character of natural phenomena, +to the senses, and to feeling. It is the height of a supra-sensuous +world into which _thought_ reaches, but it always appears to immediate +consciousness and to present experience as an alien _beyond_. Through +the power of philosophic thinking we are able to soar above what is +merely _here_, above sensuous and finite experience. But spirit can heal +the breach between the supra-sensuous and the sensuous brought on by its +own advance; it produces out of itself the world of fine art as the +first reconciling medium between what is merely external, sensuous, and +transient, and the world of pure thought, between nature with its finite +reality and the infinite freedom of philosophic reason. + +Concerning the unworthiness of art because of its character as +appearance and deception, it must be admitted that such criticism would +not be without justice, if appearance could be said to be equivalent to +falsehood and thus to something that ought not to be. Appearance is +essential to reality; truth could not be, did it not shine through +appearance. Therefore not appearance in general can be objected to, but +merely the particular kind of appearance through which art seeks to +portray truth. To charge the appearance in which art chooses to embody +its ideas as deception, receives meaning only by comparison with the +external world of phenomena and its immediate materiality, as well as +with the inner world of sensations and feelings. To these two worlds we +are wont, in our empirical work-a-day life, to attribute the value of +actuality, reality, and truth, in contrast to art, which is supposed to +be lacking such reality and truth. But, in fact, it is just the whole +sphere of the empirical inner and outer world that is not the world of +true reality; indeed it may be called a mere show and a cruel deception +in a far stricter sense than in the case of art. Only beyond the +immediacy of sense and of external objects is genuine reality to be +found. Truly real is but the fundamental essence and the underlying +substance of nature and of spirit, and the universal element in nature +and in spirit is precisely what art accentuates and makes visible. This +essence of reality appears also in the common outer and inner world, but +it appears in the form of a chaos of contingencies, distorted by the +immediateness of sense perception, and by the capriciousness of +conditions, events, characters, etc. Art frees the true meaning of +appearances from the show and deception of this bad and transient world, +and invests it with a higher reality, born of the spirit. Thus, far +removed from being mere appearances, the products of art have a higher +reality and a more genuine being than the things of ordinary life. + + +THE CONTENT AND IDEAL OF ART + +The content of art is spiritual, and its form is sensuous; both sides +art has to reconcile into a united whole. The first requirement is that +the content, which art is to represent, must be worthy of artistic +representation; otherwise we obtain only a bad unity, since a content +not capable of artistic treatment is made to take on an artistic form, +and a matter prosaic in itself is forced into a form quite opposed to +its inherent nature. + +The second requirement demands of the content of art that it shall be no +abstraction. By this is not meant that it must be concrete, as the +sensuous is alleged to be concrete in contrast to everything spiritual +and intellectual. For everything that is genuinely true, in the realm +of thought as well as in the domain of nature, is concrete, and has, in +spite of universality, nevertheless, a particular and subjective +character. By saying, for example, that God is simply One, the Supreme +Being as such, we express thereby nothing but a lifeless abstraction of +an understanding devoid of reason. Such a God, as indeed he is not +conceived in his concrete truth, can furnish no content for art, least +of all for plastic art. Thus the Jews and the Turks have not been able +to represent their God, who is still more abstract, in the positive +manner in which the Christians have represented theirs. For in +Christianity God is conceived in his truth, and therefore concrete, as a +person, as a subject, and, more precisely still, as Spirit. What he is +as spirit appears to the religious consciousness as a Trinity of +persons, which at the same time is One. Here the essence of God is the +reconciled unity of universality and particularity, such unity alone +being concrete. Hence, as a content in order to be true must be concrete +in this sense, art demands the same concreteness; because a mere +abstract idea, or an abstract universal, cannot manifest itself in a +particular and sensuous unified form. + +If a true and therefore concrete content is to have its adequate +sensuous form and shape, this sensuous form must--this being the third +requirement--also be something individual, completely concrete, and one. +The nature of concreteness belonging to both the content and the +representation of art, is precisely the point in which both can coincide +and correspond to each other. The natural shape of the human body, for +example, is a sensuous concrete object, which is perfectly adequate to +represent the spiritual in its concreteness; the view should therefore +be abandoned that an existing object from the external world is +accidentally chosen by art to express a spiritual idea. Art does not +seize upon this or that form either because it simply finds it or +because it can find no other, but the concrete spiritual content itself +carries with it the element of external, real, yes, even sensuous, +representation. And this is the reason why a sensuous concrete object, +which bears the impress of an essentially spiritual content, addresses +itself to the inner eye; the outward shape whereby the content is +rendered visible and imaginable aims at an existence only in our heart +and mind. For this reason alone are content and artistic shape +harmoniously wrought. The mere sensuously concrete external nature as +such has not this purpose for its only origin. The gay and variegated +plumage of the birds shines unseen, and their song dies away unheard; +the torch-thistle which blossoms only for a night withers without having +been admired in the wilds of southern forests; and these forests, groves +of the most beautiful and luxuriant vegetation, with the most odorous +and fragrant perfumes, perish and waste, no more enjoyed. The work of +art is not so unconsciously self-immersed, but it is essentially a +question, an address to the responsive soul, an appeal to the heart and +to the mind. + +Although the sensuous form in which art clothes its content is not +accidental, yet it is not the highest form whereby the spiritually +concrete may be grasped. A higher mode than representation through a +sensuous form, is thought. True and rational thinking, though in a +relative sense abstract, must not be one-sided, but concrete. How far a +definite content can be adequately treated by art and how far it needs, +according to its nature, a higher and more spiritual form, is a +distinction which we see at once if, for example, the Greek gods are +compared with God as conceived in accordance with Christian notions. The +Greek god is not abstract but individual, closely related to the natural +human form. The Christian God is also a concrete personality, but he is +pure spiritually, and can be known only as spirit and in spirit. His +sphere of existence is therefore essentially inner knowledge, and not +the outer natural shape through which he can be represented but +imperfectly and not in the whole depth of his essence. + +But the task of art is to represent a spiritual idea to direct +contemplation in sensuous form, and not in the form of thought or of +pure spirituality. The value and dignity of such representation lies in +the correspondence and unity of the two sides, of the spiritual content +and its sensuous embodiment, so that the perfection and excellency of +art must depend upon the grade of inner harmony and union with which the +spiritual idea and the sensuous form interpenetrate. + +The requirement of the conformity of spiritual idea and sensuous form +might at first be interpreted as meaning that any idea whatever would +suffice, so long as the concrete form represented this idea and no +other. Such a view, however, would confound the ideal of art with mere +correctness, which consists in the expression of any meaning in its +appropriate form. The artistic ideal is not to be thus understood. For +any content whatever is capable, according to the standard of its own +nature, of adequate representation, but yet it does not for that reason +lay claim to artistic beauty in the ideal sense. Judged by the standard +of ideal beauty, even such correct representation will be defective. In +this connection we may remark that the defects of a work of art are not +to be considered simply as always due to the incapacity of the artist; +defectiveness of form has also its root in defectiveness of content. +Thus, for instance, the Chinese, Indians, Egyptians, in their artistic +objects, their representations of the gods, and their idols, adhered to +formlessness, or to a vague and inarticulate form, and were not able to +arrive at genuine beauty, because their mythological ideas, the content +and conception of their works of art, were as yet vague and obscure. The +more perfect in form works of art are, the more profound is the inner +truth of their content and thought. And it is not merely a question of +the greater or lesser skill with which the objects of external nature +are studied and copied, for, in certain stages of artistic consciousness +and artistic activity, the misrepresentation and distortion of natural +objects are not unintentional technical inexpertness and incapacity, but +conscious alteration, which depends upon the content that is in +consciousness, and is, in fact, demanded by it. We may thus speak of +imperfect art, which, in its own proper sphere, may be quite perfect +both technically and in other respects. When compared with the highest +idea and ideal of art, it is indeed defective. In the highest art alone +are the idea and its representation in perfect congruity, because the +sensuous form of the idea is in itself the adequate form, and because +the content, which that form embodies, is itself a genuine content. + +The higher truth of art consists, then, in the spiritual having attained +a sensuous form adequate to its essence. And this also furnishes the +principle of division for the philosophy of art. For the Spirit, before +it wins the true meaning of its absolute essence, has to develop through +a series of stages which constitute its very life. To this universal +evolution there corresponds a development of the phases of art, under +the form of which the Spirit--as artist--attains to a comprehension of +its own meaning. + +This evolution within the spirit of art has two sides. The development +is, in the first place, a spiritual and universal one, in so far as a +gradual series of definite conceptions of the universe--of nature, man, +and God--finds artistic representation. In the second place, this +universal development of art, embodying itself in sensuous form, +determines definite modes of artistic expression and a totality of +necessary distinctions within the sphere of art. These constitute the +particular arts. + +We have now to consider three definite relations of the spiritual idea +to its sensuous expression. + + +SYMBOLIC ART + +Art begins when the spiritual idea, being itself still indefinite and +obscure and ill-comprehended, is made the content of artistic forms. As +indefinite, it does not yet have that individuality which the artistic +ideal demands; its abstractness and one-sidedness thus render its shape +defective and whimsical. The first form of art is therefore rather a +mere search after plasticity than a capacity of true representation. The +spiritual idea has not yet found its adequate form, but is still engaged +in striving and struggling after it. This form we may, in general, call +the _symbolic_ form of art; in such form the abstract idea assumes a +shape in natural sensuous matter which is foreign to it; with this +foreign matter the artistic creation begins, from which, however, it +seems unable to free itself. The objects of external nature are +reproduced unchanged, but at the same time the meaning of the spiritual +idea is attached to them. They thus receive the vocation of expressing +it, and must be interpreted as if the spiritual idea were actually +present in them. It is indeed true that natural objects possess an +aspect which makes them capable of representing a universal meaning, but +in symbolic art a complete correspondence is not yet possible. In it the +correspondence is confined to an abstract quality, as when, for example, +a lion is meant to stand for strength. + +This abstract relation brings also to consciousness the foreignness of +the spiritual idea to natural phenomena. And the spiritual idea, having +no other reality to express its essence, expatiates in all these natural +shapes, seeks itself in their unrest and disproportion, but finds them +inadequate to it. It then exaggerates these natural phenomena and shapes +them into the huge and the boundless. The spiritual idea revels in them, +as it were, seethes and ferments in them, does violence to them, +distorts and disfigures them into grotesque shapes, and endeavors by the +diversity, hugeness, and splendor of such forms to raise the natural +phenomena to the spiritual level. For here it is the spiritual idea +which is more or less vague and non-plastic, while the objects of nature +have a thoroughly definite form. + +The incongruity of the two elements to each other makes the relation of +the spiritual idea to objective reality a negative one. The spiritual as +a wholly inner element and as the universal substance of all things, is +conceived unsatisfied with all externality, and in its _sublimity_ it +triumphs over the abundance of unsuitable forms. In this conception of +sublimity the natural objects and the human shapes are accepted and left +unaltered, but at the same time recognized as inadequate to their own +inner meaning; it is this inner meaning which is glorified far and above +every worldly content. + +These elements constitute, in general, the character of the primitive +artistic pantheism of the Orient, which either invests even the lowest +objects with absolute significance, or forces all phenomena with +violence to assume the expression of its world-view. This art becomes +therefore bizarre, grotesque, and without taste, or it represents the +infinite substance in its abstract freedom turning away with disdain +from the illusory and perishing mass of appearances. Thus the meaning +can never be completely molded into the expression, and, notwithstanding +all the aspiration and effort, the incongruity between the spiritual +idea and the sensuous form remains insuperable. This is, then, the first +form of art-symbolic art with its endless quest, its inner struggle, its +sphinx-like mystery, and its sublimity. + + +CLASSICAL ART + +In the second form of art, which we wish to designate as the +_classical_, the double defect of symbolic art is removed. The symbolic +form is imperfect, because the spiritual meaning which it seeks to +convey enters into consciousness in but an abstract and vague manner, +and thus the congruity between meaning and form must always remain +defective and therefore abstract. This double aspect disappears in the +classical type of art; in it we find the free and adequate embodiment of +the spiritual idea in the form most suitable to it, and with it meaning +and expression are in perfect accord. It is classical art, therefore, +which first affords the creation and contemplation of the completed +ideal, realizing it as a real fact in the world. + +But the congruity of idea and reality in classical art must not be +taken in a formal sense of the agreement of a content with its external +form; otherwise every photograph of nature, every picture of a +countenance, landscape, flower, scene, etc., which constitutes the aim +of a representation, would, through the conformity of content and form, +be at once classical. The peculiarity of classical art, on the contrary, +consists in its content being itself a concrete idea, and, as such, a +concrete spiritual idea, for only the spiritual is a truly essential +content. For a worthy object of such a content, Nature must be consulted +as to whether she contains anything to which a spiritual attribute +really belongs. It must be the World-Spirit itself that _invented_ the +proper form for the concrete spiritual ideal--the subjective mind--in +this case the spirit of art--has only _found_ it, and given it natural +plastic existence in accordance with free individual spirituality. The +form in which the idea, as spiritual and individual, clothes itself when +revealed as a temporal phenomenon, is _the human form_. To be sure, +personification and anthropomorphism have frequently been decried as a +degradation of the spiritual; but art, in so far as its task is to bring +before direct contemplation the spiritual in sensuous form, must advance +to such anthropomorphism, for only in its body can mind appear in an +adequately sensuous fashion. The migration of souls is, in this respect, +an abstract notion, and physiology should make it one of its fundamental +principles that life has necessarily, in its evolution, to advance to +the human shape as the only sensuous phenomenon appropriate to the mind. + +The human body as portrayed by classical art is not represented in its +mere physical existence, but solely as the natural and sensuous form and +garb of mind; it is therefore divested of all the defects that belong to +the merely sensuous and of all the finite contingencies that appertain +to the phenomenal. But if the form must be thus purified in order to +express the appropriate content, and, furthermore, if the conformity of +meaning and expression is to be complete, the content which is the +spiritual idea must be perfectly capable of being expressed through the +bodily form of man, without projecting into another sphere beyond the +physical and sensuous representation. The result is that Spirit is +characterized as a particular form of mind, namely, as human mind, and +not as simply absolute and eternal; but the absolute and eternal Spirit +must be able to reveal and express itself in a manner far more +spiritual. + +This latter point brings to light the defect of classical art, which +demands its dissolution and its transition to a third and higher form, +to wit, the _romantic_ form of art. + + +ROMANTIC ART + +The romantic form of art destroys the unity of the spiritual idea and +its sensuous form, and goes back, though on a higher level, to the +difference and opposition of the two, which symbolic art left +unreconciled. The classical form of art attained, indeed, the highest +degree of perfection which the sensuous process of art was capable of +realizing; and, if it shows any defects, the defects are those of art +itself, due to the limitation of its sphere. This limitation has its +root in the general attempt of art to represent in sensuous concrete +form the infinite and universal Spirit, and in the attempt of the +classical type of art to blend so completely spiritual and sensuous +existence that the two appear in mutual conformity. But in such a fusion +of the spiritual and sensuous aspects Spirit cannot be portrayed +according to its true essence, for the true essence of Spirit is its +infinite subjectivity; and its absolute internal meaning does not lend +itself to a full and free expression in the confinement of the bodily +form as its only appropriate existence. + +Now, romantic art dissolves the inseparable unity which is the ideal of +the classical type, because it has won a content which goes beyond the +classical form of art and its mode of expression. This content--if +familiar ideas may be recalled--coincides with what Christianity +declares to be true of God as Spirit, in distinction to the Greek +belief in gods which constitutes the essential and appropriate subject +for classical art. The concrete content of Hellenic art implies the +unity of the human and divine nature, a unity which, just because it is +merely _implied_ and _immediate_, permits of a representation in an +immediately visible and sensuous mold. The Greek god is the object of +naïve contemplation and sensuous imagination; his shape is, therefore, +the bodily shape of man; the circle of his power and his essence is +individual and confined. To man the Greek god appears as a being and a +power with whom he may _feel_ a kinship and unity, but this kinship and +unity, are not reflected upon or raised into definite knowledge. The +higher stage is the _knowledge_ of this unconscious unity, which +underlies the classical form of art and which it has rendered capable of +complete plastic embodiment. The elevation of what is unconscious and +implied into self-conscious knowledge brings about an enormous +difference; it is the infinite difference which, for example, separates +man from the animal. Man is an animal, but, even in his animal +functions, does not rest satisfied with the potential and the +unconscious as the animal does, but becomes conscious of them, reflects +upon them, and raises them--as, for instance, the process of +digestion--into self-conscious science. And it is thus that man breaks +through the boundary of his merely immediate and unconscious existence, +so that, just because he knows himself to be animal, he ceases in virtue +of such knowledge to be animal, and, through such self-knowledge only, +can characterize himself as mind or spirit. + +If in the manner just described the unity of the human and divine nature +is raised from an _immediate_ to a _conscious,_ unity, the true mold for +the reality of this content is no longer the sensuous, immediate +existence of the spiritual, the bodily frame of man, but +self-consciousness and internal contemplation. For this reason +Christianity, in depicting God as Spirit--not as particularized +individual mind, but as absolute and universal Spirit--retires from the +sensuousness of imagination into the sphere of inner being, and makes +this, and not the bodily form, the material and mold of its content; and +thus the unity of the human and divine nature is a conscious unity, +capable of realization only by spiritual knowledge. The new content, won +by this unity, is not dependent upon sensuous representation; it is now +exempt from such immediate existence. In this way, however, romantic art +becomes art which transcends itself, carrying on this process of +self-transcendence within its own artistic sphere and artistic form. + +Briefly stated, the essence of romantic art consists in the artistic +object being the free, concrete, spiritual idea itself, which is +revealed in its spirituality to the inner, and not the outer, eye. In +conformity with such a content, art can, in a sense, not work for +sensuous perception, but must aim at the inner mood, which completely +fuses with its object, at the most subjective inner shrine, at the +heart, the feeling, which, as spiritual feeling, longs for freedom +within itself and seeks and finds reconciliation only within the inner +recesses of the spirit. This _inner_ world is the content of romantic +art, and as such an inner life, or as its reflection, it must seek +embodiment. The inner life thus triumphs over the outer world--indeed, +so triumphs over it that the outer world itself is made to proclaim its +victory, through which the sensuous appearance sinks into worthlessness. + +On the other hand, the romantic type of art, like every other, needs an +external mode of expression. But the spiritual has now retired from the +outer mode into itself, and the sensuous externality of form assumes +again, as it did in symbolic art, an insignificant and transient +character. The subjective, finite mind and will, the peculiarity and +caprice of the individual, of character, action, or of incident and +plot, assume likewise the character they had in symbolic art. The +external side of things is surrendered to accident and committed to the +excesses of the imagination, whose caprice now mirrors existence as it +is, now chooses to distort the objects of the outer world into a bizarre +and grotesque medley, for the external form no longer possesses a +meaning and significance, as in classical art, on its own account and +for it own sake. Feeling is now everything. It finds its artistic +reflection, not in the world of external things and their forms, but in +its own expression; and in every incident and accident of life, in every +misfortune, grief, and even crime, feeling preserves or regains its +healing power of reconciliation. + +Hence, the indifference, incongruity, and antagonism of spiritual idea +and sensuous form, the characteristics of symbolic art, reappear in the +romantic type, but with this essential difference. In the romantic +realm, the spiritual idea, to whose defectiveness was due the defective +forms of symbolic art, now reveals itself in its perfection within mind +and feeling. It is by virtue of the higher perfection of the idea that +it shuns any adequate union with an external form, since it can seek and +attain its true reality and expression best within itself. + +This, in general terms, is the character of the symbolic, classical, and +romantic forms of art, which stand for the three relations of the +spiritual idea to its expression in the realm of art. They consist in +the aspiration after, and the attainment and transcendence of, the ideal +as the true idea of beauty. + + +THE PARTICULAR ARTS + +But, now, there inhere in the idea of beauty different modifications +which art translates into sensuous forms. And we find a fundamental +principle by which the several particular arts may be arranged and +defined--that is, the species of art contain in themselves the same +essential differences which we have found in the three general types of +art. External objectivity, moreover, into which these types are molded +by means of a sensuous and particular material, renders them independent +and separate means of realizing different artistic functions, as far as +each type finds its definite character in some one definite external +material whose mode of portrayal determines its adequate realization. +Furthermore, the general types of art correspond to the several +particular arts, so that they (the particular arts) belong each of them +_specifically_ to _one_ of the general types of art. It is these +particular arts which give adequate and artistic external being to the +general types. + + +ARCHITECTURE + +The first of the particular arts with which, according to their +fundamental principle, we have to begin, is architecture. Its task +consists in so shaping external inorganic nature that it becomes +homogeneous with mind, as an artistic outer world. The material of +architecture is matter itself in its immediate externality as a heavy +mass subject to mechanical laws, and its forms remain the forms of +inorganic nature, but are merely arranged and ordered in accordance with +the abstract rules of the understanding, the rules of symmetry. But in +such material and in such forms the ideal as concrete spirituality +cannot be realized; the reality which is represented in them remains, +therefore, alien to the spiritual idea, as something external which it +has not penetrated or with which it has but a remote and abstract +relation. Hence the fundamental type of architecture is the _symbolical_ +form of art. For it is architecture that paves the way, as it were, for +the adequate realization of the God, toiling and wrestling in his +service with external nature, and seeking to extricate it from the chaos +of finitude and the abortiveness of chance. By this means it levels a +space for the God, frames his external surroundings, and builds him his +temple as the place for inner contemplation and for reflection upon the +eternal objects of the spirit. It raises an inclosure around those +gathered together, as a defense against the threatening of the wind, +against rain, the thunder-storm, and wild beasts, and reveals the will +to gather together, though externally, yet in accordance with the +artistic form. A meaning such as this, the art of architecture is able +to mold into its material and its forms with more or less success, +according as the determinate nature of the content which it seeks to +embody is more significant or more trivial, more concrete or more +abstract, more deeply rooted within its inner being or more dim and +superficial. Indeed, it may even advance so far as to endeavor to create +for such meaning an adequate artistic expression with its material and +forms, but in such an attempt it has already overstepped the bounds of +its own sphere, and inclines towards sculpture, the higher phase of art. +For the limit of architecture lies precisely in this, that it refers to +the spiritual as an internal essence in contrast with the external forms +of its art, and thus whatever spirit and soul are possessed it must +point to as something other than itself. + + +SCULPTURE + +Architecture, however, has purified the inorganic external world, has +given it symmetric order, has impressed upon it the seal of mind, and +the temple of the God, the house of his community, stands ready. Into +this temple now enters the God himself. The lightning-flash of +individuality strikes the inert mass, permeates it, and a form no longer +merely symmetrical, but infinite and spiritual, concentrates and molds +its adequate bodily shape. This is the task of sculpture. Inasmuch as in +it the inner spiritual element, which architecture can no more than hint +at, completely abides with the sensuous form and its external matter, +and as both sides are so merged into each other that neither +predominates, sculpture has the _classical_ form of art as its +fundamental type. In fact, the sensuous realm itself can command no +expression which could not be that of the spiritual sphere, just as, +conversely, no spiritual content can attain perfect plasticity in +sculpture which is incapable of being adequately presented to perception +in bodily form. It is sculpture which arrests for our vision the spirit +in its bodily frame, in immediate unity with it, and in an attitude of +peace and repose; and the form in turn is animated by the content of +spiritual individuality. Therefore the external sensuous matter is here +not wrought, either according to its mechanical quality alone, as heavy +mass, nor in forms peculiar to inorganic nature, nor as indifferent to +color, etc., but in ideal forms of the human shape, and in the whole of +the spatial dimensions. In this last respect sculpture should be +credited with having first revealed the inner and spiritual essence in +its eternal repose and essential self-possession. To such repose and +unity with itself corresponds only that external element which itself +persists in unity and repose. Such an element is the form taken in its +abstract spatiality. The spirit which sculpture represents is that which +is solid in itself, not variously broken up in the play of contingencies +and passions; nor does its external form admit of the portrayal of such +a manifold play, but it holds to this one side only, to the abstraction +of space in the totality of its dimensions. + + +THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ROMANTIC ARTS + +After architecture has built the temple and the hand of sculpture has +placed inside it the statue of the God, then this sensuously visible God +faces in the spacious halls of his house the _community_. The community +is the spiritual, self-reflecting element in this sensuous realm, it is +the animating subjectivity and inner life. A new principle of art begins +with it. Both the content of art and the medium which embodies it in +outward form now demand particularization, individualization, and the +subjective mode of expressing these. The solid unity which the God +possesses in sculpture breaks up into the plurality of inner individual +lives, whose unity is not sensuous, but essentially ideal. + +And now God comes to assume the aspect which makes him truly spiritual. +As a hither-and-thither, as an alternation between the unity within +himself and his realization in subjective knowledge and individual +consciousness, as well as in the common and unified life of the many +individuals, he is genuinely Spirit--the Spirit in his community. In his +community God is released from the abstractness of a mysterious +self-identity, as well as from the naïve imprisonment in a bodily shape, +in which he is represented by sculpture. Here he is exalted into +spirituality, subjectivity, and knowledge. For this reason the higher +content of art is now this spirituality in its absolute form. But since +what chiefly reveals itself in this stage is not the serene repose of +God in himself, but rather his appearance, his being, and his +manifestation to others, the objects of artistic representation are now +the most varied subjective expressions of life and activity for their +own sake, as human passions, deeds, events, and, in general, the wide +range of human feeling, will, and resignation. In accordance with this +content, the sensuous element must differentiate and show itself +adequate to the expression of subjective feeling. Such different media +are furnished by color, by the musical sound, and finally by the sound +as the mere indication of inner intuitions and ideas; and thus as +different forms of realizing the spiritual content of art by means of +these media we obtain painting, music, and poetry. The sensuous media +employed in these arts being individualized and in their essence +recognized as ideal, they correspond most effectively to the spiritual +content of art, and the union between spiritual meaning and sensuous +expression develops, therefore, into greater intimacy than was possible +in the case of architecture and sculpture. This intimate unity, however, +is due wholly to the subjective side. + +Leaving, then, the symbolic spirit of architecture and the classical +ideal of sculpture behind, these new arts in which form and content are +raised to an ideal level borrow their type from the _romantic_ form of +art, whose mode of expression they are most eminently fitted to voice. +They form, however, a totality of arts, because the romantic type is the +most concrete in itself. + + +PAINTING + +The first art in this totality, which is akin to sculpture, is painting. +The material which it uses for its content and for the sensuous +expression of that content is visibility as such, in so far as it is +individualized, viz., specified as color. To be sure, the media employed +in architecture and sculpture are also visible and colored, but they are +not, as in painting, visibility as such, not the simple light which +contrasts itself with darkness and in combination with it becomes color. +This visibility as a subjective and ideal attribute, requires neither, +like architecture, the abstract mechanical form of mass which we find in +heavy matter, nor, like sculpture, the three dimensions of sensuous +space, even though in concentrated and organic plasticity, but the +visibility which appertains to painting has its differences on a more +ideal level, in the particular kinds of color; and thus painting frees +art from the sensuous completeness in space peculiar to material things +only, by confining itself to a plane surface. + +On the other hand, the content also gains in varied particularization. +Whatever can find room in the human heart, as emotion, idea, and +purpose, whatever it is able to frame into a deed, all this variety of +material can constitute the many-colored content of painting. The whole +range of particular existence, from the highest aspirations of the mind +down to the most isolated objects of nature, can obtain a place in this +art. For even finite nature, in its particular scenes and aspects, can +here appear, if only some allusion to a spiritual element makes it akin +to thought and feeling. + + +MUSIC + +The second art in which the romantic form finds realization, on still a +higher level than in painting, is music. Its material, though still +sensuous, advances to a deeper subjectivity and greater specification. +The idealization of the sensuous, music brings about by negating space. +In music the indifferent extension of space whose appearance painting +admits and consciously imitates is concentrated and idealized into a +single point. But in the form of a motion and tremor of the material +body within itself, this single point becomes a concrete and active +process within the idealization of matter. Such an incipient ideality of +matter which no longer appears under the spatial form, but as temporal +ideality, is sound the sensuous acknowledged as ideal, whose abstract +visibility is transformed into audibility. Sound, as it were, exempts +the ideal from its absorption in matter. + +This earliest animation and inspiration of matter furnishes the medium +for the inner and intimate life of the spirit, as yet on an indefinite +level; it is through the tones of music that the heart pours out its +whole scale of feelings and passions. Thus as sculpture constitutes the +central point between architecture and the arts of romantic +subjectivity, so music forms the centre of the romantic arts, and +represents the point of transition between abstract spatial +sensuousness, which belongs to painting, and the abstract spirituality +of poetry. Within itself music has, like architecture, an abstract +quantitative relation, as a contrast to its inward and emotional +quality; it also has as its basis a permanent law to which the tones +with their combinations and successions must conform. + + +POETRY + +For the third and most spiritual expression of the romantic form of art, +we must look to poetry. Its characteristic peculiarity lies in the power +with which it subjugates to the mind and to its ideas the sensuous +element from which music and painting began to set art free. For sound, +the one external medium of which poetry avails itself, is in it no +longer a feeling of the tone itself, but is a sign which is, by itself, +meaningless. This sign, moreover, is a sign of an idea which has become +concrete, and not merely of indefinite feeling and of its _nuances_ and +grades. By this means the tone becomes the _word_, an articulate voice, +whose function it is to indicate thoughts and ideas. The negative point +to which music had advanced now reveals itself in poetry as the +completely concrete point, as the spirit or the self-consciousness of +the individual, which spontaneously unites the infinite space of its +ideas with the time-element of sound. But this sensuous element which, +in music, was still in immediate union with inner feelings and moods, +is, in poetry, divorced from the content of consciousness, for in poetry +the mind determines this content on its own account and for the sake of +its ideas, and while it employs sound to express them, yet sound itself +is reduced to a symbol with out value or meaning. From this point of +view sound may just as well be considered a mere letter, for the +audible, like the visible, is now relegated to a mere suggestion of +mind. Thus the genuine mode of poetic representation is the inner +perception and the poetic imagination itself. And since all types of art +share in this mode, poetry runs through them all, and develops itself +independently in each. Poetry, then, is the universal art of the spirit +which has attained inner freedom, and which does not depend for its +realization upon external sensuous matter, but expatiates only in the +inner space and inner time of the ideas and feelings. But just in this, +its highest phase, art oversteps the bounds of its own sphere by +abandoning the harmoniously sensuous mode of portraying the spirit and +by passing from the poetry of imagination into the prose of thought. + + +SUMMARY + +Such, then, is the organic totality of the several arts the external art +of architecture, the objective art of sculpture, and the subjective arts +of painting, music, and poetry. The higher principle from which these +are derived we have found in the types of art, the symbolic, the +classical, and the romantic, which form the universal phases of the +idea of beauty itself. Thus symbolic art finds its most adequate reality +and most perfect application in architecture, in which it is +self-complete, and is not yet reduced, so to speak, to the inorganic +medium for another art. The classical form of art, on the other hand, +attains its most complete realization in sculpture, while it accepts +architecture only as forming an inclosure round its products and is as +yet not capable of developing painting and music as absolute expressions +of its meaning. The romantic type of art, finally, seizes upon painting, +music, and poetry as its essential and adequate modes of expression. +Poetry, however, is in conformity with all types of the beautiful and +extends over them all, because its characteristic element is the +esthetic imagination, and imagination is necessary for every product of +art, to whatever type it may belong. + +Thus what the particular arts realize in individual artistic creations +are, according to the philosophic conception, simply the universal types +of the self-unfolding idea of beauty. Out of the external realization of +this idea arises the wide Pantheon of art, whose architect and builder +is the self-developing spirit of beauty, for the completion of which, +however, the history of the world will require its evolution of +countless ages. + + + + +THE LIFE OF BETTINA VON ARNIM + +BY HENRY WOOD, PH.D. Professor of German, Johns Hopkins University + + +The ten years succeeding the publication of _Goethe's Briefwechsel mit +einem Kinde_ (1835) coincided in point of time with the awakening in +England, through Thomas Carlyle, and in America as well, of an intense +if not yet profound interest in German Literature. It must remain a +tribute to the ideal enthusiasm of the movement that, among the first +German works to receive a permanent welcome and become domiciled in +American literary circles, was that strange and glittering mass, flotsam +of a great poet's life dislodged and jettisoned from his personality by +the subtle arts of the "Child" who had now gathered it up again and was +presenting it to the astonished world. At a time when the _Foreign +Quarterly Review_ in England (1838) was vainly endeavoring to persuade +"Madame von Arnim" not to undertake the translation of her work, "whose +unrestrained effusions far exceed the-bounds authorized by English +decorum," Margaret Fuller was preparing in Boston to translate Bettina's +_Günderode_, and soon felt herself in a position to state[3] that +"_Goethe's Correspondence with a Child_ is as popular here as in +Germany." In one respect, indeed, Bettina's vogue in America remained +for the rest of her lifetime more secure than in her own country, where +the publication of her later politico-sociological works, _Dies Buch +gehört dem König_ (1843) and _Gespräche mit Dämonen_ (1852), was +followed by a temporary eclipse of her popularity, and where also her +fate, in persistently associating her with Rahel, the wife of Varnhagen, +as a foil for Rahel's brilliant but transitory glitter, had +tarnished her own fame.[4] + +[Illustration: BETTINA VON ARNIM] + +For these things American readers of the _Correspondence_ seem to have +cared but little. While German critics were deliberating as to what +grouping of characteristics could best express Bettina as a type, the +American public had already discovered in her a rare personality--the +recipient and custodian of Frau Rat's fondest memories of Goethe's +childhood; the "mythological nurse-maid,"[5] to whom, though in her +proper name as well as to her first-born son, successive editions of +Grimm's _Fairy Tales_ had been dedicated; the youthful friend of +Beethoven, from whom she had received treasured confidences as to the +influence exerted by Goethe's verse upon his mind and art; at times the +haunting Muse of Germany's greatest poet and, since 1811, the wife of +the most chivalrous of German poets, Achim von Arnim. If we add to these +characteristics the circumstance that, as Arnim's wife and as the mother +of their rarely endowed children, she had become the centre of a +distinguished and devoted circle in the Mark Brandenburg and in the +Prussian capital, the distance separating us from Ben Jonson's attitude +in his Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke is no longer very great: +"Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother."[6] + +It is, nevertheless, not through the aid of Ben Jonson's line, "fair and +wise and good as she," that Bettina may be described. She suggests far +rather an electrical, inspired, lyrical nature. The spokesman of this +literary estimate of Bettina was Margaret Fuller, and it is interesting +to note that this best of American critics at once instituted a +comparison between Bettina and Karoline von Günderode, in which the +former was made to stand for Nature and the latter for Art. But it +appears to have escaped notice that Margaret Fuller, in presenting her +example of the artistic type, has, with no express intention, given us a +picture of herself.[7] The subtle harmonies, the soft aerial grace, the +multiplied traits, the soul delicately appareled, the soft dignity of +each look and gesture, the silvery spiritual clearness of an angel's +lyre, drawing from every form of life its eternal meaning--these are all +lineaments of the Countess of Pembroke type, and these characteristics +Margaret Fuller herself shared. How different is her description of +Bettina! + +"Bettina, hovering from object to object, drawing new tides of vital +energy from all, living freshly alike in man and tree, loving the breath +of the damp earth as well as the flower which springs from it, bounding +over the fences of society as well as over the fences of the field, +intoxicated with the apprehension of each new mystery, never hushed into +silence by the highest, flying and singing like a bird, sobbing with the +hopelessness of an infant, prophetic, yet astonished at the fulfilment +of each prophecy, restless, fearless, clinging to love, yet unwearied in +experiment--is not this the pervasive vital force, cause of the effect +which we call Nature?" + +On the part of both Goethe and Bettina, there was always a recognition +of such a natural force operating in her. As Günderode once put it, +"Bettina seems like clay, which a divine artificer, preparing to fashion +it into something rare, is treading with his feet." On the 13th of +August, 1807, Bettina wrote: "Farewell, glorious one, thou who dost both +dazzle and intimidate me. From this steep cliff [Goethe] upon which my +love has risked the climb, there is no possible path down again. That is +not to be thought of; I should simply break my neck." Goethe's reply, in +this as in other cases, was characteristic: "What can one say or give +to thee, which thou hast not after thy own fashion already appropriated? +There is nothing left for me but to keep still, and let thee have thy +way." In this passage-at-arms, the whole of the _Correspondence_, though +not its charm, is concentrated. Goethe was intent on keeping the +relationship within its first limitations, that is to say, as a +friendship in which his mother, Frau Rat, was included as a necessary +third party. The impetuous young _confidante_ was already transmitting +to Goethe chapters from the history of his childhood, as seen through +the communications of his mother to her. These had given the poet the +purest pleasure, and he intended making use of them for his +Autobiography.[8] But, on the other hand, as soon as Bettina risked +independent judgments on his creations, as in the case of the _Elective +Affinities_ (1809), her inadequacy and her presumption in claiming for +herself the rôle of a better Ottilie were both painfully apparent. Her +attitude toward the adored object was a combination of meekness and +pretension, the latter predominating as time went on. "It was sung at my +cradle, that I must love a star that should always remain apart. But +thou [Goethe] hast sung me a cradle song, and to that song, which lulls +me into a dream on the fate of my days, I must listen to the end of my +days." To this humility succeeded the self-deception of the so-called +later Diary. Under date of March 22, 1832, Bettina relates that Goethe, +at their last interview in the early days, had called her his Muse. +Hence, on learning of his death, she reproached herself for ever having +left him--"the tree of whose fame, with its eternally budding shoots, +had been committed to my care. Alas for the false world, which separated +us, and led me, poor blind child, away from my master!" Margaret +Fuller[9] called Goethe "my parent." But how sharp is the contrast +between her tone of reverent affection and the umbrageous jealousy of +Bettina! + +And Goethe? While the poet safeguarded his fatherly relation to Bettina, +up to the break in 1811, in a hundred ways, we find him already, in +1807, inclosing in a letter to his mother the text of Sonnet I., which +had been inspired, in the first instance, by his friendship with Minna +Herzlieb. Bettina, left to draw her own conclusions, at once identified +herself with "Oreas" in the sonnet, and reproached herself for having +plunged, like a mountain avalanche, into the broad, full current of the +poet's life. From the letter of September 17th it is plain that Bettina +indulged, in all seriousness, the fanciful notion that her inspiration +was, in a sense, necessary to Goethe's fame. In her fond, mystical +interpretation of the sonnets, her heart seems to her the fruitful +furrow, the earth-womb, in which Goethe's songs are sown, and out of +which, accompanied by birth-pangs for her, they are destined to soar +aloft as heavenly poems. She closes with a partial application to +herself of the Biblical text (Luke 1. 40): "Blessed art thou among +women." + +Goethe's detractors, particularly among the literary school called Young +Germany, were fond of repeating the insinuation of Fanny Tarnow (1835), +that the poet prized in Bettina only her capacity for idolizing him. But +Goethe's attitude toward the "Child" was far removed from that of +poet-pasha, and Bettina had nothing of the vacuous odalisque in her +composition. G. von Löper has well said of her composite traits: "The +tender radiance of first youth hovers over her descriptions; but, while +one is beholding, Bettina suddenly changes into a mischievous elf, and, +if we reach out to grasp the kobold, lo! a sibyl stands before us!" +Behind all Bettina's mobility there is a force of individuality, as +irresistible and as recurrent as the tides. Her brother Clemens and her +brother-in-law Savigny tried in vain to temper the violence of her +enthusiasm for the insurgent Tyrolese, of her flaming patriotism, +of her hatred of philistinism in every form, of her scorn for the +then fashionable neutrality and moderation in the expression of +political opinion. + +[Illustration: THE GOETHE MONUMENT (BY BETTINA NON ARNIM)] + +She was by nature and choice the advocate of the oppressed, whenever +and wherever met with. The aristocratic _élégant_ Rumohr was obliged +to put up with the following from her: "Why are you not willing to +exchange your boredom, your melancholy caprices, for a rifle? With +your figure, slender as a birch, you could leap over abysses and +spring from rock to rock; but you are lazy and infected with the +disease of neutrality. You cannot hear the voices saying: 'Where is the +enemy? On, on, for God, the Kaiser, and the Fatherland!'" Even Goethe's +Wilhelm Meister, who is, according to Bettina, merely a supine hero, +fails to elude her electric grasp: "Come, flee with me across the Alps +to the Tyrolese. There will we whet our swords and forget thy rabble of +comedians; and as for all thy darling mistresses, they must lack thee +awhile." + +The end of poets' friendships with literary women is not always marked +by an anticlimax. Of Margaret Fuller, Emerson wrote in the privacy of +his Journal: "I have no friend whom I more wish to be immortal than she. +An influence I cannot spare, but would always have at hand for +recourse." Words like these Bettina was continually listening for from +her poet-idol, but she heard instead only the disillusioning echo of her +own enthusiasms. Possessing neither stability of mind nor any consistent +roundness of character, she was incapable of rendering herself necessary +to Goethe. In her case, however, the gifts that were denied at her +cradle seem to have been more than made up to her. Her ardent and +aspiring soul, shutting out "all thoughts, all passions, all delights" +else, was distilled into longing to share in the unending life of +Goethe's poesy.[10] + +Through the possession of this quality, Bettina, though not herself of +heroic mold, enters the society of the great heroines and speaks to +posterity. Ariadne on the island of Naxos lives not more truly in Ovid's +poetical _Epistles_, than Bettina in the _Correspondence_. But Bettina +has not, like Ariadne, had immortality conferred upon her through the +verses of two great poets. She has rather taken it for herself, as +Goethe said she was wont to do, in anticipating every gift. It is +accordingly not in the _Elegiacs_ of Ovid, flowing as a counter-stream +to Lethe, that we may discern Bettina's gesture of immortal repose as a +metamorphosed heroine. She is a type of the inspired lyrical nature, a +belated child of the Renaissance. A graceful English song-writer of the +Elizabethan period, Thomas Campion, who was as fond as Bettina of the +figure of the flower and the sun, through which she symbolized her +relation to Goethe, has in his verses anticipated her pose and her tone +of agitated expectancy: + + "Is [he] come? O how near is [he]? + How far yet from this friendly place? + How many steps from me? + When shall I [him] embrace? + + These armes I'll spread, which only at (his) sight shall close, + Attending, as the starry flower that the sun's noone-tide knowes." + +Campion termed his verses _Light Conceits of Lovers_. It is difficult to +weigh Bettina's fancies, for she has, as it were, taken the scales with +her when she closed the _Correspondence:_ but it is only just to say of +her Letters, that they realize, as a whole, Tasso's description of the +permanent state of the true lover: "Brama assai, poco spera e nulla +chiede" (Desire much, hope little and nothing demand). + + + + +GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH A CHILD (1835) + +BY BETTINA VON ARNIM TRANSLATED BY WALLACE SMITH MURRAY + +LETTERS TO GOETHE'S MOTHER + + +May 11, 1807. + +Dear Frau Rat: + +I have been lying in bed for some time, but shall get up now to write +you all about our trip. I wrote you that we passed through the military +lines in male attire. Just before we reached the city gate my +brother-in-law made us get out, because he wanted to see how becoming +the clothes were. Lulu looked very well in them, for she has a splendid +figure and the fit was perfect, whereas all my clothes were too loose +and too long and looked as if I had bought them at a rag fair. My +brother-in-law laughed at me and said I looked like a Savoyard boy and +could be of great service to them. The coachman had driven us off the +road through a forest, and when we came to a cross-road he didn't know +which way to turn. Although it was only the beginning of the four weeks' +trip, I was afraid we might get lost and then arrive in Weimar too late. +I climbed up the highest pine and soon saw where the main road lay. I +made the whole trip on the driver's box, with a fox-skin cap on my head +and the brush hanging down my back. Whenever we arrived at a station, I +would unharness the horses and help hitch up the fresh ones, and would +speak broken German with the postilions as though I were a Frenchman. At +first we had beautiful weather, just as though spring were coming; but +soon it turned very cold and wintry. We passed through a forest of huge +pines and firs all covered with frost; everything was spotless, for not +a soul had driven along the road, which was absolutely white. Moreover +the moon shone upon this deserted paradise of silver; a death-like +stillness reigned-only the wheels creaked from the cold. I sat up on the +box and wasn't a bit cold; winter weather strikes sparks from me! Along +toward midnight we heard some one whistling in the forest. My +brother-in-law handed me a pistol out of the carriage and asked whether +I should have the courage to shoot in case robbers came along. I said +"Yes," and he answered, "But don't shoot too soon." Lulu, who was inside +the carriage, was frightened nearly to death, but where I was, out under +the open sky, with my pistol cocked and my sabre buckled on, countless +stars twinkled above me, the glistening trees casting their gigantic +shadows on the broad, moon-lit way--all that made me brave away up on my +lofty seat! Then I thought of _him_ and wondered, if he had met me under +such circumstances in his youthful years, whether it would not have made +so poetic an impression on him that he would have composed sonnets to me +and never have forgotten me. Now perhaps he thinks differently, and has +probably risen above such a magic impression. It may be that higher +qualities--how shall I ever attain them?--will maintain a right over +him, unless eternal fidelity, cleaving to his threshold, finally wins +_him_ for me! Such was my mood on that cold, clear, winter night, in +which I found no occasion to shoot off my pistol. Not until daybreak did +I receive permission to fire it. The carriage stopped and I ran into the +forest and bravely shot it off into the dense solitude, in honor of your +son. In the meantime our axle had broken; we felled a tree with an axe +we had with us and bound it securely with ropes; then my brother-in-law +discovered how handy I was and complimented me. Thus we went on to +Magdeburg. Precisely at seven o'clock in the evening the fortress gates +are closed; we arrived just a minute late and had to wait outside till +seven the next morning. It wasn't very cold, and the two inside the +chaise went to sleep. In the night it began to snow; I had pulled my +cloak over my head and sat quietly in my exposed seat. In the morning +they peeped out of the carriage at me and beheld a snow man; but before +they could get thoroughly frightened I threw off the cloak under which I +had kept quite warm. In Berlin I was like a blind man in a throng and +was so absent-minded that I could take no interest in anything. I only +longed for a dark place where I shouldn't be disturbed and could think +of the future that was so near at hand. Oh, mother, mother, think of +your son! If you knew you were to see him in a short time, you too would +be like a lightning-rod attracting every flash of lightning. When we +were only a few miles from Weimar, my brother-in-law said he did not +wish to make the detour through Weimar, but would rather take another +road. I remained silent, but Lulu would not hear of it; she said it had +been promised me and he would have to keep his word. Oh, mother, the +sword hung by a hair over my head, but I managed to escape from under +it. + +We reached Weimar at twelve o'clock and sat down to dinner, but I +couldn't eat. The other two lay down on the sofa and went to sleep, for +we hadn't slept in three nights. "I advise you," said my brother-in-law, +"to take a rest too; it won't make much difference to Goethe whether you +go to see him or not, and there's nothing remarkable to see in him +anyway." Can you imagine how these words discouraged me? Oh, I didn't +know what to do, all alone in a strange town. I had changed my dress and +stood at the window and looked at the town clock; it was just striking +half-past two. It seemed to me, too, that Goethe wouldn't care +particularly about seeing me; I remembered that people called him proud. +I compresses my heart to quell its yearning. Suddenly the clock struck +three, and then it seemed exactly as though he had called me. I ran down +for the servant, but there was no carriage to be found. "Will a sedan +chair do?" "No," I said, "that's an equipage for the hospital"--and we +went on foot. There was a regular chocolate porridge in the streets and +I had to have myself carried over the worst bogs. In this way I came to +Wieland, not to your son. I had never seen Wieland, but I pretended to +be an old acquaintance. He thought and thought, and finally said, "You +certainly are a dear familiar angel, but I can't seem to remember when +and where I have seen you." I jested with him and said, "Now I know that +you dream of me, for you can't possibly have seen me elsewhere!" I had +him give me a note to your son which I afterwards took with me and kept +as a souvenir. Here's a copy of it: "Bettina Brentano, Sophie's sister, +Maximilian's daughter, Sophie La Roche's granddaughter wishes to see +you, dear brother, and pretends that she's afraid of you and that a note +from me would serve as a talisman and give her courage. Although I am +pretty certain that she is merely making sport of me, I nevertheless +have to do what she wants and I shall be astonished if you don't have +the same experience. W. + +April 23, 1807." + +With this note I sallied forth. The house lies opposite the +fountain--how deafening the waters sounded in my ears! I ascended the +simple staircase; in the wall stand plaster statues which impose +silence--at any rate I couldn't utter a sound in this sacred hallway. +Everything is cheery and yet solemn! The greatest simplicity prevails in +the rooms, and yet it is all so inviting! "Do not fear," said the modest +walls, "he will come, and he will be, and he will not claim to be _more_ +than you." And then the door opened and there he stood, solemnly +serious, with his eyes fixed upon me. I stretched out my hands toward +him, I believe, and soon I knew no more. Goethe caught me up quickly to +his heart. "Poor child, did I frighten you?"--those were the first words +through which his voice thrilled my heart. He led me into his room and +placed me on the sofa opposite him. There we sat, both mute, until at +last he broke the silence. "You have doubtless read in the paper that +we suffered a great bereavement a few days ago in the death of the +Duchess Amalia." + +"Oh," I said, "I do not read the papers." + +"Why, I thought everything that goes on in Weimar interests you." + +"No, nothing interests me but you alone, and therefore I'm far too +impatient to pore over the papers." + +"You are a kind child." A long pause--I, glued in such anxiety to the +odious sofa; you know how impossible it is for me to sit up in such +well-bred fashion. Oh, mother, is it possible for any one to forget +herself thus? + +Suddenly I said, "I can't stay here on this sofa any longer," and jumped +up. + +"Well," said he, "make yourself comfortable;" and with that I flew into +his arms. He drew me on his knee and pressed me to his heart. Everything +was quiet, oh, so quiet, and then all vanished. I hadn't slept for so +long--years had passed in longing for him--and I fell asleep on his +breast. When I awoke a new life began for me. I'll not write you more +this time. + +BETTINA. + +May, 1807. + + * * * Yes, man has a conscience; it exhorts him to fear nothing and to +leave no demand of the heart unsatisfied. Passion is the only key to the +world and through it the spirit learns to know and feel everything, for +how could he enter the world otherwise? And so I feel that only through +my love for him am I born into the spirit, that only through him the +world is opened to me where the sun shines and day becomes distinct from +night. The things I do not learn through this love, I shall never +comprehend. I wish I were a poor beggar girl and might sit at his +door-step, and take a morsel of bread from him, and that in my glance my +soul would be revealed to him. Then he would draw me close to him and +wrap me in his cloak, that I might grow warm. Surely he would not bid me +depart; I could remain, wandering on and on in his home. And so the +years would roll by and no one would know who I am and no one would know +what had become of me, and thus the years and life itself would go by. +The whole world would be mirrored in his face, and I should have no need +of learning anything more.* * * + + October, 1808. + +* * * I hadn't yet seen him at that time when you used to while away for +me those hours of ardent longing by picturing to me in a thousand +different ways our first meeting and his joyous astonishment. Now I know +him and I know how he smiles and the tone of his voice--how calm it is +and yet so full of love; and his exclamations--how they come swelling +from the depths of his heart like the tones of a melody, and how gently +he soothes and affirms what surges forth in wild disorder from an +overflowing heart. When I met him so unexpectedly again last year, I was +so beside myself and wanted to speak, but simply could not compose +myself. Then he placed his fingers on my lips and said, "Speak with your +eyes--I understand it all"; and when he saw that they were full of tears +he pressed my eyelids down and said; "Quiet, quiet, that is best for +both of us!" Yes, dear mother, quiet was instantly suffused through my +whole being, for didn't I possess everything for which I had longed for +years! Oh, mother, I shall never cease thanking you for bearing this +friend; where else could I have found him? Now don't laugh at me, but +remember that I loved him before I knew the least thing about him, and +if you had not borne him what would have become of him? That is a +question you cannot answer. + + * * * Thus a part of the winter passed. I was in a very happy frame of +mind--others might call it exaltation, but it was natural to me. By the +fortress wall that surrounded the large garden there was a watch-tower +with a broken ladder inside. A house close by had been broken into, and +though the thieves could not be traced it was believed they were +concealed in the tower. I had examined it by day and seen that it would +be impossible for a strong man to climb up this very high ladder, which +was rotten and lacked many rungs. I tried it, but slid down again after +I had gone up a short distance. In the night, after I had lain in bed +awhile and Meline was asleep, the thought left me no peace. I threw a +cloak about my shoulders, climbed out of the window, and walked by the +old Marburg castle, where the Elector Philip and Elizabeth peeped +laughingly out of the window. Often enough in the daytime I had observed +this marble couple leaning far out of the window arm in arm, as though +they wanted to survey their lands; but now at night I was so afraid of +them that I jumped quickly into the tower. There I seized the ladder and +helped myself up, heaven knows how; what I was unable to do in the +daytime I accomplished at night with anxiously throbbing heart. When I +was almost at the top, I stopped and considered that the thieves might +really be up there and that they might attack me and hurl me from the +tower. There I hung, not knowing whether to climb up or down, but the +fresh air I scented lured me to the top. What feelings came over me when +I suddenly, by snow and moonlight, surveyed the landscape spread out +beneath me and stood there, alone and safe, with the great host of stars +above me! Thus it is after death; the soul, striving to free itself, +feels the burden of the body most as it is about to cast it off, but it +is victorious in the end and relieved of its anguish. I was conscious +only of being alone and nothing was closer to me at that moment than my +solitude; all else had to vanish before this blessing. * * * + +LETTERS _to_ GOETHE. + +May 25, 1807. + + * * * Ah, I can impart nothing else to thee than simply that which goes on +in my heart! "Oh, if I could be with him now!" I thought, "the sunlight +of my joy would beam on him with radiance as glowing as when his eye +meets mine in friendly greeting. Oh, how splendid! My mind a sky of +purple, my words the warm dew of love; my soul must issue like an +unveiled bride from her chamber and confess: "Oh, lord and master, in +the future I will see thee often and long by day, and the day shall +often be closed by such an evening as this." + +This I promise--that whatever goes on in my soul, all that is untouched +by the outer world, shall be secretly and faithfully revealed to him who +takes such loving interest in me and whose all-embracing power assures +abundant, fruitful nourishment to the budding germs within my breast! + +Without faith the lot of the soul is hard; its growth is slow and meagre +like that of a hot-plant between rocks. Thus am I--thus I was until +today--and this fountain of my heart, always without an outlet, suddenly +finds its way to the light, and banks of balsam-breathing fields, +blooming like paradise, accompany it on its way. + +Oh, Goethe! My longing, my feelings, are melodies seeking a song to +cling to! May I cling to thee? Then shall these melodies ascend high +enough to accompany _thy_ songs!* * * + +June 20, 1807. + +* * * I cannot resist telling thee what I have dreamed of thee at +night--as if thou wert in the world for no other purpose. Often I have +had the same dream and I have pondered much why my soul should always +commune with thee under the same conditions. It is always as though I +were to dance before thee in ethereal garments. I have a feeling that I +shall accomplish all. The crowd surrounds me. Now I seek thee, and thou +sittest opposite me calm and serene as if thou didst not observe me and +wert busy with other things. Now I step out before thee with shoes of +gold and my silvery arms hanging down carelessly--and wait. Then thou +raisest thy head, involuntarily thy gaze is fixed upon me as I describe +magic circles with airy tread. Thy eye leaves me no more; thou must +follow me in my movements, and I experience the triumph of success! All +that thou scarcely divinest I reveal to thee in the dance, and thou art +astonished at the wisdom concealed in it. Soon I cast off my airy robe +and show thee my wings and mount on high! Then I rejoice to see thy eye +following me, and I glide to earth again and sink into thy embrace. Then +thou sighest and gazest at me in rapture. Waking from these dreams I +return to mankind as from a distant land; their voices seem so strange +and their demeanor too! And now let me confess that my tears are flowing +at this confession of my dreams. * * * + +March 15, 1808. + +When in a few weeks I go into the Rhine country, for spring will be here +then, I shall write thee from every mountain; I am always so much nearer +thee when I am outside the city walls. I sometimes seem to feel thee +then with every breath I take. I feel thee reigning in my heart when it +is beautiful without, when the air caresses; yes, when nature is good +and kind like thee, then I feel thee so distinctly! * * * + + * * * All other men seem to me as one and the same--I do not distinguish +between them, and I take no interest in the great universal sea of human +events. The stream of life bears thee, and thou me. In thy arms I shall +pass over it, and thou wilt bear me until the end--wilt thou not? And +even though there were thousands of existences yet to come, I can not +take wing to them, for with thee I am at home. So be thou also at home +in me--or dost thou know anything better than me and thee in the magic +circle of life? * * * + +March 30, 1808. + + * * * The vineyards were still partially covered with snow. I was sitting +on a broken window-bar and freezing, yet my ardent love for thee +permeated my being. I was trembling for fear of falling, yet I climbed +still higher because it occurred to me too venturesome for thy sake; +thus thou often inspirest me with daring. It was fortunate that the wild +wolves from the Odenwald[11] did not appear, for I should have grappled +with them had I thought of thy honor. It seems foolish, but it's +true.--Midnight, the evil hour of spirits, awakens me, and I lie at the +window in the cold winter wind. All Frankfurt is dead, the wicks in the +street lamps are on the point of expiring, and the old rusty +weather-vanes cry out to me, and I ask myself, is that the eternal tune? +Then I feel that this life is a prison where we all have only a pitiful +vision of real freedom; that is one's own soul. Then a tumult rages in +my breast and I long to soar above these old pointed gabled roofs that +cut off heaven from me. I leave my chamber, run through the wide halls +of our house, and search for a way through the old garrets. I suspect +there are ghosts behind the rafters, but I do not heed them. Then I seek +the steps to the little turret, and, when I am at last on top, I look +out through the small window at the wide heavens and am not at all cold. +It seems to me then as if I must give vent to all my pent-up tears, and +the next day I am so cheerful and feel new-born, and I look with cunning +for a prank to play. And--canst thou believe it?--all this is--thou! + +May, 1808. + +If it pleases thee to see me at thy feet in deep shame and confusion, +then look down upon me now. Thus does the poor shepherd-maiden fare, on +whose head the king places a crown; even though her heart be proud to +love him, yet the crown is too heavy and her little head staggers under +the burden. And besides, she is intoxicated with the honor and the +homage which her beloved pays her. + +Oh, I shall be careful never to complain again or to pray for fine +weather, for I cannot bear the blinding sunbeams! No, rather sigh in +silent darkness than be led by thy muse into the brilliant daylight, +confused and crowned--that breaks my heart. O, do not gaze on me so +long; remove the crown and press me to thy heart! Teach me to forget +in thee that thou returnest me, glorified, to myself. + +July 7, 1808. + + * * * Ah, the rainbow even now setting its diamond foot on the meadow at +Ingelheim and reaching over the house to Mount St. John is just like the +blissful illusion I have of thee and me! The Rhine, spreading out its +net to catch the vision of its banks of paradise, is like this flame of +life nourished by reflections of the unattainable. Let it then win +nothing more from reality than this illusion; it will give to me the +peculiar spirit and the character expressive of my own self, just as the +reflection does to the river in which it is mirrored. * * * + +July 18, 1808. + + * * * Yesterday evening I went up the Rochus mountain alone and wrote thee +thus far; then I dreamed a little, and when I came to myself I thought +the sun was just going down, but it was the rising moon. I was +astonished and should have been afraid, but the stars wouldn't let +me--these hundreds of thousands and _I_ together on that night. Who am +I, then, that I should be of raid? Am I not numbered with them? I didn't +dare descend and, besides, I shouldn't have found a boat to cross in. +The nights aren't so very long now, anyway, so I turned over on the +other side, said "good night" to the stars and was soon fast asleep. Now +and then I was awakened by flitting breezes, and then I thought of thee. +As often as I awoke I called thee to me and always said in my heart: +"Goethe be with me, that I may not be afraid." Then I dreamed that I was +floating along the reedy banks of the Rhine, and where it is deepest +between black rocky cliffs the ring thou gavest me slipped off. I saw it +sinking deeper and deeper till it reached the bottom. I wanted to call +for help, but then I awoke in the radiance of the morning, rejoicing +that the ring was still on my finger. Ah, prophet, interpret my dream +for me! Anticipate fate, and let no dangers beset our love after this +beautiful night when, betwixt fear and joy, in counsel with the stars, I +thought of thy future! + +* * * No one knows where I was--and, even if they did, could they +imagine why I was there? Thou tamest toward me through the whispering +forest, enveloped in a soft haze, and when thou wert quite near me my +tired senses could not endure it, so strong was the fragrance of the +wild thyme. Then I fell asleep--it was so beautiful--all blossoms and +fragrance! And the great boundless host of stars and the flickering +silver moon that danced near and far upon the stream, the intense +stillness of nature in which one hears all that stirs--ah, I feel my +soul implanted here in this nocturnal trembling! Future thoughts are +blossoming here; these cold dew-pearls that weigh down grass and herbs, +from these the spirit grows! Oh, it hastens to blossom for _thee_, +Goethe! It will unfold its gayest colors before thee! It is for love of +thee that I wish to think, that I struggle with the inexpressible. Thou +lookest upon me in spirit and thy gaze draws thoughts from me, and then +I am often compelled to say things I do not understand but only see. + +The spirit also has senses. Just as there is much that we only hear, or +only see, or only feel, so there are thoughts which the spirit also +perceives with only one of these senses. Often I only see what I am +thinking; often I only feel it, and when I hear it I experience a shock. +I do not know how I come by this knowledge which is not the fruit of my +own meditation. I look about me for the author of this opinion and then +conclude that it is all created from the fire of love. There is warmth +in the spirit; we feel it; the cheeks glow from our thoughts and cold +chills come over us, which fan our inspiration into new flame. Yes, dear +friend, this morning when I awoke it seemed to me as though I had +experienced great things, as though the pledges of my heart had wings +and soared over hill and dale into the pure, serene, radiant ether. No +vow, no conditions--nothing but appropriate motion, pure striving for +the divine. This is my pledge: Freedom from all ties, and that I will +have faith only in that spirit which reveals the beautiful and +prophesies eternal bliss. * * * + +We were on the road five days, and since then it has rained incessantly. +The whole house full of guests, and not even a little corner where I +could enjoy solitude and write thee! + +As long as I have anything to tell thee, I firmly believe that thy +spirit is fixed upon me as upon so many enigmas of nature. In fact, I +believe that every human being is such an enigma, and that the mission +of love between friends is to solve that enigma so that each shall learn +to know his deeper nature through and in his friend. Yes, dearest, it +makes me happy that my life is gradually developing through thee, and +for that reason I do not want to seem what I am not; I should prefer to +have all my faults and weaknesses known to thee rather than give thee a +false conception of what I am, for then thy love would not concern me +but rather an illusion that I had substituted for myself. For that +reason, also, a feeling often warns me that I must avoid this or that +for love of thee, because I should deny it in thy presence. + +From the Rochusberg. + + Oh, Goethe, thy letters are so dear to me that I have tied them up +in a silk kerchief embroidered with bright flowers and golden ornaments. +The last day before our Rhine trip I did not know what to do with them. +I did not want to take them along, since we had only one portmanteau +between us, and I did not want to leave them in my little room, which I +could not lock because it was being used; I thought the boat might sink +and I drown--and then these letters, one after the other of which has +reposed close to my heart, would fall into strange hands. At first I +wanted to leave them with the nuns in Vollratz (they are St. Bernard +nuns who were driven from their convent and are now living there), but I +changed my mind afterwards. The last time I was up here on the mountain +I found a spot. Beneath the confession-chair still standing in the +Rochus chapel, in which I'm also in the habit of keeping my writings, I +dug a hole and lined it on the inside with shells from the Rhine and +beautiful little pebbles that I found on the mountain. I placed the +letters in it, wrapped in their silken covering, and before the spot +planted a thistle which I had pulled up carefully by the roots together +with the earth about them. On the journey I was often worried about +them; what a shock it would have been if I had not found them again! My +heart stands still at the very thought of it! + +August 24, 1808. + + * * * It was midnight; the moon rose dim. The ship, whose shadow sailed +along beside it, like a monster, upon the illuminated Rhine, cast a +dazzling light upon the woody meadow of Ingelheim along which it was +moving. The moon appeared behind the meadow, mild and modest, and +gradually wrapped itself in a thin cloud of mist as in a veil. Whenever +we contemplate nature in calm meditation, it always lays hold of our +heartstrings. What could have turned my senses more fervently to God, +what could have more easily freed me from the trivial things that +oppress me? I am not ashamed to confess to thee that at that moment thy +image flamed up impetuously in my soul. It is true: Thy radiance pierces +me as the sun pours into the crystal of the grape and, like the sun, +thou dost ripen me with ever increasing fire and ever increasing +purity. * * * + +February 23, 1809. + +If thy imagination is supple enough to accompany me into all the +recesses of ruined walls, over mountains and chasms, then I shall +venture farther and introduce thee to the recesses of my heart. + +I beg thee, therefore, to climb up here, still higher, up three flights +to my room; sit on the blue stool by the green table opposite me. I +merely want to gaze at thee--and, Goethe--does thy imagination still +follow me?--then thou must discover the most constant love in my eyes, +and must draw me lovingly into thy arms, and say, "Such a faithful child +is given me as a reward, as amends, for much! This child is dear to me, +'tis a treasure, a precious jewel that I do not wish to lose." Dost thou +understand? And thou must kiss me, for that is what _my_ imagination +bestows on thine! + +I shall lead thee still farther! Step softly into the chamber of my +heart-here we are in the vestibule--utter stillness--no Humboldt--no +architect--no barking dog. Thou art not a stranger; go up and knock; it +will be alone and call to thee "Come in!" Thou wilt find it on a cool, +quiet couch, and a friendly light will greet thee. All will be peace and +order, and thou wilt be welcome! What is that? Heavens! See the flames +shooting up over him! Whence this conflagration? Who can save here? Poor +heart! Poor, suffering heart! What can reason accomplish here? It knows +everything better and yet can not help; its arms drop helpless by its +side. * * * + +Good night, good night until tomorrow! Everything is quiet and all in +the house are asleep dreaming of the things they desire when awake; but +I alone am awake with thee. Outside, on the street, all is still. I +should like to be assured that at this moment no soul besides mine is +thinking of thee, that no other heart gives a throb for thee, and that I +alone in the wide world am sitting at thy feet, my heart beating with +full strokes. And while all are asleep I am awake in order to press thy +knee to my breast--and thou?--the world need not know that thou lovest +me! + +October 23, 1809. + +The moon is shining from afar over the mountains and winter clouds drive +by in droves. I have been standing at the window awhile and watching the +tumult in the heavens. Dear Goethe! Good Goethe! I am all alone; it has +taken me out of myself again and up to thee. I must nurse this love +between us like a new-born babe. Beautiful butterflies balance +themselves on the flowers I have planted about his cradle, golden fables +adorn his dreams; I jest and play with him, and employ all my cunning to +gain his favor. But thou dost master it without effort by the splendid +harmony of thy spirit; with thee there is no need of tender outbursts, +of protestations. While I look after each moment of the present, the +power of blessing emanates from thee that transcends all reason and all +the universe. * * * + +Last night I dreamed of thee! What could have been more beautiful? Thou +wast serious and very busy and didst ask me not to disturb thee. That +made me sad and then thou didst press my hand tenderly to my bosom and +didst say, "Be quiet; I know thee and understand all." Then I awoke, and +thy ring, which I had pressed to myself in my sleep, had left its +imprint on my bosom. I pressed it more firmly against the same spot, +since I could not embrace thee. Is there nothing, then, in a dream? To +me it is everything, and I will gladly give up the activities of the day +if I can be with thee and speak with thee at night. Oh, be thou my +happiness in my dreams! + +Munich, November 9, 1809. + + * * * This is my vow: I will gather flowers for thee and bright garlands +shall adorn thy entrance; should thy foot stumble, it will be over the +wreaths which I have laid on thy threshold, and shouldst thou dream, it +is the balsam of magic blossoms that intoxicates thee--flowers of a +strange and distant world where I am at home and not a stranger as in +this book[12] where a ravenous tiger devours the delicate image of +spiritual love. I do not understand this cruel riddle; I cannot +comprehend why they all make themselves unhappy and why they all serve a +malicious demon with a thorny sceptre, why Charlotte, who strews incense +before him daily, yes, hourly, should prepare misfortune for them all +with mathematical precision! Is not love free? Are those two not +affinities? Why should she prevent them from living this innocent life +with and near each other? They are twins; twined round each other they +ripen on to their birth into the light, and she would separate these +seedlings because she cannot believe in innocence, which she inoculates +with the monstrous sin of prejudice! O what a fatal precaution! + +Let me tell you: No one seems to comprehend ideal love; they all believe +in sensual love, and consequently they neither experience nor bestow any +happiness that springs from that higher emotion or might be fully +realized through it. Whatever may fall to my lot, let it be through this +ideal love that tears down all barriers to new worlds of art, +divination, and poetry. Naturally it can live only in a noble element +just as it feels at home only in a lofty mind. + +Here thy Mignon occurs to me--how she dances blindfolded between eggs. +My love is adroit; you can rely thoroughly on its instinct; it will also +dance on blindly, and will make no misstep. * * * + +November 29, 1809. + +I had written thus far yesterday, when I crept into bed from fear, but I +could not succeed yesterday in falling asleep at thy feet, lost in +contemplation of thee as I do every evening. I was ashamed that I had +chattered so arrogantly, and perhaps all is not as I mean it. Maybe it +is jealousy that excites me so and impels me to seek a way to draw thee +to me again and make thee forget _her_.[13] + +Well, put me to the test, and, be it as it may, do not forget my love. +Forgive me also for sending thee my diary. I wrote it on the Rhine and +have spread out before thee my childhood years and shown thee how our +mutual affinity drove me on like a rivulet hastening on over crags and +rocks, through thorns and mosses, till thou, mighty stream, didst engulf +me. Yes, I wanted to keep this book until I should at last be with thee +again, so that I might tell by looking into thy eyes in the morning what +thou hadst read in it the evening before. But now it torments me to +think of thee substituting my diary for Ottilie's, and loving the living +one who remains with thee more than the one who has departed from thee. + +Do not burn my letters, do not tear them up, for it might give thee +pain--so firmly, so absolutely, am I joined to thee. But do not show +them to any one; keep them concealed like a secret beauty, for my love +is becoming to thee; thou art beautiful because thou feelest thyself +loved! + +February 29, 1810. + +I will confess to thee and honestly acknowledge all my sins--first, +those for which thou art partly responsible and which thou too must +expiate with me, then those which weigh most heavily on me, and finally +those in which I actually rejoice. + +First: I tell thee too often that I love thee, yet I know nothing else, +no matter how, much I turn it one way or the other; that's all there is. + +Secondly: I am jealous of all thy friends, the playmates of thy youth, +the sun that shines into thy room, thy servants, and, above all, thy +gardener that lays out the asparagus-beds at thy command. + +Thirdly: I begrudge thee all pleasure because I am not along. When any +one has seen thee and speaks of thy gaiety and charm, it does not please +me particularly; but when he says thou wast serious, cool, and reserved, +then I am delighted! + +Fourthly: I neglect every one for thy sake; nobody is anything to me, +and I don't care anything about their love; indeed, if any one praises +me, he displeased me. That is jealousy of thee and me, and by no means a +proof of a generous heart; it is a sign of a wretched character that +withers on one side when it would blossom on the other. + +Fifthly: I have a great inclination to despise everybody, especially +those that praise thee, and I cannot bear to hear anything good said of +thee. Only a few simple persons can I allow to speak of thee, and it +need not be praise at that. No, they may even make fun of thee a little, +and then, I can tell thee, an unmerciful roguishness comes over me when +I can throw off the chains of slavery for a brief spell. + +Sixthly: I have a deep resentment in my soul that it is not thee with +whom I live under the same roof and with whom I breathe the same air. I +am afraid to be near strangers. In church I look for a seat on the +beggars' bench, because they are the most neutral; the finer the people, +the stronger my aversion. To be touched makes me angry, ill, and +unhappy, and so I cannot stand it long in society at dances. I am fond +of dancing, could I but dance alone in the open where the breath of +strangers would not touch me. What influence would it have on the soul +if one could always live near one's friend?--all the more painful the +struggle against that which must remain forever estranged, spiritually +as well as physically. + +Seventhly: When I have to listen to any one reading aloud in company, I +sit in a corner and secretly hold my ears shut or, at the first word +that comes along, completely lose myself in thoughts. Then, when some +one does not understand, I awaken out of another world and presume to +supply the explanation, and what the rest consider madness is all +reasonable enough to me and consistent with an inner knowledge that I +cannot impart. Above all, I cannot bear to hear anything read from thy +works, nor can I bear to read them aloud; I must be alone with me and +thee. + +Vienna, May 28, 1810. + +It is Beethoven of whom I want to speak now, and in whom I have +forgotten the world and thee. I may not be qualified to judge, but I am +not mistaken when I say (what perhaps no one now realizes or believes) +that he is far in advance of the culture of all mankind, and I wonder +whether we can ever catch up with him! I doubt it. I only hope that he +may live until the mighty and sublime enigma that lies in his soul may +have reached its highest and ripest perfection. May he reach his highest +ideal, for then he will surely leave in our hands the key to a divine +knowledge which will bring us one step nearer true bliss! + +To thee I may confess that I believe in a divine magic which is the +element of spiritual nature, and this magic Beethoven employs in his +music. All he can teach thee about it is pure magic; every combination +of sounds is a phase of a higher existence, and for this reason +Beethoven feels that he is the founder of a new sensuous basis in the +spiritual life. Thou wilt probably be able to feel intuitively what I am +trying to say, and that it is true. Who could replace this spirit? From +whom could we expect anything equivalent to it? All human activity +passes to and fro before him like clockwork; he alone creates freely +from his inmost self the undreamed of, the untreated. What would +intercourse with the outside world profit this man, who is at his sacred +work before sunrise and scarcely looks about him before sunset, who +forgets bodily nourishment, and who is borne in his flight by the stream +of inspiration past the shores of superficial, everyday life. He himself +said to me, "Whenever I open my eyes I cannot but sigh, for all I see is +counter to my religion and I must despise the world which does not +comprehend that music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and +philosophy. It is the wine which inspires new creations, and I am the +Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for men and intoxicates their +spirit! * * * I have no friend and must ever be alone, but I know that God +is nearer to me in my art than to others, and I commune with him +without fear; I have always recognized Him and understood Him. Nor have +I any fears for my music; it can meet no evil fate, for he to whom it +makes itself intelligible will be freed from all misery with which +others are burdened." + +All this Beethoven said to me the first time I saw him, and I was +penetrated with a feeling of reverence when he expressed himself to me +with such friendly candor, since I must have seemed very unimportant to +him. Besides, I was astonished, for I had been told that he was +exceedingly reticent and avoided conversation with any one; in fact, +they were afraid to introduce me to him, so I had to look him up alone. +He has three dwellings in which he alternately conceals himself--one in +the country, one in the city, and the third on the bastion, in the third +story of which I found him. I entered unannounced and mentioned my name. +He was seated at the piano and was quite amiable. He inquired whether I +did not wish to hear a song that he had just composed. Then he sang, in +a shrill and piercing voice, so that the plaintiveness reacted upon the +listener, "Knowest thou the land?" "It is beautiful, isn't it, very +beautiful!" he cried, enraptured; "I'll sing it again;" and was +delighted at my ready applause. "Most people are stirred by something +good, but they are not artistic natures; artists are fiery--they do not +weep." Then he sang one of thy songs that he had composed lately, "Dry +not, Tears of Eternal Love." + +Yesterday I went for a walk with him through a beautiful garden at +Schönbrunn that was in full blossom; all the hothouses were open and the +fragrance was overpowering. Beethoven stopped in the burning sun and +said, "Goethe's poems exercise a great power over me, not alone through +their content, but also through their rhythm, and I am incited and moved +to compose by his language, which is built up as if by the aid of +spirits into a sublime structure that bears within it the mystery of +harmonies. Then from the focus of my inspiration I must let the melody +stream forth in every direction; I pursue it, passionately overtake it +again, see it escaping me a second time and disappearing in a host of +varying emotions; soon I seize it with renewed ardor; I can no longer +separate myself from it, but with impetuous rapture I must reproduce it +in all modulations, and, in the final moment, I triumph over the musical +idea--and that, you see, is a symphony! Yes, music is truly the mediator +between the spiritual and the sensuous world. I should like to discuss +this with Goethe; I wonder whether he would understand me! Melody is the +sensuous life of poetry. Does not the spiritual content of a poem become +sensuous feeling through melody? Do we not in the song of Mignon feel +her whole sensuous mood through melody, and does not this sensation +incite one in turn to new creations? Then the spirit longs to expand to +boundless universality where everything together forms a channel for the +_feelings_ that spring from the simple musical thought and that +otherwise would die away unnoted. This is harmony; this is expressed in +my symphonies; the blending of manifold forms rolls on to the goal in a +single channel. At such moments one feels that something eternal, +infinite, something that can never be wholly comprehended, lies in all +things spiritual; and although I always have the feeling of success in +my compositions, yet with the last stroke of the drum with which I have +driven home my own enjoyment, my musical conviction, to my hearers, I +feel an eternal hunger to begin anew, like a child, what a moment before +seemed to me to have been exhausted. + +"Speak to Goethe of me; and tell him to hear my symphonies. Then he will +agree with me that music is the sole incorporeal entrance into a higher +world of knowledge which, to be sure, embraces man, but which he, on the +other hand, can never embrace. Rhythm of the spirit is necessary to +comprehend music in its essence; music imparts presentiments, +inspirations of divine science, and what the spirit experiences of the +sensuous in it is the embodiment of spiritual knowledge. Although the +spirits live upon music as man lives upon air, it is a very different +matter to _comprehend_ it with the spirit. But the more the soul draws +its sensuous nourishment from it, the riper the spirit becomes for a +happy mutual understanding. + +"But few ever attain this understanding, for just as thousands marry for +love and yet love is never once revealed to them, although they all +pursue the trade of love, so do thousands hold communion with music and +yet do not possess its revelation. For music also has as its foundation +the sublime tokens of the moral sense, just as every art does; every +genuine invention indicates moral progress. To subject oneself to its +inscrutable laws, to curb and guide one's spirit by means of these laws, +so that it will pour forth the revelations of music--this is the +isolating principle of art. To be dissolved by its revelation--that is +the surrender to the divine, which quietly exercises its mastery over +the delirium of unbridled forces and thus imparts the greatest efficacy +to the imagination. Thus art always represents divinity, and the human +relationship to art constitutes religion. Whatever we acquire through +art comes from God; it is a divine inspiration, which sets up an +attainable goal for human capacities. + +"We do not know whence our knowledge comes; the firmly inclosed seed +requires the warm, moist, electric soil to sprout, to think, to express +itself. Music is the electric soil in which the soul lives, thinks, +invents. Philosophy is a precipitation of its electric spirit, and the +need that philosophy feels of basing everything on an ultimate principle +is in turn relieved by music. Although the spirit is not master of what +it creates through the mediation of music, yet it experiences ecstasy in +this creation. In this way every genuine creation of art is independent, +mightier than the artist himself, and through its expression it returns +to its divine source; it is concerned with man only insomuch as it bears +witness to divine mediation in him. + +"Music gives the spirit its relation to harmony. A thought, even when +isolated, still senses the totality of relationship in the spirit; thus +every thought in music is most intimately and inseparably related to the +totality of harmony, which is unity. Everything electric stimulates the +spirit to fluent, precipitous, musical creation. I myself am of an +electrical nature." * * * + +He took me to a grand rehearsal with full orchestra, and I sat back in a +box all alone in the large, unlighted hall, and saw this mighty spirit +wield his authority. Oh, Goethe I No emperor, no king, is so conscious +of his power, so conscious that all power radiates from him, as this +same Beethoven is, who only now in the garden was searching for the +source of his inspiration. If I understood him as I feel him, I should +be omniscient. There he stood, so firmly resolved, his gestures and +features expressing the perfection of his creation, anticipating every +error, every misconception; every breath obeyed his will, and everything +was set into the most rational activity by the superb presence of his +spirit. One might well prophesy that such a spirit will reappear in a +later reincarnation as ruler of the universe! + +November 4, 1810. + +Dost thou want me to tell thee of bygone days, how, when thy spirit was +revealed to me, I gained control over my own spirit in order the more +perfectly to embrace and love thine? And why should I not become dizzy +with ecstasy? Is the prospect of a fall so fearful after all? Just as +the precious jewel, touched by a single ray of light, reflects a +thousand colors, so also thy beauty, illumined only by the ray of my +enthusiasm, will be enriched a thousandfold. + +It is only when everything is comprehended that the Something can prove +its full worth, and so thou wilt understand when I tell thee that the +bed in which thy mother brought thee into the world had blue checkered +hangings. She was eighteen years old at the time, and had been married a +year. In this connection she remarked that thou wouldst remain forever +young and that thy heart would never grow old, since thou hadst received +thy mother's youth into the bargain. Thou didst ponder the matter for +three days before thou didst decide to come into the world, and thy +mother was in great pain. Angry that necessity had driven thee from thy +nature-abode and because of the bungling of the nurse, thou didst arrive +quite black and with no signs of life. They laid thee in a so-called +butcher's tray and bathed thee in wine, quite despairing of thy life. +Thy grandmother stood behind the bed, and when thou didst open thine +eyes she cried out, "Frau Rat, he lives!" "Then my maternal heart awoke +and it has lived in unceasing enthusiasm to this very hour," said thy +mother to me in her seventy-fifth year. Thy grandfather, one of the most +honored citizens of Frankfurt and at that time syndic, always applied +good as well as bad fortune to the welfare of the city, and so thy +difficult birth resulted in an accoucher being appointed for the poor. +"Even in his cradle he was a blessing to mankind," said thy mother. She +gave thee her breast but thou couldst not be induced to take +nourishment, and so a nurse was procured for thee. "Since he drank from +her with such appetite and comfort and we discovered that I had no +milk," she said, "we soon noticed that he was wiser than all of us when +he wouldn't take nourishment from me." + +Now that thou art born at last I can pause a little; now that thou art +in the world, each moment is dear enough to me to linger over it, and I +have no desire to call up the second moment, since it will drive me away +from the first. "Where'er thou art are love and goodness, where'er thou +art is nature too." Now I shall wait till thou writest me again, "Pray +go on with thy story." Then I shall first ask, "Well, where did we leave +off?" and then I shall tell thee of thy grandparents, thy dreams, thy +beauty, pride, love, etc. Amen. + +"Frau Rat, he lives!" These words always thrilled me through and +through whenever thy mother uttered them in exultant tones. Of thy birth +we may well say: + + The sword that threatens danger + Hangs often by a thread; + But the blessing of eternity + On us one gracious glance may shed. + +Extract from a letter written in 1822, ten years after the breach in +their relations. + +To give perfect expression to thee would probably be the most powerful +seal of my love, indeed, being a creation of divine nature, it would +prove my affinity to thee. It would be an enigma solved, like unto a +long restrained mountain torrent which at last penetrates to the light, +enduring the tremendous fall in voluptuous rapture, at a moment of life +through which and after which a higher existence begins. + +Thou destroyer, who hast taken my free will from me; thou creator, who +hast produced within me the sensation of awakening, who hast convulsed +me with a thousand electric sparks from the realm of sacred nature! +Through thee I learned to love the curling of the tender vine, and the +tears of my longing have fallen on its frost-kissed fruits; for thy sake +I have kissed the young grass, for thy sake offered my open bosom to the +dew; for thy sake I have listened intently when the butterfly and the +bee swarmed about me, for I wanted to feel _thee_ in the sacred sphere +of thy enjoyments. Oh, thou; toy in disguise with thy beloved--could I +help, after I had divined thy secret, becoming intoxicated with love for +thee? + +Canst thou divine the thrills that shook me when the trees poured down +their fragrance and their blossoms upon me? For I thought and felt and +firmly believed that it was _thy_ caressing of nature, _thy_ enjoyment +of her beauty, that it was _her_ yearning, _her_ surrender to thee, that +loosened these blossoms from their trembling boughs and sent them gently +whirling into my lap. + +BETTINA. + + + + +IMMERMANN AND HIS DRAMA "MERLIN" + +BY MARTIN SCHÜTZE, PH.D. Associate Professor of German Literature, +University of Chicago + + +Karl Lebrecht Immermann was born in Magdeburg, in April, 1796. His +father, who held a good position in the Civil Service, was a very severe +and domineering man; his mother, imaginative and over-indulgent. Karl's +childhood and early youth were uneventful. After passing through the +regular course of preparatory education in a "Gymnasium," he entered, in +1813, the University of Halle. During his first year there, Germany rose +up to throw off the yoke of Napoleon, and the King of Prussia issued a +proclamation calling the nation to arms, to which the people responded +with unprecedented unanimity and enthusiasm. Schoolboys and bearded men, +laborers and professional men, merchants and soldiers, united in one +patriotic purpose. The regular army was everywhere supplemented by +volunteer organizations. An epoch began which in its enthusiasm, its +idealism, the force and richness of its inspiration, and its +overwhelming impetus deserved, more than any other in modern history, +its title: "The Spring of Nations." + +Immermann's sensitive and responsive nature thrilled with the general +impulse, and he asked his father to let him join the army, but was told, +peremptorily, not to interrupt the first year of his studies. He +submitted, and plunged into the study of the literature of the +Romanticists, which, in its remoteness from actuality, offered +distraction from his disappointment. During this time he fell ill of +typhoid fever, from which he did not fully recover until the campaign +had victoriously ended in the battle of Leipzig. He joined, however, +after Napoleon's escape from Elba, the second campaign, in which he took +part in two battles. At the end of the war, having retired as an officer +of the reserves, he returned to Halle to finish his study of the law. + +He found a new spirit dominant among the students. This spirit, +characterized by a strongly democratic desire for national unity, pride +of race, and impatience with external and conventional restraints, had a +rich network of roots in the immediate past: in the individualism and +the humanism of the Storm and Stress Movement and the Classic Era of the +eighteenth century; in the subjective idealism of the Romantic school; +in the nationalism of Klopstock, Herder, Schiller, and Fichte, and in +the self-reliant transcendentalism of Kant's philosophy and +Schleiermacher's theology. This spirit had received its political +direction principally through the genius of the Baron von Stein, the +Prussian statesman, whose aim was the restoration of German national +unity. He believed that the political unity of Germany must rest on the +soundness of the common people, rather than on the pretensions of the +aristocracy whose corruption he held responsible for the decadence of +the nation. Following the example of Frederick the Great, he tried to +foster the simple virtues of the common man. He was, however, opposed to +radicalism, seeing permanent progress only in order, self-discipline, +and moderation. His leading idea, which was shared by such men as +Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, Niebuhr, and others, was that the principal task +of the time was to arouse the whole nation to independent political +thinking and activity, in order to develop self-confidence, courage, and +devotion to a great unselfish ideal. These ideas became a national +ideal, an active passion, under the pressure and stress of the +Napoleonic usurpation and in the heat and fervor of war and victory. + +[Illustration: C.T. LESSING KARL LERRECHT IMMERMANN] + +It was unavoidable that this spirit produced among the younger men, +and especially among the university students, traditionally unaccustomed +to patience with restraints, many excesses, absurdities and follies. +An extreme and tyrannical nativism, a tasteless archaism in dress, +manner, and speech, an intolerant and aggressive democratic propaganda +offended and bullied the more conservative. This spirit spread +particularly through the agencies of the student fraternities called +"Burschenschaften," and the athletic associations, the "Turners," +advocated and fostered by Jahn. + +Immermann became the mouthpiece of the conservatives among the students, +and he went so far as to publish some pamphlets denouncing specific acts +of violence of the leading radical fraternity, the "Teutonia." When the +university authorities, who to a considerable extent sympathized with +the radicals, neglected to act, Immermann addressed a complaint to the +King. This move resulted in the dissolution of the accused fraternity +and in governmental hostility to all fraternities, and brought the +hatred and contempt of the radicals on Immermann. + +Immermann acted undoubtedly from sincere motives, yet deserved much of +the condemnation he suffered. He had not sufficient vision to penetrate +through the objectionable and tasteless externalities of the liberal +movement--with which he was unfairly preoccupied even at the time of +_Die Epigonen_, a score of years later--to the greater and enduring core +of the aspirations of the modern age. The petty things were too near to +his eye and obscured the greater things which were further removed. He +thought he upheld a higher principle of morality by applying the +principles of von Stein to a new situation; but be failed to see the +new, larger morality imbedded in much confusion. History has reversed +his judgment. + +After completing his studies he received a government appointment in the +provincial capital of Westphalia, Muenster. Here, in this conservative +old town, began one of the most extraordinary relations between man and +woman in modern German literary history. Immermann fell in love with +Countess Elisa von Luetzow-Ahlefeldt, wife of the famous old commander +of volunteers, Brigadier-General von Luetzow. Elisa, an extremely gifted +and spirited woman, had formed a circle of interesting people, in which +her husband, a dashing soldier but a man of uninteresting mentality, +played a very subordinate part. Immermann and Elisa struggled along +against the tyranny of the affinity that drew them together. Immermann +wrote a number of dramas, highly romantic, in which the passion and +strife within him found varied expression. The play which made him known +beyond his immediate circle, was _Cardenio and Celinde_, the conflict of +which was suggested by his own. + +Elisa was finally divorced from Luetzow. Immermann was appointed a judge +in Magdeburg, and later in Duesseldorf. He asked Elisa to marry him. She +refused, but offered to live with him in free companionship. They joined +their lives, pledging themselves not to enter other relations. They +remained together until 1839, less than a year before Immermann's death, +when he married a young girl of nineteen. Elisa left his house in sorrow +and bitterness. Immermann characterized his relation to her thus in a +letter to his fiancée, in 1839: "I loved the countess deeply and purely +when I was kindled by her flame. But she took such a strange position +toward me that I never could have a pure, genuine, enduring joy in this +love. There were delights, but no quiet gladness. I always felt as if a +splendid comet had appeared on the horizon, but never as if the dear +warm God's sun had risen." + +His life with Elisa in Duesseldorf was rich in friends and works. The +sculptor Schadow, the founder of the art school there, the dramatists +von Uechtritz and Michael Beer, brother of Meyerbeer, were among his +friends. He had intimate relations with Mendelssohn during the years of +the latter's stay in Duesseldorf. He tried to assist Grabbe, the erratic +and unfortunate dramatist. During three years he was manager of the +Duesseldorf theatre, trying many valuable and idealistic experiments. +He died August 25, 1840. + +The most important of his works are _Das Trauerspiel in Tirol_, 1826, +treating of the tragic story of Andreas Hofer; _Kaiser Friedrich II_., +1827, a drama of the Hohenstaufen; the comic heroic epic, +_Tulifaentchen_, 1830, a satiric version of an heroic Tom Thumb; +_Alexis_, 1832, a trilogy setting forth the destruction of the reforms +begun by Peter the Great; _Merlin_, 1832; and his two novels, _Die +Epigonen_, 1836, and _Münchhausen_, 1838-9. + +In _Die Epigonen_, one of the long list of representatives of the +species of novels which began with Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_, Immermann +tried to present the development of a young man and a picture of the +principal social forces of his period. But he was too imitative in +following his great model, and too much confused by subjective +preoccupations, to comprehend and to state clearly the substance of the +matter. + +Only two of his works have enduring value, his mystical tragedy +_Merlin_, and the part of _Münchhausen_ called "Der Oberhof" (The Upper +Farm), which deals with the lives and types of the small freehold +farmers. Immermann, following Baron von Stein, believed that the health +and future of society, endangered by the corrupt and dissipated +nobility, rested, on the sturdy, self-reliant, individualistic yet +severely moral and patriotic, small peasant. In the main character of +the story, the rugged, proud, inflexibly honorable old farmer, who has +inherited the sword of Charles the Great, he has drawn one of the most +living characters in early modern German fiction. The other figures, +too, are full of life and reality. The story has, aside from its +importance in the history of the German novel, an enduring value of its +own. + +Immermann, in spite of his unremitting endeavor, failed to attain +literary or moral greatness. He lacked the fundamental and organic unity +of great natures. He had more qualities of mind than most of his +important contemporaries, but in not one of these qualities did he +attain to the degree which assures distinction. In his _Merlin_ he +treated a conflict which was fundamentally similar to that of +Grillparzer's _Libussa_. Yet Grillparzer, much more one-sided than he, +possessed the true Romantic-mystic quality, whereas Immermann had to +elaborate his symbolism with the patchwork of careful, allegoric +analysis. He had a richer contact with social forces than Heine, yet his +realizations of them were awkward and meagre, his humor wooden, his +imagery derived. He had much greater intellectual force than Platen, yet +he lacked the incisive and controlled critical sense of the latter. +Having no one faculty to a distinguished degree, he constantly had to +substitute the strained labor of one faculty for the spontaneous +production of another. Predominantly rationalistic, he labored at the +symbolistic vision of Romanticism; preëminently a man of prose, he +endeavored all his life to be a great poet. He mistook the responsive +excitement produced by the ideas and visions of others for authentic +inspiration, the vivacity of a sociable and conversational gift for the +creative force of genius, and the immobility of obvious and established +conventional judgments for an extraordinary soundness and incisiveness +of fundamental analysis. + +There was in him, as he himself once said, a certain "aftertaste of a +worthy philistinism." The dominant bent of his mind was toward the +immediate actualities, and this bent in the end, as in his antagonism +against the radical students in Halle, always overcame his endeavor to +grasp the more remote realities of a larger vision. + +The purposes of his literary works, like the beginning and purpose of +his intimacy with Elisa, are always large, comprehensive, and +idealistic, but they always, even in his most important work, _Merlin_, +dwindle to petty details of actuality. His significance for the present +age does not so much rest on his objective achievement, as on some of +his qualities which prevented achievement. He was perhaps the most +considerable representative of the literary "Epigones" intervening +between the esthetic individualistic humanism of the eighteenth, and the +economic-coöperative humanism of the nineteenth century. He, more fully +perhaps than any of his contemporaries, represented the peculiar +border-type of literary personality which is both compounded and torn +asunder by all the principal conflicting forces of a period of historic +transition. He was a victim of the manifold division of impulses, the +ill-related patchwork of impressions, and the disconcerting refractions +of vision, which characterized his contemporaries. It is in the fact +that he united in himself the principal factors which made up the +complexion of his age, to an extraordinary degree, that he has his +strongest claim upon the sympathetic and studious interest of the modern +age. + + +MERLIN: A MYTH + +The principal dramatic agencies in _Merlin_ are Satan, Klingsor, +Titurel, King Artus and his Round Table, Niniana, and Merlin. In them, +Immermann tried to embody the dominant moral and intellectual +tendencies, as he saw them in history and his own times. Satan, the +demiurgos, is to him no theological devil, but a princely character, the +"Lord of Necessity," the non-moral, irresistible, cosmic force of +physical creation. He demands, expressing the faith of Young-Germany: + + "O! naked bodies, insolent art, + O! wrath of heroes, and heroic voice!" + +The pride of life in him and in Lucifer, who personifies the creative +fire, is aroused against the narrow asceticism of orthodox Christianity, +embodied in the wan and feeble Titurel. Satan decides to imitate the +Lord of Christianity, by begetting upon a virgin, Candida, a son who is +to save the world from the sterility of asceticism. Candida is briefly +introduced, acknowledging the power of the mighty spirit and bewailing +her fate in one of the finest passages in the play. Merlin is born, +combining the supernatural creative powers of his father with the +tenderness and sympathy of his mother. His purpose is to reconcile the +true principles of primitive Christianity with the natural impulses of +life. Merlin thus is opposed to his father as well as to Titurel and his +dull and narrow "guild" who keep the true spirit of humanity captive. He +is both anti-Satan and anti-Christ. + +He next comes into conflict with the third fundamental force, Klingsor. +The latter is really only a variant of Satan and, while interesting, is +somewhat less fundamental, being more a philosophic and literary, than +an active, antagonist. His symbol is the circled serpent, the embodiment +of permanence within the changing world of actuality. He represents the +nature-philosophy of Romanticism and especially of Schelling, a +philosophy so vast and unsubstantial that all values of conduct and all +incentives to action disappeared in its featureless abyss. Immermann +intensely disliked it. He was, as he said, a lover of men; the worship +of nature drained and exhausted the sympathies, the wills and the +spirits of men. The passages in which Klingsor himself, in his moments +of despair, and Merlin expose the emptiness of this philosophy, are +among the best philosophic statements of the play. They are, how ever, +too exhaustive. But they are good philosophy, if they are bad drama and +poetry. Klingsor says of the "nature book" + +"It asserts: all is vain; nought but stale mediocrity--while we are +shaken from, shell to core by the breath of the times." He is worshipped +by the dwarfs because he has opened the mysteries of inanimate nature, +and he commands the spirits of classical life represented by Antinous, +and the pagan' gods and demi-gods, the personifications of the naïve +impulses of nature. But he realizes that his wisdom, while it makes +dwarfs happy, is inadequate for human beings. + +The teaching of Merlin is essentially the humanism of the moderate +liberalism of Baron von Stein and his followers. Klingsor, voicing the +sentiments of Romantic aristocratism, accuses him: + +"You tell the mob: Be your own Savior; seek inspiration in your own +work. The people like to be told of their majesty. Keep on bravely +lying, sweetly flattering, and the prophet is complete." + +Merlin retorts: + +"You describe yourself, not me. Men have a deep sense of truth, and pay +in false coin only him that offers them false gifts." He then continues, +lashing the transcendent egotism of the Romantic conception of man in +the universe: "To you the earth, the ocean, the firmament, are nothing +but a ladder for your own elevation, and you must absolutely reject the +thing called humility. In order to maintain yourself strong and whole +you have to find men weak and only partial beings," etc. Later, in lines +_1637ff_., he proceeds, in what are probably the finest and richest +passages in the work, to state his own purpose of combining all that is +great, true, beautiful, human, and noble, into one comprehensive and +rational faith of humanity. + +Merlin tries to teach his faith to King Artus and his circle, who embody +the frivolous, irresponsible, though refined, conduct of the nobility, +essentially the same nobility whom von Stein accused of injuring the +nation and Immermann satirized and exposed in _Münchhausen_. They decide +to seek salvation in the primitive idealism of India, appointing Merlin +their guide. Merlin, however, succumbs to the silly Niniana, the +personification of wanton desire. She makes him tell her a fated word, +after promising not to repeat it. She thoughtlessly repeats it. He now +loses his superhuman power, i. e., the power of absolute spiritual +integrity, and becomes subject to the limitations of earth, like a +common man. He can no longer lead Artus and his court, who perish of +their own spiritual vacuity. + +The end of the play is unsatisfactory. The hero's surrender to the lust +of the flesh, undoubtedly suggested by Goethe's _Faust_ and consistent +in Goethe's poem, is foreign to the conflict of this play, which, not +being human, as is that of _Faust_, but an abstract antagonism of +general historic principles, should have been solved without the +interference of the mere creature weaknesses of the hero and the mere +creature sympathies of the reader. Immermann planned to untie the knot +in a second part, which was to treat of the salvation of Merlin; but he +never carried his purpose beyond a few slight introductory passages. + + + +IMMERMANN'S "MÜNCHHAUSEN" + +BY ALLEN WILSON PORTERFIELD, PH.D. Instructor in German, Columbia +University + + +Immermann first thought of writing a new _Münchhausen_ in 1821, the year +of his satirical comedy, _The Princes of Syracuse_, which contains the +embryonic idea of this "history in arabesques." Conscientious +performance of his duties as a judge and incessant activity as a writer +along other lines forced the idea into the background until 1830, the +year of his satirical epic, _Tulifäntchen_, in which the theme again +received attention. In 1835 he finished _Die Epigonen_, a novel +portraying the social and political conditions in Germany from 1815 to +1830, and in 1837 he began systematic work on _Münchhausen_, continuing, +from a different point of view and in a different mood, his delineation +of the civic and intellectual status of Germany of his own time. The +last part of the entire work was published in 1839, having occupied, +intermittently, eighteen of his twenty years of literary productivity. +The first edition was exhausted one year after publication, a second +appeared in 1841, a third in 1854, and since 1857 there have been many +of all kinds, ranging from the popular "Reclam" to critical editions +with all the helps and devices known to modern scholarship. + +In so far as the just appreciation of a literary production is dependent +upon a study of its genesis, the reading of _Die Epigonen_ is necessary +to a complete understanding of _Münchhausen_, for through these two +works runs a strong thread of unbroken development. Hermann, the +immature hero of the former, and his associates, bequeath a number of +characteristics to the title-hero and his associates of the latter; but +where the earlier work is predominantly sarcastic, political, and +pessimistic, the later one is humorous, intellectual, and optimistic. It +would seem, therefore, that, in view of its bright outlook, mature view, +and sympathetic treatment, Immermann's greatest epic in prose was +destined to be read in its entirety, frequently, and with pleasure. + +This is, however, not the case. Starting from a long line of models, +Sterne's _Tristram Shandy_ among others, _Münchhausen_ resembles the +diffusive works of similar title by Raspe (1785) and Bürger (1787). It +takes its name from Hieronymus Karl Friedrich, Baron of Münchhausen +(1720-1797), and satirizes many of the whimsicalities of Herman Ludwig +Heinrich, Prince of Pückler-Muskau (1785-1871). And it flagellates again +and again such bizarre literary and intellectual phenomena of the time +as Raupach's Hohenstaufen dramas, Görres' mysticism, Menzel's +calumniations, Eduard Gans' liberalism, Bettina's pretensions, Young +Germany's reaction, even the Indian studies of the Schlegels and +Alexander von Humboldt's substantial scholarship, so that, for the +general reader, the larger part of the work is a sealed book. Its +references are obscure, its satire abstruse, its humor vague. Even +Ferdinand Freiligrath, Immermann's contemporary and friend, declined, on +the ground of lack of familiarity with the allusions, to write a +commentary to it. + +According to Immermann's own statement, he began _Münchhausen_ without a +shimmer of an idea as to how he would finish it; but he finished it, +having in the meantime gone through a complete inner transformation, in +a way that surprised even himself and greatly pleased his readers. We +have here, consequently, a novel which, though written as a whole, falls +naturally into two parts, the one negative and satirical, the other +positive and human. And odd indeed is the situation in the negative +part. + +As in _Die Epigonen_, the scene is laid in Westphalia. The impoverished +Baron Schnuck-Puckelig-Erbsenscheucher, a faithful representative of the +narrow-minded and prejudiced nobility, lives with his prudish, +sentimental daughter, Emerentia, in the dilapidated castle, Schnick +Schnack-Schnurr. Their sole companion is the daft school-teacher, +Agesel, who, having lost, from too much study of phonetics, the major +part of his never gigantic mind, imagines that he is a direct descendant +of the Spartan King Agesilaus. With these occupants and no more, the +castle resembles a harmless home for the insane. But one day +Münchhausen, the prince of liars and chief of swindlers, accompanied by +his servant, Karl Buttervogel, the Sancho Panza of the story, comes to +the castle. His presence enlivens; his interminable stories, through +which Immermann satirizes the tendencies of the time, delight at first, +then tire, then become intolerable. To maintain his influence, he +suggests to the old Baron the establishment of a stock company for the +selling of compressed air, assuring this gullible old soul that hereby +his fortunes can be retrieved and his appointment as Privy Councilor can +be realized. The Baron, though pleased, enters into the proposition with +caution. But Münchhausen, unable to execute his scheme, finds himself in +an embarrassing dilemma from which he disentangles himself by mysteriously +disappearing and never again coming to light. Emerentia has +in the meantime fallen in love with Karl Buttervogel, whom she +erroneously looks upon as a Prince in disguise. At the prospect of so +humble a son-in-law, the Baron becomes frantic, violently removes +Buttervogel from the castle, which, as a result of the Baron's ravings, +falls to the ground with a crash and a roar--a catastrophe which reminds +one of Poe's _Fall of the House of Usher_--and the Baron and Agesel are +restored to their senses. + +The chief trouble with this fantastic story is that it lacks artistic +measure and objective plausibility. Immermann, omnivorous reader that he +was, wrote this part of his book, not from life, but from other books. +And even granting that he carried out his plan with a reasonable degree +of cleverness, the average reader is not sufficiently acquainted with +Kerner and Platen and their long line of queer contemporaries to see the +point, so he skips over this part of the work and turns at once to _Der +Oberhof_. + +It is needless to state that Immermann never wrote a work with such a +title. Editors and publishers have simply followed the lead of readers +and brought out separately the best parts of the complete novel under +the heading of the third chapter of the second book. There is not even +final agreement as to how much of the original work should be included +in order to make a well-rounded story. The editions, of which there are +many, vary in size from seventy-five to three hundred and seventy-five +octavo pages. The best arrangement is that which includes the second, +fifth, seventh and eighth books. + +Here again we meet with three leading characters--the very honest and +reliable Hofschulze, the owner of the "Upper Farm," in whom are +personified and glorified the best traditions of Westphalia; Lisbeth, +the daughter of Münchhausen and Emerentia, the connecting link between +romantic and realistic Germany; and Oswald, the Suabian Count disguised +as a hunter, a thoroughly good fellow. But this by no means exhausts the +list of pleasing personalities. The good Deacon, who had lost interest +in life and faith in men while tutoring a young Swedish Count, and who +was made over by his new work among the solid middle class of +Westphalia, is a character of real charm; his ideals are humanitarian in +the best sense, his wisdom is sound, his help generous. Jochem, Oswald's +servant, is the incarnation of fidelity; the old Captain, who finds +himself today in a French and tomorrow in a Prussian mood, is +instructive at least, for such dualistic patriotism was not unknown at +the time; the Collector follows his vocation with inspiring avidity, the +Sexton is droll without knowing it, and each of the Hofschulze's +servants has something about him that separates him from his +confederates even though he be nameless. There are no supernumeraries +among the characters. + +By reason of her common sense and energy, Lisbeth had for some time kept +the old Baron's head above water. One of her duties was to collect +taxes, a business which frequently brought her to the "Upper Farm," +where she was always sure of a kind reception. Oswald, too, came to the +Farm one day to settle an affair of honor with Münchhausen. Instead of +finding him, however, he meets Lisbeth, and here the love story begins. + +While waiting at the Farm for Jochem to find Münchhausen, Oswald agrees +to recompense the Hofschulze for his hospitality by keeping the wild +deer away from the grain fields. His duties are nominal; he exchanges +views with the men of the Farm, corresponds with his friends in Suabia, +wanders over the fields and occasionally shoots at some game without +ever hitting. His room must have been occupied before his arrival by a +beautiful girl, for in it he finds a tidy hood and kerchief that betray +the charms of their wearer, and he dreams of her at night. And one day, +while wandering through the woods, he catches sight of a lovely girl +looking into the calyx of a wonderful forest flower. He is on the point +of going up to her when her very charm holds him back, and that night he +dreams again of his beautiful predecessor in the Hofschulze's corner +room. + +And then, while wandering again through the pathless woods, he shoots at +a roe but hits Lisbeth, the girl of his dreams. The wound is, however, +slight, and by the time it has healed their love has become perfect, so +that, immediately after the wedding of the Hofschulze's daughter, for +whom Lisbeth had been a bridesmaid, and before the same altar at which +the ceremony had just been performed, the good Deacon pronounces the +blessing upon the newly betrothed pair. + +With the Deacon's official act over, imaginary troubles cease and real +ones begin. Oswald, grieved beyond expression to learn that Lisbeth is +the daughter of Münchhausen and Emerentia, is on the point of leaving +the Farm immediately and Lisbeth forever; Lisbeth, having thought all +the time that her lover was a plain hunter, is in complete despair when +told that he is a real Count; the Hofschulze does not take kindly to the +idea of their marriage, for Oswald has not always revered Westphalian +traditions, the secret tribunal, for example, as he should have done; +Oswald's friends in Suabia object to his marrying a foundling, and +advise him to come home and straighten out a love affair he has there +before entering into a new and foreign one; the doctor is not even +certain that the wedding is hygienically wise. But love dispels all +fears and doubts, and the good Deacon makes Oswald and Lisbeth man and +wife. + +Immermann's lifelong attempts at the studied poetizations of +traditional, aristocratic, high-flown themes brought him but scant +recognition even in his day, and they have since been well-nigh +forgotten. But when, one year before his death, he wrote an +unpretentious love story taken from the life of simple people whom he +met on his daily walks, he thereby assured himself of immortality. Few +works prove more convincingly than _Der Oberhof_ that great literature +is neither more nor less than an artistic visualization and faithful +reflection of life. The reading of this unassuming "village story," the +first of its kind in German literature, warms the heart and stirs the +springs of living fancy, simply because it relates in terse and direct +language a series of incidents in the lives of very possible and very +real human beings. + + * * * * * + + + +KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN + +THE OBERHOF (1839) TRANSLATED BY PAUL BERNARD THOMAS + + +CHAPTER I + +THE JUSTICE OF THE ESTATE + + +With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up the old Justice of the estate +was standing in the yard between the barns and the farm buildings and +gazing attentively into a fire which he had kindled on the ground +between stones and logs, and which was now crackling merrily. He +straightened around a small anvil which was standing beside it, laid +down a hammer and a pair of tongs so as to have them ready to grasp, +tested the points of some large wheel-nails which he drew forth from the +breast-pocket of a leather apron he had tied around him, put the nails +down in the bottom of the rack-wagon, the wheel of which he was about to +repair, carefully turned the rim around until the place where the tire +was broken was on top, and then made the wheel fast by putting stones +under it. + +After he had again looked into the fire for a few moments, but not long +enough to cause his bright, sharp eyes to blink, he quickly thrust the +tongs into it, lifted out the red-hot piece of iron, laid it on the +anvil, pounded it with the hammer so that the sparks flew in all +directions, clapped the still glowing piece of iron down on the broken +place in the tire, hammered and welded it fast with two heavy blows, and +then drove the nails into their places, which was easily done, as the +iron was still soft and pliable. + +A few very sharp and powerful blows gave the inserted piece its +finishing touch. The Justice kicked away the stones with which he had +made the wheel fast, seized the wagon by its tongue in order to test the +mended tire, and in spite of its weight hauled it without exertion +diagonally across the yard, so that the hens, geese and ducks, which had +been quietly sunning themselves, flew, with loud cries, before the +rattling vehicle, and a couple of pigs jumped up, grunting, from their +mud-holes. + +Two men, the one a horse-dealer, the other a tax-collector or receiver, +who were sitting at a table beneath the large linden in front of the +house and imbibing their drink, had been watching the work of the robust +old man. + +"It must be true!" one of them, the horse-dealer, called out. "You would +have made an excellent blacksmith, Judge!" + +The Justice washed his hands and face in a pail of water which was +standing beside the anvil, poured the water into the fire to extinguish +it, and said: + +"He is a fool who gives to the blacksmith what he can earn himself!" + +He picked up the anvil as if it were a feather, and carried it, along +with the hammer and tongs, under a little shed which stood between the +house and the barn, and in which there were standing, or hanging, a +work-bench, saws, chisels, and whatever other tools pertain to the +carpenter's or joiner's trade, as well as a quantity of wood and boards +of many kinds. + +While the old man was still busying himself under the shed, the +horse-dealer said to the receiver: + +"Would you believe it that he also repairs with his own hands all the +posts, doors, thresholds, boxes, and cases in the house, or if luck +favors him makes new ones himself? I believe that he could be an expert +joiner, if he wanted to, and put together a first-class cabinet." + +"You are wrong there," said the Justice, who had overheard the latter +remark and who, having taken off his leather apron, now emerged from the +shed in a smock-frock of white linen and sat down at the table with the +two men. + +[Illustration: The Master of the Oberhof] + +A maid brought a glass to him also, and, after drinking the health of his +guests, he continued: "To make a post or a door or a threshold, all you +need is a pair of sound eyes and a steady hand, but a cabinet-maker has +to have more than that. I once allowed my conceit to deceive me into +thinking that I could put together, as you call it, a first-class +cabinet, because I had handled plane and chisel and T-square more or +less doing carpenter's work. I measured and marked and squared off the +wood and had everything fitted down to the inch. Yes, but now when it +came to the joining and gluing together, everything was all wrong; the +sides were warped and wouldn't come together, the lid in front was too +large, and the drawers too small for the openings. You can still see the +contraption; I let it stand on the sill to guard me from future +temptation. For it always does a man good to have a reminder of his +weakness constantly before his eyes." + +At this moment a loud neigh was heard from the stable across the yard. +The horse-dealer cleared his throat, spat, struck a light for his pipe, +blew a dense cloud of smoke into the receiver's face, and looked first +longingly toward the stable, and then thoughtfully down at the ground. +Then he spat once more, removed the varnished hat from his head, wiped +his brow with his sleeve, and said: "Still this sultry weather!" +Thereupon he unbuckled his leather money-pouch from his body, threw it +down on the table with a bang, so that its contents rattled and jingled, +untied the strings, and counted out twenty bright gold pieces, the sight +of which caused the receiver's eyes to sparkle, while the old Justice +did not even look at them. + +"Here is the money!" cried the horse-dealer, bringing his clenched fist +down on the table with a thump. "Do I get the brown mare for it? God +knows, she's not worth a penny more!" + +"Then keep your money, so that you won't suffer any loss!" replied the +Justice cold-bloodedly. "Twenty-six is my price, as I have already said, +and not a farthing less! You've known me a good many years, Mr. Marx, +and you ought to realize by this time that dickering and beating down +don't work with me, because I never take back what I say. I ask for a +thing what it is worth to me, and never overcharge. So an angel with a +trumpet might come down from heaven, but he wouldn't get the bay mare +for less than twenty-six!" + +"But," exclaimed the horse-dealer, provoked, "business consists of +demanding and offering, doesn't it? I'd overcharge my own brother! When +there is no more overcharging in the world, business will come to an +end." + +"On the contrary," replied the Justice, "business will then take much +less time, and for that very reason will be more profitable. And besides +that, both parties always derive much benefit from a transaction +involving no overcharge. It has always been my experience that, when an +overcharge is made, one's nature gets hot, and it results in nobody's +knowing exactly what he is doing or saying. The seller, in order to put +an end to the argument, often lets his wares go for a lower price than +that which he had quietly made up his mind to charge, and the buyer, on +the other hand, just as often, in the eagerness and ardor of bidding, +wastes his money. Where there is absolutely no talk of abatement, then +both parties remain beautifully calm and safe from loss." + +"Inasmuch as you talk so sensibly, you have, I presume, thought better +of my proposal," broke in the receiver. "As I, have already said, the +government wants to convert into cash all the corn due from the farms in +this region. It alone suffers a loss from it, for corn is corn, whereas +money is worth so much today and so much tomorrow. Meanwhile, you see, +it is their wish to free themselves from the burden of storing up corn. +Kindly do me the favor, then, to sign this new cash-contract, which I +have brought with me for that purpose." + +"By no means!" answered the Justice vehemently. "For many hundreds of +years corn, and only corn, has been paid over from the Oberhof to the +monastery, and the receiver's office will have to content itself with +that, just as the monastery has done. Does cash grow in my fields? No! +Corn grows in them! Where, then, are you going to get the cash?" + +"You're not going to be cheated, you know!" cried the receiver. + +"We must always stand by the old ways of doing things," said the Justice +solemnly. "Those were good times when the tablets with the lists of +imposts and taxes of the peasantry used to hang in the church. In those +days everything was fixed, and there were never any disagreements, as +there are nowadays all too often. Afterwards it was said that the +tablets with the hens and eggs and bushels and pecks of grain. +interfered with devotion, and they were done away with." With that he +went into the house. + +"There is a stubborn fellow for you!" cried the horse-dealer, when he +could no longer see his business friend. He put his varnished hat back +on his head again with an air of vexation. "If he once makes up his mind +not to do something, the devil himself cannot bring him around. The +worst of it is that the fellow rears the best horses in this region, and +after all, if you get right down to it, lets them go cheap enough." + +"An obstinate, headstrong sort of people it is that lives hereabouts," +said the receiver. "I have just recently come from Saxony and I notice +the contrast. There they all live together, and for that reason they +have to be courteous and obliging and tractable toward one another. But +here, each one lives on his own property, and has his own wood, his own +field, his own pasture around him, as if there were nothing else in the +world. For that reason they cling so tenaciously to all their old +foolish ways and notions, which have everywhere else fallen into disuse. +What a lot of trouble I've had already with the other peasants on +account of this stupid change in the mode of taxation! But this fellow +here is the worst of all!" "The reason for that, Mr. Receiver, is that +he is so rich," remarked the horse-dealer. "It is a wonder to me that +you have put it through with the other peasants around here without him, +for he is their general, their attorney and everything; they all follow +his example in every matter and he bows to no one. A year ago a prince +passed through here; the way the old fellow took off his hat to him, +really, it looked as if he wanted to say: 'You are one, I am another.' +To expect to get twenty-six pistoles for the mare! But that is the +unfortunate part of it, when a peasant acquires too much property. When +you come out on the other side of that oak wood, you walk for half an +hour by the clock through his fields! And everything arranged in first +rate order all the way! The day before yesterday I drove my team through +the rye and wheat, and may God punish me if anything more than the +horses' heads showed up above the tops. I thought I should be drowned." + +"Where did he get it all?" asked the receiver. + +"Oh!" cried the horse-dealer, "there are a lot more estates like this +around here; they call them Oberhofs. And if they do not surpass many a +nobleman's, my name isn't Marx. The land has been held intact for +generations. And the good-for-nothing fellow has always been economical +and industrious, you'll have to say that much for him I You saw, didn't +you, how he worked away merely to save the expense of paying the +blacksmith a few farthings? Now his daughter is marrying another rich +fellow; she'll get a dowry, I tell you! I happened to pass the linen +closet; flax, yarn, tablecloths and napkins and sheets and shirts and +every possible kind of stuff are piled up to the ceiling in there. And +in addition to that the old codger will give her six thousand thalers in +cash! Just glance about you; don't you feel as if you were stopping with +a count?" + +During the foregoing dialogue the vexed horse-dealer had quietly put his +hand into his money-bag and to the twenty gold pieces had added, with an +air of unconcern, six more. The Justice appeared again at the door, and +the other, without looking up, said, grumbling; "There are the +twenty-six, since there is no other way out of it." + +The old peasant smiled ironically and said: "I knew right well that you +would buy the horse, Mr. Marx, for you are trying to find one for thirty +pistoles for the cavalry lieutenant in Unna, and my little roan fills +the bill as if she had been made to order. I went into the house only to +fetch the gold-scales, and could see in advance that you would have +bethought yourself in the meantime." + +The old man, who one moment displayed something akin to hurry in his +movements and the next the greatest deliberation, depending upon the +business with which he happened to be occupied, sat down at the table, +slowly and carefully wiped off his spectacles, fastened them on his +nose, and began carefully to weigh the gold pieces. Two or three of them +he rejected as being too light. The horse-dealer raised a loud objection +to this, but the Justice, holding the scales in his hands, only listened +in cold-blooded silence, until the other replaced them with pieces +having full weight. Finally, the business was completed; the seller +deliberately wrapped the money in a piece of paper and went with the +horse-dealer to the stable, in order to deliver the horse over to him. + +The receiver did not wait for them to return. "One can't accomplish +anything with a clod-hopper like that," he said. "I But in the end if +you don't come around and pay us up regularly, we will--" He felt for +the legal documents in his pocket, realized by their crackling that they +were still there, and left the yard. + +Out of the stable came the horse-dealer, the Justice, and a farm-hand +who was leading behind him two horses, the horse-dealer's own and the +brown mare which he had just bought. The Justice, giving the latter a +farewell pat, said "It always grieves one to sell a creature which one +has raised, but who can do otherwise?--Now behave well, little brownie!" +he added, giving the animal a hearty slap on her round, glossy +haunches. In the meantime the horse-dealer had mounted. With his gaunt +figure, his short riding-jacket under the broad-brimmed, varnished hat, +his yellow breeches over his lean thighs, his high leather boots, his +large, heavy spurs, and his whip, he looked like a highwayman. He rode +away cursing and swearing, without saying good-by, leading the brown +mare by a halter. He never once glanced back at the farm-house, but the +mare several times bent her neck around and emitted a doleful neigh, as +if complaining because her good days were now over. The Justice remained +standing with the laborer, his arms set akimbo, until the two horses had +passed out of sight through the orchard. Then the man said: "The animal +is grieving." + +"Why shouldn't she?" replied the Justice. "Aren't we grieving too? Come +up to the granary--we'll measure the oats." + + +CHAPTER II + +ADVICE AND SYMPATHY + + +As he turned around toward the house with the laborer, he saw that the +place under the linden had already been reoccupied by new guests. The +latter, however, had a very dissimilar appearance. For three or four +peasants, his nearest neighbors, were sitting there, and beside them sat +a young girl, as beautiful as a picture. This beautiful girl was the +blond Lisbeth, who had passed the night at the Oberhof. + +I shall not venture to describe her beauty; it would only result in +telling of her red cheeks and blue eyes, and these things, fresh as they +may be in reality, have become somewhat stale when put down in black and +white. + +The Justice, without paying any attention to his long-haired neighbors +in blouses, approached his charming guest and said: + +"Well, did you sleep all right, my little miss?" "Splendidly!" replied +Lisbeth. + +"What's the matter with your finger?--you have it bandaged," inquired +the old man. + +"Nothing," answered the young girl, blushing. She wanted to change the +subject, but the Justice would not allow himself to be diverted; +grasping her hand, the one with the bandaged finger, he said: "It's +nothing serious, is it?" + +"Nothing worth talking about," answered Lisbeth. "Yesterday evening when +I was helping your daughter with her sewing, the needle pricked my +finger and it bled a little. That is all." + +"Oho!" exclaimed the Justice, smirking. "And I notice that it is the +ring-finger too! That augurs something good. You doubtless know that +when an unmarried girl helps an engaged one to sew her bridal linen, and +in doing it pricks her ring-finger, it means that she herself is to +become engaged in the same year? Well, you have my best wishes for a +nice lover!" + +The peasants laughed, but the blond Lisbeth did not allow herself to be +disconcerted; she cried out joyfully: "And do you know my motto? It runs: + + As far as God on lily fair + And raven young bestows his care, + Thus far runs my land; + And, therefore, he who seeks my hand + Must have four horses to his carriage + Before I'll give myself in marriage. + +"And," broke in the Justice-- + + And he must catch me like a mouse, + And hook me like a fish, + And shoot me like a roe. + +The report of a gun rang out nearby. "See, my little miss, it's coming +true!" + +"Now, Judge, make an end of your frivolous talk," said the young girl. +"I have called to get your advice, and so give it to me now without any +more foolish nonsense." The Justice settled himself in an attitude of +dignity, ready to talk and listen. Lisbeth drew forth a little +writing-tablet and read off the names of the peasants among whom she had +been going around during the past few days for the purpose of collecting +back-rent due her foster-father. Then she told the Justice how they had +refused to pay their debts and what their excuses had been. One claimed +to have paid up long ago, another said that he had only recently come +into the farm, a third knew nothing about the matter, a fourth had +pretended that he couldn't hear well, and so forth and so forth; so that +the poor girl, like a little bird flying about in the winter in search +of food and not finding a single grain of corn, had been turned away +empty-handed from one door after another. But any one who thinks that +these futile efforts had plunged her into grief is mistaken, for nothing +greatly disturbed her and she related the story of her irksome +wanderings with a cheerful smile. + +The Justice wrote down on the table with chalk several of the names +mentioned, and, when she had reached the end of her list, said: + +"As far as the others are concerned, they do not live with us and I have +no authority over them. If they are base enough to refuse to do their +duty and to meet their obligations, then simply strike out the names of +the scamps, for you can never get anything out of a peasant by a +law-suit. But as against those who live in our precinct, I will help you +to secure your rights. We still have means of accomplishing that." + +"Oho, Squire!" said one of the peasants to him, half-aloud. "You talk as +if you always carried the rope around with you in your coat-sleeve. When +is the secret court to be held?" + +"Be still, tree-warden!" interrupted the old man with earnestness. +"Sneering remarks like that might get you into trouble!" + +The man addressed was disconcerted; he cast down his eyes and made no +reply. Lisbeth thanked the old man for his offer of help, and inquired +about the roads and paths to the other peasants whose names she still +had left on her writing-tablet. The Justice pointed out to her the +shortest way to the nearest farm, which led across the Priests' Meadow, +past the three mills and over the Holle Hills. When she had put on her +straw hat, taken her staff, expressed her thanks for the hospitality +shown her, and had thus made herself ready to leave, he begged her to +make her arrangements such that on her return she could stay for the +wedding and a day thereafter. He hoped that he would be able to give her +by that time definite assurance in regard to the rents, or, perhaps, +even to give her the money itself to take home with her. + +When the young girl's slender and graceful form had disappeared behind +the last walnut-trees at the farther end of the orchard, the peasants +broached the subject which had brought them to the Justice. The building +of a new road, which was to establish a connection with the main +highway, threatened, if the idea were carried out, to deprive them of a +few strips of their land over which it was necessary to lay the new +road. Against this loss, although the project would redound to the +advantage of all the surrounding peasantry, they were anxious to protect +themselves; and how to avert it was the question about which they were +anxious to secure the advice of the owner of the Oberhof. + +"Good day! How are you?" called out a voice, well known in this +locality. A pedestrian, a man in respectable attire, but covered with +dust from his gray gaiters to his green, visored cap, had entered +through the gate and approached the table, unnoticed at first by the +conversers. + +"Ah, Mr. Schmitz, so we see you too, once more, eh?" said the old +peasant very cordially, and he had the servant bring the fatigued man +the best there was in the wine-cellar. The peasants politely moved +closer together to make room for the new arrival. They insisted upon +his sitting down, and he lowered himself into a chair with great care +and deliberation, so as not to break what he was carrying. And this +procedure was indeed very necessary, for the man was loaded down like an +express-wagon, and the outlines of his form resembled a conglomeration +of bundles tied together. Not only did his coat-pockets, which were +crammed full of all sorts of round, square and oblong objects, bulge out +from his body in an astonishing manner, but also his breast and side +pockets, which were used for the same purpose, protruded in a manifold +variety of swellings and eminences, which stuck out all the more sharply +as the Collector, in order not to lose any of his treasures, had, in +spite of the summer heat, buttoned his coat tightly together. Even the +inside of his cap had been obliged to serve for the storing of several +smaller articles, and had acquired from its contents the shape and +semblance of a watermelon. He sipped, with manifest relish, the good +wine that was put before him, and his elderly countenance, bloated and +reddened with heat and fatigue, gradually acquired its natural color and +form again. + +"Been doing good business, Mr. Schmitz?" inquired the Justice, smiling. +"Judging from appearances, one might think so." + +"Oh, fairly good," replied the Collector. "There is a rich blessing +hidden in the dear earth. It not only brings forth corn and vegetables +constantly and untiringly--an alert searcher may secure a harvest of +antiquities from it all the time, no matter how much other people have +scratched and dug for them. So I have once more taken my little trip +through the country, and this time I got as far as the border of the +Sieg valley. I am on my way back now and intend to go on as far as the +city today. But I had to stop over a while at your place on the way, +Justice, in order to rest myself a bit, for I am certainly tired." + +"What are you bringing with you?" asked the Justice. + +The Collector tapped gently and affectionately on all the swellings and +protuberances of his various pockets, and said: + +"Oh, well, some very nice things--all sorts of curiosities. A +battle-axe, a pair of thunderbolts, some heathen rings--beautiful things +all covered with green rust--ash-urns, tear-bottles, three idols and a +pair of valuable lamps." He struck the nape of his neck with the back of +his hand and continued: "And I also have here with me a perfectly +preserved piece of bronze--I had no other place to put it, so I tied it +fast here on my back under my coat. Well, it will probably not look +amiss, once it is all cleaned up and given its proper place." + +The peasants displayed some curiosity to see a few of the articles, but +old Schmitz declared himself unable to satisfy it, because the +antiquities were so carefully packed and put away with such ingenious +use of every bit of space that it would be difficult, if it were once +taken out, to get the entire load back in again. The Justice said +something into the servant's ear, and the latter went into the house. In +the meanwhile the Collector told in detail all about the places where he +had come across the various acquisitions; then he moved his chair nearer +to his host and said confidentially: + +"But what is by far the most important discovery of this trip--I have +now really found the actual place where Hermann defeated Varus!" + +"You don't mean it?" replied the Justice, pushing his cap back and +forth. + +"They have all been on the wrong track--Clostermeier, Schmid, and +whatever the names of the other people may be who have written about +it!" cried the Collector ardently. "They have always thought that Varus +withdrew in the direction of Aliso--the exact situation of which no man +has ever discovered--well, anyway, in a northerly direction, and in +accordance with that theory the battle is supposed to have taken place +between the sources of the Lippe and the Ems, near Detmold, Lippspring, +Paderborn, and God knows where else!" + +The Justice said: "I think that Varus had to try with all his might to +reach the Rhine, and that he could have done only by gaining the open +country. The battle is said to have lasted three days, and in that +length of time you can march a good distance. Hence I am rather of the +opinion that the attack in the mountains which surround our plain did +not take place very far from here." + +"Wrong, wrong, Justice!" cried the Collector. "Here below everything was +occupied and blocked up by the Cherusci, Catti, and Sigambri. No the +battle was much farther south, near the region of the Ruhr, not far from +Arnsberg. Varus had to push his way through the mountains, he had no +egress anywhere, and his mind was bent on reaching the middle Rhine, +whither the road leads diagonally across Sauerland. That is what I have +always thought, and now I have discovered the most unmistakable evidence +of it. Close by the Ruhr I found the bronze and bought the three idols, +and a man from the village told me that hardly an hour's walk from there +was a place in the woods among the mountains where an enormous quantity +of bones were piled up in the sand and gravel. Ha! I exclaimed, the day +is beginning to break. I went out there with a few peasants, had them +excavate a little, and, behold! we came across bones to my heart's +content. So that is the place where Germanicus had the remnants of the +Roman legions buried six years after the battle of Teutoburg Wood, when +he directed his last expeditions against Hermann. And I have therefore +discovered the right battlefield." + +"Bones do not ordinarily preserve themselves for a thousand years and +more," said the Justice, shaking his head doubtfully. + +"They have become petrified among the minerals there," said the +collector angrily. "I'll have to put an evidence of my theory in your +hand--here is one I have brought with me." He drew forth a large bone +from his shirt and held it before his opponent's eyes. "Now, what do +you call that?" he asked triumphantly. + +The peasants stared at the bone in amazement. The Justice, after he had +examined it, replied: "A cow's bone, Mr. Schmitz! You discovered a +carrion-pit, not the battlefield of Teutoburg." + +The Collector indignantly put the discredited antiquity back into its +place and uttered a few violent imprecations, to which the old peasant +knew the most effective way to reply. It seemed as if a quarrel might +ensue between the two men, but as a matter of fact the appearances were +of no significance. For it was a common thing for them, whenever they +got together, to disagree about this and similar matters. But in spite +of these controversies they always remained good friends. The Collector, +who, in order to follow up his hobbies, even begrudged himself bread, +was in the habit all the year round of feeding himself for weeks at a +time out of the full meat-pots of the Oberhof, and in return for it he +helped along his host's business by doing all kinds of writing for him. +For the Collector had formerly been, by profession, a sworn and +matriculated Imperial Notary. + +Finally, after a great deal of fruitless argument on both sides, the +Justice said: "I won't wrangle with you over the battlefield, although I +still persist in my belief that Hermann defeated Varus somewhere around +this neighborhood. As a matter of fact it doesn't make any particular +difference to me where it happened--the question is one for the +scholars. For if the other Roman general, six years afterwards, as you +have often told me, marched into this region with another army, then the +whole battle had but little significance." + +"You don't know anything about it!" exclaimed the Collector. "The +present existence and position of Germany rests entirely upon the battle +won by Hermann. If it had not been for Hermann 'the liberator,' you +would not be occupying these extensive premises now, marked off by your +hedges and stakes. But you people simply live along from one day to the +next, and have no use for history and antiquity." + +"Oho, Mr. Schmitz, you do me great injustice there," replied the old +peasant proudly. "God knows what pleasure it gives me to sit down of a +winter evening and read the chronicles and histories, and you yourself +know that I treat the sword of Carolus Magnus (the old man pronounced +the second syllable long), which has now for a thousand years and more +been in the possession of the Oberhof, as I do the apple of my eye, and +consequently--" + +"The sword of Charles the Great!" exclaimed the Collector scornfully. +"Friend, is it impossible to get these notions out of your head? +Listen--" + +"I say and maintain that it is the genuine and actual sword of Carolus +Magnus with which he here at the Oberhof located and established the +'Freemen's Tribunal.' And even today the sword still performs and +fulfils its office, although nothing further may be said about it." The +old man uttered these words with an expression on his features and a +gesture which had something sublime in them. + +"And I say and maintain that all that is sheer nonsense!" exclaimed the +Collector with emphasis. "I have examined the old toasting-iron no less +than a hundred times, and it isn't five hundred years old! It comes down +perhaps from the time of the feud of Soest, when very likely one of the +Archbishop's cavalrymen crawled into the bushes here and left it." + +"The devil take you!" cried the Justice, pounding his fist on the table. +Then he mumbled softly to himself "Just wait; you'll get your punishment +for that this very day!" + +The servant came out of the door. He was carrying a terra-cotta jug with +a rather large circumference and a strange, exotic appearance, gripping +it firmly and carefully by the handles with both hands. + +"Oh!" cried the Collector, when he had obtained a closer view of it. +"What a splendid large amphora! Where did it come from?" + +The Justice replied with an air of indifference: "Oh, I found the old +jug in the ditch a week ago when we were digging out gravel. There was +a lot more stuff around there, but the men smashed it all to pieces +with their picks. This jug was the only thing they spared, and, inasmuch +as you are here, I wanted you to see it." + +The Collector looked at the large, well-preserved vessel with moist +eyes. Finally he stammered: "Can't we strike a bargain for it?" + +"No," replied the peasant coldly. "I'll keep the pot for myself." He +motioned to the servant, and the latter started to carry the amphora +back into the house. He was prevented from doing so, however, by the +Collector, who, without turning his eyes away from it, besought its +owner with all kinds of lively arguments to turn the longed-for wine-jug +over to him. But it was all in vain; the Justice, in the face of the +most urgent entreaties, maintained an attitude of unshakable composure. +In this way he formed the motionless centre-figure of the group, of +which the peasants, listening to the business with open mouths, the +servant tugging the jug with both handles toward the house, and the +antiquarian holding on to the lower end, constituted the excited lateral +and secondary figures. Finally the Justice said that he had been of a +mind to give the jug to his guest along with several other pieces which +he had previously discovered, because he himself would take pleasure in +seeing the old things arranged in order on the shelves of the collection +around the room, but that the constant attacks made by the Collector +against the sword of Carolus Magnus had annoyed him, and that he had +decided, therefore, to keep the jug after all. + +Thereupon, after a pause, the Collector said in a dejected tone that to +err was human, that medieval weapons could not always be distinguished +with certainty as to their age, that he himself was less of an expert +in these than in Roman relics, and that there were after all many things +about the sword which seemed to indicate a more remote age, before the +feud of Soest. Whereupon the Justice replied that general statements of +that kind were of no use to him; he wanted to have the dispute and doubt +regarding his sword settled once and for all, and there was only one way +for the Collector to gain possession of the old jug, namely, by writing +out on the spot a signed statement, wherein he should formally recognize +the sword kept in the Oberhof as the actual sword of Charles the Great. + +On hearing this a severe conflict ensued in the Collector's mind between +his antiquarian conscience and his antiquarian longing. He pouted his +lips and tapped with his fingers about the spot where he had concealed +the bone from the battlefield of Teutoburg. Evidently he was striving to +subdue the exhortations of a desire which was seducing him into signing +an untruthful statement. Finally, however, passion, as is always the +way, got the upper hand; suddenly demanding pen and paper, he made out +in hot haste, now and then casting furtive glances at the amphora, a +direct statement to the effect that he, after frequent examinations of +it, recognized and declared the sword in the Oberhof as one formerly +belonging to the Emperor, Charles the Great. + +This document the Justice had signed by the two peasants as witnesses; +then he folded the paper several times and put it into his pocket. Old +Schmitz, on the other hand, made a quick grab for the amphora which he +had purchased at the expense of his better judgment. The Justice said +that he would deliver the jug to him in the city on the following day. +But what collector could ever get along, even for a minute, without the +actual possession of a piece of property acquired at so high a price? +Our Collector resolutely declined to submit to any delay; he had a +string brought to him, ran it through the handles, and suspended the +large wine-jug over his shoulders. After that, the Collector having +first been invited to the wedding, the two men parted in the best of +humor; and the latter with his bulging angularities, his swelled-up, +protruding coat-tails, and with the amphora bobbing back and forth at +his left side, made a remarkable spectacle as he walked away. + +The peasants wished their adviser a good morning, promised to bear his +advice in mind, and departed, each one to his own farmstead. The +Justice, who, dealing with all the people who had come to him in the +course of an hour, had successfully handled everything undertaken, first +took the newly-acquired document of recognition to the room where he +kept the sword of Charles the Great, and then went with the servant to +the granary to measure out oats for the horses. + + +CHAPTER III + +THE OBERHOF + + +"Westphalia formerly consisted of individual estates, each one of which +had its own free possessor. Several such estates constituted a +Bauerschaft (peasant community), which, as a rule, bore the name of the +oldest estate. It lay in the original character of the peasant +communities that the oldest estate should also stand first in rank and +come to be the most aristocratic, and here from time to time the +children, grandchildren and house-inmates, ceasing work for a few days, +came together and feasted. The beginning, or else the end, of the summer +was the usual time for this event, and then every estate-owner brought +along with him for the feast some of the fruits which he himself had +raised, and perhaps a calf or lamb as well. Then all sorts of matters +were discussed, opinions were exchanged, marriages performed, deaths +made known, and then the son, as the succeeding head of his father's +estate, was sure to make his first appearance in the company with fuller +hands and a choicer animal. Disagreements were unavoidable on these +days of joy, and in the event of one, the father, as the head of the +oldest estate, stepped in and, with the approval of the rest, put an end +to the quarrel. If during the previous year any of the estate-owners had +disagreed about some matter, both of them brought forward their +grievances before the next gathering, and both were satisfied with +whatever decision their fellows deemed right and just. After all the +eatables had been devoured, and the tree set aside for the occasion had +been burned up, the feast, or the gathering, came to an end. Each one +returned home, related the events of the occasion to the waiting members +of his household, and came to be a living and continuing authority +regarding all the happenings of their peasant community. + +These gatherings were called Conferences, Peasant Conferences, because +all the estate-owners of a peasant community came together to confer +with one another, and also Peasant Tribunals, because here the +conflicting claims of the men, already by tacit agreement combined in a +union, were either settled or rejected. Inasmuch as the Peasant +Conferences or Peasant Tribunals were held at the oldest and most +aristocratic estate, such an estate was called Court Estate, and the +Peasant Conferences and Peasant Tribunals were called Court Conferences +and Court Tribunals; and the latter, even at the present day, have not +entirely disappeared. The oldest estate, the Court Estate, was called by +way of distinction simply the Estate, the name whereby the people +designated the Main Estate or the Oberhof of the peasant community, and +its owner as the head or chief of the rest. + +Thus in a general way we account for the origin of the first association +and the first judicial arrangement of the Westphalian Estates or peasant +communities. It is the less surprising when we consider that the former +condition of Westphalia permitted only a slow increase of population +and a gradual development of agriculture; and precisely this gradual +progress led to those simple and uniform arrangements, as also to the +similarity of culture, manners and customs, which we find among the +ancient inhabitants of Westphalia." + +[Illustration: THE OBERHOF BY BENJAMIN VAUTIER] + +This passage from Kindlinger's _Contributions to the History of the +Diocese of Münster_ conducts us to the scene of our story. It throws a +light on our hero, the Justice. He was the owner of one of the largest +and wealthiest of the Main Estates, or Oberhofs, which still exist in +those regions, but which, to be sure, have now fused together to a small +number. + +There is something remarkable about the first traditions of a tribe, and +the people as a whole have just as long a memory as the individual +persons, who are wont to retain faithfully to extreme old age the +impressions of early childhood. When now we consider that an individual +human life may last as long as ninety years, and, furthermore, that the +years of a people are as centuries, it is no longer a matter of wonder +to us that, in the regions where the events of our story took place, we +still here and there come across much that points back to the time when +the great Emperor of the Franks succeeded, by means of fire and sword, +in converting the obstinate inhabitants. + +And so if, in the place where once the Supreme Justice and the heir of +the region lived, Nature once more awakens special qualities in a +person, there may grow up amid these thousand-year-old memories and +between the boundaries and ditches which are, after all, still +recognizable, a figure like our Justice, whose right of existence is not +acknowledged by the powers of the present, to be sure, but which for its +own self, and among its own kind, may temporarily restore a condition +which disappeared long ago. + +Let us look around in the Oberhof itself. If the praise of a friend is +always very ambiguous, then surely one may trust the envy of an enemy; +and the person most worthy of credit is a horse-dealer, who calls +special attention to the comfortable circumstances of a peasant with +whom he could not agree in a matter of business. To be sure, one could +not say, as the horse-dealer Marx did, that the surroundings reminded +one of a count's estate; on the other hand, in whatever direction one +looked there was an atmosphere of peasant prosperity and opulence which +could not but call out to the hungriest stranger: Here you can eat your +fill; the plate is never empty. + +The estate lay entirely alone on the border of the fertile plain, at the +point where it passes over into hilly woodland; indeed, the Justice's +last fields lay on a gentle slope, and a mile away were the mountains. +The nearest neighbor in the peasant community lived a quarter of an hour +away from the estate, around which were spread out all the possessions +which a large country household had need of--fields, woods and meadows, +all in compact uninterrupted continuity. + +From the foot of the hills the fields ran down in beautiful order across +the plain. It was, moreover, about the time when the rye was in blossom; +its exhalation, as a thank-offering of the soil, rose from the spikelets +and was wafted aloft on the warm summer breezes. Single rows of +high-trunked ashes and knotty elms, planted on either side of the old +boundary ditches, inclosed a part of the cornfields, and, being visible +from afar, indicated, more definitely than stones and stakes can do, the +limits of the inheritance. A deep road ran between dikes of earth +diagonally across the fields, branched off into paths at several places +on both sides, and led, at the point where the grain ceased, into a +vigorous and well-kept oak grove, under which a number of hogs were +comfortably imbedded in the soil, the shade of which, however, was +equally refreshing to human beings. This grove, which supplied the +Justice with wood, extended to within a few paces of the farmhouse and +inclosed it on two sides, thus, at the same time, affording it +protection against the east and north winds. + +The house, which had two stories, and the walls of which were of +panel-work painted white and yellow, was roofed only with straw; but, +as the latter was always kept in the very best condition, it did not +produce an impression of poverty, but, on the contrary, rather increased +the general effect of comfort which the house imparted. Of the inside we +shall learn more anon; suffice it to say for the present that on the +other side of the house there was a large yard, surrounded by barns and +stables, in the plastered walls of which the keenest eye could not +detect a faulty spot. Large lindens stood before the front door, and +there too, but not on the wall side, seats were placed, as we have +already seen. For the Justice, even when he was resting, wanted to keep +an eye on his household. + +Directly opposite the house one looked through a lattice gate into the +orchard, where strong and healthy fruit-trees spread their leafy +branches out over the fresh grass, vegetables and lettuce. Here and +there, in between, little beds of red roses and fire-lilies were +thriving. Of the latter, however, there were very few, for a true +peasant devotes his ground only to necessary things, even when his +circumstances permit him to cultivate some of nature's luxuries. + +Everything beyond the orchard, as far as the eye could see, was green. +For on the other side of the garden lay the extensive meadows of the +Oberhof, in which the Justice had room and fodder for his horses. Their +breeding, carried on with great industry, was one of the most lucrative +sources of income the estate enjoyed. These verdant meadows were also +surrounded by hedges and ditches; one of them, moreover, contained a +pond in which well-fed carp swam about in shoals. + +On this rich estate, surrounded by full barns, full lofts and stables, +dwelt the old, widely respected Justice. But if one climbed the highest +hill on the border of his land, one could see from there the towers of +three of the oldest cities in Westphalia. + +At the time of which I speak it was approaching eleven o'clock in the +forenoon. The whole vast estate was so quiet that scarcely any noise was +audible, save the rustling of the leaves in the tree-tops. The Justice +was measuring out oats to his servant, who flung each sack across his +shoulders and trudged slowly over to the stable with it. The daughter +was counting up her dowry of linen and wool, and a maid was working in +the kitchen. All the other dwellers on the estate were lying asleep; for +it was just before the harvest-time, when peasants have the least to do, +and the workmen use every spare minute for sleep, in order to prepare +themselves, in a measure, for the approaching days of toil and sweat. +For in general, country people, like dogs, can, if they wish to, sleep +at all hours of the day and night. + + +CHAPTER IV + +WHEREIN THE HUNTER SENDS HIS COMPANION OUT AFTER A PERSON BY THE NAME OF +SCHRIMBS OR PEPPEL, AND COMES HIMSELF TO THE OBERHOF + + +From the hills which bordered the Justice's fields there came forth two +men of different appearance and age. The one, clad in a green hunter's +jacket, with a little cap on his curly head and a light Liège gun on his +arm, was a strikingly handsome youth; the other, dressed in more quiet +colors, was an elderly man with a frank and sincere manner. The younger +strode on ahead, as nimbly as a stag, while the older maintained a +somewhat slower gait, like that of a worn-out hunting-dog lagging behind +the master to whom he is still ever faithful. After they had emerged +into an open space at the foot of the hills, they both sat down on a +large stone, which lay there beside several others in the shade of a +mighty linden. The younger man gave some money and papers to the older, +pointed out to him the direction in which he was to continue his way, +and said: + +"Go now, Jochem, and be discreet, so that we can get hold of this +confounded Schrimbs or Peppel who has been inventing such monstrous +lies, and as soon as you discover him, let me know." + +"I'll be discreet all right," replied old Jochem. "I'll make such sly +and secret inquiries in all the villages and cities about a man who +signs his name Schrimbs or Peppel, that it would have to be the devil's +own fault if I don't succeed in locating the wretch. In the meanwhile +you lie low here _incognito,_ until you receive further news from me." + +"Very well," said the young man, "and now, Jochem, be very cautious and +thoughtful all the time in the way you handle the matter, for we are no +longer in dear Suabia, but out among the Saxons and Franks." + +"The miserable fellows!" exclaimed old Jochem. "Faith, they have long +talked about Suabian stupidities! They shall see that a Suabian can be a +sly bird too when it is necessary." + +"And keep always to the right, my Jochem, for the last tracks of this +Schrimbs or Peppel are headed that way," said the young man, standing up +and giving the old man a cordial parting handshake. + +"Always to the right, of course," replied the latter. He handed over to +the other his hunting-bag, which was stuffed full, and which up to now +he had been carrying, lifted his hat and went off, following a side-path +at the right, down toward the region where, in the distance, one could +see towering up one of the steeples mentioned in the foregoing chapter. + +The young man, on the other hand, went directly down toward the Oberhof. +He had taken perhaps a hundred steps when he heard somebody running +behind him and panting. He turned around and saw that his old companion +was hurrying after him. + +"There was one more thing I wanted to ask and beg of you," the latter +cried. "Now that you are alone and left to yourself, get rid of your +gun; for you certainly won't hit anything and, sure as death, you will +have a mishap again, as you almost did not long ago when you fired at +the hare and came very near killing the child." + +"Yes, it is damnable to be always firing at things and never hitting +them," said the young man. "But, truly, I'll put restraint on myself, no +matter how hard it may be to do it, and not a single shot shall fly out +of these barrels as long as you are away from me." + +The old man begged him for the gun, but the young man refused to give it +up, saying that, without a gun, it would surely cost no self-restraint +to refrain from shooting, and that his method of procedure would then +lose all its merit. + +"That is very true," replied the old man, and, without bidding his +companion a second good-by, inasmuch as the first one still held good, +he went back reassured, along the path which had been pointed out to +him. + +The young man stood still, rested the gun on the ground, thrust the +ramrod into the barrel, and said: + +"It will be difficult to get the charge out, and yet it can't stay in." +With that he tossed the gun over his shoulder and walked in the +direction of the Justice's oak grove. Just before he got there a drove +of heath fowl started up from a narrow strip of borderland, flapping +their wings and screaming loudly. In exultation the young man snatched +the gun from his shoulder, crying: "Here's my chance to get rid of the +shot forthwith!" and took aim. Both barrels went off with a roar, and +the birds flew away uninjured. The hunter gazed after them in +astonishment and said: + +"This time I thought I couldn't have helped hitting something. Well, +from now on I shall certainly restrain myself." With that he continued +his way through the oak grove to the house. + +When he entered the door he saw, sitting at dinner in a high and +spacious hall which took up the entire centre of the house, the Justice, +his daughter, his farm-hands and maids, and in a resonant, euphonious +voice he gave them a friendly greeting. The Justice scrutinized him with +care, the daughter with astonishment; as for the men and maids, they +did not look at him at all, but went on eating without paying any +attention to him. The Hunter approached the master of the estate and +inquired about the distance to the nearest city and the way to get +there. At first the Justice did not understand his strange-sounding +language, but the daughter, without once turning her eyes from the +handsome Hunter, helped her father to get the meaning, whereupon he gave +the correct information. Only after three repetitions was the Hunter, on +his part, able to understand the reply; but he finally succeeded in +making out that the city was not to be reached in less than two long +hours, and then only by a path which was difficult to find. + +The midday heat, combined with the sight of the tidy meal before him and +his own hunger, prompted the Hunter to ask the question whether for love +or money he could have something to eat and drink and shelter till the +cool of evening. + +"For money, no!" replied the Justice, "but for love the gentleman may +have dinner and supper and a place to rest as long as he wants it." He +had a tin plate, as clear and bright as a mirror, a knife, a fork and a +spoon, just as bright as the plate, laid upon the table, and pressed his +guest to sit down. The latter fell upon the well-cooked ham, the big +beans, the eggs and sausages, which constituted the meal, with all the +appetite of youth, and discovered that the food of the country, which +was everywhere decried as Boeotian, was, on the contrary, not at all +bad. + +Very little talking was done by the hosts, for peasants do not like to +speak while they are eating. Howsoever, the Hunter, on inquiry, managed +to find out from the Justice that no man by the name of Schrimbs or +Peppel was known anywhere around in that vicinity. The farm-hands and +maids, who sat apart from the seats of honor at the other end of the +long table, kept absolutely silent and looked only at the dishes out of +which they spooned their food into their mouths. After they had +finished eating, however, and had wiped their mouths, they stepped up to +the Justice, one after the other, and said: "Master, my motto;" +whereupon the Justice addressed to each one a proverbial phrase or a +biblical passage. Thus to the first man, a red-haired fellow, he said: +"Proneness to dispute lights a fire, and proneness to fight sheds +blood;" to the second, a slow, fat man: "Go to the ant, thou sluggard, +consider her ways and be wise;" to the third, a small, black-eyed, +bold-looking customer: "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." +The first maid received the motto: "If you have cattle, take care of +them, and if they bring you profit, keep it;" and to the second he said: +"Nothing's ever locked so tight but it will some day come to light." + +After each one had been remembered in this way, they all went off to +their work, some looking unconcerned, others embarrassed. The second +girl blushed a deep crimson when she heard her motto. The Hunter, who +was gradually learning to understand the local dialect, listened to this +lesson with astonishment, and after it was over he asked what the +purpose of it was. + +"To give them something to think about," said the Justice. "When they +come together here again tonight, each one of them will tell me what he +or she has been thinking relative to the motto. Most of the work in the +country is of such a kind that, in doing it, the people are liable to +think all sorts of things, and they get a lot of bad notions in their +heads, which afterwards break out in the form of wantonness, lies, and +deception. But when a man has such a motto to ponder over, he will not +rest until he has extracted the moral from it, and meanwhile the time +has elapsed without any evil thoughts having entered his mind." + +"You are a true philosopher and priest," cried the Hunter, whose +amazement was increasing with every minute. + +"One can accomplish a great deal with a person when one brings morality +home to him," said the Justice thoughtfully. "But morality sticks in +short sayings better than in long speeches and sermons. My people keep +straight much longer since I hit upon the morality idea. To be sure it +does not work all the year round; during planting and harvest-time all +thinking ceases. But it isn't necessary then anyway, because they have +no time for wickedness." + +"You have, then, regular sections in your teaching?" asked the Hunter. + +"In winter," replied the Justice, "the mottoes usually begin after +threshing and last until sowing. In summer, on the other hand, they are +assigned from Walpurgis Night until dog days. Those are the times when +peasants have the least to do." + +With that he left the young man, who got up and looked around in the +house, the yard, the orchard, and the meadow. He spent several hours in +this inspection, since everything he saw attracted him. The rural +stillness, the green of the meadows, the prosperity which beamed upon +him from the whole estate, all made a most pleasant impression, and +aroused in him a desire to spend the one or two weeks that might elapse +before he received news from old Jochem there in the open country rather +than in the narrow alleys of a small city. Inasmuch as he wore his heart +on his tongue, he went forthwith to the Justice, who was in the oak +grove marking a pair of trees for felling, and expressed his wish. In +return he offered to assist in anything that might be of use to his +host. + +Beauty is an excellent dowry. It is a key which, like that little one of +gold, opens by magic seven locks, each one different from the rest. The +old man gazed for a moment at the youth's slim yet robust figure and at +his honest and at the same time splendidly aristocratic face, and at +first shook his head persistently; then, however, he nodded approvingly, +and, finally growing friendly, granted him his request. He assigned to +the Hunter a corner room on the upper floor of the house, from one side +of which one could see across the oak grove toward the hills and +mountains, and from the other out over the meadows and corn fields. The +guest had, to be sure, in place of paying for his room and board, to +promise to fulfil a very peculiar condition. For the Justice did not +like to have even beauty favored without an equivalent return. + + +CHAPTER V + +THE HUNTER HIRES OUT AS POACHER + + +He asked the young man, before he promised him quarters, whether he was +a lover of hunting, as his green suit, gun and hunting-bag seemed to +indicate. The latter replied that, as far back as he could remember, he +had always had a passion amounting to real madness for deer-shooting; in +saying which, to be sure, he concealed the fact that, with the exception +of a sparrow, a crow, and a cat, no creature of God had ever fallen +victim to his powder and lead. This was in reality the case. He could +not live without firing a few times a day at something, but he regularly +missed his aim; in his eighteenth year he had killed a sparrow, in his +twentieth a crow, and in his twenty-fourth a cat. And that was all. + +After the Justice had received his guest's affirmative answer, he came +out with his proposition, which was, namely, that the Hunter should +every day lie out in the fields a few hours and keep off the wild +animals, which were causing a great deal of injury to his corn fields, +especially those lying on the slope at the foot of the hills. + +"Yonder in the mountains," said the old peasant, "the noblemen have +their great hunting-ranges. The creatures have already in past years +eaten up and trampled down enough of my crops, but this is the first +year that it has become serious. The reason is, that the young count +over there is an ardent hunter and has enlarged his stock of game, so +that his stags and roes come out of the forest like sheep and completely +ruin the product of my toil and sweat. I myself do not understand the +business, and I don't like to turn it over to my men because it gives +them an easy chance, under the pretext of lying in wait, to become +disorderly. Consequently the beasts have now and then worked enough +havoc to make a man's heart ache. Your coming now is, therefore, very +opportune, and if for these two weeks before harvest you will keep the +creatures out of my corn for me, we'll call that payment for your room +and board." + +"What? I a poacher? I a game thief?" cried the man, and he laughed so +loudly and heartily that the Justice could not help joining in. Still +laughing, the latter ran his hand over the fine cloth of which his +guest's clothing was made. + +"That is just why I want you to do it," he said, "because with you there +will be no particular danger even if you are caught. You will know how +to get yourself out of it better than one of these poor farm laborers. +Flies get caught in a cobweb, but wasps flit straight through them. But +what kind of a crime is it anyway to protect your own property against +monsters that eat it up and ruin it?" he cried, the laugh on his face +suddenly changing into an expression of the most fervent anger. The +veins in his brow swelled up, the blood in his cheeks turned deep +crimson, and the whites of his eyes became bloodshot; one might have +taken fright at the sight of the old man. + +"You are right, father, there is nothing more unreasonable than the +so-called hunting privileges," said the Hunter, in order to pacify him. +"For that reason I will take upon myself the sin of violating the game +laws of the local nobility in the interest of your estate, although by +so doing I shall really be--" + +He was going to add something more, but suddenly broke off and passed +over to other indifferent matters. + +But any one who thinks that the conversation between this Westphalian +justice and the Suabian hunter ran as smoothly as my pen has written it +down, is mistaken. On the contrary, it was frequently necessary for them +to repeat several times before a barely sufficient understanding came +about between them. Now and then they were even compelled to resort to +making signs with their fingers. For in all his life the Justice had +never heard _ch_ pronounced after _s_; furthermore he brought all his +sounds up out of his gullet, or, if you will, out of his throat. In the +Hunter, on the other hand, the divine gift which distinguishes us from +beasts was located between his front teeth and his lips, whence the +sounds broke forth in a wonderful sonorous gravity and fulness and a +buzzing sibilancy. But through these strange husks the young man and the +old one soon learned to like each other. Inasmuch as both were men of +full-weight, sterling stuff they could not fail to understand each +other's inmost nature. + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE HUNTER WRITES TO HIS FRIEND + + +Now I may write about things that are pleasant. I cannot possibly tell +you how happy I am here in the solitude of this hill-girt Westphalian +plain, where I have been quartered for a week among people and cattle. +Among people and cattle is indeed literally the case, for the cows do +actually stand right in the house on both sides of the large +entrance-hall. There is, however, absolutely nothing unpleasant or +unclean about this; on the contrary it rather helps to increase the +impression of patriarchal house-management. In front of my window stand +rustling oak-trees, and beyond them I look out on long, long meadows and +waving cornfields, between which I see here and there a grove of oaks +and a lone farmstead. For here it is as it was in the time of Tacitus: +"_Colunt discreti ac diversi, ut_ _fons, ut campus, ut nemus placuit_." +Consequently even a single farm like this is a small State in itself, +complete and rounded off, and the lord of it is just as much a king in +his small domain as a real king on a throne. + +My host is a splendid old fellow. He is called Justice, although he +certainly has another name too; for that name, you see, has reference +only to the ownership of his property. I hear, however, that this is the +custom around here everywhere. For the most part only the estate has a +name--the name of the owner sinks in that of the property; hence the +earth-born, tough and enduring character of the people here. My Justice +is a man of some sixty-odd years perhaps, but he carries a strong, +large, rugged body, as yet unbent by age. In his reddish-yellow face is +deposited the solar heat of the fifty harvests he has gathered in, his +large nose stands out on his face like a tower, and his white, bristly +eyebrows hang out over his glistening, blue eyes like a straw roof. He +reminds me of a patriarch, who erects a monument of unhewn stones to the +god of his ancestors and pours libations and oil upon it, rears his +colts, cuts his corn, and at the same time judges and rules his people +with unlimited authority. I have never come across a more compact +mixture of venerability and cunning, reason and obstinacy; he is a +genuine, old-time, free peasant in the full sense of the word. I believe +that this is the only place where people of this kind are still to be +found, here where precisely this living apart and this stubbornness +peculiar to the ancient Saxons, combined with the absence of large +cities, has perpetuated the original character of Germania. All +governments and powers have merely skimmed over the surface here; they +have perhaps been able to break off the tops of the various growths, but +not to destroy their roots, from which fresh shoots have ever sprouted +up again, even though they may no longer close together into leafy +crowns. + +The region is not at all what one would call beautiful, for it consists +solely of billowy risings and fallings of the ground, and only in the +distance does one see the mountains; furthermore, the latter look more +like a dark hill-slope than a beautifully outlined mountain-range. But +just this absence of pretension, the fact that the mountains do not seem +to place themselves in dress parade directly in front of one's eyes and +say: "How do you like me?" but rather, like a dutiful stewardess, to +serve the tilth of human hands even down to the smallest detail--after +all makes me like them very much, and I have enjoyed many a pleasant +hour in my solitary rambles. Perhaps the fact has something to do with +it that my heart can once more swing out its pendulum undisturbed, +without having wise people tinkering and twisting at the clock-works. + +I have even become poetic--what do you say to that, old Ernst? I have +jotted down something to which a divinely beautiful Sunday that I spent +some time ago in the wooded glens of the Spessart inspired me. I think +you will like it. It is called: "The Marvels of the Spessart." + +What I like best is to sit up on the hill in a quiet spot between the +Justice's cornfields, which terminate there. In front of me there is a +large depression in the ground, grown over with weeds and blackberry +bushes, around which, in a circle, lie a lot of large stones. Over the +largest of these, directly opposite the field, the branches of three old +lindens spread out. Behind me rustles the forest. The spot is infinitely +lonesome, secluded and secret, especially now that the corn is grown up, +as tall as a man, behind it. I spend a great deal of time up there--not +always, to be sure, in sentimental contemplation of nature; it is my +usual evening watchpost, from which I shoot the stags and roes out of +the Justice's corn. + +They call the place the "Freemen's Tribunal." Presumably, in days of +yore, the Fehme used to hatch out its sentences there in the darkness of +the night. When I praised the place to my Justice, an expression of +friendliness passed over his face. He made no reply, but after a time +conducted me, without any inducement on my part, to a room on the upper +floor of the house. There he opened an iron-bound trunk, showed me an +old, rusty sword which was lying in it, and said with great solemnity: +"That is a great curiosity; it is the sword of Charles the Great, +preserved for a thousand and more years in the Oberhof, and still in +full strength and power." Without adding any further explanations, he +clapped the cover down again. I wouldn't for anything have shaken his +belief in this sacred relic, although a fleeting glance convinced me +that the broad-sword could scarcely be more than a few hundred years +old. But he showed me too a formal attestation concerning the genuineness +of the weapon, made out for him by an obliging provincial scholar. + +[Illustration: THE FREEMEN'S TRIBUNAL _By Benjamin Vautier_] + +Well, then, I shall stay here among the peasants until old Jochem sends +me news of Schrimbs or Peppel. To be sure, in the course of my +eighty-mile journey I have cooled down a little, for it makes +considerable difference when two weeks intervene between a project and +its execution. Furthermore the question now is: What sort of revenge +shall I take on him? But all that will take care of itself later on. + +Mentor, you shall soon hear more, I hope, from your Not-Telemachus. + + +CHAPTER VII + +HOW THE HUNTER LIVES AT THE OBERHOF + + +Several days passed at the Oberhof in the usual quiet, monotonous way. +Still no word came from old Jochem, regarding either himself or the +escaped adventurer; and a mild anxiety gradually began, after a while, +to steal over his young master. For nowadays time is so regulated and so +enmeshes us that nobody, no matter how free and independent he may be, +can long endure an existence which does not offer him some occupation +or social relation to fall back on. + +As much as he could, to be sure, the Hunter associated with the Justice, +and the man's originality continued to attract him just as strongly as +it had done on the first day of their acquaintance. But the old man was +occupied the greater part of the time with matters pertaining to his +household, and then he had, too, a great many things to discuss with +outsiders, since every day people dropped in at the farm to solicit his +help or advice. On these occasions the Hunter noticed that the Justice, +in the truest sense of the word, never did anything gratis. For +neighbors, relatives, and friends he was ready to do anything, but they +had always to do something for him in return, even were it only an +errand in a neighboring peasant community, or some other small service +of this kind. + +Every day something was fired at, but regularly missed; so that the old +man, who invariably hit his mark, no matter what he aimed at, began to +look with astonishment upon these futile efforts. It was a fortunate +thing for our Hunter that the nearest estate-owner happened at that time +to be away on a trip with his family and servants, otherwise the +professional gunners up on the "Open Tribunal" would probably have +caught him sooner or later. + +At noon on the following day the Hunter heard a noise under his window; +he looked out and saw that a number of men were standing in front of the +house. Just then the Justice, dressed in his Sunday clothes, stepped out +of the door, and at the same time a two-horse wagon drew up opposite by +the oak grove. In the wagon was a man in black robes, apparently a +clergyman; he was sitting among several baskets, in some of which fowls +seemed to be fluttering. A little behind him sat a woman in _bourgeois_ +dress, who was holding another basket rigidly in her lap. In front by +the horses stood a peasant with the whip, his arm resting on the neck of +one of the animals. Beside him was a maid, also holding a basket, +covered with a snow-white napkin, under her arm. A man in a wide brown +overcoat, whose thoughtful gait and solemn face made it at once +unmistakably evident that he was a sexton, walked with dignity from the +wagon to the house, placed himself in front of the Justice, lifted his +hat, and recited the following verses: + + Before your gate you now may see + The Sexton and the Dominie, + The Sexton's wife, the house-maid too, + Who've come to get what is their due, + By custom old from this domain, + The hens, the eggs, the cheeses twain; + So tell us then without delay + If you are all prepared to pay. + +While listening to this little recitation the Justice had respectfully +removed his hat. Afterwards he approached the wagon, bowed to the +clergyman, reverently helped him to alight, and then stood off at one +side with him and held a conversation, which the Hunter could not +overhear, about various matters. In the meantime the woman with the +basket had also stepped down and taken a position beside the Sexton, the +peasant and the maid, and behind the two chief persons, as if for a +procession. + +The Hunter, in order to ascertain the significance of this scene, went +downstairs and observed that the entrance-hall was sprinkled with white +sand, and the best room, adjacent to it, decorated with green branches. +Inside, also dressed up in her Sunday best, sat the daughter; she was +spinning as if she meant to turn out an entire skein of yarn that very +day. She looked very red and did not glance up from her work. He entered +the room and was just about to obtain his information from her, when the +procession of strangers, including the Justice, crossed the threshold of +the entrance-hall. At the head marched the clergyman, behind him the +Sexton, then the peasant, then the maid, then the Sexton's wife, and +finally the Justice, each one marching alone. The clergyman approached +the daughter, who had not yet glanced up from her spinning-wheel, +addressed her with a friendly greeting, and said: + +"Quite right, Miss! When the bride-to-be makes her wheel go so +industriously beforehand, her sweetheart may hope and expect to have +full chests and boxes afterwards. When is the wedding to be?" + +"A week from Thursday, your reverence, if it is permissible," replied +the bride, turning, if possible, even redder than before. She humbly +kissed the clergyman's hand--the latter was still a youngish man--took +his hat and cane from him, and handed him, by way of welcome, a +refreshing drink. The others, after they had formed a circle around the +bride, and had likewise remembered her with a handshake and an +expression of good will, also partook of the refreshing beverage; +thereupon they left the room and went into the entrance-hall. The +clergyman, however, continued to discuss the affairs of the community +with the Justice, who, with his hat in his hand all the time, stood +before him in reverential posture. + +The young Hunter, who, unnoticed by the others, had been watching the +scene from a corner of the room, would have liked to greet the clergyman +before now, but he felt that it would be rude to break in upon the +conversation between the strangers and the inmates of the house, a +conversation which, in spite of the rusticity of the scene, had yet an +air of diplomatic ceremony. For in the clergyman he recognized, with +joyful astonishment, a former academic acquaintance. + +The Justice now left the room for a moment, and the Hunter went over to +the Pastor and greeted him by name. The clergyman started and passed his +hand across his eyes, but he, likewise, at once recognized the other and +was no less happy to see him. + +"But," he added to the first words of greeting, "this is no place nor +time for a talk. Come along with me afterwards when I drive away from +the farm--then we can have a chat together. I am a public character +here and stand under the constraint of a most imperious ceremonial. We +cannot take any notice of each other, and you too, in a passive sort of +way, must conform to the ritual. Above all things don't laugh at +anything that you see--that would offend the good people extremely. +These old established customs, strange as they may seem, always have, +nevertheless, their venerable side." + +"Have no fear," replied the Hunter. "But I should like to know--" + +"Everything afterwards!" whispered the clergyman, glancing toward the +door, which the Justice was just then re-entering. He retreated from the +Hunter just as from a stranger. + +The Justice and his daughter themselves brought in the food and laid it +on the table, which had been set in this room. There were chicken soup, +a dish of French beans and a long sausage, roast pork and plums, butter, +bread, and cheese, and, in addition, a bottle of wine. All this was put +on the table at the same time. The peasant too had left the horses and +come into the room. When everything was steaming on the table, which had +been laid for only two persons, the Justice politely invited the +clergyman to seat himself, and the latter, after saying grace, sat down, +as did likewise, a short distance away from him, the peasant. + +"Do I not eat here too?" inquired the Hunter. + +"Nay, God forbid!" answered the Justice, and the bride looked at him +from one side in amazement. "Only the Diaconus and the Colonus eat +here--you sit at the table with the Sexton outside." + +The Hunter went into another room, opposite, after observing to his +surprise that the Justice and his daughter themselves attended to the +serving of this first and most aristocratic table. In the other room he +found the Sexton, his wife, and the maid, all standing around a table +which had been laid there, and impatiently awaiting, as it seemed, the +arrival of their fourth companion. The same eatables were steaming on +this table, except that the butter and cheese were missing and beer took +the place of the wine. The Sexton stepped with dignity to the head seat +and, keeping his eyes on the dishes, recited aloud the following verses: + + The birds that fly, the beasts that crawl, + For man's behoof God made them all; + Chicken soup, beans, pork, plums and veal, + Are gifts divine--Lord bless the meal! + +Thereupon the company sat down, with the Sexton at the head of the +table. The latter did not for a moment forget his solemn dignity, nor +his wife her basket, which she put down close beside her. The Pastor's +maid, on the other hand, had unassumingly set hers aside. During the +meal, which was piled up on the dishes in veritable mountains, not a +word was spoken. The Sexton gravely devoured portions that might be +called enormous, while his wife was not a great way behind him. Here +again it was the maid who showed herself to be most modest. As for the +Hunter, he confined his attention almost entirely to looking on; for the +day's ceremonies were not to his liking. + +After the meal was over the Sexton, smirking solemnly, said to the two +maids who had waited on the table: + +"Now, if it please God, we will receive our legitimate dues and the +good-will accompanying them." + +The maids, who had already cleared off the table, then went out. The +Sexton sat down on a chair in the middle of the room, while the two +women, his wife and the maid, took seats on either side of him, putting +the newly-opened baskets down in front of them. After the expectation +which the faces of the three expressed had lasted for several minutes, +the two maids re-entered, accompanied by their master, the Justice. The +first was holding aloft a roomy basket of wickerwork, in which some hens +were anxiously clucking and flapping their wings. She put it down in +front of the Sexton, who glanced into it and counted: + +"One, two, three, four, five, six--it is all right." + +Thereupon the second maid counted out from a large piece of cloth into a +basket in front of the Pastor's maid, three score eggs and six round +cheeses, not without the Sexton's carefully counting them all over after +her. After this was done, the Sexton said: + +"So then the Pastor is provided for, and now comes the Sexton." + +Thereupon thirteen eggs and a single cheese were put into the basket in +front of his wife, who tested the freshness of each egg by shaking and +smelling it, and rejected two. After this proceeding the Sexton stood up +and said to the Justice: + +"How is it, Justice, about the second cheese which the Sexton still has +the right to expect from the farm?" + +"You yourself know, Sexton, that the right to the second cheese has +never been recognized by the Oberhof," replied the Justice. "This +alleged second cheese was due from the Baumann estate, which more than a +hundred years ago was united under one hand with the Oberhof. Later on, +the two were again divided, and the Oberhof is obligated for only one +cheese." + +The Sexton's ruddy brown face took on the deepest wrinkles that it was +capable of producing, and divided itself into several pensive sections +of a square, roundish or angular shape. He said: + +"Where is the Baumann estate? It was split up and went to pieces in the +times of disturbance. Is the Sexton's office to be the loser on that +account? It should not be so! Nevertheless, expressly reserving each and +every right in the matter of the second cheese due from the Oberhof, and +contested now for a hundred years, I hereby receive and accept one +cheese. In accordance with which the legitimate dues of the Oberhof to +both Pastor and Sexton are paid, and now comes the good-will." + +The latter consisted of freshly-baked rolls, six of which were laid in +the Pastor's basket and two in the Sexton's. With that the entire +ceremony was concluded. The Sexton came closer to the Justice, and +recited the following third effusion: + + I find the six hens all correct, + The cheeses too without defect; + The eggs delivered are freshly laid, + And all the dues were promptly paid. + And so the Lord preserve your farm + From famine, fire, and other harm! + He is beloved of God and man + Who pays his debts as best he can. + +After that the Justice made a deep bow as a sign of thanks. The Sexton's +wife and the maid carried the baskets out and packed them in the wagon. +At the same time the Hunter saw a maid carrying some dishes and plates +out of the room in which the clergyman had eaten, into the +entrance-hall, where she washed them before the eyes of the latter, who +had stepped up to the threshold of the room. After she had finished this +washing she approached the clergyman, who drew a small coin out of a +piece of paper and gave it to her. + +In the meanwhile the Sexton was drinking his coffee with relish, and +when a cup was brought for the Hunter too, he sat down with it beside +the Sexton. + +"I am a stranger here," said the young man, "and do not entirely +understand the customs which I have been witnessing today. Will you, +sir, be good enough to explain them to me? Is it obligatory for the +peasants to supply the Pastor with these products of nature?" + +"It is obligatory as far as the hens, eggs and cheeses are concerned, +but not the rolls. They represent merely goodwill, but have always been +paid without objection," replied the Sexton with great seriousness. +"Three peasant communities are affiliated with the diaconate or head +pastorate in the city, and part of the Pastor's and Sexton's income is +derived from these dues, which are collected every year from the various +farms. In order to do this collecting, as has been done every year since +time immemorial, we make annually two trips or rounds, namely, this +short summer trip, and then a long winter trip, shortly after Advent. On +the summer trip the hens, eggs and cheeses come due, one farm paying so +much, another so much. The first item, namely, the hens, is payable, +however, only _pro Diaconatu_, the Sexton having to content himself with +eggs and cheese only. In the winter, corn, barley, oats and rye fall +due; we come then with two carts, because one would not hold all the +sacks. Thus twice a year we go the rounds of the three communities." + +"And where do you go from here?" asked the Hunter. + +"Straight home," answered the Sexton. "This community is the last of the +three, and this Oberhof is the last farm in this community where the +customary dues are collected." + +The Sexton was then called away, for the horses were hitched to the +cart, and the clergyman, with cordial handshakes and good wishes, was +taking leave of the Justice and his daughter, who were now standing +before him with the same air of friendly reverence that they had shown +for him during all the other proceedings of the day. + +The procession now went rocking off between corn fields and high hedges +along another road than the one it had come by. The peasant, with the +whip in his hand, went on foot in front of the horses, and the cart +rolled heavily along behind him. In addition to the two women, the +Sexton now sat in among the baskets with a feather pillow propped +against his stomach for protection. The Hunter, who had modestly stood +back during the preparations for departure, now, when the wagon had +advanced a short distance, hurried after it with hasty steps. He found +the Pastor, who had also remained behind his accumulation of property, +waiting for him in a pleasant spot under some trees. Here, unrestrained +by the ceremonial of the Oberhof, they embraced each other, and the +Pastor said, laughing: + +"I'll wager this is something you never expected--to discover in your +former acquaintance, who used to conduct his young Swedish Count so +neatly about on the slippery ground of science and elegant life in the +big city, a figure who must remind you of the Reverend Lopez in +Fletcher's _Spanish Curate_. As for the proceedings which you have +witnessed today, it was absolutely necessary for me to go through with +them in person; my entire relation with the people would be broken if I +manifested any squeamishness about participating in the old custom. My +predecessor in office, who was not a native of these parts, was ashamed +of these regular trips and refused downright to have anything to do with +them. What was the result? He got himself into serious difficulties with +these rural parishes, which even had an influence on the decadence of +school and church affairs. He had finally to petition for his +transference, and I immediately made up my mind, when I received my +appointment, that I would adapt myself in all things to the customs of +the place. In pursuance of this policy I have so far got along very +well, and the appearance of dependency which these trips give me, far +from damaging my prestige, rather enhances and secures it." + +"How could it be otherwise?" cried the Hunter. "I must confess to you +that during the entire ceremony, in spite of the comical atmosphere +which your Sexton spread over it, I was really touched and the feeling +never once left me. Somehow I saw on the one hand, in your acceptance of +these most simple and material gifts, and, on the other, in the +reverence with which they were bestowed, the most pious and unpretending +symbol of the church, which must have its daily bread in order to exist, +and of the faithful who supply her earthly needs in the humble +conviction that by so doing they will gain something of high and eternal +value. Hence on neither the one side nor the other does a sense of +servitude arise, but rather on both sides there is a deep feeling of the +most perfect mutuality." + +"I am glad," said the Pastor, pressing the Hunter's hand, "that you so +regard it, since another person would perhaps have made fun of the whole +business. For that reason--I can now own up to it--I was at first not at +all pleased to have you appear so unexpectedly as a witness of those +scenes." + +"God forbid that I should make fun of anything that I have seen in this +country!" replied the Hunter. "I now rejoice that a mad freak brought me +here to these woods and fields, for otherwise I should probably never +have learned to know the region; for it has very little reputation +abroad, and there is, in fact, nothing here to attract exhausted and +surfeited tourists. But the feeling has gripped me here even more +strongly than in my own home--this is soil which an unmixed race has +trod for more than a thousand years! And the idea of the immortality of +the people was wafted toward me in the rustling of these oaks and of +this surrounding vegetation in an almost, I might say, tangible form." + +A long conversation resulted from this remark, which was carried on +alternately by both the Hunter and the Pastor, as they walked slowly +along behind the cart. + +When they took leave of each other the young Suabian was obliged to make +his friend a promise that he would visit him for a few days in the city. +After that they separated and went off in opposite directions. + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE STRANGE FLOWER AND THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL + + +The sun was still high in the heavens. The Hunter felt no particular +inclination to return to the Oberhof so early in the day, so he stepped +up to one of the highest hedges to obtain a general view of the region. +From there he saw rising, a short distance away, the bushy summits of a +group of hills, through which he thought he could probably make his way +and get back to his quarters before late in the evening. + +His foot trod the fresh, damp green of a meadow bordered by bushes, +under which a stream of clear water was flowing. Not far away appeared +some small rocks, over which ran a narrow slippery path. He walked +across, climbed down between the cliffs, tucked up his sleeves, and put +his arm in the water; it sent a pleasant thrill through him and cooled +his hot blood. Thus, half kneeling, half sitting in the damp, dark, +rock-begirt spot, he glanced aside into the open. There his eyes were +fascinated by a glorious sight. Some old tree stumps had rotted in the +grass, and their black forms protruded from the surrounding vivid green. +One of them was entirely hollowed out, and inside of it the rotted wood +had formed a deposit of brown earth. Out of this earth and out of the +stump, as from a crater, a most beautiful flower was growing. Above a +crown of soft, round leaves rose a long, slender stalk which bore large +cups of an indescribably beautiful red. Deep down in the cups of the +flower was a spot of soft, gleaming white which ran out to the edge of +the petals in tiny light-green veins. It was evidently not a native +flower, but an exotic, whose seed some chance--who knows what?--had +deposited here in this little garden-bed, prepared by the putrefactive +powers of Nature, and which a friendly summer sun had caused to grow and +blossom. + +The Hunter refreshed his eye in this charming sight. Intoxicated by the +magic of Nature, he leaned back and closed his eyes in sweet reveries. +When he opened them again the scene had changed. + +A beautiful girl in simple attire, her straw hat hung over her arm, was +kneeling by the flower, gently embracing its stalk as if it were her +sweetheart's neck, and gazing into its red calyx with the sweetest look +of joyful surprise. She must have approached quietly while the Hunter +was lying back, half asleep. She did not see him, for the cliffs hid him +from her sight; and he was careful not to make any motion that might +frighten the vision away. But after a while, as she looked up from the +flower with a sigh, her sidewise glance fell upon the water, and she +caught sight of a man's shadow! The Hunter saw her color pale, saw the +flower drop from her hands--otherwise she remained motionless on her +knees. He half arose between the cliffs, and four young eyes met! But +only for a moment! The girl, with fire in her face, quickly got up, +tossed her straw hat on her head, and with three swift steps disappeared +into the bushes. + +The Hunter now came out from among the cliffs and stretched out his arm +toward the bushes. Had the spirit of the flower become alive? He looked +at it again--it did not seem as beautiful as it had a few minutes +before. + +"An amaryllis," he said, coldly. "I recognize it now--I have it in my +green-house." + +Should he follow the girl? He wanted to--but a mysterious shyness +shackled his feet. He grasped his forehead. He had not been dreaming--he +was sure of that. "And the occurrence," he cried at last with something +like an effort, "is not so extraordinary that it must necessarily have +been a dream. A pretty girl, who happened along this way, was enjoying a +pretty flower--that is all!" + +He wandered about among unknown mountains, valleys and tracts of +country, as long as his feet would carry him. Finally it became +necessary for him to think of returning. + +Late, in the dark, and only through the help of a guide whom he came +across by accident, he reached the Oberhof. Here the cows were lowing, +and the Justice was sitting at the table in the entrance-hall with his +daughter, men and maids, about to begin his moral talks. But it was +impossible for the Hunter to enter into them--everything seemed +different to him, coarse and inappropriate. He repaired immediately to +his room, wondering how he could pass away any more time here without +knowing what was going to happen. A letter which he found there from his +friend Ernst in the Black Forest added to his discomfort. In this state +of mind, which robbed him of part of his night's sleep and even the +following morning had not yet left him, he was glad indeed when the +Pastor sent a wagonette to bring him to the city. + +Even from a distance, towers, high walls and bulwarks made it evident +that the city, once a mighty member of the Hanseatic League, had seen +its great days of defensive fighting. The deep moat was still extant, +although now devoted to trees and vegetables. His vehicle, after it had +passed under the dark Gothic gate, moved along somewhat heavily on the +rough stone pavement, and finally drew up in front of a +comfortable-looking house, on the threshold of which the Pastor was +standing ready to receive him. He entered a cheerful and cosy household, +which was animated by a sprightly, pretty wife and a couple of lively +boys whom she had presented to her husband. + +After breakfast they went for a walk through the city. In the course of +it the Hunter told his friend about his adventure in the woods. + +"To judge by your description," said the latter, "it was the blond +Lisbeth whom you saw. The dear child wanders around the country getting +money for her old foster-father. She was at my home a few days ago, but +would not tarry with us. The girl is a most charming Cinderella, and I +only hope that she may find the Prince who will fall in love with her +little shoe." + +[Illustration: LISBETH] + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE HUNTER SHOOTS AND HITS THE MARK + + +After a sojourn of several days in the city the Hunter returned to the +Oberhof, and found the Justice repairing a barn door. The Hunter +informed him that he was going to depart soon, and the old man replied: + +"I am rather glad of it; the little woman who had the room before you +sent word to me that she would be back today or tomorrow; you would have +to give way to her and I couldn't make you comfortable anywhere else." + +The entire estate was swimming in the red light of evening. A pure +summer warmth pervaded the air, which was uncharged with any +exhalations. It was quite deserted around the buildings; all the men and +maids must have been still busy in the fields. Even in the house he saw +nobody when he went to his room. There he picked up and arranged what he +had from time to time written down during his stay, packed up his few +belongings, and then looked around for his gun. After a short search he +discovered it behind a large cabinet where the peasant had concealed it. +He loaded it, and in two steps he was out of the house and headed for +the "Open Tribunal," bent on shooting the restlessly heaving visions out +of his soul. By the time he was traversing the fragrant, golden oak +grove he had recovered his high spirits. + +When he reached the Freemen's Tribunal up on the hill he felt quite +cheerful. The ears of grain, heavy and plentiful, were nodding and +rustling, the large red disk of the full moon was rising over the +eastern horizon, and the reflection of the sun, which had already sunk +in the west, was still lighting up the sky. The atmosphere was so clear +that this reflected light shone a yellowish green. + +The Hunter felt his youth, his health, his hopes. He took his position +behind a large tree on the edge of the forest. + +"Today," he said, "I will see whether fate can be bent. I'll fire only +when something comes within three paces of the muzzle, and then if I +should miss it, there would needs be magic in it." + +Behind him was the forest, before him the low ground of the "Freemen's +Tribunal," with its large stones and trees, and over opposite the +solitary spot was shut in by yellow corn fields. In the tree-tops above +him the turtle-doves were cooing now and then a faint note, and through +the branches of the trees by the "Freemen's Tribunal" the wild +hawk-moths were beginning to whir with their red-green wings. Gradually +the ground in the forest also began to show signs of life. A hedgehog +crept sleepily through the underbrush; a little weasel dragged his +supple body forth from a crevice in the rocks no broader than a quill. +Little hares darted with cautious leaps out from the bushes, stopping in +front of each to crouch down and lay their ears back, until finally, +growing more brave, they mounted the ridge by the cornfield and danced +and played together, using their fore paws to strike one another in +sport. The Hunter took care not to disturb these little animals. Finally +a slender roe stepped out of the forest. Shrewdly thrusting its nose +into the wind and glancing around to the right and left out of its big +brown eyes, it stalked along on its delicate feet with an easy grace. +The gentle, wild, fleet animal now reached a point just opposite the +hidden Hunter's gun, and so close to him that he could hardly fail to +hit it. He was just about to pull the trigger when the deer took fright, +faced about in a different direction, and made a leap straight for the +tree behind which the Hunter was standing. His gun cracked, and the +animal, unwounded, made off with a series of mighty leaps into the +forest. But from amid the corn he heard a loud cry, and a few moments +afterwards a woman's form staggered out of the fields on a narrow path +which lay in the line of his aim. The Hunter threw down the gun and +rushed toward the form; when he saw who it was he nearly collapsed. + +[Illustration: OSWALD. THE HUNTER _By Benjamin Vautier_] + +It was the beautiful girl of the flower scene in the woods. He had +hit her instead of the roe! She was holding one hand over the region +between her shoulder and left breast, where the blood was gushing out +copiously beneath her kerchief. Her face was pale, and somewhat drawn, +though not distorted, by pain. She drew a deep breath three times and +then said with a soft, weak voice: + +"God be praised! The wound can't be very dangerous, for I _can_ draw +breath, even though it hurts me. I will try," she continued, "to reach +the Oberhof, whither I was bound on this short-cut when I had to go and +meet with this accident. Give me your arm." + +He had supported her only a few steps down the hill when she collapsed +and said: + +"It won't do--the pain is too severe--I might faint on the way. We must +wait here in this place until somebody comes along who can fetch a +stretcher." + +In spite of the pain of her wound she was clutching tightly in her left +hand a small package; this she now handed to him and said: + +"Keep it for me--it is the money that I have collected for the baron--I +might lose it. We must prepare ourselves," she continued, "to remain +here for some little time. If it were only possible for you to make a +place for me to lie down and to give me something warm, so that the cold +won't penetrate to the wound!" + +Thus she had presence of mind both for herself and him. He stood +speechless, pale and immovable, like a statue. Utter dismay filled his +heart and let not a single word escape from his lips. + +Her appeal now put new life into him; he hurried to the tree behind +which he had hidden his hunting-bag. There he saw, lying on the ground, +the unfortunate gun. He seized it furiously and brought it down on a +stone with such strength that the stock was shattered to pieces, both +barrels bent, and the lock wrenched from the screws. He cursed the day, +himself, and his hand. Then, rushing back to the girl, who had sat down +on a stone in the "Open Tribunal," he fell at her feet, kissed the hem +of her dress, and with passionate tears flowing from his eyes in a +torrent, besought her forgiveness. She merely begged him to please +arise; he couldn't help doing it, the wound was surely of no +significance, and the thing for him to do now was to help. + +He now fitted up a seat for her by laying his bag on the stone, bound +his handkerchief around her neck, and gently and loosely laid his coat +over her shoulders. She sat down on the stone. He took a seat beside her +and invited her to rest her head, for relief, against his breast. She +did so. + +The moon, in its full clarity, had risen high in the heavens, and now +shone down with almost daytime brightness on the couple, whom a rude +accident had thus brought so close together. In the most intimate +proximity the strange man sat by the strange girl; she uttered low moans +of pain on his breast, while down his cheeks the tears ran +irrepressibly. Round about them the silent solitude of night was slowly +gathering. + +Finally Fortune so willed it that a late wanderer passed through the +cornfields. The Hunter's call reached his ears; he hurried to the spot +and was dispatched at once to the Oberhof. Soon afterwards footsteps +were heard coming up the hill; the men were bringing a sedan chair with +cushions. The Hunter gently lifted the wounded girl into it, and thus, +late at night, she reached the sheltering roof of her old friend, who +was, to be sure, greatly astonished to see his expected guest arrive in +such a condition. + + +CHAPTER X + +THE WEDDING + + +On a clear morning in August there were so many cooking fires burning at +the Oberhof that it seemed as if they might be expecting the entire +population of all the surrounding towns to dinner. Over the hearth fire, +built up to unusual size with great logs and fagots, there was hanging +on a notched iron hook the very largest kettle that the household +possessed. Six or seven iron pots stood round these fires with their +contents boiling and bubbling. In the space before the house, toward the +oak grove, there were crackling, if history reports the truth, nine +fires, and an equal number, or at the most one less, in the yard near +the lindens. Over all these cooking-places jacks or roasters had been +erected, on which frying-pans were resting, or on which kettles of no +small size were hanging, although none of them could compare in capacity +with the one which was doing duty over the hearth fire. + +The maids of the Oberhof were briskly hurrying back and forth with +skimming-spoons or forks between the various cooking-places. If the +guests were to find the food palatable, there could not be any dawdling +over the skimming and turning. For in the large kettle over the hearth +eight hens lent strength to the soup, and in the other twenty-three +or-four pots, kettles, and pans there were boiling or roasting six hams, +three turkeys, and five pigs, besides a corresponding number of hens. + +While the maids were exerting themselves, the men too were industriously +attending to their part of the work. The one with the black eyes was +building an immense, long table with stands, blocks, and boards, in the +orchard among the flower-beds, having already completed a similar +construction in the entrance-hall. The fat, slow one was decorating with +green birch twigs the gates of the house, the walls of the +entrance-hall, and the doors of the two rooms in which the Pastor and +his Sexton had once eaten. He sighed deeply over this delightful green +work, and the heat, too, seemed to oppress him greatly. Nevertheless an +easier task had fallen to him than to his fellow-partner, the gruff, +red-haired man. For the former had only flexible May twigs to deal with, +whereas it fell to the latter to decorate the cattle for the festivity. +The red-haired man was, accordingly, gilding with gold tinsel the horns +of the cows and bullocks, which were standing on one side of the +entrance-hall behind their mangers, or else was tying bright-colored +bows and tassels around them. This was, in fact, a provoking task, +especially for an irascible man. For many of the cows and an occasional +bullock would have absolutely nothing to do with the festival, but shook +their heads and butted sideways with their horns, as often as the +red-haired fellow came anywhere near them with the tinsel and brush. For +a long time he suppressed his natural instinct, and merely grumbled +softly once in a while when a horn knocked the brush or the tinsel out +of his hand. These grumbles, however, scarcely interrupted the general +silence in which all the busily occupied people were attending to their +work. But when, finally, the pride of the stable, a large white-spotted +cow, with which he had been struggling in vain for more than a quarter +of an hour, became positively malicious and tried to give the red-haired +fellow a dangerous thrust, he lost all patience. Springing aside, he +seized that fence-pole with which he had once restrained himself from +striking Peter of the Bandkotten, and which happened by chance to be +handy, and gave the obstinate beast such a mighty blow on the groins +with the heavy end of it that the cow bellowed with pain, her sides +began to quiver, and her nostrils to snort. + +The slow, fat fellow dropped the twigs which he had in his hand, the +first maid looked up from the kettle, and both cried out simultaneously: + +"Heaven help us! What are you doing?" "When a worthless brute like this +refuses to listen to reason and will not be decent and let itself be +gilded, it ought to have its confounded bones smashed!" + +He then wrenched the cow's head around and decorated her even more +beautifully than her mates. For the animal, having in her pain become +more tractable, now stood perfectly still and permitted the rough artist +to do anything he wanted to with her. + +While the preparations for the wedding were being carried on below in +this energetic manner, the Justice was upstairs in the room where he +kept the sword of Charles the Great, putting on his best finery. The +chief factor in the festive attire which the peasants of that region +wear is the number of vests that they put on under their coats. The +richer a peasant is, the more vests he wears on extraordinary occasions. +The Justice had nine, and all of them were destined by him to be +assembled around his body on this day. He kept them hung up in a row on +wooden pegs behind a seed-cloth, which partitioned off one part of the +room from the other like a curtain. First the under ones of silver-gray +or red woolen damask, adorned with flowers, and then the outside ones of +brown, yellow and green cloth. These were all adorned with heavy silver +buttons. + +Behind this seed-cloth the Justice was dressing. He had neatly combed +his white hair, and his yellow, freshly-washed face shone forth under it +like a rape-field over which the snow has fallen in May. The expression +of natural dignity, which was peculiar to these features, was today +greatly intensified; he was the father of the bride, and felt it. His +movements were even slower and more measured than on the day when he +bargained with the horse-dealer. He examined each vest carefully before +he removed it from its peg, and then deliberately put them on, one after +the other, without over-hurrying himself in the process of buttoning +them up. + +When the Justice was ready he slowly descended the stairs. In the +entrance-hall he surveyed the preparations--the fires, the kettles, +the pots, the green twigs, the ribboned and gilded horns of his cattle. +He seemed to be satisfied with everything, for several times he nodded +his head approvingly. He walked through the entrance-hall to the yard, +then toward the side of the oak grove, looked at the fires which were +burning there, and gave similar signs of approval, although always with +a certain dignity. When the white sand, with which the entire +entrance-hall and the space in front of the house was thickly sprinkled, +grated and crunched in a lively manner under his feet, this seemed to +afford him a special pleasure. + +A maid was asked to put a chair for him in front of the house; he sat +down there, opposite the oak grove, and, with his legs stretched out in +front of him, his hat and cane in his hand, he awaited in sturdy silence +the continuation of the proceedings, while the golden sunlight shone +brightly down on him. + +In the meantime two bridesmaids were adorning the bride in her room. All +around her were standing chests and linen bags, gaily painted with +flowers, which contained her dowry of cloth, bedding, yarn, linen and +flax. Even in the door-way and far out into the hall all the space was +occupied. In the midst of all these riches sat the bride in front of a +small mirror, very red and serious. The first bridesmaid put on her blue +stockings with the red clocks, the second threw over her a skirt of fine +black cloth, and on top of this a bodice of the same material and color. +Thereupon both occupied themselves with her hair, which was combed back +and braided behind into a sort of wheel. + +During these preparations the bride never once said a word, while her +friends were all the more talkative. They praised her finery, extolled +her piled-up treasures, and every now and then a furtive sigh led one to +suspect that they would rather have been the adorned than the adorning. + +Finally both girls, with solemn mien, came bringing in the bride's +crown; for the girls in that region do not wear a wreath on their +wedding-day, but a crown of gold and silver tinsel. The merchant who +provides their adornment merely rents the crown, and after the +wedding-day takes it back. Thus it wanders from one bride's head to +another. + +The bride lowered her head a little while her friends were putting on +the crown, and her face, when she felt the light weight of it on her +hair, became, if possible, even redder than before. In her hair, which, +strange enough, was black, although she lived among a blond people, the +gold and silver tinsel glittered gaily. She straightened herself up, +supported by her friends, and the two broad, gold bands which belonged +to the crown hung far down her back. + +The men were already standing in front of the door ready to carry her +dotal belongings down into the entrance-hall. The bridesmaids seized +their friend by the hand, and one of them picked up the spinning-wheel, +which likewise had a definite function to perform in the coming +ceremony. And thus the three girls went slowly down the stairs to the +bride's father, while the men seized the chests and bags and started to +carry them down into the entrance-hall. + +Then the bride, escorted by both bridesmaids, entered the door, holding +her head stiff and firm under the quivering gold crown, as if she were +afraid of losing the ornament. She offered her hand to her father, and, +without looking up, bade him a good morning. The old man, without any +show of feeling, replied "Thank you," and assumed his previous posture. +The bride sat down at the other side of the door, put her spinning-wheel +in front of her and began to spin industriously, an occupation which +custom required her to continue until the moment the bridegroom arrived +and conducted her to the bridal carriage. + +In the distance faint notes of music were heard, which announced the +approach of the bridal carriage. But even this sign that the decisive +moment was at hand, the moment which separates a child from the parental +house and shoves the father into the background so far as his child's +dependence is concerned, did not produce any commotion at all among the +people, who, like models of old usages, were sitting on either side of +the door. The daughter, very red, but with a look of unconcern, spun +away unwearyingly; the father looked steadily ahead of him, and neither +of them, bride or father, said a word to the other. + +The first bridesmaid, in the meanwhile, was out in the orchard gathering +a bouquet for the bridegroom. She selected late roses, fire-lilies, +orange-yellow starworts--a flower which in that locality they call +"The-Longer-the-Prettier" and in other places "The Jesus Flowerlet"--and +sage. The bouquet finally grew to such proportions that it could have +sufficed for three bridegrooms of high rank--for peasants must always do +things on a large scale. But all together it did not smell any too sweet, +for the sage emitted a strange odor, and the starworts a positively bad +one. On the other hand, neither of them, especially the sage, could be +left out, if the bouquet was to possess the traditional completeness. +When she had it ready, the girl held it out before her with proud +enjoyment, and tied it together with a broad, dark-red ribbon. She then +went to take her place beside the bride. + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE HUNTER AND HIS PREY + + +While the ceremony was thus monopolizing the entire Oberhof, there were, +wholly without ceremony, two young people together upstairs in the room +which the Hunter had formerly occupied. The young girl was sitting at a +little table by the window and hemming a beautiful kerchief which the +Hunter had bought for her in the city and given to her for a wedding-day +adornment. She pricked her finger more often today than on the evening +when she was helping the bride with her linen. For when the eyes do not +watch the needle, it is apt to take its own malicious course. + +The young man was standing before her and working at something; he was, +namely, cutting out a pen for her. For at last the girl had said she +would of course have to send news as to where she was, and request +permission to remain a few days longer at the Oberhof. He stood on the +opposite side of the little table, and in a glass between him and the +girl a white lily and a rose, freshly cut, were emitting a sweet +perfume. He did not hurry unduly with his work; before he applied the +knife he asked the girl several times whether she preferred to write +with a soft or a hard point, fine or blunt, and whether he should make +the quill short or leave it long. He plied her with numerous other +questions of this kind, as thoroughly as if he were a writing-master +producing a calligraphic work of art. To these detailed questions the +girl, in a low voice, made many indefinite replies; now she wanted the +pen cut so, now so, and every once in a while she looked at him, sighing +each time she did it. The youth sighed even more often, I do not know +whether it was on account of the indefiniteness of her answers, or for +some other reason. Once he handed the pen to her, so that she might +indicate how long she wanted the slit to be. She did so, and when she +handed the pen back to him, he seized something more than the +pen--namely, her hand. His own hand grasped it in such a way that the +pen fell to the floor and for a moment was lost to their memories, all +consciousness on both their parts being directed to their hands. + +I will betray a great secret to you. The youth and the girl were the +Hunter and the beautiful, blond Lisbeth. + +The wounded girl had been carried to her room on that night, and the +Justice, very much perturbed--something he seldom was--had come out of +his room and sent immediately for the nearest surgeon. The latter, +however, lived an hour and a half's ride from the Oberhof; he was, +moreover, a sound sleeper, and reluctant to go out at night. Thus, the +morning had already dawned when he finally arrived with his meagre +outfit of instruments. He removed the cloth from her shoulders, examined +the wound, and made a very grave face. Luckily, the young Suabian's +charge had merely grazed Lisbeth; only two shot had penetrated her +flesh, and these not very deeply. The surgeon extracted them, bandaged +the wound, recommended rest and cold water, and went home with the proud +feeling that if he had not been summoned so promptly and had not so +cheerfully done his duty, even in the night, gangrene would inevitably +have resulted from the wound. + +Lisbeth, while they were waiting for the doctor, had been very calm; she +had scarcely uttered a complaint, although her face, which was deathly +pale, betrayed the fact that she was suffering pain. Even the operation, +which the surgeon's clumsy hand caused to be more painful than was +necessary, she had undergone bravely. She asked for the shot and +presented them jokingly to the Hunter. They were "sure shot," she said +to him--he should keep them, and they would bring him luck. + +The Hunter accepted the "sure shot," wrapped them in a piece of paper, +and gently withdrew his beautiful victim's head from his encircling arms +to let her sleep. In these arms Lisbeth had rested with her pain, as up +on the "Open Tribunal," ever since entering the room in the Oberhof. +With sorrowful eyes he had gazed fixedly into her face, and had now and +then met a friendly return-glance, which she directed up to him as if to +comfort him. + +He went out into the open. It was impossible for him to leave the +Oberhof now; he had, he said, to await the recovery of the poor wounded +girl, for human nature, he added, demanded that much. In the orchard he +found the Justice, who, having found out that there was no danger, had +gone on about his business as if nothing had happened. He asked the old +man to furnish him with quarters for a longer stay. The Justice +bethought himself, but knew of no room to accommodate the Hunter. "And +even if it is only a corner in the corn-loft!" cried the Hunter, who was +awaiting the decision of his old host as if his fate depended on it. +After much deliberation it finally occurred to the Justice that there +was a corner in the corn-loft, where he stored grain when the harvest +turned out too abundant for the usual storing-places. At that time it +was empty, and to it the old man now conducted his young guest, adding, +however, that he would probably not like it up there. The Hunter went +up, and although the bare and depressing room received its small amount +of light only through a hole in the roof, and there was nothing but a +board and a chest to sit on, nevertheless he was well satisfied. "For," +he said, "it is all the same to me, if I can only remain here until I +feel certain that I haven't done any lasting damage with my accursed +shooting. The weather is fine, and I shan't need to be up here much of +the time." + +And, as a matter of fact, he was not up there in his nook much of the +time, but down with Lisbeth. He begged her forgiveness for his act so +often that she grew impatient, and told him, with a frown of annoyance +which became her very well, to just stop it. After five days the wound +had completely healed, the bandage could be removed, and light reddish +spots on her white shoulder were all that remained to show the place of +the injury. + +She remained at the Oberhof, for the Justice had previously invited her +to the wedding. This event was postponed a few days because the dowry +would not be ready at the time appointed. The Hunter remained too, +although the Justice did not invite him. He invited himself to the +wedding, however, by saying to the old man one day that the customs of +the country seemed to him so remarkable that he wished to learn what +they were on the occasion of a wedding. + +Soon there were just two times in the day for the Hunter, an unhappy and +a happy one. The unhappy time was when Lisbeth was helping the bride +with her linen--and this she did every day. The Hunter then was +absolutely at a loss what to do with his time. The happy time, on the +other hand, began when Lisbeth rested from her work and took the fresh +air. It was then certain that the two would come together, the Hunter +and she. And were he ever so far away behind the bushes, it would always +seem as if somebody were saying to him, "Lisbeth is now outdoors." Then +he would fly to the place where he suspected she was, and behold! his +suspicions had not deceived him, for even from a distance he would catch +sight of her slender form and pretty face. Then she would always bend +over sideways after a flower, as if she were not aware of his approach. +But beforehand, to be sure, she had looked in the direction from which +he was coming. + +And now they would walk together through field and meadow, for he would +beg her so earnestly to do it that it seemed almost sinful to her to +refuse him so small a request. The further away from the Oberhof they +wandered in the waving fields and green meadows, the more free and happy +would their spirits grow. When the red, setting sun lighted up +everything about them, including their own youthful forms, it seemed to +them as if anxiety and pain could never enter into their lives again. + +On these walks the Hunter would do everything possible to please Lisbeth +that he could guess from her eyes she wanted him to do. If she happened +accidentally to look toward a cluster of wild field-flowers that were +blooming on a high hedge at some distance from the road, before the wish +to have them had even had time to enter her mind, he had swung himself +up on the hedge. And in places where the road dropped off somewhat +abruptly, or where a stone lay in their way, or where it was necessary +for them to cross an insignificant bit of water, he would stretch out +his arm to lead and support her, while she would laugh over this +unnecessary readiness to help. Nevertheless she would accept his arm, +and permit her own to rest in it for a while, even after the road had +become level again. On these quiet, pleasant walks the young souls had +a great deal to impart to each other. He told her all about the Suabian +mountains, the great Neckar, the Alps, the Murg Valley, and the +Hohenstaufen Mountain on which the illustrious imperial family, whose +deeds he related to her, originated. Then he would speak of the great +city where he had studied, and of the many clever people whose +acquaintance he had made there. Finally, he told her about his mother, +how tenderly he had loved her, and how it was perhaps for that reason +that he afterwards came to cherish and revere all women more, because +each one of them made him think of his own deceased mother. + +Lisbeth, on the other hand, had only the story of her own simple life to +tell him. In it there were no big cities, no clever people, and, alas, +no mother! And yet he thought he had never heard anything more +beautiful. For every menial service which she had performed, she had +rendered noble by love. Of the young lady and the Baron she had a +thousand touching things to tell, in all the little haunts in and behind +the castle garden she had had adventures to relate, and she had read in +the books which she had secretly brought down from the garret all sorts +of astounding things about strange peoples and countries and remarkable +occurrences on land and water--and all this she had retained in her +memory. + +Thus their days at the Oberhof passed, one after the other. The Justice, +to be sure, looked upon it all with different eyes, but was, of course, +obliged to let things which he could not prevent go on. But he often +shook his head when he saw his young guests walking and talking with +each other so much, and would say to himself: "It isn't right for a +young nobleman like that!" + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DISTURBANCE. WHAT HAPPENED IN A VILLAGE CHURCH + + +Finally the Hunter finished cutting the pen. He pushed a sheet of paper +toward her and asked her to try it and see if it would write. She did +so, but could not make it work very well; it had teeth, she said. He +looked at what she had written; it was her own name, in the clearest and +most regular lines. The fine letters delighted him. + +Then the door opened and the bridesmaid entered with a dress and a +request that Lisbeth be the third bridesmaid. + +Outside the music, varied by the ringing of bells, was coming nearer and +nearer, and now the bridal carriage, drawn by two strong horses, hove +into sight at the farther end of the road leading through the oak grove. +The first bridesmaid stood demurely beside the bride, with her large and +rather malodorous bouquet; the men stood by the chests and bundles in +the entrance-hall, all ready to seize them for the last time; the +Justice was looking about anxiously for the second and third +bridesmaids, for if the latter were not on hand before the appearance of +the bridegroom to take the place which the day assigned to them, the +entire ceremony, according to his notion, was done for. But finally, +exactly at the right time, the two awaited girls came down the steps and +took their stands on either side of the first, just as the carriage +turned in toward the open space in front of the house. + +With an expression of unconcern on his face, like that of all the +principal persons of this ceremony, the bridegroom alighted from the +carriage. Some young people, his most intimate friends, followed him, +adorned with ribbons and bouquets. He slowly approached the bride, who +even now did not look up, but went on spinning and spinning. The first +bridesmaid then fastened the large bouquet of sage to the breast of his +wedding-jacket. The bridegroom accepted the bouquet without thanks, for +thanks were not included in the traditional routine. He silently +offered his hand to his father-in-law, then, just as silently, to his +bride, who thereupon arose and placed herself with the bridesmaids, +between the first and second and in front of the third. + +In the meanwhile, the servants had carried the dowry to the wagon. The +scene assumed a rather wild aspect, for the people with the baggage, in +hurrying back and forth among the cooking-fires, kicked from its place +many a burning fagot which crackled and showered sparks in the very path +down which the bridal pair were to walk. After the loading of linen, the +flax, and the various pieces of wearing apparel, the bride, with the +three bridesmaids and the spinning wheel, which she carried herself, +took a seat in the carriage. The bridegroom sat down apart from her in +the back part of the vehicle, and the young fellows were obliged to +follow on foot, as the dowry occupied so much room that there was none +left for them. One of them made this the subject of traditional +facetious remarks, which he addressed to the Justice, who replied to +them with a smirk. He walked along behind the young men, and the Hunter +placed himself at his side. Thus two men walked together, who on this +day were cherishing the most radically opposed feelings. For the Justice +was thinking of nothing but the wedding, and the Hunter of anything but +the wedding, although his thoughts were hovering about the bridal +carriage. + +Now let us allow the latter to drive slowly to the home of the +bridegroom, where already the entire wedding-company is waiting for +it--men, women, girls and youths from all the surrounding estates, in +addition to friends from the city, the Captain and the Collector. There +the carriage is unloaded. Meanwhile let us go on ahead to the church, +which, shaded by walnut-trees and wild chestnuts, stands on a green hill +in the centre of the entire community. + +Inasmuch as it was the proper time, and as the people had already +gathered in the church, the Sexton began to play the customary "Battle +of Prague" on the organ. He knew but one prelude, and this was that +forgotten battle-hymn which perhaps a few elderly people will recollect +if I recall to their memories that the musical picture begins with the +advance of Ziethen's Hussars. From this march the Sexton managed to +swing over, with transitions which, to be sure, were not infrequently +rather bold, into the ordinary church melodies. + +While the hymn was being sung the Pastor entered the pulpit, and when he +chanced to cast his eyes over the congregation, they met an unexpected +sight. A gentleman from court, namely, was standing among the peasants, +whose attention he was diverting because they were all constantly +looking up from their hymnals and glancing at his star. The aristocratic +gentleman wanted to share a hymn book with some one of the peasants, in +order to join in the singing, but since each one of them, as soon as the +gentleman drew near to him, respectfully stepped aside, he was unable to +accomplish his purpose, and succeeded only in causing an almost general +unrest. For when he sat down in one of the pews, every one of the +peasants seated in it moved along to the extreme farther end, and when +he moved along toward them they finally deserted the pew altogether. +This moving along and getting up was repeated in three or four pews, so +that the aristocratic gentleman, who was attending this little country +service with the best of intentions, was finally obliged to give up the +idea of taking an active part in it. He had business in the region, and +did not want to miss an opportunity of winning, by means of +condescension, the hearts of these country people for the throne to +which he felt himself so near. For that reason, as soon as he heard of +the peasant wedding, the idea of attending it affably from beginning to +end immediately occurred to him. + +The sight of the gentleman did not make a pleasant impression on the +Pastor, who knew him to be a member of one of the brilliant social +circles in the capital. He knew what a peculiar custom would follow the +sermon and feared the gentleman's ridicule. For that reason his thoughts +lost some of their usual clearness, his feelings were somewhat +concealed, and the more he talked the further he digressed from the +subject. His distraction increased when he noticed that the gentleman +was casting appreciative glances at him and occasionally nodding his +head in approval; this last happened usually when the speaker was most +dissatisfied with what he was saying. He consequently cut short certain +parts of the nuptial address and hurried along to the formal ceremony. + +The bridal pair were kneeling, and the fateful questions were being put +to them. Then something happened which gave the aristocratic stranger a +violent shock. For, looking to the right and left and before and behind +him, he saw men and women, girls and youths drawing out thick clubs of +twisted sack-cloth. Everybody was standing up and whispering and looking +around, as it seemed to him, with wild and malicious glances. As it was +impossible for him to guess the true meaning of these preparations, he +completely lost his composure; and since the clubs seemed to indicate +incontestably that somebody was to be the recipient of blows, he got the +notion into his head that he himself was going to be the object of a +general maltreatment. He remembered how fearsomely the people had moved +away from him, and he thought to himself how rough the character of +country people was, and how perhaps the peasants, not understanding his +condescending motive, had resolved to get rid of the disagreeable +intruder. All this went through his soul like a streak of lightning, and +he was at a loss to know how he was going to protect his person and +dignity from the horrible attack. + +While he was helplessly wrestling for a decision, the Pastor concluded +the ceremonies, and there immediately arose the wildest tumult. All the +bearers of clubs, men and women, rushed forward yelling and screaming +and flourishing their weapons; the aristocratic gentleman, however, in +three sidewise bounds over several pews, reached the pulpit. In a trice +he had ascended it, and from this elevated position called out in a loud +voice to the raging crowd below: + +"I advise you not to attack me! I cherish the kindest and most +condescending feelings toward you all, and any injury done to me will be +resented by the King, as one done to himself." + +The peasants, however, inspired by the object they had in view, did not +listen to this speech, but ran on up to the altar. On the way this and +that person received some unpremeditated blows before the intended +object of them was reached. This was the bridegroom. Clapping his hands +over his head, the latter with great exertion forced a passage for +himself through the crowd, who rained blows on his back, shoulders and +wherever there was room. He ran, violently pushing people aside, to the +church door; but before he got there he had received certainly more than +a hundred blows, and thus, well covered with black-and-blue marks, he +left the church on his wedding-day. Everybody ran after him; the bride's +father and bride followed, the Sexton closed the door immediately after +the last one had passed through it and betook himself to the vestry, +which had a private exit. In a few seconds the entire church was empty. + +All this time the aristocratic gentleman had remained in the pulpit, +while the Pastor stood before the altar, bowing to him with a friendly +smile. The gentleman, when he saw from his Ararat that the blows were +not meant for him, grew calm and dropped his arms. When it was quiet, he +asked the clergyman: + +"For heaven's sake, Pastor, tell me what this furious scene meant; what +had the poor man done to his assailants?" + +"Nothing, your Excellency," replied the Pastor who, notwithstanding the +dignity of the place, could hardly help laughing at the nobleman in the +pulpit. "This act of beating the bridegroom after the marriage ceremony +is an old, old custom which the people refuse to give up. They say that +it is intended to let the bridegroom feel how much blows hurt, so that +in the future he will not abuse his rights as a husband toward his +wife." + +"Well, but that is certainly a most remarkable custom," mumbled his +Excellency, descending from the pulpit. + +The Pastor received him very courteously below and conducted his +aristocratic acquaintance into the vestry, in order to let him outdoors +from there. The latter, who was still somewhat frightened, said that he +would have to think it over, whether or not he could take part in the +further proceedings of the ceremony. The clergyman, on the way to the +vestry, expressed profound regret that he had not been previously +advised of his Excellency's design, because he then would have been in a +position to inform him of the beating custom, and thus to avert so great +a fright and shock. + +After both had departed, peace and silence reigned once more in the +church. It was a pretty little church, dainty and not too gay--a rich +benefactor had done a great deal for it. The ceiling was painted blue +with gold stars. The pulpit displayed some artistic carving and among +the tablets on the floor, which covered the tombs of former pastors, +there were even two or three of bronze. The pews were kept very tidy and +clean, and to that end the Justice had exerted his strong influence. A +beautiful cloth adorned the altar, above which rose a twisted column +painted to resemble marble. + +The light fell brightly into the little church, the trees outside were +rustling, and now and then a gentle breeze coming in by a broken +window-pane stirred the white scarf with which the angel above the +baptismal font was decked, or the tinsel of the wreaths which, having +been taken from the coffins of the maidens who had died, were used to +decorate the surrounding pillars. + +Bride and bridegroom were gone, the bridal procession was gone, but +still the peaceful little church was not yet entirely deserted. Two +young people had remained inside of it, without knowing of each other's +presence; and this is how it happened. The Hunter, when the +wedding-party entered the church, had separated from them and quietly +gone up a flight of stairs to a gallery. There, unseen by the rest, he +sat down on a stool all alone by himself, his back to the people and to +the altar. He buried his face in his hands, but that he could not long +endure to do; his cheek and brow were too hot. The hymn with its solemn +tones cooled the heat like falling dew; he thanked God that finally, +finally the supreme happiness had been granted to him: + + In thy sadness, in thy laughter, + Thou art thine own by law of love! * * * + +A little child had crept up to him out of curiosity; he gently grasped +his hand and caressed it. Then he started to give him money, did not do +it, but pressed him against his breast and kissed his forehead. And when +the boy, a bit frightened by his hot caress, moved toward the stairs, he +slowly led him down lest he should fall. Then he returned to his seat +and heard nothing of the sermon, nothing of the noise which followed it. +He was sunk in deep and blissful dreams which revealed to him his +beautiful mother and his white castle on the green hillside and himself +and somebody else in the castle. + +Lisbeth, embarrassed in her strange attire, had bashfully walked along +behind the bride. Oh, she thought, just when the good man thinks I am +always natural I must wear borrowed clothes. She longed to have back her +own. She heard the peasants behind her talking about her in a whisper. +The aristocratic gentleman, who met the procession in front of the +church, looked at her critically for a long time through his lorgnette. +All that she was obliged to endure, when she had just been so +beautifully extolled in verse, when her heart was overflowing with +joyful delight. Half dazed she entered the church, where she made up her +mind to desert the procession on the way back, in order to avoid +becoming again the object of conversation or facetious remarks, which +now for a quarter of an hour had been far from her thoughts. She too +heard but little of the sermon, earnestly as she strove to follow the +discourse of her respected clerical friend. And when the rings were +exchanged, the matter-of-course expression on the faces of the bridal +pair aroused a peculiar emotion in her--a mixture of sadness, envy, and +quiet resentment that so heavenly a moment should pass by two such +stolid souls. + +Then came the tumult, and she fled involuntarily behind the altar. When +it grew quiet again, she drew a deep breath, adjusted her apron, gently +stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen over on her brow, and took +courage. She was anxious to see how she could make her way back to the +Oberhof unnoticed and get rid of the disagreeable clothes. With short +steps and eyes cast down she walked along a side passage toward the +door. + +Having finally awakened from his dreams, the Hunter was descending the +stairs. He too was anxious to quit the church, but where to go he did +not know. His heart throbbed when he saw Lisbeth; she lifted her eyes +and stood still, shy and artless. Then, without looking at each other, +they went in silence to the door, and the Hunter laid his hand on the +latch to open it. + +"It is locked!" he cried in a tone of delight, as if the best luck in +the world had befallen him. "We are locked in the church!" + +"Locked in?" she said, filled with sweet horror. + +"Why does that cause you dismay? Where can one possibly have better +quarters than in a church?" he said soulfully. He gently put his arm +around her waist, and with his other hand grasped her hand. Then he led +her to a seat, gently forced her to sit down and himself sat down beside +her. She dropped her eyes and toyed with the ribbons on the gay-colored +bodice she was wearing. + +"This is a horrible dress, isn't it?" she said scarce audibly after a +long silence. + +"Oh!" he cried, "I hadn't been looking at the dress!" He seized both of +her hands, pressed them violently to his breast, and then lifted her +from the pew. "I cannot bear to sit so still.--Let's take a look at the +church!" he cried. + +"Probably there is not much here worth seeing," she replied trembling. + +But his strong arms had already surrounded, lifted, and borne her to the +altar. There he let her down; she lay half-fainting against his breast. + +"Lisbeth!" he stammered his voice choking with love. "My only love! +Forgive me! Will you be my wife?--my eternal, sweet wife?" + +She did not answer. Her heart was throbbing against his. Her tears were +flowing on his breast. Now he raised her head, and their lips met. For a +long, long time they held them together. + +Then he gently drew her down to her knees beside him, and both raised +their hands in prayer before the altar. They could give voice to nothing +save, "Father! Dear Father in Heaven!" And that they did not tire of +repeating in voices trembling with bliss. They said it as confidingly as +if the Father whom they meant were offering them His hand. + +Finally the prayer died out and they both silently laid their faces on +the altar-cloth. + +Thus united they continued for some time to kneel in the church, and +neither made a sound. Suddenly they felt their hands lightly touched and +looked up. The Pastor was standing between them with a shining face, and +holding his hands on their heads in blessing. By chance he had entered +the church once more from the vestry and, touched and amazed, had +witnessed the betrothal which had been consummated here apart from the +wedding in the presence of God. He, too, said no word, but his eyes +spoke. He drew the youth and the girl to his breast, and pressed his +favorites affectionately to him. + +Then, leading the way, he went with the couple into the vestry in order +to let them out. And thus the three left the little, quiet, bright +village church. Lisbeth and the Hunter had found each other--for their +lives! + + * * * * * + + + +GUTZKOW AND YOUNG GERMANY + +By Starr Willard Cutting, Ph.D. Professor of German Literature, +University of Chicago + + +A group of men, including, among others, Ludwig Börne, Heinrich Heine, +Heinrich Laube, Theodor Mundt, Ludolf Wienbarg, and Karl Gutzkow, +dominate the literary activity of Germany from the beginning of the +fourth decade to about the middle of the nineteenth century. The common +bond of coherence among the widely divergent types of mind here +represented, is the spirit of protest against the official program of +the reaction which had succeeded the rise of the people against Napoleon +Bonaparte. This German phase of an essentially European political +restoration had turned fiercely upon all intelligent, patriotic leaders, +who called for a redemption of the unfulfilled pledges of constitutional +government, given by the princes of Germany, in dire need of popular +support against foreign invasion, and had construed such reminders as +disloyalty and as proof of dark designs against the government. It had +branded indiscriminately, as infamous demagogues, traitors, and +revolutionists, all those who, like Jahn, the _Turners,_ and most of the +members of the earliest _Burschenschaften_ (open student societies), +longed for the creation of a new empire under the leadership of Prussia, +or, like Karl Follen (Charles Follen, first professor of German at +Harvard), preferred the establishment of a German republic on lines +similar to those of the United States of America. Under a policy of +suppression, manipulated by Metternich with consummate skill in the +interest of Austria against Prussia and against German confidence in the +sincerity and trustworthiness of the Prussian government, the reaction +had by arrests, prosecutions, circumlocution-office delays, banishments, +and an elaborate system of espionage, for the most part silenced +opposition and saved, not the state, but, at any rate, the _status quo_. +This "success" had incidentally cost Germany the presence and service of +some of the ablest and best of her own youth, who spent the rest of +their lives in France, England, Switzerland, or the United States. We +Americans owe to this "success" some of the most admirable types of our +citizenship--expatriated Germans like Karl Follen, Karl Beck, Franz +Lieber, the brothers Wesselhoeft, and many others. + +Wienbarg dedicated in 1834 his _Esthetic Campaigns_ to Young Germany. +This term has since then served friend and foe to designate the group of +writers of whom we speak. Their slogan was freedom. Freedom from +cramping police surveillance; freedom from the arbitrary control of +government, unchecked by responsibility to the people; freedom from the +narrowing prescriptions of ecclesiastical authority, backed by the power +of the state; freedom from the literary restraint of medievalism in +modern letters--these and various other brands of freedom were demanded +by different members of the school. Just because the birth-throes of +modern Germany, which extend over the first seventy years of the +nineteenth century, were especially violent during the period under +consideration, the program of the school had from the outset a strong +political bias. The broad masses of the people were unacquainted with +political forms and principles. They were by time-hallowed tradition +virtually the wards of their patriarchal princes, sharing with these +protectors a high degree of jealous regard for state sovereignty and of +instinctive opposition towards any and all attempts to secure popular +restraint of the sovereign's will and national unification, that should +demand subordination of the single state to the central government. All +early attempts to awaken popular interest in social and political reform +had fallen flat, because of this helpless ignorance and indifference of +public opinion. But the drastic official measures against early +agitators proved to be a challenge to further activity in the direction +of progress. + +[Illustration: KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW] + +The July revolution of 1830 in Paris added fuel to the flame of this +agitation in Germany and intensified the interest of still wider masses +in the question of large nationality and popular control. Then came, on +the twenty-seventh of May, 1832, the German revolutionary speeches of +the Hambach celebration, and, on April third, 1833, the Frankfurt riot, +with its attempt to take the Confederate Council by surprise and to +proclaim the unification of Germany. The resulting persecution of Fritz +Reuter, the tragedy of Friedrich Ludwig Weidig, the simultaneous +withdrawal or curtailment of the freedom of the press and the right of +holding public meetings were most eloquent advocates with the public +mind for a sturdy opposition to the conservatism of princes and +officials. + +No wonder, then, that thinking men, like Heine and Gutzkow, were fairly +forced by circumstances into playing the game. No wonder that their +tales, novels, and dramas became in many cases editorials to stimulate +and guide public thought and feeling in one direction or another. This +swirl of agitation put a premium upon a sort of rapid-fire work and +journalistic tone, quite incompatible with the highest type of artistic +performance. While the Young Germans were all politically liberal and +opposed to the Confederate Council and to the Metternich program, they +were in many ways more cosmopolitan than national in temper. + +The foregoing may serve to show the only substantial ground for the +charge of didacticism, frequently lodged by their critics against the +writers of the school. For it is beside the mark to speak of their +opposition to romanticism as a ground for the charge in question. They +were all, to be sure, anti-Romanticists. They declined to view life +through roseate-hued spectacles or to escape the world of everyday +reality by fairy-tale flights into the world of the imagination. They +called upon men to discover by clear-eyed vision not only the beauties +but also the defects of contemporary social existence. They would employ +literature, not as an opiate to make us forget such defects, but as a +stimulant to make us remedy them. Hence their repeated exhortations to +use the senses and to trust them as furnishing the best kind of raw +material for legitimate art. Hence also their protests against the +bloodless abstractions of the Nazarene school of painting and to +transcendental idealism in art and literature. They cultivated art, not +for its own sake, but for the sake of a fuller, saner, and freer human +life. In this sense they were didactic; but they were no more didactic +than the Romanticists and the Pseudo-Classicists who had preceded them. +In their earnest contention for an organic connection between German +life and German art and literature they were hewing more closely to the +line of nature and truth than any other Germans since the time of +Herder. + +They are usually spoken of as free-thinkers and frequently as +anti-religious in temper and conviction. The charge of irreligion seems +based upon the misconception or the misrepresentation of their orthodox +critics. It is, at any rate, undeserved, as far as Gutzkow, the leader +of the school, is concerned. It is true that they were liberal in the +matter of religious and philosophical thought. They were also skeptical +as to the sincerity and usefulness of many current practises and +institutions of the Catholic and Protestant branches of the church; +their wit, irony, and satire were directed, however, not against +religion, but against the obnoxious externals of ecclesiasticism. This +attack was provoked by the obvious fact that the reaction employed the +institutional state church as a weapon with which to combat the rising +tide of popular discontent with existing social and political forms and +functions. This was especially true after the accession to the throne of +Prussia of that romantic and reactionary prince, Frederick William IV., +in 1840. + +Critics have ascribed the negative, disintegrating, and cosmopolitan +spirit of the group as a whole to the fact that Börne and Heine were +Jews. In addition, however, to the abundant non-racial grounds for this +spirit, already urged as inherent in the historic crisis under +discussion, we should recall the fact that Heine, as a literary +producer, is more closely allied with the Romanticists than with Young +Germany, and that Börne, who in his celebrated _Letters from Paris_ +(1830-34) and elsewhere went farther than all other members of the +school in transforming art criticism into political criticism, was no +cosmopolitan but an ardent, sincere, and consistent German patriot. +Moreover, while Börne and Heine belong through sympathy and deliberate +choice to Young Germany, the real spokesmen of the group, Wienbarg, +Laube, Mundt, and Gutzkow, were non-Jewish Germans. + +Among the external facts of Gutzkow's life, worth remembering in this +connection, are the following: His birth on the seventeenth of March, +1811, as the son of humble parents; his precocious development in school +and at the University of Berlin; his deep interest in the revolution of +1830 in Paris; his student experiments in journalism and the resulting +association with the narrow-minded patriot, Wolfgang Menzel; his +doctorate in Jena and subsequent study of books and men in Heidelberg, +Munich, Leipzig, Berlin, and Hamburg; his association with Heine, Laube, +Mundt, and Wienbarg and his journey with Laube through Austria and Italy +in 1533; his breach with Menzel at the instance of Laube in the same +year; his publication in 1835 of the crude sketch of an emancipation +novel, _Wally the Skeptic_, compounded of suggestions from Lessing's Dr. +Reimarus, from Saint Simonism, and from the sentimental tragedy of +Charlotte Stieglitz in real life; Menzel's revengeful denunciation of +this colorless and tedious novel, as an "outrageous attack upon ethics +and the Christian religion"; the resulting verdict of the Mannheim +municipal court, punishing Gutzkow by one month's imprisonment, with no +allowance for a still longer detention during his trial; the official +proscription of all "present and future writings" by Gutzkow, Wienbarg, +Laube, Mundt, and Heine; Gutzkow's continued energetic championship of +the new literary movement and editorial direction of the Frankfurt +_Telegraph_, from 1835 to 1837, under the very eyes of the Confederate +Council; his removal in 1837 to Hamburg and his gradual transformation +there from a short story writer and journalist into a successful +dramatist; his series of eleven plays, produced within the space of +fifteen years, from 1839 to 1854; the success of his tragedy, _Uriel +Acosta_, in 1846, and the resulting appointment of the author in the +same year as playwright and critic at the Royal Theatre in Dresden; his +temperate participation in the popular movement of 1848 and consequent +loss of the Dresden position; the death of his wife, Amalia, in the +same-year after an estrangement of seven years, due to his own +infatuation for Therese von Bacharacht; his happy marriage in 1849 with +Bertha Meidinger, a cousin of his first wife; the publication in 1850-51 +of his first great novel of contemporary German life, entitled, +_Spiritual Knighthood_; his continuous editorial work upon the journal, +_Fireside Conversations_, from 1849 until the appearance of his other +great contemporary novel, _The Magician of Rome_, 1858-61; his attack of +insanity under the strain of ill health in 1865 and unsuccessful attempt +at suicide; and, finally, his rapidly declining health and frequent +change of residence from Berlin to Italy, thence to Heidelberg, and from +there to Sachsenhausen, near Frankfurt-on-the-Main, and his tragic death +there, either intentional or accidental, in the night of December +fifteenth, 1878, when under the influence of chloral he upset the +candle, by the light of which he had been reading, and perished in the +stifling fumes of the burning room. + +This bare outline recalls the personality and career of the best single +embodiment of the spirit of Young Germany. His humble birth, unusual +grasp of intellect, and ambition to secure an adequate education brought +him into early touch with alert representatives of the educated middle +classes, who were the keenest and most consistent critics of the +political, social, and ecclesiastical reaction which gripped German life +at that time. Menzel's student connection with the Jena +_Burschenschaft_, his early published protest against the emptiness of +recent German literature, and his polemic, entitled _German Literature_, +and aimed at the imitators of Goethe and at Goethe's own lack of +interest in German unification, attracted young Gutzkow, who had also +been a member of the _Burschenschaft_, and prompted him to write and +publish in his student paper a defense of Menzel against his critics. +This led Menzel to invite Gutzkow to Stuttgart and to propose a +coöperation which could be but short-lived; for Menzel was timid and +vacillating, whereas Gutzkow was sincere, courageous, and consistent. +This steadfastness and singleness of purpose, combined with a remarkable +power to appreciate, adopt, and express the leading thoughts and +aspirations of his own time, make Gutzkow the most efficient leader of +the whole group. Heine was, as already noted, too much of a Romanticist +to be a thorough-going Young German. Besides, he lacked the sincerity +and the enthusiastic conviction which dedicated practically every work +of Karl Gutzkow to the task of restoring the proper balance between +German literature and German life. Gutzkow felt that literature had, in +the hands of the Romanticists, abandoned life to gain a fool's paradise. +After a brief apprenticeship to Jean Paul and to the romantic ideal, +never whole-hearted, because of the disintegrating influence of his +simultaneous acquaintance with Börne and Heine, Gutzkow utterly +renounced the earlier movement and became the champion of a definite +reform. He aimed henceforth to enrich German literature by abundant +contact with the large, new thoughts of modern life in its relation to +the individual and to the community. He was no less sincere in his +determination to make literature introduce the German people to a +larger, richer, freer, and truer human life for the individual and for +the state. In his eyes statecraft, religion, philosophy, science, and +industry teemed with raw material of surpassing interest and importance +for the literary artist. He accordingly set himself the task in one way +and another to make his own generation share this conviction. It is +quite true that he was not the man to transform with his own hands this +raw material into works of art of consummate beauty and perfection. He was +conscious of his own artistic limitations and would have confessed them in +the best years of his life with the frankness of a Lessing in similar +circumstances. We may agree that he lacked the skill of many greater +poets than he, to compress into artistic shape, with due regard for line, +color, movement, and atmosphere of the original, the material of his +observation. Yet we still have to explain the fact that he wrote novels +and dramas pulsating with the life of his own contemporaries--works that +claimed the attention and touched the heart of thousands of readers and +theatre-goers and inspired many better artists than he to treat themes +drawn from the public and private life of the day. + +It would take us too far afield to trace in detail the nature and +sources of Gutzkow's writings, by which he accomplished this important +result. A few suggestions, together with a reminder of his great +indebtedness to the simultaneous efforts of other Young Germans, notably +those of Laube and Wienbarg, must suffice. Practically all of his +earlier writings, like the short story, _The Sadducee of Amsterdam_ +(1833), as well as the essays entitled _Public Characters_ (1835), _On +the Philosophy of History_ (1836), and _Contemporaries_ (1837), are +evidence of the intense interest of the author in the social, +philosophical, and political leaders of the time. They are preliminary +studies, to be used by him presently in his work as a dramatist. + +In his two powerful novels, _Spiritual Knighthood_ (1850-51) and _The +Magician of Rome_ (1858-61), he states and discusses with great boldness +and skill those problems of the relation between Church and +State--between religion and citizenship--that confronted the thoughtful +men of the day. + +The backbone of each of his numerous serious plays is some conflict, +reflecting directly or indirectly the prejudices, antagonisms, +shortcomings, and struggles of modern German social, religious, and +civic life. _King Saul_ (1839) embodies, for instance, the conflict +between ecclesiastical and temporal authority--between the authority of +the church and the claims of the thinker and the poet; _Richard Savage_ +(1839) that between the pride of noble birth and the promptings of the +mother's heart; _Werner_ (1840), _A White Leaf_ (1842), and _Ottfried_ +(1848), variations of the conflict between a man's duty and his +vacillating, simultaneous love of two women; _Patkul_ (1840), the +conflict between the hero's championship of truth and justice and the +triumphant inertia of authority in the hands of a weak prince; _Uriel +Acosta_ (1846), the best of the author's serious plays, embodies the +tragic conflict between the hero's conviction of truth and his love for +his mother and for his intended wife. + +Gutzkow wrote three comedies which in point of continued popularity have +outlived all his other numerous contributions to the German stage: +_Sword and Queue_ (1843), _The Prototype of Tartuffe_ (1844), and _The +Royal Lieutenant_ (1849). The second of the three has the best motivated +plot; the first and third have, by virtue of their national substance, +their witty dialogue, and their droll humor, proved dearer to the heart +of the German people. In _The Prototype of Tartuffe_ we are shown +President La Roquette at the court of Louis XIV., obliged at last, in +spite of his long continued successful efforts to suppress the play, to +witness his own public unmasking in the person of Molière's _Tartuffe_, +of whom he is the sneaking, hypocritical original. We hear him in anger +declare his readiness to join the Jesuits and we join in the laugh at +his discomfiture. The scene of _The Royal Lieutenant_, written to +celebrate the hundredth recurrence of Goethe's birthday, is laid in the +Seven Years' War in the house of Goethe's father in Frankfurt. The +Riccaut-like figure of the Royal Lieutenant himself, Count Thorane, and +his outlandish attempts to speak German, the clever portraits of the +dignified father and the cheerful mother, and the unhistorical sketch of +little Wolfgang, with his pleased and precocious anticipation of his +future laurels, are woven by means of witty dialogue into an amusing, +though not very coherent or logical whole. In Gutzkow's _Sword and +Queue_ an entertaining situation at the court of Frederick William I. of +Prussia is developed by a very free use of the facts of history, after +the manner of the comedy of Scribe. With rare skill the different +characters of the play are sketched and shown upon a background, which +corresponds closely enough to historic fact to produce the illusion of +reality. The comedy pilots the Crown Prince's friend, the Prince of +Baireuth, through a maze of intrigue, including Prussian ambition to +secure an alliance with England by the marriage of the Princess +Wilhelmine to the Prince of Wales; a diplomatic blocking of this plan, +with the help of the English Ambassador Hotham; the changed front of the +old King, who prefers a union of his daughter with an Austrian Archduke +to the hard terms of the proposed English treaty; Hotham's proposal to +the King to bring him a promising recruit for the corps of Royal +Grenadiers; the evening of the Tobacco Parliament, in which the Prince +of Baireuth feigns tipsiness and in a mocking funeral oration, in honor +of the old King, tells the pseudo-deceased some bitter truths,--to a +final scene, in which, as Hotham's proposed grenadier recruit with Queue +and Sword, he wins not only the cordial approval of the King but also +the heart and hand of Wilhelmine. + +Karl Gutzkow's life-work was a struggle for freedom and truth. We +recognize in the web of his serious argument familiarity with the best +thought of the poets, theologians, and philosophers of his own day and +of the eighteenth century. In religion a pantheist, he believed in the +immortality of the soul, had unshaken confidence in the tendency of the +world that "makes for righteousness," and recommends the ideal of "truth +and justice" as the best central thought to guide each man's whole life. +He shares in an eminent degree, with other members of the group known as +Young Germany, a significance for the subsequent development of German +literature, far transcending the artistic value of his works. People are +just beginning to perceive his genetic importance for the student of +Ibsen, Nietzsche, and the recent naturalistic movement in European +letters. + + * * * * * + + + +KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW + +SWORD AND QUEUE (1843) + +TRANSLATED BY GRACE ISABEL COLBRON + +PREFACE OF THE AUTHOR + + +The essence of the comic is self-contradiction, contrast. Even +professional estheticians must acknowledge that by the very nature of +its origin the following comedy answers this definition. + +A king lacking the customary attributes of his station; a royal court +governed by the rules that regulate any simple middle-class +household--surely here is a contradiction sufficient in itself to +attract the Comic Muse. And it was indeed only when the author was well +along in his work that he felt any inclination to introduce a few +political allusions with what is called a "definite purpose," into a +work inspired by the principles of pure comedy. + +Ever since the example set by those great Greeks, Æschylus and +Aristophanes, the stage has claimed the right to deal with extremes. He +who, sinning and laden with the burden of human guilt, has once fallen a +victim to the Eumenides, cannot, as a figure in a drama, go off on +pleasure trips, nor can he go about the usual business of daily life. +Fate seizes him red-handed, causes him to see blood in every glass of +champagne and to read his warrant of arrest on every chance scrap of +paper. And the Comic Muse is even less indulgent. When Aristophanes +would mock the creations of Euripides, which are meant to move the +public by their declining fortunes, he at once turns the tragedian into +a rag-picker. + +Comedy may, tragedy must, exaggerate. The exaggerations in _Sword and +Queue_ brought forth many a contemptuous grimace from the higher-priced +seats in the Court Theatres. But it needs only a perusal of the _Memoirs +of the Markgravine of Baireuth, Princess of Prussia_, to give the +grotesque picture a certificate of historical veracity. Not only the +character-drawing, but the very plot, is founded on those Memoirs, +written in a less sophisticated age than our own, and the authenticity +of which is undisputed. + +In the case of Seckendorf, the technical, or, I might say, the symphonic +composition of the play, which allots the parts as arbitrarily as in the +_Midsummer Night's Dream_ does Peter Quince, who says to highly +respectable people: "You play the Lion, and you play the Ass," +necessitates making a victim of a man who was a mediocre diplomat, but +for a time, at least, a fairly good soldier. The author feels no +compunction on this score. Stupidity, as Comus artlessly thinks, is not +wickedness; the Lion or the Ass--each is necessary to different moments +in the play. A Brandenburg-Prussian comedy of 1733 can, _a priori_, +hardly fail to be "unjust" to an Imperial Ambassador of that epoch. Such +injustice belongs to the native wantonness of the Comic Muse. In plays +of a specifically Austrian character, Prussia, and especially the people +of Berlin, have suffered the same necessary injustice of comedy. +Fortunately, according to Chevalier Lang and other more reliable +authorities, this particular Seckendorf was both vain and tyrannous. His +hatred for Frederick II. and his eternal "combinations" went to such +lengths that, during the first Silesian war, he offered the Austrian +Court a detailed plan by which the "Land-hungry conqueror" might be +personally rendered innocuous. (See Arneth, _Maria Theresa_, Vol. I). + +However, Puck's manner of writing history may be softened a little. It +is not necessary for the actor to present Seckendorf as an imbecile. +Actors have the unfortunate habit of taking the whole hand when a finger +is offered. In truth I have seen but a very few performances of my play +in which Frederick William I. still retained, beneath his attitude of +stern father, some share of royal dignity; in which Eversmann, despite +his confident impudence, still held his tongue like a trembling lackey; +in which the Hereditary Prince, despite his desire to find everything in +the Castle ridiculous, still maintained a reserve sufficient to save him +from being expelled from Berlin for his impertinent criticisms--or where +the Princess was still proud and witty beneath her girlish simplicity. +And still rarer is it to see a Seckendorf who, in spite of his clumsy +"combinations," did not quite sink to the level of the Marshal von Kalb. +At this point a dramaturgic hint might not come amiss. In cases where +there is danger of degrading the part, the stage manager should take +care to intrust such rôles to the very actors who at first thought might +seem least suited for them--those whose personalities will compel them +to raise the part to a higher level. The buffoon and sometimes even the +finer comedian cannot free Shakespeare from the reproach of having given +two kings of Denmark a clown as Prime Minister. It is very much less +necessary that the audience should laugh at Polonius' quips than that +the quips should in no wise impair his position as courtier, as royal +adviser, as father of two excellent children, and, at the last, as a man +who met death with tragic dignity. In such a case a wise manager +intrusts the comic part to an actor who--is not comic. + +The following play was written in the spring of 1843. Some of our +readers may chance to know the little garden of the Hôtel Reichmann in +Milan. In a room which opens out into the oleander bushes, the trickling +fountains, and the sandstone cupids of that garden, the first four acts +ripened during four weeks of work. The fifth act followed on the shores +of Lake Como. + +Amid surroundings which, by their beauty, bring to mind only the laws +of the ideal, to hold fast to those burlesque memories from the +history of the sandy Mark Brandenburg was, one may feel sure, possible +only to a mind which turned in love to its Prussian home, however +"treasonable" its other opinions. And yet the romanticism of San +Souci, as well as the estheticism of the Berlin Board of Censors, has +at all times persecuted the play, now forbidding it, again permitting +an occasional performance, and again prohibiting it even after 1848. +When the aged and revered Genast from Weimar had played the king a +dozen times in the Friedrich-Wilhelmstädtisches Theater, Hinckeldey's +messengers brought the announcement that the presentation of the piece +met with disfavor in high places. Frederick William IV. did everything +possible to hamper and curtail the author's ambitions. But to give +truth its due, I will not neglect to mention that this last prohibition +was softened by assigning as its motion the allusion made in the play to +that legend of the Berlin Castle, "The White Lady," who is supposed to +bring a presage of death to the Prussian royal family. + +The Dresden Court Theatre was formerly a model of impartiality. And +above all, Emil Devrient's energetic partisanship for the newer dramatic +literature was a great assistance to authors in cases of this kind. This +play, like many another, owes to his artistic zeal its introduction to +those high-class theatres where alone a German dramatist finds his best +encouragement and advance. Unfortunately, the war of 1866 again banished +_Sword and Queue_ from the Vienna Burgtheater, where it had won a place +for itself. + + * * * * * + + +SWORD AND QUEUE + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + FREDERICK WILLIAM I., _King Of + Prussia, father of Frederick the + Great._ + + THE QUEEN, _his wife._ + + PRINCESS WILHELMINE, _their daughter_. + + THE PRINCE HEREDITARY OF BAIREUTH + + GENERAL VON GRUMBKOW } + COUNT SCHWERIN } _Councilors and Confidants of the King._ + COUNT WARTENSLEBEN } + + COUNT SECKENDORF, _Imperial Ambassador_ + + BARONET HOTHAM, _Envoy of Great Britain_ + + FRAU VON VIERECK + + FRAU VON HOLZENDORF + + _The Queen's Ladies_. + + FRAÜLEIN VON SONNSFELD, _Lady-in-waiting to the Princess._ + + EVERSMANN, _the King's valet_. + + KAMKE, _in the Queen's service_. + + ECKHOF, _a grenadier_. + + _A Lackey in the King's service. Generals, Officers, Court Ladies. + Members of the Smoking-Circle. Grenadiers, Lackeys_. + + _Scene of action: The Royal Castle of Berlin_. + + _First performance, January 1st, 1844, in the Court Theatre in Dresden_. + +[Illustration: THE POTSDAM GUARD ADOLPH VON MENZEL] + + + +SWORD AND QUEUE + + + +ACT I + + + +SCENE I + + +_A room in the Palace. One window and four doors. A table and two +armchairs on the left of the room._ + +EVERSMANN, _taking snuff comfortably. Two Drummers of the Guard._ + +_Later_ FRAÜLEIN VON SONNSFELD. + +_The drummers take up a position near the door to the left, leading to +the apartments of the_ PRINCESS, _and execute a roll of the drums_. + +FRAÜLEIN VON SONNSFELD (_opens the door and looks in_). + +That will do. + +[_The drummers play a second roll_.] + +SONNSFELD (_looks in again_). + +Yes, yes. We heard it. + +[EVERSMANN _gives the sign again and the drummers play a third long +roll_.] + +SONNSFELD (_comes out angrily, speaks when the noise has subsided_). + +This is unendurable! It is enough to ruin one's nerves--left +wheel--march--out with you to the parade ground where you be long! [_The +drummers march out still playing. When the noise can no longer be heard +she continues_.] Eversmann, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You +should remind the King of the respect due to ladies. + +EVERSMANN. + +I obey my royal master's orders, ma'am. And inasmuch as late rising is a +favorite vice of the youth of today, it has been ordered that the +reveille be played at six o'clock every morning before the doors of the +royal Princes and Princesses. + +SONNSFELD. + +Princess Wilhelmine is no longer a child. + +EVERSMANN. + +Her morning dreams are all the sweeter for that reason. + +SONNSFELD. + +Dreams of our final release--of despair--of death-- + +EVERSMANN. + +Or possibly dreams of marriage--and the like-- + +SONNSFELD. + +Have a care, Eversmann! The Crown Prince has won his freedom at last; he +is keeping a most exact record of all that happens in Berlin and in the +immediate environment of his severe father. It is well known that you +influence the King more than do his ministers. + +EVERSMANN. + +If the poetic fancy of our Crown Prince, who, by the way, is my devoted +young friend Fritz, cannot see the truth more clearly than that, then I +have little respect for the imaginative power of poets. I--and +influence? I twist His Majesty's stately pigtail every morning, clip his +fine manly beard, fill his cozy little Dutch pipe for him each +evening--and if in the course of these innocent employments His Most +Sacred Majesty lets fall a hint, a remark--a little command +possibly--why--naturally-- + +SONNSFELD. + +You pick them up and weave them into a "nice innocent little influence" +for yourself. Eh? An influence that has already earned you three city +houses, five estates, and a carriage-and-four. Have a care that the +Crown Prince does not auction off all these objects under the +gallows-tree some fine day. + +EVERSMANN. + +Oh, but your Ladyship must have slept badly. Pray spare me +these--predictions and prophesyings, which are made up of whole cloth. +His Royal Highness the Crown Prince is far too much, of a philosopher to +take such revenge on a man who has no more dealings with His Majesty +than to fill his pipe each evening, to braid his pigtail each morning, +and to shave him in the good old German fashion every second day. Have I +made my meaning clear? + +[_He goes out._] + +SONNSFELD. + +Go your way, you old sinner! You may pretend to be ever so honest and +simple--we know you and your like. Oh, what a life we lead here in this +Court! Cannons thunder in the garden under our windows every morning or +else they send up a company of soldiers to accustom us to early rising. +After the morning prayer the Princess knits, sews, presses her linen, +studies her catechism, and, alas! is forced to listen to a stupid sermon +every day. At dinner, we get very little to eat; then the King takes his +afternoon nap. He's forever quarreling with the Queen, they have +scarcely a good word to say to each other, and yet the entire family are +expected to look on at His Majesty's melodious snore-concert, and even +to brush away the flies from the face of the sleeping Father of his +country. If my Princess did not possess so much natural wit and spirit, +the sweet creature would be quite crushed by such a life. If the King +only knew that she is learning French secretly, and can almost write a +polite little note already--! I hear her coming. + + +SCENE II + + +PRINCESS WILHELMINE _comes in, carrying a letter_. + +WILHELMINE (_timidly_). + +Can any one hear us? + +SONNSFELD. + +Not unless the walls have ears. Is the letter written? + +WILHELMINE. + +I hardly dare send it, dear Sonnsfeld. I know there are a hundred +mistakes in it. + +SONNSFELD. + +A hundred? Then the letter must be much longer than Your Highness first +planned it. + +WILHELMINE. + +I wrote that I fully appreciate the value of the services offered me, +but that my position forces me to refuse any aid to my education which +cannot be attained at least by the help of my mother, the Queen. + +SONNSFELD. + +Is that what you have written? And made a hundred mistakes? In that case +we are just where we were before. I appreciate that an eighteen-year-old +Princess has to consider history, posterity and so forth--but this +conscientiousness will be your ruin. The King will continue to make a +slave of you, the Queen to treat you as a child. You are the victim of +the conflict between two characters who both perhaps desire what is best +for you, but who are so totally different that you will never know whom +or which one to please. The Crown Prince has made himself free--and how +did he do it? Only by courage and independence. He tore himself loose +from the oppressive bondage imposed on him by the caprice of others, and +won the means to complete his education. And now he sends to you from +Rheinsberg his friend, the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth, to be a +support and protection to you and to the Queen--so that here in this +Court where they drum, trumpet, and parade all day long, you may not +finally, in your despair, seize a musket yourself and join the Potsdam +Guards! + +WILHELMINE. + +You have a sense of humor, my dear Sonnsfeld. It is all well enough for +my brother to make plans and send out emissaries, when he is safe in +Rheinsberg. He knows that the path to the freedom he has won led past +the very foot of the scaffold. I am of the sex whose duty it is to be +patient. My father is so good at heart, gentler possibly, in his true +self, than is my mother. She indeed, absorbed in her political +ambitions, often turns from me with a harshness that accords ill with +mother-love. It is my fate to endure this life. Ask yourself, dear +friend, how could I trust to a chance adventurous stranger whom my +brother sends to me from out of his wild, artistic circle in +Rheinsberg--sends to me to be my knight and paladin? Such a thought +could have been conceived only in the brains of that group of poets. +I'll confess to you in secret that I should greatly enjoy being in the +midst of the Rheinsberg merriment, disguised of course. But I'm in +Berlin--not in Rheinsberg, and so I have gathered up my meagre scraps of +French and thanked the Prince of Baireuth for his offer in a manner +which is far more a refusal than an acceptance. + +[_Hands_ SONNSFELD _the letter_.] + +SONNSFELD. + +And I am to dispatch this letter? [_With droll pathos_.] No, Your +Highness, I cannot have anything to do with this forbidden +correspondence. + +WILHELMINE. + +No joking please, Sonnsfeld. It was the only answer I could possibly +send to the Prince's tender epistle. + +SONNSFELD. + +Impossible!--To become an accomplice to a forbidden correspondence in +this Court might cost one's life. + +WILHELMINE. + +You will make me angry!--here, dispatch this letter, and quickly. + +SONNSFELD. + +No, Princess. But I know a better means, an absolutely sure means of +dispatching the letter to its destination, and that is--[_She glances +toward a door in the background_] deliver it yourself. + +[_She slips out of a side door_.] + + +SCENE III + + +_The_ PRINCE HEREDITARY OF BAIREUTH, _dressed in the French taste of the +period, as different as possible from the king's favorite garb, comes in +cautiously._ + +WILHELMINE (_aside_). + +The Prince of Baireuth! + +THE PRINCE (_aside_). + +Her very picture! It is the Princess! [_Aloud_.] I crave Your Highness' +pardon that my impatience to deliver the greeting of Your Royal brother +the Crown Prince in person-- + +WILHELMINE. + +The Prince of Baireuth places me in no slight embarrassment by this +early visit. + +PRINCE. + +The visit was not paid to you, Princess, but to this noble and venerable +castle, these stairways, these galleries, these winding corridors--it +was a visit of recognizance, Your Highness, such as must precede any +important undertaking. + +WILHELMINE. + +Then you are preparing to do battle here? + +PRINCE. + +My intentions are not altogether peaceful, and yet, as Princess +Wilhelmine doubtless knows, I am compelled to confine myself to a policy +of defense solely. + +WILHELMINE. + +And even in this you cannot exercise too much care. [_Aside_.] The +letter is no longer necessary. [_Aloud_.] How did you leave my brother? +In good health? And thoroughly occupied? + +PRINCE. + +The Crown Prince leads a life of the gayest diversity in his exile. He +has made of Rheinsberg a veritable little Court of the Muses, devoted +now to serious study, now to poetic recreation. We have enjoyed +unforgettably beautiful hours there; one would hardly believe that so +much imagination could be developed and encouraged on the borders of +Mecklenburg! We paint, we build, we model, we write. The regiment which +is under the immediate command of our talented Prince serves merely to +carry out, by military evolutions, the strategic descriptions of +Polybius. In short, I should deeply regret leaving so delightful a spot +had it not been for the flattering and important task intrusted to me. +Princess, the Crown Prince desires full and true information, obtained +at the source, as to the situation of his sister, his mother, here, that +he may, if necessary, advise how this situation be improved, how any +difficulties may be met. + +WILHELMINE. + +If it became known that I am granting an audience, here in this public +hall, to a Prince who has not yet been presented either to my father or +to my mother--I could prepare myself for several weeks in Fortress +Küstrin. + +[_She bows and turns as if to go_.] + +PRINCE. + +Princess! Then it is really true--that which is whispered, with horror, +at every court in Europe? It is true that the King of Prussia tyrannizes +not only his court, his entire environment, but his own family as well? + +WILHELMINE. + +Prince, you employ too harsh an expression for what I would rather term +merely our own peculiar ceremonial. In Versailles they glide as on +butterfly wings over the polished floors. Here we tread the earth with +ringing spurs. In Versailles the Royal Family consider themselves but as +a merry company, recognizing no ties as sacred save those of +congeniality, no bond but that of--unfettered inclination. Here the +Court is merely one big middle-class family, where a prayer is said +before meat, where the parents must always be the first to speak, where +strictest obedience must, if necessary, tolerate even absurdities; where +one quarrels, out of one's mutual affection, sometimes--where we even +torture one another and make life harder for one another--all out of +love-- + +PRINCE. + +Princess, I swear to you--this must be changed. + +WILHELMINE. + +And how, pray? + +PRINCE. + +The Crown Prince asked me to employ all conceivable means to free you +from this barbarism. I am at your service entirely--command me. His +first thought was for your mental needs. How is it with your knowledge +of French? + +WILHELMINE. + +The King detests all things foreign, and most of all does he detest +France, her literature, her language. + +PRINCE. + +The Crown Prince is aware of that. He sends you therefore, as a +beginning, a member of his Rheinsberg circle, a talkative but very +learned little man, a Frenchman, Laharpe by name-- + +WILHELMINE. + +All instructors of the French language have been banished from Berlin by +strictest order. + +PRINCE. + +Laharpe will come to you without his identity becoming known. + +WILHELMINE. + +That is impossible. No one dare approach me who cannot first satisfy the +questioning of the Castle Guard. + +PRINCE. + +Cannot Laharpe instruct you in the apartments of your, Lady-in-waiting, +Fraülein von Sonnsfeld? WILHELMINE. Impossible. + +PRINCE. + +In the Queen's rooms, then. + +WILHELMINE. + +Impossible. + +THE PRINCE. + +By Heaven! Do they never leave you alone for one hour? + +WILHELMINE. + +Oh yes, two hours every Sunday--in church. + +PRINCE. + +But this is appalling! Why, in Versailles every Princess has her own +establishment when she is but ten years old--and even her very dolls +have their ladies-in-waiting! + +WILHELMINE. + +The only place which I may visit occasionally, and remain in +unaccompanied, are those rooms over there, in the lower story of the +palace. + +PRINCE. + +The King's private library, no doubt? + +WILHELMINE. + +No. + +PRINCE. + +A gallery of family portraits? + +WILHELMINE. + +Do you see the smoke issuing from the open window? + +PRINCE. + +That is--oh, it cannot be--the kitchen? + +WILHELMINE. + +Not exactly--but hardly much better. It is, I have the honor to inform +you, the Royal Prussian Laundry. Yes, Prince, the sister of the Prussian +Crown Prince is permitted to remain in that room for an hour or two if +she will, to look on at the washing, the starching, the ironing, the +sorting-out of body and house linen-- + +PRINCE. + +This--for a Princess? + +WILHELMINE. + +Do you see the little window with the flower pots and the bird in a tiny +cage? The wife of our silver-cleaner lives there, and occasionally, when +the poor daughter of a King is supposed to be busied, like any +serving-maid, among the steaming pots and boilers, this same poor +Princess slips in secretly to the good woman's little room. Ah! there, +behind those flower-pots, I can laugh freely and merrily--there I can +let the little linnet feed from my hand, and I can say to myself that +with all my troubles, with all my sorrows, I am still happier than the +poor little singer in his cage. For he will never regain his freedom no +matter how sweetly he may sing ... in all the tongues of earth. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +She is charming. [_Aloud_.] And Laharpe? + +WILHELMINE. + +If I must dare it--send the learned gentleman to me down there, Prince. +In that little room I will obey my brother's command to perfect my +French style. Among many other things I should really like to learn to +say, in most elegant and modern French, these words: "Yes I _will_ dare +to begin a new life. Remain my brother's friend--and my protector!" But +for the moment--goodby. + +[_She hurries out_.] + + +SCENE IV + + +PRINCE (_alone_). + +Where am I? Was that a scene from the Arabian Nights? Or am I really on +the banks of that homely river Spree which flows into the Havel? Of a +truth this Prussian Court with its queer pigtails and gaiters is more +romantic than I had thought. Laharpe down there behind the flower-pots! +Laharpe tête-à-tête with a Princess who visits the kitchen and with a +linnet which--happy bird--is privileged to bite her fingers. How +beautiful she is--much fairer than the miniature Frederick wears next +his heart! And yet I had fallen in love with this miniature. [_Looks +about him_.] There is a spell that seems to hold me in these rooms, +through which she glides like the Genius of the bower. [_Goes to the +window_.] Down there in the square, the bayonets of the parading troops +flash in the sunlight--and that door over yonder leads to the apartments +of a Princess whose possession would mean the highest bliss earth can +afford. And there--whither leads that door through which the kind +guardian of this paradise disappeared? + +[_He turns toward the second door at the back, to his right._] + +SONNSFELD (_comes in quickly, excitedly_). + +Away Prince--away, the Queen is approaching. + +PRINCE. + +The Queen? Where shall I go? + +SONNSFELD. + +Into that room over there--you may find some way out--no one must see +you here. + +[_She pushes him to an opposite side-door_.] + +PRINCE. + +My knowledge of the territory is growing rapidly. [_He goes out_.] + + +SCENE V + + +_The_ QUEEN _comes in, followed by two ladies-in-waiting. She motions +them to leave her. They go out. The_ QUEEN _sinks into a chair_. + +QUEEN. + +Has my daughter risen? I worked so late into the night that I am still +quite fatigued. These wretched politics! Have you seen Kamke? + +SONNSFELD. + +Your Majesty's lackey? No, Your Majesty. + +QUEEN. + +He's been gone so long. I sent him to the Prince of Baireuth. + +PRINCE (_peeping out from the door, aside_). + +To me? + +QUEEN. + +If I may judge by the letters the Prince brings me from my son, he +himself will one day be one of the best sovereigns of our century. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +The field is all in my favor. + +QUEEN. + +My son, who judges men so keenly, assures me that I may trust this +Prince completely. And I need some one of force and character to aid +me; I need such a one now more than ever. + +SONNSFELD (_alarmed_). + +Is there--is there anything new in the air, Your Majesty? + +QUEEN. + +I shall need to display all my strength, all my will-power. I shall have +need of it to uphold the dignity of a monarchy whose natural head +appears to forget more and more that Prussia has recently joined the +ranks of the Great Powers of Europe. + +SONNSFELD. + +Your Majesty--is laying plots? + +QUEEN. + +I am consumed with curiosity to make the acquaintance of this Prince +whom my son considers worthy of his friendship. [SONNSFELD _motions to +the Prince_.] As soon as he arrives, dear Sonnsfeld-- + +SONNSFELD (_pointing to the PRINCE, who comes in_). + +Kamke has just shown him in. Here he is, Your Majesty. + +QUEEN (_rising_). + +This is a surprise, Prince. I did not hear you enter. + +PRINCE. + +Your Majesty was so deeply absorbed in thought-- + +QUEEN (_aside_). + +He has a pleasing exterior and intelligent eyes. [_Aloud_.] Did my +messenger-- + +PRINCE. + +The good fellow met me just as I was about to leave my hotel. He gave me +Your Majesty's gracious command. + +QUEEN. Prince--[_She sits down, motioning him to do the same_.] + +My heartiest thanks for the letters from my worthy son. One sentence, +which I reread many times, permits me to assume that he has informed you +of a certain matter, a certain plan of mine-- + +PRINCE. + +Certainly, Your Majesty. [_Aside_.] I haven't heard a word about it. + +QUEEN. + +It makes me very happy to know that in this matter, as indeed in most +things, my son and I are so completely in accord. Then you, also, think +as we do on this subject? + +PRINCE. + +Undoubtedly--undoubtedly, Your Majesty. [_Aside_.] If I only knew _what_ +subject! + +QUEEN. + +My son writes me that I may rely entirely on your sympathy in this +affair. + +PRINCE. + +He did not exaggerate, Your Majesty. When I parted from him, his last +words, called after my moving carriage, were these: "Dear friend, my +gracious mother, the Queen, will inform you as to all further details +concerning the affair in question." + +QUEEN. + +That sounds very like him. I am quite ready to do as he says. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +The plot thickens. + +QUEEN. + +You know that the Electors of Brandenburg have but recently become Kings +of Prussia. Although a Hanoverian Princess myself, I find my happiness +in Prussia's greatness, my pride in Prussia's fame. No state has such +need to be careful in the choice of its alliances, political or +matrimonial, as our own. And hence there is no subject so interesting +and so important to our country at the moment as a certain question +which is already exciting the Cabinets of Europe, a question--the answer +to which you have doubtless already guessed. + +PRINCE. + +I think--I may say--that I understand Your Majesty entirely. [_Aside_.] +What can she mean? + +QUEEN. + +No one can call me unduly proud. But if one belongs to a family which +has recently had the honor of being chosen to fill the throne of +England--if one is the daughter of a King, the wife of a King, the +mother of a future King--you will understand that in this matter of my +daughter's future--there are weighty considerations which force me to +avoid any possible political mésalliance. + +PRINCE. + +Mésalliance? The Princess? Your daughter [_Bewildered_.] I must +confess--I was but superficially informed of all these matters. + +QUEEN. + +What I am about to tell you, Prince, under the seal of your utmost +discretion, is a secret and the result of the gravest negotiations and +plans. You know what kind of a Court this is at which I live. I am +denied the influence which should be my right as mother of my country. +The King has surrounded himself with persons who have separated him from +me. I dare not think how this company of corporals and sergeants will +receive my deeply thought-out plans. How will the King be inclined in +regard to a matter that is of such decisive importance for the happiness +of his children and the fair fame of his house? In this, Prince, you see +my need of a man of your intelligence, your insight, that I may know +what to hope--or [_firmly_] if need be--what to dare! + +PRINCE. + +I shall be most eagerly anxious to justify Your Majesty's confidence. +[_Aside_.] Good Heavens! + +QUEEN. + +Let me then inform you of a secret but completed negotiation in which +all the nearest relatives of our house have already taken part, and into +the nature of which I now initiate you, too, as my son's friend. My +daughter is to become the wife of my nephew, the Prince of Wales; she +will therefore be the future Queen of England. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Zounds! A nice rival this! + +QUEEN. + +So you see, Prince, the importance of the issue involved! Will you +consent to mediate this question--a question of such importance to all +Europe--with my husband? + +PRINCE. + +I? With the King? Mediate? Oh, of course, Your Majesty, with the +greatest pleasure! [_Aside_.] What a detestable errand! + +QUEEN. + +Very well, then you can begin at once. The King will be here shortly. +Introduce yourself to him. Use this favorable moment to draw from him an +expression of his opinion concerning the throne of England, and let me +know the result at once. + +PRINCE. + +I am still quite bewildered by this--this flattering commission. And +when may I pay my respects to Your Majesty again? + +QUEEN. + +At almost any time. But I should prefer the evening hours, when those on +whom I can rely gather around me, while the King is with those persons +whom I mentioned a short time ago. Farewell now, my dear Prince of--oh, +dear me, now my son has forgotten to write me whether it is Ansbach or +Baireuth that you inherit. It is so easy to confuse these little +principalities. Ansbach--Baireuth--Ansbach--yes, that was it. Very well, +my dear Prince of Ansbach, remember, Prussia, Hanover and England! + +[_She bows to him with proud condescension and goes out_.] + + +SCENE VI + + +PRINCE (_alone_). + +The future Queen of England! And I--the Hereditary Prince of Ansbach! +That was a cruel blow of fate. And I am to mediate these matters of +international importance! This angelic being, whom I love more madly +with every breath I draw--this exquisite sister of my dear +Frederick--is destined to become a victim of political intrigue? Oh no, +she cannot possibly love the Prince of Wales; she has never seen him. +But will they consult her inclination? Will cold considerations of +politics heed the cry of her heart?--The parade is over, the suite is +entering the castle; I dare not meet the king now in this excited mood. + +[_He looks about as if seeking some means of escape_. EVERSMANN _comes +in carrying a large book. He has a pen stuck in behind one ear. He +crosses to the door through which the_ QUEEN _has gone out_.] + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Who's this? + +[EVERSMANN _looks the_ PRINCE _over from head to foot, moves forward a +few paces, then halts again_.] + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Can any one have seen me? + +EVERSMANN (_goes to the door, halts again, looks at the_ PRINCE +_impudently_). + +PRINCE. + +Why are you looking at me, sirrah? I am the Prince Hereditary of +Baireuth. + +EVERSMANN (_is quite indifferent, comes down a few steps, bows very +slightly_). + +His Majesty is coming in from the parade, but does not grant audiences +in this room. + +PRINCE. + +I thank you for the information, my good man. + +EVERSMANN. + +Don't mention it, pray. + +PRINCE. + +And who are you? + +EVERSMANN. I? [_There is along pause_.] + +I am Eversmann. [_He goes out into the_ QUEEN's _room_.] + +PRINCE. + +Eversmann? The Minister of Finance or the Head Steward, I wonder? He +betrays parsimony in every shred of his garments. [_Drums and the sound +of presented arms is heard back_ _of the rear entrance_.] The King is +coming. The King? Why should I feel so timid, so oppressed, all of a +sudden? Does my courage fail me because I am about to confront this +curiosity of his century? I'd rather observe him from the side at first. + +[_He draws back and stands close by the door to the left_.] + + +SCENE VII + + +_A loud knocking, as with a cane, is heard at the centre door_. + +PRINCE. + +Come in. + +KING (_outside_). + +Eversmann! + +PRINCE. + +Now, what's that? + +KING (_still without, beats the door loudly with his cane_). + +Eversmann! + +PRINCE. + +Surely this castle is haunted! + +[_He slips into the door at the right_.] + +KING (_knocking again, still outside_). + +Eversmann! Doesn't the fellow hear? + +EVERSMANN (_coming in hurriedly_). + +The door is open, Your Majesty. [_Goes to centre door, opens it_.] + +PRINCE (_looking in at his door_). + +Your Majesty? Is that the King? + +KING (_in corridor but not yet visible_). + +Eversmann, have you forgotten that this is the day for revising the +books? + +EVERSMANN. + +No, indeed, Your Majesty. I was occupied in balancing the books of Her +Majesty the Queen. + +QUEEN (_comes out from her door, listens timidly_). + +Was that the King's voice? + +KING (_outside_). + +Eversmann, tell the castellan that eleven o'clock is closing hour for my +wife's apartment, and that, if I see a light again in her rooms until +after midnight, I will come over myself at the stroke of twelve to +search into every corner and to discover what political plot is brewing +there. You'd better tell my wife yourself, sirrah--so that she may obey +orders. + +EVERSMANN. + +So that she may obey orders. + +QUEEN. + +Miserable lackey! [_Goes out_.] + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Will he go now? + +KING (_outside_). + +Eversmann! + +EVERSMANN. + +Your Majesty! + +KING. + +Now go to my daughter too, the Princess Wilhelmine-- + +[WILHELMINE _opens her door softly_.] + +EVERSMANN. + +To Her Royal Highness-- + +KING. + +And tell her to have a care--this Laharpe--is a rascal. + +WILHELMINE (_aside_). + +Laharpe? + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +What's that? + +KING. + +Laharpe is a rascal, I say. + +EVERSMANN. + +A rascal. + +KING. + +And tell my daughter that I will teach a lesson to the Crown Prince for +sending these French vagabonds here, who pretend to be teachers of the +language and are merely ordinary, good-for-nothing wigmakers. + +WILHELMINE. + +How disgusting! + +[_She goes out_.] + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Wigmakers? + +KING (_still outside_). + +And now get back to the books! + +EVERSMANN. + +At once, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Eversmann--one thing more, Eversmann! + +EVERSMANN. + +Your Majesty? + +KING. + +If you should see the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth-- + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +It's my turn now. + +KING. + +That French windbag who's been hanging about Berlin since yesterday-- + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Pleasing description! + +EVERSMANN. + +I'll tell him Your Majesty will not receive him. + + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Rascal! + +KING. + +No, Eversmann, tell him I have something very important to say to +him--something very confidential. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Confidential? To me? + +KING. + +Concerning an important and pressing matter. + +EVERSMANN. + +Oh, yes, I know. + +KING. + +You know, sirrah? What do you know? You know nothing at all. + +EVERSMANN. + +I thought--one might guess-- + +KING. + +Guess? What right have you to guess? You're not to guess at all. +Understand? Idiot! Shoulder arms, march! [_As he goes off a short roll +of drums is heard_.] + +PRINCE (_crosses quickly to_ EVERSMANN). + +What do you know? What do you think it is that the King has to say to +me? + +EVERSMANN. + +Oh, Your Highness is still here? + +PRINCE. + +The King wishes to speak to me. Do you know why? Tell me what you think. + +EVERSMANN. + +If Your Highness promises not to betray me--I think it concerns a +certain affair--between Prussia and Austria. + +PRINCE. + +Austria? + +EVERSMANN. + +Arch-Duke Leopold is willing, they say--that is if [_with a sly gesture +toward the_ PRINCESS' _room_] if Princess Wilhelmine-- + +PRINCE (_excited_). + +The Princess? + +EVERSMANN. + +Sh! You will probably be chosen to conduct the negotiations between +Prussia and-- + +PRINCE (_beside himself_). + +The Princess is--destined-- + +EVERSMANN. + +To be the future Empress of Austria. + +[_He goes out into the_ QUEEN'S _room_.] + +PRINCE (_alone_). + +Empress! Queen! And I--I who love her to desperation, I am to help +bring about either of these alliances? That will mean a tragedy or +[_after a pause he continues more cheerfully_]--Courage--courage--it may +turn out a comedy after all, as merry a comedy as ever was played at any +Royal Court. [_He goes out_.] + + + +ACT II + + + +GRUMBKOW _and_ SECKENDORF _come in with_ EVERSMANN. _The latter carries +a wide orange-colored ribbon with many stars and Orders on it, and a +gleaming sword_. + + +SCENE I + + +_The_ KING'S _room. A side door on the left; a centre door. A writing +table and chairs_. + +GRUMBKOW. + +It was a dispatch, you say, Eversmann? + +SECKENDORF. + +A dispatch from Hanover. + +GRUMBKOW. + +And all this elegance? The ribbon? The sword of state? What does it +mean? + +EVERSMANN. + +His Majesty ordered these immediately after the arrival of the dispatch. + +SECKENDORF. + +A dispatch from Hanover--arrived about an hour ago--_grand cordon_ +commanded--sword of state--we must put these facts together, +Grumbkow--find their meaning. + +EVERSMANN. + +There are to be twelve plates more at table today. [_Meaningfully_.] +Thirty-six thalers are set aside for the dinner--everybody to appear in +full court dress. + +SECKENDORF. + +A dispatch from Hanover-_grand cordon_--sword of state--twelve plates +extra--thirty-six thalers--the combination, Grumbkow--we must find the +combination! + +EVERSMANN. + +When he had torn the seal from the dispatch, he wept two big tears and +said: "I'll make them all happy if I have to beat them to a jelly to do +it." And now he's all eagerness and would like to invite the whole city +to dinner. + +GRUMBKOW. + +On thirty-six thalers? + +EVERSMANN. + +The orphans in the asylum are to have new clothes. + +GRUMBKOW (_startled_). + +The orphans? That looks like a wedding. + +SECKENDORF. + +Dispatch--Hanover--thirty-six thalers--two tears--beat them all--the +meaning of that, Grumbkow?--we must put two and two together and find +it. + +EVERSMANN (_startled_). + +He's coming! The King! + + +SCENE II + + +_The_ KING _looks in from the side door_. + +KING. + +Good morning! Good morning! Hope you slept well, gentlemen. Well, you +rascal, where's that frippery? What's this--the English orders are +missing? Fasten it on well. I don't want the fol-dols knocking about my +knees. + +EVERSMANN (_as if joking_). + +Is there something so important on hand? Doesn't Your Majesty want the +crown also? + +KING. + +The crown! Idiot! [_He comes out_.] You can be glad that you don't have +to wear it, sirrah! Off with you now. Eversmann, and see that everything +is in order. [EVERSMANN _goes out_.] Good morning, Grumbkow and +Seckendorf. No time for you now--my compliments to the State of Prussia +and I beg to be left to myself today. Good morning--good morning. + +[_The two ministers prepare reluctantly to depart_.] + +GRUMBKOW (_in the door_). + +Your Majesty is in such a merry mood-- + +SECKENDORF. + +Could it be the arrival of the courier--? KING (_indifferently_). Oh, +yes. A courier came-- + +GRUMBKOW. + +From Hanover? + +KING. + +From Hanover. + +SECKENDORF. + +With news of importance, Your Majesty? + +KING. + +News of importance! + +GRUMBKOW. + +Concerning English affairs, doubtless? + +KING. + +English affairs! + +SECKENDORF. + +Doubtless the East Indian commercial treaties. + +KING. + +No--no. + +GRUMBKOW. + +The Dutch shipping agreement? + +KING (_enjoying their curiosity_). + +Something of that nature. Good morning, gentlemen. + +GRUMBKOW (_aside_). + +He is in a desperate mood again. + +SECKENDORF (_aside, going out_). + +Thirty-six thalers--twelve places--the orphans--we must find the +combination! [_They go out_.] + + +SCENE III + + +KING. + +They've gone. At last I have a moment to myself. [EVERSMANN _comes in_.] +I am supremely happy. + +EVERSMANN. + +My respectful congratulations. + +KING. + +Thankee-now just imagine--oh, yes--no. [_Aside_.] No one must know of +it. + +EVERSMANN. + +Did Your Majesty intend to-- + +KING. + +Change my clothes? Yes--take this coat off; we'll spare no expense. They +shall see that I possess wealth; they shall see that though I may be +parsimonious ordinarily, still I can spend as well as any of them when +an occasion offers. An occasion like this--[_with an out-burst_.] +Eversmann, just imagine! [_Remembering_.] Oh, yes. + +EVERSMANN (_takes off the_ KING'S _coat_). + +Will Your Majesty put on the embroidered uniform? + +KING. + +The embroidered uniform, Eversmann. I am expecting guests to whom all +honor must be shown. Great honor--for when it concerns the arrival of +persons who--[_He sits down_.] Take off my boots. [EVERSMANN _pulls off +the boots with difficulty_.] Has the Prince of Baireuth been here yet? + +EVERSMANN. + +Is Your Majesty going to all this trouble on his account? + +KING. + +On his account? Possibly. [_Aside_.] I'll lead them all a dance. +[_Aloud_.] Zounds! Villain! Rascal! My corns! I believe the rogue is +hurting me on purpose--because I won't tell him anything. + +EVERSMANN. + +But, Your Majesty, I haven't asked any questions yet. + +KING. + +I'll have you asking questions! Now what are you laughing at, sirrah? +Heh? Fetch me my dressing gown until you have found the uniform. +[EVERSMANN _turns to go_.] Hey, there! Why did you laugh just now? + +EVERSMANN. + +Because I know--that before I have brought Your Majesty your hat Your +Majesty will have told me all about it. + +KING (_threatening him with his cane_). + +You rascal--how dare you? + +EVERSMANN (_retiring toward the door_). + +Your Majesty can't keep a secret. There is only one thing Your Majesty +can hold fast to, and that is--_your money_! Ha! ha! I'll fetch the +dressing-gown. [_He goes out_.] + + +SCENE IV + + +KING (_sitting in his shirt-sleeves_). + +He's right. It burns my heart out. But they shan't know. Not any of +them--they shan't. They've spoiled my pet plans before now. I'll play a +different game, this time, and I'll send _all_ the camels through the +needle's eye at once. They think I'm on the side of Austria. But no--ha! +ha! England's own offer, brought by the Hanoverian courier, was a great +surprise to me--he! he! England is my wife's idea--therefore I am for +England, too--and soon we'll have the wedding and the christening, ha! +ha! + +[_A lackey comes in, announces_.] + +LACKEY. + +His Highness the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. + +KING. + +Pleased to receive him. + +[_The lackey goes out and the_ PRINCE _comes in_.] + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Are these old crosspatch's apartments? [_To the_ KING.] That's the +King's study in there, isn't it? + +KING. + +Yes--at your service. + +PRINCE. + +Go in and announce me. I'm the Prince of Baireuth. + +KING (_surprised, aside_). + +What does he take me for? + +PRINCE. + +What fashion is this? Are you in the King's service? Is this the style +in which to receive guests to whom His Majesty has promised an audience? + +KING. + +Then Your Highness--wishes to speak to--to the King of Prussia? + +PRINCE. + +You heard me say so, did you not? Announce me. + +KING. + +At once, Your Highness. [_Turns to go_.] + +PRINCE. + +Is this the way to go into your master's presence? In your +shirt-sleeves? + +KING. + +I'm--I'm on a very confidential footing with the King. [_He goes out_.] + +PRINCE (_alone_). + +This is a strange Royal Household indeed! The servants stand about the +anterooms in their shirt-sleeves--doubtless from motives of economy to +save their liveries. Well, the great hour has arrived--the die will +fall. Wilhelmine--she--she alone I love--and she is to consent to unite +herself to the painted picture of a Prince of Wales--the colored +silhouette of an Austrian Arch-Duke whom she has never seen! Ah, no, my +fate rests on the Genius of Love--on chance, which may be even kinder to +me than I expect. Her parents are of divided minds--thereby do I gain +time to win Wilhelmine's heart--for myself. The King is coming. Now I +can listen to his favorable opinions regarding--Austria. + + +SCENE V + + +_The_ KING _comes in, in dress uniform, with the grand cordon_. + +PRINCE (_looking at him_). + +Is that not-- + +KING. + +You are surprised? It was a slight mistake in identity. + +PRINCE (_embarrassed_). + +Your Majesty--I am a stranger-- + +KING. + +It's of no consequence. You were deucedly insolent--but my people are +thick-skinned. Well--I want to speak to you, my dear Prince of Baireuth. +Are you just come from Baireuth? + +PRINCE. + +Yes, Your Majesty--that is, I left Baireuth three years ago. + +KING. + +And where were you all this time? + +PRINCE. + +In--in England. + +KING. + +Ah--you spent much time in England? + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +I suppose he wants me to help him with Austria, and to disparage +England. [_Aloud_.] In England? Yes, quite time enough to learn all +about that unmannerly and extremely ridiculous country and its ways. + +KING: + +What's that? England ridiculous? Here, here, young friend--_we_ have +some distance to go yet before we reach the point where England stands +today. H'm--have you been in Italy? Or in Austria--or thereabouts? + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Does he favor England? I thought it was Austria--yes, he favors Austria. +[_Aloud_.] Austria? Surely; a wonderful country--such development of +industry--and commerce--such life and activity in all directions! + +KING. + +Activity? H'm! The activity in Austria isn't dangerous yet! + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Then he does not favor Austria. I fancy I'm not ingratiating myself at +all. + +KING (_aside_). + +Has Seckendorf, or any of the others, been talking to him? Is he trying +to please me? [_Aloud_.] A nice little country, that Baireuth of yours. +Soil somewhat stony, though!--doesn't yield your father much revenue, I +dare say! + +PRINCE. + +We're learning to improve the soil. [_Aside_.] These geographical +prejudices! + +KING. + +Trying to improve it by the pleasure palaces your father is building? +What's got into the man? Puts up one gimcrack after another, as if he +were Louis Quatorze--and runs his country into debt meanwhile. About how +much debt does your country carry? + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +I don't know that myself. [_Aloud, saucily_.] Ten millions. + +KING. + +Ten millions? + +PRINCE. + +More or less. + +KING. + +Good heavens! Who is to pay that debt eventually? And with such a state +of things in the exchequer you're traveling about Europe, taking money +out of the country? + +PRINCE. + +I'm completing my education, sire. + +KING. + +In Versailles? In Rheinsburg? Well, never mind, we've had enough of +that. [_He whistles the_ _first bars of the Dessauer March_.] Tell me, +you've taken part in those heathenish performances--at my son's Court, I +mean? + +PRINCE. + +The part of a confidant, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Good! It was about these heathenish performances that I wanted to speak +to you. Prince, they tell me you are a man of taste, a man who is well +acquainted with those godless Greek and Roman doings. As it is in my +mind to celebrate my daughter's wedding with all pomp worthy of my +crown--I want to ask you--to consult with my son--as to how most +gracefully and amusingly to entertain the Courts of Poland, Saxony, +Brunswick and Mecklenburg, who will all be here for an entire week--in a +word, how we can win much honor and glory by this wedding. + +PRINCE. + +Wedding? The Princess--your daughter's wedding? + +KING. + +Yes, Prince. My artillery will furnish the salutes, and I will see to the +reviews and parades my self. But it is in the evening that our guests grow +weary in Berlin--they go to sleep in their chairs. Beer drinking and pipe +smoking is not yet to every one's taste. We'll have to swim with the +stream, therefore, and provide suitable amusements--illumination, operas, +allegorical presentations, and such fol-da-rol--all about Prussia and +England. + +PRINCE. + +England? + +KING (_rises_). + +Zounds! that ran over my tongue like a hare hurrying across +the highway. H'm--I mean a sort of spectacle--oh, say +unicorn--eagle--eagle--unicorn--leopard--intermingled--Prussia and +England--and it must be in rhyme--in verse, as it were. + +PRINCE. + +England? This news comes with such a surprise! The whole country, +Europe--the world--will wonder how England came to deserve such honor. + +KING. + +Oh, ho! don't flatter the old--lackey! It's an old affair, this one with +England; my wife has been working at it for years. + +PRINCE. + +The Queen? Why, I fancied--that Her Majesty the Queen was much more in +favor of Austria-- + +KING. Austria? [_Aside_.] + +I might have known she would want to put her own will through. [_Aloud +with decision_.] No. I received today a dispatch from our Ambassador, +who assures me that England is thinking seriously of this plan, of this +marriage arranged in all secrecy. The Prince of Wales has taken ship +from England; it is supposed that he is already landed on the Hanoverian +coast. Meanwhile, a plenipotentiary has left London, in strictest +_incognito_, on his way to treat with me concerning all the details of +the marriage. The envoy is likely to arrive at any moment. You would +place me under obligations to you, therefore-- + +PRINCE (_in despair_). + +Shall it be a pastoral masque? + +KING. + +Yes. And the Crown Prince can play the flute for it, since he has +learned that art behind my back. + +PRINCE (_turns to go, but comes back_). + +And the ladies and gentlemen of the Court are to act in it? + +KING. + +Surely. Give every one of them something to say, only not me. But +Grumbkow must act in it. Yes, Grumbkow must be in it--and the ladies +Viereck and Sonnsfeld--and Seckendorf--and-- + +PRINCE (_as above_). + +Must it be in English or in French? + +KING. + +Neither. In German, good, pure, fiery German--High German, you +understand, not the Berlin flavor. [_Confidentially_.] And if you could +bring in a little Dutch somewhere--certain considerations of commerce +would render that very pleasing to me; it will be spoken of in the +papers and the Ambassador of Holland will be there--you see, it's about +the importation of tobacco. [_Makes gestures as of smoking and whispers +into the_ PRINCE'S _ear_.] But I suppose a fine young gentleman like +yourself doesn't smoke. + +PRINCE (_in despair_). + +No, Your Majesty--but my imagination is smoking like any volcano +already. + +A LACKEY (_coming in_). + +The Privy Councilors urgently pray Your Majesty to receive them. + +KING. + +Gad, but they must be eaten up by curiosity! Bring them in. [_The lackey +goes out_.] Well, as I was saying--an allegorical marriage +masque--that's what. Not quite in the style of Versailles. And yet I +want the pre-marital feast to be fine enough to compare favorably with +the one they rigged up in Dresden. Now--as for Holland. Put in some +verses about the colonies, Prince, about the land where tobacco grows. +You know--it's the land where the-- + +PRINCE (_beside himself_). + +Where the Bong-tree grows! [_He goes out_.] + + +SCENE VI + + +GRUMBKOW _and_ SECKENDORF _come in. Each carries under his arm a small +bundle of red-bound books_. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Forgive us, Your Majesty--but it is incredible that such unprecedented +crimes should occur in the very bosom of the Royal Family! + +KING. + +What's the matter now? + +GRUMBKOW. + +Your Majesty has already been informed about the Frenchman who was found +wandering through the streets of Berlin without any proper passport or +identification, the man who had the temerity to say he had come to teach +Princess Wilhelmine his language. + +KING. + +It was only a wigmaker from Orleans. + +SECKENDORF. + +Oh, but we have discovered further complications, Your Majesty! Books +were found in this man's possession, books which point to a dangerous +connection with Rheinsberg. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Convince yourself, Your Majesty. These immoral French writings are all +marked with the initials of His Highness the Crown Prince. + +SECKENDORF. + +F.P.R. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Frédéric, Prince Royal. + +[_The_ KING _starts in anger, takes up one of the books and then touches +the bell_. EVERSMANN _comes in_.] + +KING. + +Eversman [_with conscious impressiveness_], my spectacles! [EVERSMANN +_goes out and returns again with a big pair of glasses_.] The +Attorney-General must make a thorough examination of this vagrant's +papers.... I will not have these French clowns in my country. [_He looks +through one of the books_.] The Crown Prince's seal--But no--no ... the +vagabond must have stolen it from him. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Or else the books were intended for the Princess' instruction. + +KING. + +This sort of book? These French--hold! hold! what have we here--is this +not the disgusting novel written by the hunchback Scarron, the husband +of the fine Madame Maintenon--his notorious satire upon our Court? + +GRUMBKOW AND EVERSMANN (_together_). + +Our Court? + +KING (_turning the leaves_). + +A satire on us all--on me--on Seckendorf, Grumbkow, Eversmann. + +EVERSMANN. + +On me, too? KING (_serious_). + +The Crown Prince has underscored most of it, that it may be better +understood. Here is a Marshal with the nickname _le chicaneur_. You know +that's meant for you, Grumbkow. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Outrageous! + +KING. + +The Ambassador, Vicomte de la Rancune, otherwise _le petit combinateur_. +That's you, Seckendorf. + +SECKENDORF. + +It's--it's an international insult. + +KING. + +And he called Eversmann _la rapinière_, or, as we would say, Old +Rapacity! + +EVERSMANN. + +The rogue! And such books find their way into the country--marked +properly by the Crown Prince at that! + +KING. + +Can Wilhelmine be a party to this? That would indeed be scandalous. The +Attorney-General must make a thorough investigation. [_In extreme +anger_.] Isn't it possible for me to have a single quiet moment? + +EVERSMANN. + +Your Majesty, shall I take these ungodly books to the executioner, to +have them burned? + +KING. + +No. I wouldn't use them even to light my pipe--not even as bonfires for +our festivities. Gentlemen, shake this matter off, as I have done. This +evening, over our glowing pipes, and in the enjoyment of a glass of good +German beer, we also can be just as witty at the expense of Versailles +and the entire French cabinet. + +GRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF (_together, aside_). + +Bonfires for the festivities? + +EVERSMANN. + +But the books are to be burned, Your Majesty? + +KING. + +Yes, in another manner. Send them out to the powder mills by the +Oranienburger gate. They can make cartridges for my grenadiers out of +them. [_He goes out_.] + +GRUMBKOW, SECKENDORF, EVERSMANN (_aside_). Festivities? + +[_They go out_.] + + +SCENE VII + + +_The scene changes to the room of Act I_. + +BARONET HOTHAM _comes in cautiously through the centre door, followed +by_ KAMKE. + +HOTHAM. + +A hall with four doors? Quite right. The Princess' room there? And the +Queen's here? Thanks, good friend. [KAMKE _goes out_.] Baronet Hotham is +preserving his _incognito_ to the extent of becoming entirely invisible. +I've smuggled myself into the country from London--by way of Hanover--as +if I were a bale of prohibited merchandise. [_Wipes his forehead_.] The +deuce take this equestrian official business, where a man needs have the +manners of a dandy with the unfeeling bones of a postilion. For four +days I've scarcely been out of the saddle. [_He throws himself into a +chair_.] Gad! if the nations knew how a man has to win his way through +to the Foreign Office by years of courier-riding, they'd not think it +strange that their statesmen, grown mature, seem disinclined to trip the +light fantastic. Faith, it weighs one's pocket heavily, this carrying a +kingdom about with one. [_He slaps his right coat-pocket_.] Here lies +the crown of England. [_Now the left coat-pocket_.] Here the crown of +Scotland--and here, in my waistcoat pocket, is Ireland. What shall I +take from herein exchange? [_He looks about_.] Is the gilding real? It +looks deuced niggardly and close-fisted. There's space enough in these +great halls, but I'll wager there are many mice here. It's as quiet as +an English Sunday. [_Rises_.] There's some one coming. + +[_Rises_ PRINCE _opens the centre door, then halts on the threshold as +if in despair_.] + +HOTHAM (_in surprise_). + +Well? + +[_The_ PRINCE _comes down a step and claps his hand to his forehead_.] + +HOTHAM. + +I believe he's writing verses. + +[_The_ PRINCE _moves as before, toward the_ PRINCESS' _door, then sees_ +HOTHAM.] + +PRINCE. + +What? Who--who is this I see? + +HOTHAM (_surprised_). + +Do my eyes deceive me? + +PRINCE. + +Hotham! Is it possible? You here in Berlin, friend? + +HOTHAM. + +Why, what is the matter, Prince? + +PRINCE. + +Think of meeting you--you dear, excellent fellow--and just at the very +moment when my despair threatened to overcome me! Is it really true? +Where do you come from? From Paris? + +HOTHAM. + +I've just come from England, Prince, with the very best greetings from +our mutual friends and a special commission to capture you and bring you +back to the race-track, to the hunting field, and the boxing ring, which +you so enjoyed. + +PRINCE. + +Alas, Hotham--all those pleasures are over for me! + +HOTHAM. + +Has your father cut you off from the succession? + +PRINCE. + +Ah, do not touch that sensitive wound! Fetch me, instead, the Empire of +Morocco. + +HOTHAM. + +You are ill of a fever, Prince, or else you need a friend to aid you +with his sane mind. + +PRINCE. + +Hotham, you are a genius--many an intrigue of your country's foes will +be shattered against that brain of yours. But you cannot help me. + +HOTHAM. + +I wish that I could, Prince. I am so deeply in your debt for a hundred +good services rendered me during your sojourn in England. It was your +influence that put me in touch with our leading statesmen; you opened +the diplomatic career to me. To you I owe all that I am and have--my +brain is at your service, let it think for you; my arm is at your +service, let it act for you. + +PRINCE. + +Hotham, I'm in a most peculiar situation-- + +HOTHAM. + +I will devote my very life to your service. What would I be without you? +To you I owe this flattering mission, to you I owe my very presence +here. + +PRINCE. + +Yes--why _are_ you here? + +HOTHAM (_looks about_). + +It is an affair of the greatest secrecy. But if you desire I shall not +hesitate to tell you what it is. + +PRINCE. (_absently_). + +I am not curious. Will it keep you here long? + +HOTHAM. + +That depends upon circumstances--circumstances of a most delicate +nature. + +PRINCE. + +An affair of honor? + +HOTHAM (_low_). + +It concerns a possible marriage contract--between Princess Wilhelmine +and the Prince of Wales. + +PRINCE (_as if beside himself_). + +You? You are the ambassador of whom the King spoke to me just now? + +HOTHAM. + +Has the King been informed already? + +PRINCE. + +Then you--you are that irresistibly clever diplomat whom they are +awaiting with open arms? + +HOTHAM. + +Does the King really look with favor upon this marriage with the Prince +of Wales? + +PRINCE. + +Horrible! I picked this man for a genius from among a thousand others. I +took him from Paris, and put him into English diplomacy and now I must +suffer because he does honor to my judgment. Let me tell you, then, my +friend, that the King and the Queen, quite ignorant of their mutual +agreement, are both heartily desirous of this marriage and all of its +implications. But you are to know also that Princess Wilhelmine, the +unhappy sacrifice of your political ambitions, is loved by a prince who +cannot compete in power or position with your Prince of Wales, but who +in devotion, love, passion so far outdistances all and any crowned +suitors for the hand of this angel as heaven, nay, as paradise, +outdistances earth--and that this prince is--myself. + +HOTHAM. + +This is indeed a discovery I did not dream of, and I must, unhappily, +add not a pleasant one. But if you ask in due form, why should they not +grant you the hand of the Princess? + +PRINCE. + +Grant it to me? A petty German sovereign When they have the choice of +future Kings and Emperors? Speak of me to the Queen and you will +discover that she invariably confuses Baireuth with Ansbach. + +HOTHAM. + +The discovery is all the less pleasing in that I, as envoy of my +government, must do all I can to bring about the marriage. + +PRINCE. + +Of course, you must justify my recommendation. + +HOTHAM. + +And yet I take the liberty of suggesting that possibly--under certain +conditions--this marriage with England might not come about. Of a truth, +Prince, take courage! Circumstances might arise which would not only +give me the right, but would even make it my duty to give up all +thoughts of the match. + +PRINCE. + +You revive my very soul. + +HOTHAM. + +Your Highness, it is not the Prince of Wales whom I represent here. The +English nation, the cabinet, the Houses of Parliament send me. You are +aware, Prince, your sojourn in England must have made it plain to you +that the house of Hanover was called to the throne of England under +conditions which make it the duty of that house to subordinate its own +personal desires to the general welfare of the nation. Whether or not +the Prince of Wales feels any personal interest in his cousin is of +little moment. Parliament takes no cognizance of whether they love each +other or not. The Prince of Wales, as future King of England, will +contract any matrimonial alliance that is suggested to him as necessary +to the national welfare. An alliance with the dynasty of the rising +young kingdom of Prussia seems, under the present political +constellation, to be the most favorable. + +PRINCE. + +And this holds out some hope for me? + +HOTHAM. + +There lies no hope in this unfortunate mission of mine, but in one of +its clauses which states that the marriage, if all else be favorable, +may be concluded only on this condition [_looking about cautiously_]: +that certain English manufacturers shut out by Prussia be readmitted +into the country [_softly_] on acceptable terms. + +PRINCE. + +And into this--this mercantile scheming you would mingle a question of +love--an affair of the heart? + +HOTHAM. + +I am here to speak for the hearts of our merchants, hearts that beat +warmly for the throne, but still more warmly for their balance-sheets. +If our factories have nothing to hope for, then, Prince [_takes his +hands_], my protector, my patron, then I am all yours. And you shall see +that I have other talents besides those of diplomacy. + +PRINCE. + +Talents to awaken a hope on which the bitterest disappointment must +follow. + +HOTHAM. + +Wait, Prince, wait and trust-- + +PRINCE. + +To the counting-room? + +HOTHAM. + +Why not? And when, in case the King will not agree to the new treaties, +I have devoted myself entirely to your cause, when you under stand that +my heart beats high in gratitude to a Prince whom I met by mere chance +and who has been my benefactor--when you have finally won the heart and +hand of the Princess, then all I shall ask of Your Highness, as a German +sovereign at the Diet of Regensburg, in Germany's very heart, is merely +your assistance in obtaining from the German Empire some little +concession for our harmless, innocent--manufactures. + +KAMKE (_opens the door to the right_). + +HOTHAM. + +Everything else later. For the present--trust me. Over there are the +Queen's apartments. Farewell. [_He goes out_.] + + +SCENE VIII + + +PRINCE (_alone_). + +Land! Land in sight! Something, surely, can be done now! With Hotham at +my right hand, I need only some female reinforcement at my left. The +moment seems favorable. I will try to draw little Sonnsfeld, the +Princess' lady-in-waiting, into the plot. She is waiting in the +anteroom. I'll knock. [_He goes softly to the_ PRINCESS' _door and +knocks_]. I hear a sound. [_He knocks again_.] The rustle of a gown--it +is she. [_He draws back a step and turns_.] First one must take these +little outposts and then--to the main battle. + +[WILHELMINE _comes in_.] + +PRINCE (_startled_). + +Ah, it is you--yourself! + +WILHELMINE. + +Oh, then it was you, Prince? I have reason to be very angry with you. + +PRINCE. + +With me, Your Highness? Why with me? + +WILHELMINE. + +As if you did not know the insult you have offered me. + +PRINCE. + +Princess, would you drive me mad? I offer _you_ an insult? + +WILHELMINE. + +Have you not heard what sort of a person this learned Laharpe of yours +really is? + +PRINCE. + +Princess, Laharpe is one of the most intelligent of men and possessed of +a pretty wit. One might search long among your scholars here in Berlin +before finding his equal in cultivation. + +WILHELMINE. + +He is a wigmaker from Orleans! + +PRINCE. + +But I assure you, Princess, he is not a wigmaker. It is true Laharpe +does understand the splitting of hairs, but only in scientific +controversy; it is true he does use paint and powder, in that he paints +his thoughts in words of elegance, and lays on them the powder of +ingenious sophistry--an art that is better understood in France than +here. It is unfortunate enough, Your Highness, that your royal father's +kingdom should be in such bad repute that foreigners of wit, poetry, and +cultivation can be admitted only when they come bearing the passport of +wigmakers. + +WILHELMINE. + +But our plan has come to naught; Laharpe has been banished. + +PRINCE. + +A weak reflection of his brilliancy has remained, Princess. Do not think +me quite unworthy of taking his place. Grant me the blessed +consciousness of having aided you to escape a situation which passes all +bounds of filial obedience. + +WILHELMINE. + +Prince--this language-- + +PRINCE. + +It is the language of a feeling I can no longer control, of an +indignation I can no longer suppress. Princess, do you know that you +are destined as a sacrifice to political and commercial intrigue? That +you are to be sent to England in exchange for the produce of English +factories? + +WILHELMINE (_in indignation_). + +Who says that? + +PRINCE. + +Far be it from me to pass judgment on your desires--far be it from me to +inquire if it may not surprise, perhaps even please your ambitions when +you hear that you might win even an Imperial crown--but, if you love the +Prince of Wales-- + +WILHELMINE. + +The Prince of Wales? Who says that I love him? + +PRINCE. + +Your mother, who presupposes it--your father, who commands it. + +WILHELMINE. + +The Prince of Wales? My cousin, whom I have never seen? Who has never +betrayed the slightest interest in me? A Prince whose loose living has +made me despise him! + +PRINCE. + +Then you do not love the Prince? + +WILHELMINE. + +My heart is free. And no power on earth can force me to give it to any +man but to him whom I shall choose myself. + +PRINCE. + +Do I hear aright? + +WILHELMINE. + +I have been obedient and dutiful from the very first stirring of my +personal consciousness. I have never had a will of my own, or dared, if +I had that will, to give it expression. But when they would take the one +thing from me, the one thing that is still mine after all these years of +humiliation, my own inalienable possession, my heart's free choice--then +indeed the bottomless depths of my obedience will be found exhausted. I +feel that my brother was justified in throwing off such a yoke--and I +will show the world that I am indeed his sister. + +PRINCE. + +Princess! [_Aside._] What can I do--it is too much joy--too much bliss! +[_Aloud._] Princess! the green garlands on the little window down there, +the potted flowers offer a secret retreat--the little linnet in his cage +is impatient for the return of his beautiful and benign mistress. + +WILHELMINE (_drawing her hand from his_). + +You would-- + +PRINCE. + +I would take the place of that misjudged and slandered scholar. And down +there, alone with you, not worried by threatening footfalls in the +corridors, undisturbed by [_noise of drums outside_] those cruel +guardians of your freedom, I would tell the most charming Princess of +Europe that-- + +WILHELMINE. + +You have nothing to tell me--nothing at all. + +PRINCE (_throws himself at her feet_). + +I would tell her that there is one Prince who, although he will one day +reign over no more than a tiny plot of German earth, still can gather +from the spell of her beauty, the kindness of her heart, the courage to +say to her--I love you--I worship you. + +WILHELMINE. + +Prince, what are you doing--please arise--some one is coming! + +PRINCE. + +Not until you promise me you will meet me there. + +WILHELMINE. + +Oh--if we should be surprised like this! Please get up! + +PRINCE. + +You will promise? You will meet me? + +WILHELMINE. + +Where? [_He points to the window._] There? But I am not alone even +there. + +PRINCE. + +Those simple people are overjoyed when their Princess consents to linger +an hour with them in their poverty. I have much to say to you, Princess, +very much. I will tell you of the plans concerning England or Austria of +which you are the central figure. And you must tell me again--in the +very best style of Versailles, which I know thoroughly--that you hate +me--that you detest me-- + +WILHELMINE. + +Prince, you torture me--I hear voices. Some one is approaching--Please +get up. + +PRINCE. + +Will you promise? + +WILHELMINE. + +Cruel one! You won't get up-- + +PRINCE. + +Not until you promise-- + +WILHELMINE. + +If you promise to talk only about the plans that concern me--and about +French grammar-- + +PRINCE (_springing up_). + +You promise? You will come? By every star in the firmament I swear I +will begin with the verb _J'aime_--I love--and you shall see how, in +comparison with the language of a devoted heart, in comparison with the +art which unadorned nature can practise, even Voltaire is only--a +wigmaker. [_He goes out._] + + +SCENE IX + + +_The noise of drums in the distance is no longer heard._ WILHELMINE +_left alone, starts as if to follow the_ PRINCE. _Then she turns back +hesitating, and walks with uncertain steps to the table. She rings the +bell._ SONNSFELD _comes in, looks at the Princess as if surprised, +speaks after a pause._ + +SONNSFELD. + +Your Highness commands? + +WILHELMINE (_as if awakening from a dream_). + +I? Nothing. + +SONNSFELD. + +Your Highness rang? + +WILHELMINE. + +Yes, I did. My mantilla--my fan--the veil. + +SONNSFELD. + +Your Highness is going out? + +WILHELMINE. + +I am going out. + +SONNSFELD. + +Has Your Highness permission? + +WILHELMINE. + +Permission? Are you beginning to take that tone, too? Fetch the things I +want. + +[SONNSFELD _looks at her, astounded, then goes out._] + +WILHELMINE (_alone_). + +I am tired of all this. I am beginning to be conscious of myself, now +that I know there is some one who recognizes my meagre worth. The +situation here is unbearable. I am weary of this unworthy subordination, +this barrack-room service. + +[SONNSFELD _comes back with mantilla, fan and veil._] + +WILHELMINE. + +You might have chosen the mantilla with the Brussels lace. + +SONNSFELD. + +Your Highness--what is your purpose? + +WILHELMINE. + +Throw the veil about my head. Don't question everything I do. Must I +give you an accounting for every trifle? + +SONNSFELD. + +Good Heavens--have you joined your mother in her revolutionary ideas? + +WILHELMINE. + +I have joined no one. I want to show the world that a Princess of +Prussia has at least the right to pass from one court of the palace to +another of her own free will. I am tired of being tyrannized in this +way. The Grand Elector lived for me as well as for the others--the +Hohenzollerns are what they are for my sake also. Adieu. [_Holds out her +hand._] You may kiss my hand. And do not forget that I am the daughter +of a king who is forming great and important plans for his child's +future, and that this child, even though she should be stubborn enough +to refuse to acquiesce in his plans, will still be none the less a +Princess of Prussia. + +[_She turns to go. The centre door opens and_ ECKHOF _comes in, followed +by three grenadiers. The door remains open._] + +ECKHOF. + +Halt! + +SONNSFELD. + +Are you to have a Guard of Honor, Princess? + +ECKHOF. + +Grenadiers--front! + +[_Three more men come in without their muskets. The first carries a +Bible, the second a_ _soup tureen, the third a half-knitted stocking._] + +ECKHOF (_comes forward and salutes the_ PRINCESS). + +May it please your Royal Highness graciously to forgive me, if by reason +of a special investigation commanded by His Majesty the King, in +consequence of forbidden communication with Castle Rheinsberg, I ask +Your Highness to graciously submit to a strict room-arrest, as ordered +by His Majesty the King. + +SONNSFELD. + +What's that? Princess! + +ECKHOF. + +Likewise, His Majesty the King has graciously pleased to make the +following dispositions First grenadier, front! [_The first grenadier +marches forward with the Bible._] Your Royal Highness is to learn +chapters three to five of the Song of Solomon so thoroughly that the +Court Chaplain can examine Your Highness in the same tomorrow morning at +five o'clock. Second grenadier, front! [_The second grenadier comes +forward with the soup tureen._] The food ordered for Your Highness will +be brought up from the garrison kitchen punctually every day. + +SONNSFELD (_opens the tureen_). + +Dreadful stuff! Boiled beans! + +ECKHOF. + +Third grenadier, front! [_The third grenadier comes forward with the +half-knitted stocking._] And, finally, His Majesty the King pleases to +command Your Highness to knit, every two days, a pair of woolen +stockings for the worthy Foundling Asylum of Berlin. May it please Your +Royal Highness--this ends my orders. + +SONNSFELD (_in a tone of despair_). + +Princess, are these the King's plans for your future? + +WILHELMINE (_trembling in excitement_). + +Calm yourself, dear friend. Yes, this is the beginning of a new life +for me. The battle is on! Go to my father and tell him-- + +SONNSFELD. + +Go to the King and tell him--[_To the_ PRINCESS.] What are they to tell +him? + +WILHELMINE (_with tragic decision_). + +Tell him that I-- + +SONNSFELD. + +Tell him that we-- + +WILHELMINE. + +That I--[_Her courage begins to fail._] That although we _will_ learn +the chapters-- + +SONNSFELD. + +And although we _will_ eat the beans-- + +WILHELMINE. + +It will not be our fault if [_with renewed courage_] if in the despair +of our hearts-- + +SONNSFELD (_tragically_). + +We let fall the stitches in the orphan's stockings-- + +WILHELMINE. + +And wish that we were merely the Princess of Reuss-- + +SONNSFELD. + +Schleiz-- + +WILHELMINE. + +Greiz and Lobenstein! + +[_They go out angrily._] + + + +ACT III + + + +_The_ PRINCESS' _room. Attractive, cozy apartment. An open window to the +right. Doors centre, right and left. A cupboard, a table._ + + +SCENE I + + +PRINCESS WILHELMINE _leans against the window-casing, deep in thought._ +SONNSFELD _sits on the left side of the room, knitting a child's +stocking._ + +WILHELMINE (_aside_). + +Hour after hour passes! What will the Prince think of me? Or can he have +learned my fate already? + +SONNSFELD. + +Did Your Highness speak? + +WILHELMINE. + +No, I--I merely sighed. + +SONNSFELD. + +It seemed as if you were talking to yourself. Don't be too melancholy. +You'll soon learn the Bible verses and I'll relieve you of most of the +knitting. + +WILHELMINE. + +You are too good--you are kinder to me than I have deserved of you +today. That work is tiring you--give it to me. + +SONNSFELD. + +No, let me have it. You take the other one that is started. In this way +we will gain time to rest later. + +WILHELMINE (_listening toward the door_). + +And we aren't even allowed a word with each other in freedom. + +SONNSFELD (_rises and looks toward the door_). + +It is cruel to let soldiers see a Princess humiliated to the extent of +knitting stockings. + +WILHELMINE. + +Why complain? It is--of itself, quite nicely domestic. [_She knits._] + +SONNSFELD. + +What would the Prince of Baireuth say if he could see you now? + +WILHELMINE. + +The Prince? What made you think of the Prince? + +SONNSFELD. + +You cannot deny that his attentions to you might be called +almost--tender-- + +WILHELMINE. + +Almost-- + +SONNSFELD. + +Such eyes! Such burning glances! I am very much mistaken or it was Your +Royal brother's intention, in sending this young Prince to you, to send +you at the same time the most ardent lover under the sun. + +WILHELMINE. + +Lovers hold more with the moon. + +SONNSFELD. + +And he shows so great an admiration for you that I am again mistaken if +our sentry outside the door there has not already in his pocket a +billet-doux addressed to Your Highness--a billet-doux written by the +Prince. + +WILHELMINE. + +Sonnsfeld! What power of combination! + +SONNSFELD. + +Almost worthy of a Seckendorf, isn't it? I'll question the man, in any +case. + +WILHELMINE. + +Are you crazy? + +SONNSFELD (_at the door_). + +Hey, there, grenadier! + +ECKHOF (_comes in_). + +At your service, madam. SONNSFELD. Have you a letter for us? + +ECKHOF. + +Please Your Honor, yes. + +SONNSFELD (_to the_ PRINCESS). + +There you are! [_To_ ECKHOF.] From the Prince of Baireuth? + +ECKHOF. + +Please Your Honor, yes. + +WILHELMINE. + +Where is it? Did you take it? + +ECKHOF. + +Please Your Honor, no. [_Wheels and goes out_.] + +SONNSFELD. + +What a dreadful country! The general heartlessness penetrates even to +the uneducated classes. + +WILHELMINE. + +But how dare the Prince imagine that our sentry could forget all--all +sense of propriety in this way? + +SONNSFELD. + +Would you not have accepted it? + +WILHELMINE. + +Never! + +[_A letter, attached to a little stone, is thrown in at the window_.] + +SONNSFELD. + +A letter? Through the window! Oh, how it frightened me! + +WILHELMINE. + +Pick it up. + +SONNSFELD (_doing so_). + +But you won't accept it, you say. It can only be from the Prince--and it +is addressed to Your Highness. + +[_Gives her the letter_.] + +WILHELMINE. + +To me? Why, then--why shouldn't I accept it? [_She opens the letter_.] +It is--it is from the Prince. [_She reads, aside_.] "Adored one! Is +there to be no end to these cruelties? Have they begun to torture you +with England yet? They will come to you and will try to force you into +this marriage. But Baronet Hotham, the English Envoy, is my friend and +your friend, and will work for you while he seems to be working against +you. It is a dangerous game, but it means your freedom and my life. Love +comprehends--Love." + +SONNSFELD. + +May I hear? + +WILHELMINE. + +It is a little message of sympathy--from--from one of our faithful +servants. + +SONNSFELD. + +The good people are all so fond of you. You must answer it, I suppose? + +WILHELMINE. Just a word or two-it is really of no importance whatever. + +SONNSFELD. But we need not offend any one. [_Aside_.] What clever +pretending! [_Aloud_.] Let me try if our grenadier is still as stubborn +as before. + +WILHELMINE. + +What are you thinking of? + +SONNSFELD. + +We'll make the trial. [_She goes to the door_.] Here you--stern +warrior-- + +ECKHOF (_in the door_). + +At your service. + +SONNSFELD. + +Why didn't you take the letter? + +ECKHOF. + +It would mean running the gauntlet for me. + +SONNSFELD. + +We would compensate you for any such punishment. + +ECKHOF. + +You could not. + +SONNSFELD. + +Would money be no compensation? + +ECKHOF. + +Even if shame could be healed by money, that would be the one remedy you +couldn't apply. + +WILHELMINE. + +And why? + +ECKHOF. + +Because Your Highness hasn't any money. + +SONNSFELD. + +Dreadful creature! + +WILHELMINE (_aside_). + +He knows our situation only too well. We must give up all thought of +sending an answer. + +ECKHOF. + +May I go now? + +SONNSFELD. + +Impertinent creature! What is your name? + +ECKHOF. + +Eckhof. + +SONNSFELD. + +Where were you born? + +ECKHOF. Hamburg. + +SONNSFELD. + +What have you learned? + +ECKHOF. Nothing. + +WILHELMINE. + +Nothing? That is little enough. + +SONNSFELD. + +What did you want to make of yourself? + +ECKHOF. + +Everything. + +WILHELMINE (_aside_). + +A strange man! Let us cross-examine him. It will afford us a little +amusement at least. + +SONNSFELD (_to_ ECKHOF). + +We are not clever enough to understand such witty answers. How do you +reconcile nothing with everything. + +ECKHOF. + +I grew up in a theatre, but all I ever learned there was to clean the +lamps. Our manager discharged his company and I was compelled to take +service with a secretary in the post office. But when my new master's +wife demanded that I should climb up behind her carriage, as her +footman, I took to wandering again. I begged my way to Schwerin and a +learned man of the law made me his clerk. The post office and the +courtroom were just two new sorts of theatre for me. The addresses on +the letters excited my imagination, the lawsuits gave my brain exercise. +The desire to create, upon the stage, true pictures of human greatness +and human degradation, to depict vice and virtue in reality's own +colors, still inspired me, but I saw no opportunity to satisfy it. Then, +in a reckless moment, when I had sought to drown my melancholy in drink, +fate threw me into the hands of the Prussian recruiting officers. I was +dazzled by the handful of silver they offered me; for its sake I +bartered away my golden freedom. Since that day I carry the musket. The +noisy drums drown the longing that awakens a thousand times a day, the +longing for an Art that still calls me as to a sacred mission; the +uniform smothers the impulse to create human nobility; and in these +drilled, unnatural motions of my limbs, my free will and my sense +of personal dignity will perish at last. From such a fate there is no +release for the poor bought soldier--no release but death. + +WILHELMINE (_aside, sadly_). + +It is a picture of my own sorrow. + +SONNSFELD. + +That is all very well, but you really should be glad that now you are +_something_--as you were nothing before and had not learned any trade. + +ECKHOF. + +I learned little from books but much from life. I understand something +of music. + +SONNSFELD. + +Of music? Ah, then you can entertain this poor imprisoned Princess. Your +Highness, where is the Crown Prince's flute? + +ECKHOF. + +I play the violin. + +SONNSFELD. + +We have a violin, too. We have the Crown Prince's entire orchestra +hidden here. [_She goes to the cupboard and brings out a violin._] Here, +now play something for us and we will dance. + +WILHELMINE. + +What are you thinking of? With the Queen's room over there? And the King +may surprise us at any moment from the other side. + +SONNSFELD. + +Just a little _Française_ shall be a rehearsal for the torchlight dance +at your wedding. + +WILHELMINE. + +You know the King's aversion toward music and dancing. + +SONNSFELD. + +Here, Eckhof, take the violin-and now begin. + +ECKHOF (_looks about timidly_). + +But if I--[_much moved_] Heavens--it is three years since I have touched +that noble, that magical instrument. + +SONNSFELD. + +Come now! I'm the cavalier, Princess, and you are the lady. + +[ECKHOF _plays one of the simple naïve dance tunes of the day. The two +ladies dance._] + +SONNSFELD. + +Bravo, Eckhof! This is going nicely--ah, what joy to dance once more! +This way now la--la--la! [_She hums the melody._] + + +SCENE II + + +_During the dance the_ KING _comes in softly through the door to the +right. He starts when he sees the dancers and the grenadier playing the +violin. They do not notice him. He comes-nearer and attempts to join the +dance unobserved._ + +WILHELMINE. + +Sonnsfeld, that's not right! Now it's the gentleman's turn. [_Holds her +hand out behind her back_]--Like this. + +[_The_ KING _takes her hand gently with one finger and dances a few +steps._] + +WILHELMINE. + +How clumsy, dear friend. [_Dancing._] And your hand is strangely rough +today. + +[_She turns and sees the_ KING, _who had begun to hum the tune in a +gruff voice. The three start in alarm_. ECKHOF _salutes with the +violin._] + +KING (_angry_). + +Very nice--very pretty indeed! Are these the sayings of Solomon? Music +and dancing in my castle by broad daylight? And a Prussian grenadier +playing the violin to the prisoner he is set to watch? + +SONNSFELD. + +Pardon, Your Majesty--it was we who forced him. + +KING. + +Forced him? Forced a soldier? Forced him to violate his duty in this +devilish manner? I'll have to invent a punishment for him such as the +Prussian army has never yet seen. + +WILHELMINE. + +Have mercy, Your Majesty--have mercy! + +KING. + +I'll talk to you later. As for you, Conrad Eckhof, I know that is your +name--I will tell you what your punishment shall be. You are discharged +from the army that serves under my glorious flag, discharged in disgrace. +But you are not to be honored by being sent to a convict company or into +the worthy station of a subject. Listen to the fate I have decreed for +you. A troop of German comedians has taken quarters in the Warehouse in +the Cloister street. These mountebanks--_histriones_--are in straits +because their clown--for whom they sent to Leipzig, has not arrived. You +are to take off the honorable Prussian uniform and to join this group of +mountebanks, sent there by me, as a warning to every one. You are to +become an actor, a clown of clowns-and henceforth amuse the German nation +with your foolish and criminal jokes and quips. Shame upon you! + +ECKHOF (_with a grateful glance to heaven, trying to conceal his joyful +excitement_). + +An actor! Oh, I thank Your Majesty for this most gracious sentence. +Conrad Eckhof will endeavor to do honor to himself and his despised new +profession. + +[_Goes out_.] + +KING. + +And as for you, my Lady Sonnsfeld, you may, the sooner the better, pack +up your belongings and be off to Dresden where my cousin, the Elector of +Saxony, has need of just such nymphs and graces for his court fireworks +and his ballets. + +SONNSFELD (_going out, speaks aside_). + +In his anger he chooses punishments that can only delight any person of +refinement. [_She goes out_.] + +KING. + +Wilhelmine! + +WILHELMINE. + +Your Majesty, what have I done that I am so unhappy as always to arouse +your displeasure? + +KING. + +You call me "Majesty" because you lack a daughter's heart for your +father. I have brought up my children in the good old German fashion; I +have tried to keep all French vanities and French follies far from their +childish hearts; on my throne I have tried to prove that Kings may set +an example to their subjects, an example of how the simplest honest +household may be ruled. Have I succeeded in this? + +WILHELMINE. + +You have punished us severely enough for our faults. + +KING. + +This wigmaker--who was to instruct you in all the ambiguities of the +French language-- + +WILHELMINE. + +He was not a wigmaker. + +KING. He was. + +WILHELMINE. + +Well, if he was, then you dislike him simply because you are so fond of +your horrid pigtail. + +KING. + +The pigtail is a man's best adornment. In that braided hair lies +concentrated power. A pigtail is not a wild fluttering mass of disorder +about one's head--the seat of the human soul--such as our Hottentot +dandies of today show in their long untidy hair. It expresses, instead, +a simple, pious and well-brushed order, entwined obedience, falling +gently down over the shoulders, fit symbol for a Christian gentleman. +But I am tired of this eternal quarreling with you. This present arrest +shall be the last proof of my fatherly affection. You will soon be free +and mistress of your own actions. I announce herewith that you will +shortly be able to come and go at your own discretion. + +WILHELMINE. + +Father! + +KING. + +Is that tone sincere? + +WILHELMINE. + +It comes from a heart that will never cease to revere the best of men. + +KING. + +Then you realize that I desire only your happiness? Yes, Wilhelmine, you +will soon be able to do whatever you like, you may read French books, +dance the minuet, keep an entire orchestra of musicians. I have arranged +all things for your happiness and for your freedom. + +[Illustration: KING FREDERICK WILLIAM I OF PRUSSIA R. SIEMERING] + +WILHELMINE. How may I understand this, father? + +KING. + +You will have horses and carriages, and footmen, as becomes a future +Queen. + +WILHELMINE. + +Queen? + +KING. + +You will see that I do in very truth deserve the name you gave me, the +name of the best of fathers. But still--I hear your mother. + +WILHELMINE. + +What--what is going to happen-- + +KING. + +Prepare yourself for a weighty moment--the moment of your betrothal. + + +SCENE III + + +_The_ QUEEN _comes in, leaning on the arm of the_ PRINCE OF BAIREUTH. +HOTHAM _and several lackeys follow_. + +WILHELMINE (_aside, surprised_). + +The Prince! + +[_The_ QUEEN _bows coldly to the_ KING.] + +KING (_equally coldly_). + +Good morning. + +QUEEN (_to the_ PRINCESS). + +My dear child, I here present to you the Envoy of the King of England, +Baronet Hotham. + +WILHELMINE (_bows, speaks aside_). + +The Prince's friend? How am I to understand all this? + +KING. + +Pardon me, wife, the Prince of Baireuth should take precedence. My dear +child, I present to you here the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. + +PRINCE (_bows, speaks aside to_ WILHELMINE). + +Do not lose courage. It will all work out for the best. + +QUEEN. + +Have you good news from Ansbach, dear Prince? + +PRINCE. (_aside_). + +This eternal mistake of hers. [_Aloud_.] Your Majesty, I hear there is a +plan on foot to transplant Ansbach to Baireuth. + +KING. (_has been only half listening_). + +Hush! Let us cast aside all these earthly thoughts and plans and +prepare ourselves for a work of sacred import. Sit down by your mother, +Wilhelmine. + +WILHELMINE. + +What is going to happen? + +KING. + +You, Prince, as my natural aide--here! Baronet Hotham, you are in the +centre. + +[_The lackeys place the table in the centre of the room and then go +off._] + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Hotham--the commercial treaties-- + +[HOTHAM _sits down at the centre of the table, opens the portfolio which +he has brought with him, lays out sheets of paper, and examines his +pen._] + +KING (_folding his hands_). + +In God's name--[_After a pause_] If I should ask you, my faithful +spouse, companion of my life, what a happy marriage is-- + +QUEEN. + +Has that anything to do with our daughter's wedding-contract? + +KING. + +Do not interrupt me. _You_ may not be conscious of it--but I am fully +aware of how much this solemn moment imports. + +HOTHAM. + +Please Your Majesty--I have already written "In God's name." + +KING (_looks surprised and pleased_). + +Did you really write that? + +HOTHAM. + +It is customary to print it at the head of these and similar contracts. + +KING. + +Printing is not as good--the letter killeth, saith the Scriptures; but +you may begin now. + +HOTHAM. + +We are concerned here with an affiliation between two nations which, +although differing in language, manners, and customs, still have so many +points of contact that they should seize every opportunity to come +closer to each other. + +KING. + +Couldn't you weave in something there about the English being really +descended from the Germans? + +HOTHAM. + +That would lead us too far afield. + +KING. + +Oh, very well, as you say. It was a good beginning. + +HOTHAM. + +Such an opportunity now offers in the mutually expressed wish of the +dynasties of England and Prussia, to unite in the bonds of holy +matrimony two of their illustrious scions. The Prince of Wales sues for +the hand of Princess Wilhelmine. + +WILHELMINE. + +The Prince of Wales? + +HOTHAM. + +His suit is accepted attendant upon the conditions here following. + +WILHELMINE. _Accepted?_ + +KING. + +Hush! Do not disturb this solemn procedure by idle chatter. + +WILHELMINE. + +But--but how is this possible-- + +PRINCE (_to the_ PRINCESS). + +Your Highness, the conditions are but just being drawn up. + +QUEEN (_aside to the_ PRINCESS). + +Do not interrupt. What must the envoy of the elegant court of St. James +think of the manners of our Prussian Princesses! + +KING. + +These chattering women! Very good, Baronet Hotham; the beginning was +excellent. Don't you think so, Prince? + +PRINCE. + +Certainly, Your Majesty. [_Aside_] It was odious. + +QUEEN. + +And the conditions? [_Aside_] I am eager to hear about the dowry. + +HOTHAM. + +First paragraph-- + +KING. + +Pardon me, I can tell you that in fewer words. I give my daughter as +dowry, forty thousand thalers, and a yearly pin-money of two thousand +thalers. I will bear the expense of the wedding. But that is all. + +QUEEN (_rising_). + +I trust that this is not Your Majesty's real intention. Baronet Hotham, +I beg you will not include such a declaration in the protocol. + +KING (_seated_). + +Not include it in the protocol? H'm--h'm--forty thousand thalers in +cash--too little? + +HOTHAM. + +The question of dowry will offer but little difficulty to a country as +rich as England. Far more important are the political matters which, in +the case of so intimate an alliance, must come up for especial +consideration. + +KING. + +Political matters? + +HOTHAM. + +I mean--certain questions and points of discussion which, with your +gracious permission, I would now like to present to you. + +KING. + +Questions? Points of discussion? Do you see anything to object to in my +daughter? [_He rises._] + +HOTHAM. + +Your Majesty, there are certain--advantages for both nations-- + +KING. + +Advantages for Prussia? [_He sits down again._] You may speak then. + +HOTHAM. + +To take up one point. For this marriage England will confirm without +hindrance Your Majesty's investiture of the Duchies Jülich and Berg. + +KING. + +Very decent; thanks. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Hotham, you fox! + +HOTHAM. + +And furthermore Parliament declares itself willing-- + +KING. + +Declares itself willing-- + +WILHELMINE. + +What has Parliament to do with it? Am I marrying the two houses of +Parliament? + +QUEEN (_half aloud_). + +Be quiet. You don't understand. In England, all political parties have +something to say in such matters. + +KING (_half aside_). Yes, child, that would be the country for your +mother, wouldn't it? Well? + +HOTHAM. + +Parliament declares itself willing, in case Your Majesty wishes to +complete the conquest of Swedish Pommerania, to let the matter pass +without an interpellation. + +QUEEN (_pleased and excited_). + +Very polite indeed. I should not have believed Parliament would be so +amiable. Just think, Wilhelmine, Parliament promises not to +interpellate. + +WILHELMINE. + +What sort of a new political torture is that? + +KING (_to the_ PRINCESS). + +To interpellate means to harass and embarrass the government by +continual contradictions, interruptions, and objections. That's why your +mother understood it at once. Much obliged, my gear Hotham. My kindest +greetings to Parliament. But continue--continue! + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +I am on tenter-hooks. + +HOTHAM. + +For these many tokens of unselfish cordiality, for further manifold +proofs of political complaisance, to be reviewed by me in detail later, +proofs of a sincere desire to be enduringly united with a brother +nation-- + +KING. + +Well? + +HOTHAM. + +For all this we ask but one little concession, which would make this +marriage a true blessing for both countries. + +KING. + +Out with it! + +HOTHAM. + +Prussian industry has now reached a standard which renders England +desirous of testing its products under certain conditions of +importation. For this-- + +KING. + +For this? + +HOTHAM. + +England would feel grateful if the former friendly understanding, +interrupted somewhat since Your Majesty's illustrious accession to the +throne, if the former friendly commercial understanding-- + +KING. + +Understanding? + +HOTHAM. Could be restored; and if Your Majesty would graciously decide, +on the occasion of this auspicious union, welcomed in England with such +rejoicing, to repeal, in part, the present--prohibitive regulations-- + +KING. + +What? + +HOTHAM. + +In a word, England asks for a new commercial treaty. + +KING. + +New commercial treaty? Commercial--[_He rises, there is a slight +pause._] The meeting is adjourned. + +QUEEN. + +What's that? + +KING. + +Is it for this then, that I have sought to raise and ennoble the +civilization of my country, that I have furthered commerce and industry, +promoted shipping, given an asylum within the state to thousands of +religious refugees from France--for this, that now, as the price for the +honor of an alliance with England, I should open the door and let in the +forbidden English merchandise--to the ruin of my own subjects? + +[_He goes to the table and rings. A lackey appears._] + +KING. + +My ministers! + +QUEEN. + +What? You would sacrifice your daughter's happiness? + + +SCENE IV + + +GRUMBKOW, SECKENDORF _and three generals come in._ + +KING. + +Step nearer, gentlemen. I have allowed you to remain in uncertainty +concerning a dispatch which arrived this morning from Hanover. You shall +now hear my formal answer to it. Prince, poet, do not be alarmed. Our +festivities will take place for all that, our cannon will thunder, our +lanterns will blaze through the night. Prince, do you want to put me +under eternal obligation to you? + +PRINCE (_misunderstanding_). + +Your Majesty! Can it be possible? + +KING. + +Do you want to make me your debtor forever? + +PRINCE (_joyfully_). + +I? Wilhel--! + +KING. + +Take to horse, Prince, and ride off within the hour, as my special envoy +to Vienna. + +PRINCE, GRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF (_together_). + +To Vienna? + +KING. + +My daughter's hand is promised to Vienna. Within a fortnight a scion of +the illustrious Imperial House will enter the walls of our capital. + +HOTHAM. + +Your Majesty compels me, in the eventuality of an Arch-Duke's arrival, +to make a certain declaration herewith-- + +KING. + +And that is? + +HOTHAM. + +The Prince of Wales--is already here. + +ALL. + +The Prince of Wales--in Berlin? + +HOTHAM. + +The Prince of Wales arrived three hours ago. + +GRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF. + +Impossible! + +QUEEN (_triumphant_). + +I breathe again. + +KING (_in real consternation, but controling himself_). + +Baronet Hotham, I confess that this news surprises, nay, moves me +greatly. But you can lay it to the account of your own egotistical +politics if I declare to you that no stranger in Berlin exists for me, +until he has been properly registered at the gates of the capital. If +you _will_ drive me to the last stand, if you would make the ground of +my own country too hot for me--then tell the Prince of Wales that +although I am deeply touched by his affection for my family, still, +under conditions threatening the peace of my country, the welfare of my +subjects--I must beg of him to return whence he came. Prince, you ride +to Vienna as envoy of this monarchy. Wilhelmine, the Imperial Crown +will console you. And as for you, Madame [_aside to the Queen_], has not +your pride found its limits at last? + +QUEEN. + +I have pledged my word to England. + +KING (_good-naturedly_). + +But if it isn't possible-- + +[_Comes nearer cordially, holds out his hand._] + +QUEEN (_touched, hesitating_). + +An hour ago, possibly--[_firm and decided again_], but now--the +personal presence of the Prince of Wales has taken the decision out of +our hands. + +KING. + +Very well--he who _will_ have war--[_To_ HOTHAM] Have you any other +instructions than those we have already heard? + +HOTHAM. + +None, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Then come to me, Prince, for the contract with Vienna. A German state in +England's stead! 'Tis better so, gentlemen, better so. I will cleave to +Germany with all my soul. Foreign egotism shall teach German peoples and +Princes how to be truly united. [_He goes out into his study._ GRUMBKOW, +SECKENDORF _and the generals follow._] + +QUEEN (_to_ HOTHAM). + +Sir, you have been witness to a scene which confirms for you the truth +as to my position here, the truth that is not yet credited in England. +Wilhelmine, the news of the arrival of the Prince of Wales gives me +fresh hope. Ride to Vienna, Prince--become, if you must, a traitor to a +cause which will conquer, despite the intrigues of my enemies. Give me +your arm, Lord Hotham. The Prince of Wales in Berlin! I can hardly +realize it. Bring him to me and prepare him for everything--but no--do +not mention to him--those revolting forty thousand thalers. + +[_She goes out with_ OTHAM.] + + +SCENE V + + +WILHELMINE. + +What do you say to your friend now? The Prince of Wales in Berlin! + +PRINCE. + +I do not know where I am in all this tangle. Hotham is a traitor, an +ingrate who has betrayed me, betrayed us all. + +WILHELMINE. + +Be more cautious in the future when you talk of friendship--and love. +Farewell. + +[_She turns to follow the_ QUEEN.] + +PRINCE. + +Princess, is this your farewell--while I prepare to meet death or +despair? + +WILHELMINE. + +It's not so easy to die in Vienna. + +PRINCE. + +And you believe that I will leave you now, when the glamour of the +personal presence of a Prince of Wales may dazzle your eye--perhaps even +your heart? + +WILHELMINE. + +I must, I realize it now, begin to consider my heart only from the +political point of view. + +PRINCE. + +You doubt my sincerity, Princess? You distrust a heart which has truly +loved but once--once and for all time--loved you, Wilhelmine! + +WILHELMINE (_aside_). + +Can such language be deception? + +PRINCE. + +I realize what I owe to you, Princess. Frankness before the world, an +honest suit for your hand--even in face of the danger of losing you +forever. I will go to the King. I will tell him, yes, I will tell him +now that I cannot do as he wishes. I will throw myself at his feet and +confess with honest sincerity that I love you. Do you wish it? + +WILHELMINE (_hesitating_). + +No--never, no. + +PRINCE. + +You are trembling, Princess. Oh, I know your dutiful heart shudders at +the thought of defying your parents, of following the call of your own +inclination. But--tell me, do you trust your father's heart? + +WILHELMINE. + +It is full of kindness and love. + +PRINCE. + +Very well, then. He has honored me, he has shown confidence in me; the +arrival of the Prince of Wales provokes him to rebuke such hardiness. I +will show him what is in my heart, and then, Wilhelmine--then? If he +refuse the hand I ask-- + +WILHELMINE (_turning from him_). + +You will--find consolation? + +PRINCE. + +And if he grant it? + +WILHELMINE (_overcome by her emotion, allows her heart full sway, but is +still roguish and maidenly_). + + +Then--I fear that you will not keep your word--to punish me for +torturing you so cruelly. + +[_She goes out quickly._] + + +SCENE VI + + +PRINCE (_alone_). + +She loves me. Then _one_ thing is sure! I will now take the straight +road into the very jaws of the lion. What else remains? Betrayed by +Hotham, there is naught but Wilhelmine's love--and my own courage. + +[_He goes toward the_ KING'S _door._] + + +SCENE VII + + +EVERSMANN _comes from the_ KING'S _room._ + +EVERSMANN. + +Whither, Your Highness? + +PRINCE. + +To the King. + +EVERSMANN. + +You will find him very angry. + +PRINCE. + +Angry at whom? + +EVERSMANN. + +Angry at you, Prince. + +PRINCE. + +You are joking! + +EVERSMANN. + +The Duke of Weissenfels is to undertake the mission to Vienna. + +PRINCE. + +What does that mean? + +EVERSMANN. + +Investigation by the Attorney-General--just come to the King's ears. +The man _was_ a wigmaker. + +PRINCE. + +You are quite mad. I must speak to the King. It concerns the most +important affair of my whole life. [_Starts for the door again._] + +EVERSMANN. + +Pardon me, Prince, His Majesty sends you this letter. + +PRINCE (_takes the letter_). + +"To my son, the Crown Prince of Prussia, to be delivered personally in +Rheinsberg within twenty-four hours; kindness of the Prince of +Baireuth." Why this--this is a formal decree of banishment from Berlin! +How could it happen just now? + +EVERSMANN. + +It's merely a polite hint. Everything is discovered--and not only the +matter of _Rapinière._ His Majesty knows you now as the emissary of the +Crown Prince, sent to stir up a revolution here in Berlin and in the +palace. The wigmaker confessed it all. I suspected Your Highness from +the first. Wish you a pleasant journey to Rheinsberg. + +[_He goes out._] + +PRINCE. + +Betrayed--forsaken by all-- + +HOTHAM (_coming hastily from the_ QUEEN'S _room_). + +Good news, Prince. The Princess is under arrest again. + +PRINCE. + +And you call that good news, traitor! + +HOTHAM. + +There is more, Prince. The traitor is pleased to hear that you also have +fallen under the ban of the royal displeasure. + +PRINCE. + +You are pleased to hear that? + +HOTHAM. + +The traitor assures you on his honor that there could be no better means +of fulfilling your heart's desire. + +PRINCE. + +Would you drive me mad? + +HOTHAM. + +To throw a preliminary cold shower on your doubt [_looks about +cautiously_] kindly read this portion of a letter I have but just +received. + +PRINCE. + +A billet-doux from your Prince of Wales? + +HOTHAM. + +Read it, please. + +PRINCE (_reads_). + +"London, June the fifth--" + +HOTHAM (_indicating a line lower down_). + +There--read there. + +PRINCE (_reads_). + +"You ask for news from court. We are very poor in such news just now. +The Prince of Wales is still hunting wild boars in the Welsh mountains." +The Prince is--not in Berlin? + +HOTHAM (_still cautious, but smiling_). + +Just as little as you are in the Palace of St. James at this moment. + +PRINCE. + +But what am I to think? What am I to believe? + +HOTHAM. + +You are to believe that you could well afford to place more confidence +in Hotham's friendship, devotion--and cleverness. + +PRINCE. + +The Prince of Wales is not in Berlin? + +HOTHAM. + +H'st! _We_ know he is not here--but he _is_ here for all the others. The +Prince of Wales is here, there, behind the screen, up the chimney, in +the air, under the earth, nowhere where he would be in our way, but +anywhere where we might need him for the merriest comedy in all the +world. + +PRINCE. + +Hotham! Then I am not deceived in your friendship? + +HOTHAM. + +Just as little, since our commercial treaty is doomed, as I am mistaken +in your chances, despite arrest and displeasure. But come now, come to +that friendly goblin who will work for us--to the mysterious spirit on +whose account we will keep this corner of the world in anxiety and +terror--your doughty rival but your still doughtier ally. + +PRINCE (_in laughing surprise_). + +You mean? + +HOTHAM. + +The Prince of Wales. [_They both go out._] + + + +ACT IV + + + +_Anteroom in the_ KING'S _apartments. The same as in_ SCENE I _of_ ACT +II. _Writing materials on the table._ + + +SCENE I + + +EVERSMANN _comes from the_ KING'S _room._ + +SECKENDORF (_puts his head in at another door_). + +Pst! Eversmann! Have you seen him yet? + +EVERSMANN. + +Seen whom, Count? + +SECKENDORF. The Prince of Wales. He is indeed in Berlin--he has been +seen everywhere. _Unter den Linden_--by the river--even beyond +Treptow--a frail figure of a man, stooping slightly--his left shoulder +higher than the right. When he speaks you see that one eye-tooth is +missing-- + +EVERSMANN. + +The King will not recognize the presence of the Prince of Wales. + +SECKENDORF. + +We are being deceived, Eversmann. The King has recognized it. [_Low._] +Or can it be that you have not heard of that most strange--most +remarkable command that has gone out to the Castle Guards--a command +which upsets all our deductions and plans? All sentries have orders to +let a white domino, if such a one should appear at night about the +castle, pass unhindered and even unchallenged. Do you not see the +thoughtfulness for the Prince of Wales in that? It is he who is to visit +His Majesty secretly in disguise. Eversmann, all our pro-Austrian plans +are in danger. [_There is a knock at the door._] Every noise startles me +these days. + +EVERSMANN. + +It is the court tailor most likely, pardon me. [_He goes to the door._] +Ha, ha! the white domino! + +SECKENDORF. + +The court tailor? What can the court tailor be doing here? And a white +domino? Vienna's interests are in danger. The King does favor England. I +must have certainty. This is the moment when I must show my whole power. + + +SCENE II + + +HOTHAM (_comes in, bows_). + +His Majesty graciously consented to give me a farewell audience. + +[EVERSMANN _returns with a little package which he opens, drawing +out a white domino._] + +EVERSMANN (_to_ HOTHAM). + +I will announce you at once, sir. [_To_ SECKENDORF, _smiling._] Now, +Count Seckendorf, if you wish to _see_ the Prince of Wales [_Pointing to +the domino_] here he is. + +[_He goes out into the_ KING'S _room._] + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +That the Prince of Wales? + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +A white domino the Prince of Wales? + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +What's the key to this new riddle? + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +Can there be some secret doings here? + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +I will question Baronet Hotham cautiously. + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +Mayhap this much-decorated gentleman can give me some information. + +SECKENDORF (_clearing his throat_). + +May I ask--how His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, is enjoying +himself in Berlin? I am Count Seckendorf. + +HOTHAM. Most happy to meet you. As Your Excellency perceives, he is at +this moment in the very best hands. [_Points after_ EVERSMANN.] + +SECKENDORF (_startled, aside_). + +In the best hands? Is he mocking me or is he deceived himself? It looks +as though he too were in the conspiracy. + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +This misunderstanding whets my curiosity. + +SECKENDORF. + +You are in error, Baronet, if you believe that we have opposed the suit +of the Prince of Wales. Procure me an opportunity to speak to the +Prince, and I will consider it an honor to be allowed to repeat this +assurance in his own presence. + +HOTHAM (_pointing to the_ KING's _door_). + +The door of His Majesty's Cabinet is, I am told, always open to the +Imperial Envoy. + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +The King's Cabinet! Where the Court tailor has just taken the white +domino [_Aloud_.] H'm! Baronet Hotham, do you happen to be acquainted +with the legend of the White Lady, connected for centuries with the +history of the House of Brandenberg? + +HOTHAM. + +I am, Your Excellency. And I hear that the White Lady has been seen +again recently. + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +Recently? It _is_ a conspiracy. They are deceiving us under cloak of the +mystery of the White Lady. The Prince of Wales and the King have a +thorough understanding with each other. [_Aloud_.] Baronet Hotham, this +is double-dealing. Be honest! Confess that the Prince is not only here, +but that he is received by the King at any hour. + +HOTHAM. + +What grounds have you for your belief? + +SECKENDORF. + +It was neatly done, to bring up the talk about the White Lady just at +this time. + +HOTHAM. + +The King may have his own reasons for that. + +SECKENDORF. + +The King? The King has his--ha, ha! And you believe that no one sees +through this fine game? You do not realize that there are eyes which +even at night can see certain persons stealing across the courtyards of +the Royal Palace? That there are ears which can hear plainly how such +persons are let pass unchallenged because--ha, ha, ha!--because these +persons wear white dominos? My dear sir, you must lay your plans more +carefully if you would not have them patent to the simplest deductions. +But do not trust too much to the King's indulgence toward the Prince of +Wales. He is his nephew; he may not wish him compromised. Therefore he +allows him to pass in and out in disguise. But, believe me, that is all +the Prince has to hope for here. And I at least should be very sorry for +a young diplomat, just beginning his career as you are, who cannot +profit by a direct hint from a statesman of twenty years' experience, +whose power of diplomatic manipulation has not yet been excelled. [_He +goes out_.] + + +SCENE III + + +HOTHAM (_alone_). + +Then the sentries let the white domino pass unchallenged, out of +consideration for a Prince of Wales who does not exist? And the white +domino is taken into the King's study? Here are two definite facts. The +King himself plans some midnight adventure, and does not wish +interference on the part of his sentries. His favorites, prying into +everything, but winning only imperfect knowledge, connect the sentry +order with the ghost of the Prince of Wales, and presuppose a tender +thoughtfulness for the young adventurer on family or political grounds. +Delicious! [_He sits down to write on a paper he has taken from his +portfolio_.] Why, then--with the excuse of introducing the Prince of +Wales, I might bring the poor Prince of Baireuth, banished from the +palace and from the city, back again quite unhindered to his captive +princess--and even to the Queen. The sun shines once more--but there is +another storm to conquer first. The King approaches. [_The KING comes +an, dressed for the street. GRUMBKOW and EVERSMANN follow_.] + +KING (_still outside_). + +Who is it, you say? + +GRUMBKOW. + +Baronet Hotham. + +KING (_coming in_). + +Tell him that I send my regards to him and his English price-lists. We +in Berlin are not cottonwards inclined just at present. + +GRUMBKOW (_designating the bowing HOTHAM_). + +Baronet Hotham desires to pay his respects to Your Majesty personally. + +KING. + +Tell him Prussia is putting her best foot forward. German manufacturers +need a chance to catch up with what the English already know about +spinning and weaving. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Baronet Hotham is about to ask Your Majesty in person for his dismissal. + +KING (_paying no attention_). + +The incident is closed. My ministers can attend to it now. I prefer the +customary procedure. [_He sits down_.] + +GRUMBKOW (_in the centre_). + +You see, Baronet Hotham-- + +HOTHAM (_to GRUMBKOW_). + +General, will you say to His Majesty that I deeply regret having failed +in my mission? Tell him-- + +GRUMBKOW. + +His Majesty is present. + +HOTHAM. + +Tell him that a country's industries need centuries of preparation to be +able to sell at the low prices quoted by English merchants. Tell him-- + +GRUMBKOW. + +Will you not address His Majesty in person? + +HOTHAM. + +I prefer the customary procedure. + +KING (_sitting, absorbed in his note-book_). + +Very good. And now, Grumbkow, tell him, for the account of the Prince of +Wales--that I'm planning to build a couple of new gates in Berlin, but +for the present he'll have to put up with the old ones through which to +leave the city. + +GRUMBKOW. Very good. + +HOTHAM. + +And kindly add, General von Grumbkow, that as one may suppose the +Princess Wilhelmine to cherish the same feeling for her cousin, the +Prince of Wales, as-- + +KING. + +Pay no attention to that, Grumbkow. But announce to the gentleman that +my children are accustomed to obey my wishes, and that the affair with +Vienna is as good as settled. Understand? + +GRUMBKOW. + +Very well, Your Majesty. + +HOTHAM. + +And you might add, General von Grumbkow, that I have a favor to beg of +His Majesty before departing. + +KING. + +Grumbkow, you might casually inquire what sort of a favor it is he +wants. + +HOTHAM. + +General-- + +GRUMBKOW. + +Baronet Hotham. + +HOTHAM. + +If His Majesty should seem inclined, out of the nobility of his heart, +to make amends for the cruel manner in which he has just dismissed an +ardent admirer of his military greatness, then tell him that I know of a +finely-built, strong young man, a close friend of mine, of good family, +who would deem it an honor to serve up from the ranks under His +Majesty's glorious flag. + +KING. + +Grumbkow, you may tell Baronet Hotham that his personality and manner +have pleased me greatly, and that I most heartily wish all Englishmen +were of his sort. In the matter of the young man, you may ask him if the +recruit will furnish his own equipment. + +HOTHAM. + +Kindly state, General, that the young man will take service in His +Majesty's army, fully equipped according to regulations, his hair and +his heart in the right place, and that he furthermore brings with him a +neat little inheritance of his own. + +KING (_more and more pleased_). + +Quite what one might expect from a born Englishman. Grumbkow, ask the +Baronet whether the young man, who is doubtless destined to introduce +Prussian tactics into England, would serve better on foot or to horse. + +HOTHAM. + +He begs for a place with the Dragoons of the Guard in Potsdam. + +KING. + +Potsdam? That won't do. They all want to serve in the Guard. No--no.... +But he can--for a while, at least--join the Glasenapp Musketiers in +Pasewalk. That's a fine regiment, too. + +HOTHAM. + +Please express my sincere thanks to His Majesty. The young recruit will +have the honor to present himself personally to His Majesty in a few +days. + +KING. + +Grumbkow, suppose we offered Baronet Hotham, as a sign of our +friendship, a position as recruiting officer? + +HOTHAM. + +He would decline this honor, but he would beg another favor. + +KING. + +And that is--? + +HOTHAM. + +In all journals, in all records of travel, we read of a certain +gathering in Berlin which goes beyond anything an Englishman can imagine +in the way of clubs or private affairs. + +KING. + +Dear me--our police permit that sort of thing in Berlin? Really, I am +most curious. + +HOTHAM. + +A certain genial personage gathers around him several times weekly, in a +small, low-ceilinged room in the palace, a small but select circle of +men on whom be bestows his confidence. Sitting on wooden stools, often +in their shirt-sleeves, beer tankards before them on the great open +table, Dutch clay pipes in their mouths, they entertain each other in +the most unrestrained manner in spite of the exalted position held by +most of these men. Some who do not smoke hold cold pipes between their +teeth, that they may not mar the harmony of the picture. One member of +the circle is singled out nightly as an object for mirth, and the choice +is made by lot. Each and every one can in turn become the butt of merry +satire. To have been present at a meeting of this oddest of all court +gatherings would furnish me with the most notable memory I could carry +away from Berlin. + +KING. + +Egad, Grumbkow! I believe he means our Smoker. + +HOTHAM. + +The world-renowned Prussian "tobacco-conference." + +KING. + +And you have--the gentleman has--no. [_He rises_.] I shan't use the +customary procedure any more. Baronet Hotham, you have heard of my +Smokers? You have said nice things about them. That reconciles me--can +you smoke? + +HOTHAM. + +Yes, Your Majesty, the light Dutch Varinas, at least. + +KING. + +I have that--and the Porto-Rican and Hungarian tobaccos as well. In +fact, I'm having quite a good sort grown here in the Mark Brandenberg +now. + +HOTHAM. + +I fear I should have to decline trying that. + +KING. + +Give me your hand, Baronet. Come to our conference tonight. We will wash +down our diplomatic disagreement with a good drink of beer, and blue +clouds of smoke from our pipes shall waft away all the intrigues, plots +and counter-plots. + +GRUMBKOW. + +But--Your Majesty, who is to furnish the source of amusement tonight? + +HOTHAM. + +Will Your Majesty take me as the scapegoat? + +KING. + +Oho, Baronet! it will be a hot skirmish. He who has been under fire from +a dozen such old soldiers needs a week or two to recover from the +experience. + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +A pleasing fate indeed, to play the fox to such hounds! + +KING. + +We'll find some one to be the central figure this evening. You must be +among the laughers, and then you can tell us something of the +cock-fights and the boxing-bouts in England. That sort of amusement +pleases me mightily, and I would permit it to come into this country +without excise or other duty. Very well, then, the Smoker is at eight +o'clock. Your pardon for this queer audience of dismissal. Bring a brave +thirst with you. For in the matter of drinking we pay no attention to +the customary procedure. + +[_He goes out, followed by all except HOTHAM_.] + + +SCENE IV + + +HOTHAM (_alone_). + +Excellent! We adapt ourselves to circumstances and circumstances adapt +themselves to us. Now for my letter to the Queen. [_He sits down, takes +a partly written letter from his portfolio and reads it_.] "Exalted +Lady: Your wish to see the Prince of Wales is a command for your devoted +servant. Unless all plans should go awry I will have the honor to lead +the Prince of Wales this very night into the presence of his Royal Aunt. +He hopes not only for the happiness of pressing a kiss on Your Majesty's +hand, but desires, with all the longing of an ardent heart, finally to +look upon his dear affianced, the Princess Wilhelmine. Use all your +power to free the Princess from her imprisonment for this evening." [_He +begins to write_.] "I would suggest that you advise the Princess to wrap +herself in a white domino. This disguise will carry her safely past the +palace sentries." There--the young people can see each other again, can +storm the fortress of the mother's heart, and can win for themselves the +support of public opinion, as represented by the invited guests. [_He +seals the letter_.] Now if I could find the Prince--Ah, there he is! + +PRINCE (_looking in cautiously_). + +Hotham, I've been looking for you everywhere. What do you think has just +happened to me? + +HOTHAM. + +Another Royal mission? + +PRINCE. + +I can scarce believe it myself. Disconsolate, I was preparing for the +journey, and stopped to cast one last look up to the windows behind +which my beloved sits captive--a lackey of the King's suite approached +me. I anticipated some new humiliation. But imagine my astonishment at +the surprise in store for me. You know the value the King sets on his +nightly smoking-bouts. He invites to these gatherings only persons for +whom he has especial plans. Now picture my amazement when I learned that +His Majesty begs me, before my departure tonight, to do him the pleasure +to attend his Smoker! + +HOTHAM. + +You have an invitation? + +PRINCE. + +You're--you're laughing. [_HOTHAM laughs heartily_.] What are you +laughing at? + +HOTHAM. + +It's unspeakably comical. + +PRINCE. + +Comical? I should consider it rather tragical, when a sovereign first +humiliates us and then suddenly heaps amiabilities upon us. What is the +matter with you. + +HOTHAM. + +Stand up straight-breast thrown out--head up--hands at your side--no, +more to the back-- + +PRINCE. + +What do you mean? + +HOTHAM (_pulling his hair_). + +Fine growth--fine strong growth. + +PRINCE. + +What are you doing to my hair? And you're still laughing! + +HOTHAM. + +As a consequence of a most droll diplomatic transaction, I also have +been honored with an invitation to the Smoker. And that I may enjoy the +true savor of the customary and, methinks, sometimes strongly realistic +entertainment of such occasions, those in charge have bestirred +themselves to find royal game for the baiting. + +PRINCE. + +And I am to be--the game? This is too much! I will be there, Hotham; I +will take my place humbly at the foot of the great table, but I warn you +that my patience is exhausted. I will show them that I have weapons to +parry the jibes of rough soldiers, weapons I have not yet brought into +play. I will be there, I will listen with apparent calm to what they are +planning to do to me--but then--then I will draw from _my_ quiver! I +will send arrow after arrow at this brutal despotism--and should the +shafts be too weak to penetrate their leathern harness, then, Hotham, +then out with my sword and at them! + +HOTHAM. + +Bravo, Prince! Excellent! That's the right mood! That is the language +one must use in this court. The hour draws near. It would take us too +far a-field were I to detail my plans to you now. I will first dispatch +this letter to the Queen. Then, as we set out for the Smoker--but I see +you are in no mood for explanations. Cherish this noble anger, Prince! +Rage as much as you will--snort like an angry tiger. [_Takes him by the +arm and leads him out_.] More--more--heap it up--there, now you are +ready to aid my plan, which is none other than to have you win the King +by forcing him to respect you. [_They go out_.] + + +SCENE V + + +_A plain low-ceilinged room in the palace. The walls are gray. The main +entrance is in the centre. One door at the left, a small window at the +right. + +Lackeys carry in an oaken table and place a number of wooden stools +around it. Then they bring tankards on wooden platters and set them in a +circle on the table. A brazier with live coals is also brought in. The +lackeys go out. + +The_ KING _comes from the door on the left in easy, undress house +uniform. He has a short Dutch pipe in his mouth, he shuts the door +carefully behind him._ + +KING. + +Are they gathering already + +EVERSMANN. + +There's noise enough outside there. + +KING. + +My only recreation! While I may keep this little diversion, I am willing +to bear the burdens and cares of government. Are the clay cannons +loaded? + +EVERSMANN. + +Aye--and some are fuming already outside there. + +KING. + +Is the beer right fresh? And a little bitter, eh? + +EVERSMANN. + +It might be better. + +KING. + +Those Bernau brewers had best have a care--I may pay an unexpected visit +to their brewery. How about the white smock I ordered? + +EVERSMANN. + +Ready, at hand. + +KING. + +When the meeting is over--you know what I have planned + +EVERSMANN. + +Everything is ready for Your Majesty. + +KING. + +You may go now. The door is to be opened at the stroke of ten. + +EVERSMANN. + +Yes, Your Majesty. [_He goes out_.] + +[_The_ KING _walks to the window, remaining there for a few moments. +There is a pause_.] + +KING. + +Light in my wife's apartments again! Three rooms illuminated where one +would have been enough--and tallow so expensive now. A dozen women have +been invited there tonight, and a great conspiracy is going forward, +with the Prince of Wales received incognito--all to defy me. But wait a +bit--I'll be with you. This day has begun weightily and shall end +weightily. + + +SCENE VI + + +_A small clock strikes ten. The door to the right is thrown open and the +members of the Tobacco-Conference come in, led by_ GRUMBKOW _and_ +SECKENDORF. _There are about ten of them besides the principal actors. +They come in solemnly, wearing their hats, carrying pipes in their +mouths. Passing the_ KING _they touch their hats and remove their pipes +for a moment._ HOTHAM _and the_ PRINCE of BAIREUTH _come last of all. +The_ KING _stands to the left and lets the procession move past him +toward the right of the room._ + +GRUMBKOW (_with the prescribed greeting_). + +Good evening, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Good evening, Grumbkow. + +SECKENDORF. + +Good evening, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Good evening, Seckendorf. + +COUNT SCHWERIN. + +Good evening, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Good evening, Schwerin. Does it taste good? + +SCHWERIN. + +Fine! Thanks, Your Majesty. + +COUNT WARTENSLEBEN. + +Good evening, Your Majesty. + +KING. + +Good evening, Wartensleben. Pipe draw well? + +WARTENSLEBEN. + +Yes. Thanks, Your Majesty. [_He moves past the_ KING _. The others pass +one after the other, or sometimes several at once, with similar +greetings_.] + +KING. + +Take your seats, gentlemen--no formalities--free choice--the smoke of +war levels all rank. + +GRUMBKOW. + +But the subject, Your Majesty, the subject promised for this evening? + +KING. + +Ha, ha! The target? There it comes. + +[HOTHAM _and the_ PRINCE OF BAIREUTH _come in_.] + +ALL. + +The Prince of Baireuth? + +PRINCE. + +Good evening. + +KING. + +Right, oh! Prince, that you are come. Now, at least, you will have +something good about my family to tell them in Rheinsberg. [_Aside_.] +Spy! [_Aloud_.] But your pipe is cold. + +PRINCE (_with suppressed anger_). + +I am hoping that I may find fire enough here. + +[_The company sit down, the_ KING _and_ GRUMBKOW _at one end of the +table,_ HOTHAM _and the_ PRINCE _at the other_.] + +KING. + +Lay on, gentlemen--there stand the care-chasers. + +SECKENDORF. + +To His Majesty's health! + +KING. + +No, let us rather drink, after such a day of annoyance and sorrow--let +us rather drink to cheer, jollity, and a happy turn of wit! + +[_They touch glasses with one another._ EVERMANN _moves about, serving +the guests, passing coal for the pipes, and so forth_.] + +KING (_aside_). + +Grumbkow, I wager it will be right jolly tonight. + +GRUMBKOW (_aside_). + +We'll soon begin to tap the Prince. + +KING (_aside_). + +Be merciful. His brow is already bedewed with the sweat of anxiety. +[_Aloud_.] Tell me. Prince, since you have windbagged yourself about so +much of the world--do they smoke tobacco in Versailles also? + +[Illustration: KING FREDERICK WILLIAM I AND HIS "TOBACCO COLLEGIUM" +ADOLPH VON MENZEL] + + PRINCE. + +No. Your Majesty, but I've seen sailors in London who chew it. + +KING. + +Brr! Grumbkow, we'll not introduce that fashion here. It's not because +of the taste, but such meals would be right costly. + +HOTHAM. + +Our sailors use tobacco as a remedy for scurvy. + +SECKENDORF. + +What is scurvy? + +PRINCE. + +The scurvy, Count, is a disease which begins with an evil tongue. + +KING (_aside_). + +Take notice, Grumbkow, he's pricked. On with the attack. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Eversmann, have the newest Dutch journals arrived? + +EVERSMANN. + +Yes, Your Excellency; full of lies, as usual. + +KING. + +Lies? Then, according to the proverb, that explains why our beer is so +sour. + +GRUMBKOW. + +Tell me, Eversmann, is there no news from Ansbach in the journals? + +HOTHAM (_aside to_ PRINCE). + +Arm yourself. + +EVERSMANN (_impertinently_). + +Why should there be news from such a little country? + +KING. + +Be quiet! Prussia also was once a little country. Tell me rather, what +do the Dutch write about Prussia? + +EVERSMANN. + +Outrageous things. They say that many deserters have again fled from +Potsdam. + +KING. + +That's not a lie, unfortunately. + +PRINCE. + +But they express themselves with more politeness in Holland. + +KING. + +How then, Prince? + +PRINCE. + +They say that Your Majesty's Guards consist mostly of men who suffer +from an abnormal growth. These giants, so they say, have periods where +they shoot up to such an extent that they grow and grow beyond the +tree-tops and disappear altogether from human ken. + +KING. + +Ha, ha! Wittily expressed. But drink, Prince, drink. + +GRUMBKOW. + +I imagined that Your Highness read only French journals. + +PRINCE. + +I would rather read Prussian newspapers. But, thanks to General von +Grumbkow's policies, no newspaper dare appear in Prussia. + +KING. + +Ha, ha! There you have it! [_Aside_.] See, see, he's not afraid to speak +his mind. 'Twill be a merry night. + +HOTHAM (_aside to_ PRINCE). + +Not too sharp--be milder at first. + +GRUMBKOW (_aside_). + +Seckendorf, it's time to exercise your wit. + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +Hush--I'm getting something ready. I will choose my own time. + +KING. + +But you're not drinking, Prince. You're expected to drink here. +[_Aside_.] Eversmann, keep his glass well filled-- + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +They want to make you drunk. Push your tankard nearer my place. + +KING. + +You know the old Dessauer, Prince? + +PRINCE (surprised). + +Why, Your Majesty-- + +KING. + +But do you know for what great invention mankind is indebted to the old +Dessauer? + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +Do you know that, Hotham? + +HOTHAM. + +Damn their cross questioning--say it was gaiters. + +PRINCE. + +Your Majesty wishes to know what--what the old Dessauer invented? + +KING. + +Yes, what did the old Dessauer invent? + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +Aha, you see, now we have caught him. + +PRINCE. + +It can't be gunpowder, because Count Seckendorf has already discovered +that. [_All laugh_.] + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +Never mind, Grumbkow, I'll wait the fitting moment. + +KING. + +He invented _iron ramrods_. Now, you see, my son in Rheinsberg, for all +his Homers and Voltaires, and whatever their heathen names may be, that +he gathers round him, couldn't think of anything like that. [_Aside_.] +Is he drinking, Eversmann? + +HOTHAM (_to_ PRINCE). + +Don't let slip your advantage. + +PRINCE. + +Who the devil could think of iron ramrods! + +GRUMBKOW (_rising_). + +We'll drink a pleasant journey to His Highness, the Prince Hereditary of +Baireuth. [_They all rise except the_ KING.] + +ALL. + +A pleasant journey. + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +You're done for--you've lost everything. + +PRINCE (_aside_). + +It was shameful perfidy! + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +Make him respect you--be as brutal as he is--pretend to be drunk. [_They +all sit down after having touched glasses amid laughter_.] + +PRINCE (_rises, his tankard in his hand. Speaks as if slightly +intoxicated_). + +Gentlemen-- + +KING (_aside_). + +I believe he's hipped. + +PRINCE. + +And--and--and--I thank you. [_He sits down. They all laugh_.] + +KING. + +Bravo, Prince, you are a most excellent speaker. + +GRUMBKOW. + +He's done for, Your Majesty: we must have him make a speech now. + +KING. + +Yes. Give us a speech, Prince. + +ALL. + +A speech--speech! + +[The PRINCE _rests his head in his hands and does not rise_.] + +HOTHAM. + +The question is--what shall he talk about? + +KING. + +About anything--whatever he chooses. + +HOTHAM. + +I could suggest an interesting subject. + +KING. + +Out with it. + +HOTHAM. + +What if he were to discuss some member of this merry company? + +KING. + +'Tis done! And that we need waste no time in choice--let him +discuss--me. + +ALL (_startled_). + +Your Majesty? + +KING. + +It's very warm here. [_Opens his coat_.] Let's make ourselves +comfortable, Eversmann. Well, Prince--begin. Give us a speech about me. + +HOTHAM. + +Please-- + +KING. + +No hesitation--let it be as if I had just died-- + +HOTHAM. + +Your Majesty-- + +KING. + +Quiet! Silence all. The Prince of Baireuth will give us a speech about +me. [_Aside_.] _In vino veritas_. I am curious to know whether such a +French windbag is composed entirely of falsehoods. + +HOTHAM (_aside_). + +This is the decisive moment. + +PRINCE (_steps forward, he staggers slightly then controls himself_). + +Merry company! + +KING. + +Merry? I'm dead. + +PRINCE. + +No matter, they're merry just the same. + +KING. + +Gad! is that true? + +PRINCE. + +Merry company--cheerful mourners--permit me to interrupt your enjoyment +by a few painful remarks on the qualities of the deceased. + +KING. + +Painful remarks? That's a good beginning. + +PRINCE. + +Friedrich Wilhelm I., King of Prussia, was a great man, in whose +character were united the strangest contradictions. + +KING. + +Contradictions! + +PRINCE. + +As with all those who owe their education to their own efforts, so his +mind, noble in itself, fell under the influence of disturbing emotions, +the saddest of which was distrust. + +KING. + +These are nice things I hear. + +PRINCE. + +He brought his country to a high degree of prosperity, he simplified +administration, he improved judicial procedure. But the enjoyment of all +these blessings was spoiled for him by his own fault. + +KING. + +Well--well--by his own fault! + +SECKENDORF (_aside_). + +The young man must indeed have been drinking heavily. + +PRINCE. + +His vivacity of spirit kept him in a continual unrest which was as +painful to others as to himself. When fatigued he could not conceal his +desire for pleasant recreation, but his tastes were sufficiently simple +to let him prefer satisfying this desire in the bosom of his own family. + +EVERSMANN. + +There'll be a misfortune, surely! + +PRINCE. + +But even here, where he might have reposed on a couch of roses, this +unfortunate sovereign made for himself a bed of thorns. His son's +unhappy history is so well known that I can pass over it in silence.... + +KING. + +In silence--? + +PRINCE. + +Friedrich Wilhelm could not understand the freedom of the human will. He +would have grafted stem to stem, son on father, youth on age. In +planning to bestow the hand of his charming daughter, now here, now +there, it never came to his mind that her heart might have a right to +choose--it never occurred to him to ask: "Does my choice make you happy, +child?" + +KING. + +Eversmann, take this pipe. + +PRINCE. + +Now he is departed. Those minions who during his lifetime came between +the heart of the mother and the heart of the husband and father, those +minions tremble now. It remains to be seen how the misunderstood son +will dispose of them. The father's deeds will remain the foundation of +this state. But a milder spirit will reign in the land; the arts and +sciences will outdistance the fame of cannon and bullet. And the soaring +eagle of Prussia will now truly fulfil his device, _Nec Soli +Cedis_--or, to put it in German, "Even the sun's glance shall not +dazzle thee! Even the sun shall stand aside from out thy path!" [_He +recollects himself, and after a pause returns to the table, again +pretending drunkenness_.] Hotham, give me something to drink. + +KING (_after a pause_). + +What hour is it? + +EVERSMANN. + +Eleven past, Your Majesty. (_Aside_.) If we should meet the Prince of +Wales now, woe unto him. + +KING (_taking a tankard from the table_). + +Prince, when you have come to your senses tomorrow, let them tell you +that the King touched glasses with you. + +PRINCE. + +At Your Majesty's service. + +KING. + +He doesn't understand, Hotham. Translate it into sober language for him. +Good night, gentlemen. [_He turns again and looks at the_ PRINCE +_thoughtfully, repeating the words_.] "Does my choice make you happy, +child?" [_Looking at the_ PRINCE.] Pity he's only a bookish man. + +[EVERSMANN _takes up a candlestick with officious haste, brushes angrily +past the triumphant_ HOTHAM _and throws a glance of suppressed rage at +the_ PRINCE.] + +EVERSMANN. + +May I light Your Majesty--on your visit to-- + +KING (_interrupts him with the_ PRINCE'S _words_). + +"These minions tremble--" [_After a pause, during which he glances over +them all_] I would be alone. [_He goes out_.] + + + +ACT V + + + +_A drawing-room in the_ QUEEN's _apartments. A window to the right. +Three doors, centre, right, and left. Tables and chairs. Candles on the +tables, playing-cards, and tea service_. + + +SCENE I + + +KAMKE _stands on a step-ladder fastening a large curtain over the +window. Two lackeys are assisting him_. + +KAMKE (_on the ladder_). + +There! And now be ready to receive the ladies at the little side +stairway. They will arrive in sedan chairs. No noise, do you +hear--softly--softly. [_The lackeys go out_.] + +SONNSFELD (_comes in from the left_). + +Ah, at last a festival of which the Prussian Court need not be ashamed. +Kamke, why are you draping that window? + +KAMKE. + +So that our festival may not be observed. [_Coming down off the +ladder_.] Then you too are concerned in this conspiracy? + +SONNSFELD. + +The Queen has taken all responsibility. She risks her own freedom for +that of her daughter, and will receive the Prince of Wales tonight in +strictest incognito. Is everything in readiness? + +KAMKE. + +You're planning to free the Princess from her imprisonment? That is high +treason, remember. + +SONNSFELD. + +It must succeed, at whatever cost. The Queen wishes to see the Princess +amid the circle of friends whom she has invited this evening for a +secret purpose. The Princess has been instructed. She knows that I will +come to her room and remain there in her place to deceive the sentry. +She will meet you in the Blue Room. + +KAMKE. + +The Blue Room--where--for the last few nights the White Lady has been +seen? + +SONNSFELD. + +She will meet you there-- + +KAMKE (_horrified_). + +Me? + +SONNSFELD. + +She will speak to you-- + +KAMKE. + +Me? + +SONNSFELD (_pulling him to the door at the right_). + +Yes, me--I mean you--and you will lead her from the Blue Room--you will +take her hand and bring her safely hither by the surest and quickest +route. + +KAMKE. + +My lady--whom--whom? The Princess Wilhelmine? + +SONNSFELD (_going out_). + +No, no, Kamke, the White Lady--but come quickly now, quickly. + +[_They both go out_.] + + +SCENE II + + +FRAU VON VIERECK, FRAU VON HOLZENDORF, _and about six more ladies enter +cautiously, one by one, through the centre door_. + +VIERECK. + +Hush! Step cautiously! + +HOLZENDORF (_whispering_). + +It's all quiet here--if only these wretched shoes of mine didn't creak +so. + +VIERECK (_whispering_). + +What can Her Majesty the Queen be planning for tonight? + +HOLZENDORF. + +Has His Majesty the King gone from home? + +VIERECK. + +I heard it said, at the French Embassy, that His Highness, the Crown +Prince, had come from Rheinsberg-- + +HOLZENDORF. + +Doubtless at the same time with His Highness, the Prince of Wales + +VIERECK (_low_). + +At the moment both are at the King's Smoker.--They say the Crown Prince +has again disagreed with his father on questions concerning the future +administration of the state. + +HOLZENDORF. + +Is it possible? + +VIERECK. + +And they say that the Prince of Baireuth tried to bring about a +reconciliation, but that the Prince of Wales took the part of the Crown +Prince. + +HOLZENDORF. + +The Prince of Wales? Then he has been received? + +VIERECK. + +And the King, so they say, in the heat of the argument, commanded that +Princess Wilhelmine, the cause of the quarrel, be sent to Küstrin at +once. + +HOLZENDORF. + +Good Heavens, ladies! There are cards on the table. Hush! I hear a +noise. + +VIERECK. + +It is the Queen. + +[_The_ QUEEN _comes in in full toilet. She is excited and yet timorous. +The ladies bow_.] + +QUEEN. + +Welcome, ladies. I am happy to have about me once again the circle of +those who, I know, are devoted to me. Pray sit down. I have decided to +be more sociable in future and to have you with me oftener than I have +done of late. Will you have a game of cards, Frau von Viereck? + +VIERECK. + +Cards, Your Majesty? For eighteen years now I cannot recall having seen +a card in the palace. + +QUEEN. + +We will change all that. Ladies, you have not yet heard my plans, you do +not yet know what surprises this evening has in store for you-- + +HOLZENDORF. + +Surprises, Your Majesty? + +QUEEN (_indicating a card-table near the window_). + +Sit down there, my dear Holzendorf. Try your luck with Frau von Viereck. + +VIERECK (_aside_). + +Heavens--play cards there? When every outline of my shadow can plainly +be seen through that curtain? + +QUEEN (_sitting_). + +Why do you hesitate? + +VIERECK. + +Have we Your Majesty's permission to draw the tables nearer together? +There--there is so much air at this window. + +[_The lackeys place the table farther from the window_.] + +QUEEN. + +Yes, ladies, this evening a new era begins for our monarchy. I will +break at last with the established etiquette. [_Lackeys come in with +trays_.] Order what pleases you. The beverages of China and the Levant +shall from now on no longer be strangers to our court. + +HOLZENDORF. + +What is this? Tea? + +VIERECK. + +And coffee? These forbidden beverages? + +HOLZENDORF. + +If His Majesty the King-- + +QUEEN. + +Have no fear. Give your feelings full sway--express yourself without +fear, in assurance of perfect safety--[_There is a knock at the door, +right_.] Was not that a knock? + +VIERECK (_aside, trembling_). + +What does this mean? + +[_The knock is repeated. The ladies all rise as if frightened_.] + +QUEEN. + +Be calm, ladies. There is no danger. The evening will offer one surprise +after another. Who, do you imagine, is at that door now? + +[_The knock is repeated. The ladies all rise as if frightened_.] + +HOLZENDORF. + +The hand seems none of the most delicate. + +QUEEN. + +And yet it is. That knock expresses the impetuous longing of a being +whom my courage has freed from a humiliating situation. You may resume +your seats, ladies. Do not allow yourselves to be disturbed by anything +that may occur, not even by any surprise. This is but the beginning of +many things that will come to pass this evening. And so I cry--in +overflowing emotion--[_There is another knock_.] "Moderate your +impatience, beloved being; you shall find here what you seek--your +mother!" [_She opens the door_.] + + +SCENE III + + +_The_ KING _steps in. He is wrapped in a white cloak, his hat pulled +down over his face_. + +KING. + +Yes, your mother. + +[_The ladies all rise with exclamations of horror. The_ KING _removes +his hat_.] + +QUEEN (_aside, crushed_). + +The King! + +KING (_angry, but forcing himself to be affable_). + +On my word, how fine we are here, very fine indeed! And how nice it does +look with so many lights burning. [_He blows out several_.] Why are you +hiding yourselves, ladies? Did you expect such a visitor? + +QUEEN. + +Your Majesty + +[_The ladies place themselves so that they screen the table. They hide +the cards quickly_.] + +KING. + +Do not let me disturb you, ladies. What is your particular entertainment +this evening? Enjoying a cup of soup, Frau von Holzendorf? [_Comes +nearer_.] Oho--the silver service? [_He looks into cups_.] What's that? +Tea? Chocolate? Coffee? + +QUEEN. + +Your Majesty will surely--permit us--to keep pace with our age. + +KING. + +Frau von Viereck, you, I imagine, have been keeping pace with your age +long enough. About thirty years ago you'd give an old boy like myself a +handshake occasionally. + +[_Slyly he holds out his hand to her_.] + +VIERECK (_tries to hide the cards behind her back_). + +Your Majesty--such graciousness-- + +[_She holds out one hand_.] + +KING. + +Both, Fran von Viereck--let me have both. + +[VIERECK _lets the cards fall behind her back_.] + +KING. + +What's that? Did you not drop something? My God! Cards! [_He stands as +if speechless_.] Playing-cards! [_To the_ QUEEN.] Cards, madam--a +Christian court--and cards! I am sure, Frau von Viereck, you were merely +prophesying from those cards. I know, ladies, that you were only telling +your fortunes from the cards. I am quite sure, Frau von Viereck, that +you were merely endeavoring to ascertain whether you would bury your +fifth husband also. Surely--or--is it possible? Money on the tables! +[_He clasps his hands in horror_.] You--have-been-playing?--at my +court?--playing-cards? [_There is a knock at the door to the left_.] Who +knocks there? + +QUEEN (_aside_). + +It is Wilhelmine or the Prince of Wales! I am lost! + +[_Another gentle knock is heard_.] + +KING. + +You are awaiting more visitors? Come in! + +[_He goes to the door himself and opens it_.] + + +SCENE IV + + +WILHELMINE, _wearing a white veil and domino, comes in cautiously_. + +KING. + +A veiled lady! And such mysterious visitors are received here? [_He +lifts the veil_.] What do I see! Wilhelmine! + +WILHELMINE (_throwing herself at his feet_). + +Father! Forgive me! + +KING. + +Forgive you! This invasion of the State Prison--this attack on my +sovereign will? + +WILHELMINE (_rising, aside_). + +This is a nice reception. + +[_There is a knock from the left_.] + +KING. + +Was that not another knock? [_A stronger knock_.] This castle is +haunted, I do believe. And I have indeed been fortunate enough to +prevent the outbreak of a conspiracy! [_A louder knock_.] Who is there +at that door? You will not answer? Then I must open it myself. + +QUEEN (_steps before him_). + +No, you will not. + +KING. + +You would hinder me from discovering who are enemies of the Crown? I +will open that door. + +QUEEN. + +Never! + +KING. + +You defy me? You set yourself in opposition to the King? + +QUEEN. + +Yes. I feel within me the power to do it. Ladies, hear now why I invited +you to these rooms tonight--why I asked you to appear before your queen. +Yes, Sire, the purpose of this hour was that the threads of your +political scheming might be torn apart by two hands destined to be +united for life. + +WILHELMINE. + +_Two_ hands! + +QUEEN. + +Wilhelmine, I freed you from a captivity unworthy the daughter of a +King. Open that door, Sire; you will find there my nephew, my future +son-in-law, the Prince of Wales. + +ALL. + +The Prince of Wales! + +KING (_when he has gained control of himself_). + +Madame, you have achieved your purpose. You have torn asunder the ties +that bound me to my family, that bound me to life. You know that my +honor, that my good name, are more to me than all political +calculations. You know that this scene here at night, this secret +understanding with one who in my eyes is merely an adventurous stranger, +has ruined Wilhelmine's reputation forever. You may enjoy your triumph +at your future widow's-seat, Oranienbaum, to which place I now banish +you, according to our House's laws, for the few remaining years of my +life. + +WILHELMINE (_hurrying to the_ KING's _side_). + +No--no, not that. + +KING. + +Madame, admit the Prince of Wales. + + +SCENE V + + +_The_ QUEEN, _breathing heavily, staggers to the door. After a moment's +upward glance she opens it. The_ PRINCE OF BAIREUTH _comes in, wrapped +in a white cloak_. HOTHAM _follows, carrying a pointed metal helmet, +such as belonged to the Prussian uniform of that day. The helmet must +not be seen at first_. + +WILHELMINE. + +What? Whom do I see? + +ALL. + +The Prince of Baireuth? + +QUEEN. + +Baronet, what does this mean? Where is the Prince of Wales? + +HOTHAM. + +Your Majesty, I am all astonishment. I have but just learned that the +prince is now on a journey to Scotland. + +ALL. + +What's that? + +QUEEN. + +The Prince is not in Berlin? + +HOTHAM. + +While some trustworthy witnesses insist that the Prince was actually +here, others again assert that he returned to England the very moment in +which he realized that his patriotic interests--the interests of the +cotton industry--could not be reconciled with the inclinations of his +heart. + +KING. + +And what is the Prince of Baireuth doing here? + +HOTHAM. + +He seeks, as we do, the Prince of Wales, with whom he desires a duel to +the death. + +[_All exclaim_.] + +KING. + +A duel? And why? + +HOTHAM. + +Because this poor Prince of a tiny country does not begrudge the heir to +a World-Power his fleet, his army, nor his treasures; but he refuses to +yield _one_ treasure to him except at the price of his heart's +blood--and that treasure is the hand of Princess Wilhelmine, whom +he loves. [_General emotion_.] + +KING. + +Whom he loves? My daughter's hand? But does the Prince of Baireuth +understand sword-craft? + +[HOTHAM _takes off the_ PRINCE'S _cloak and places the helmet on his +head. The_ PRINCE _stands there in the uniform of a grenadier of the +period. His hair is braided into a long pigtail. He stands motionless in +a military attitude_.] + +KING. + +What's this I see? The Prince of Baireuth a grenadier? +With--_pigtail--and--sword_--? + +HOTHAM. + +The equipment of the young recruit of the Glasenapp Regiment. I have the +honor to present him to Your Majesty before his departure for Pasewalk. + +KING. + +A German Prince, who deems it an honor to serve up from the ranks in my +army? [_Commands_.] Battalion--left wheel! Battalion--forward march! + +[PRINCE _executes manoeuvers and marches to_ WILHELMINE.] + +KING. + +Halt! [_To_ WILHELMINE] Is the enemy yonder disposed to accept the +capitulation on this side? + +WILHELMINE. + +Until death! + +KING. + +Entire regiment--right wheel! Forward march--right, left, twenty-one, +twenty-two-- + +[_All three march over to the_ QUEEN _who stands to the left of the +room_.] + +KING. + +Halt! + +WILHELMINE AND THE PRINCE (_kneeling at the_ QUEEN'S _feet_). + +Mother! + +KING. + +There was no such order given. + +PRINCE. + +But it was the hearts' impulse. + +HOTHAM (_good-naturedly, whispering to the_ QUEEN). + +Your Majesty, won't you correct the mistakes of these two young +recruits? + +QUEEN. + +Out of my sight, you traitor to your Royal House! Arise, Wilhelmine. +[_To the_ KING, _hesitating_.] But we still have Austria.... + +KING. + +But Austria hasn't us. The minions--eh, prince! Tomorrow there'll be +dismissals--dismissals and pensionings! Well, mother, shall we take him +for a son-in-law? + +QUEEN. + +On the condition that I--that I fix the amount of the dowry. + +KING. + +And also that you [_embracing the_ QUEEN] remain close to my heart. Now +only Friedrich is lacking. And all this is the result of your--your +cotton industries! Baronet Hotham? Thanks for this splendid recruit. +[_In_ HOTHAM'S _ear, audibly_] How did he sober up so soon? + +PRINCE. + +I crave your forgiveness Your Majesty--I am still drunk with joy. + +KING. + +Forgiveness? For your speech, my son? If that which you have said shall +one day be written into the book of history, then my old heart is quite +content, and has but the wish that they might add: "With his Sword he +would be King, but with his Pigtail--merely the first citizen of his +State." + + * * * * * + + + + +GERMAN LYRIC POETRY FROM 1830 to 1848 + +BY JOHN S. NOLLEN, PH.D. + +President of Lake Forest College + + +The years from 1830 to 1848 were distinctively revolutionary years in +Germany, which until then had remained strongly conservative. The spirit +of political and social reformation, which had caused the great upheaval +of the French Revolution late in the eighteenth century, had made itself +felt much more slowly across the Rhine. Even the generous enthusiasm +that animated the German people in the War of Liberation against +Napoleon in 1813 had ebbed away into disappointment and lethargy when +the German princes forgot their pledges of internal reform. The policy +of the German and Austrian rulers was dominated by the reactionary +Austrian Prime Minister, Prince Metternich, a consistent champion of +aristocratic ideas and of the "divine right of Kings." The "Revolution +of July," 1830, however, which overthrew the Bourbon dynasty in France, +had its counterpart in popular movements that forced the granting of +constitutions or other liberal concessions in several German states; +and, though the policy of Metternich still remained dominant, the +liberal sentiment grew in power until the February revolution of 1848 in +Paris inspired similar upheavals in all Germany. Metternich himself was +now compelled to retire, Frederick William IV. of Prussia granted his +people a constitution, and the other German states seethed with revolt; +but the great liberal plan to unify Germany under the leadership of +Prussia was nullified by Frederick William's refusal to accept the +imperial crown from a democratic assembly. + +The lyric poetry of Germany in these years inevitably reflected the +liberal sentiment of the time; it is always the radical emotion of any +revolutionary period that finds the most effective lyric expression, the +conservative state of mind being more characteristically prosaic. For +the group of ardent spirits who made themselves the heralds of the new +day, one of their number, the novelist and dramatist Karl Gutzkow, found +the name "Young Germany." Just as the "Storm and Stress" of 1770 to +1780, and the Romantic movement of the opening nineteenth century, +represented a spirit of sharp revolt against the then dominant +pseudo-classicism and rationalism, so "Young Germany" reacted +passionately against the moonlight sentimentality of the popular +romantic poets, as well as against the stupid political conservatism of +the time. The aim of the Young Germans was to bring literature down from +the clouds into vital contact with the immediate problems of the day. +Thus there was developed a body of literature strongly polemic in +purpose, quite hostile to the ideals of detachment and disinterested +worship of beauty that Goethe and Schiller in their classical period had +preached and practised. This literature took the form of fiction, drama, +and journalism, as well as of poetry. Indeed, the only important lyric +poet of the Young German group was HEINRICH HEINE (1797-1856), who had +begun his career with the most intimate poetry of personal confession, +in which the simplicity of the folk-song and the nature-feeling of the +romanticist are strongly tinged with wit and cynicism. Heine's +impatience with German conditions led him to expatriate himself, and +from his retreat in Paris to aim venomous shafts of satire at his native +land, with its "three dozen masters" and its philistine conservative +nightcaps and dumplings. This brilliant poet, with his marvelous mastery +of German lyric tones, expressed a wide range of poetic inspiration; but +he loved particularly to conceive of himself as an apostle of liberty, +an outpost of the revolutionary army, and none so well as he could tip +the barb with biting sarcasm and satire. Heine's personality was full +of seemingly inconsistent traits. He was both fanciful and rational, +serious and flippant, tender and cynical, reverent and impious; and he +could be at once a patriot and an alien. He was, to use his own phrase, +an "unfrocked romanticist"--at once a brilliant representative of the +poetry of self-expression and personal caprice, and an exemplar and +prophet of a new ideal, the "holy alliance of poetry with the cause of +the nations." + +The different attitudes of thoughtful men toward the influences of the +time were variously reflected in the work of three leading poets, all +older than Heine, who contributed largely to the lyric output of the +period. ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO (1781-1835), of aristocratic French +descent, and using all the familiar romantic forms and motives, was yet +thoroughly democratic and prophetically modern in his unalloyed sympathy +with the impoverished victims of the social order. It was something new +for German poetry to find inspiration in the wrath of a beggar who +cannot pay his dog-tax, the sardonic piety of an old widow reduced to +penury by the exactions of the "gracious prince," or the laborious +resignation of an aged washerwoman.--The Silesian nobleman JOSEPH VON +EICHENDORFF (1788-1857), Prussian officer and civil official, was a +consistent conservative in his political attitude, a pious Catholic, and +a romanticist in every fibre of his poetic soul. His lyrics are the +purest echoes of folk-song and folk-lore, and the simplicity and +genuineness of his art give an undying charm to his songs of idyllic +meadows and woodlands, post-chaises, carefree wanderers, and lovely +maidens in picturesque settings; all suffused with gentle yearning and +melting into soft melody. Eichendorff's patriotism was of the +traditional type, echoing faintly the battle-hymns of the War of +Liberation. For the great liberal movement of the thirties and forties +he had neither sympathy nor comprehension.--FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT +(1788-1866), endowed with a fatal facility of lyric expression, a +virtuoso for whom no _tour-de-force_ was too difficult, lived most of +his life aloof from the political and social movements of his time. In +his youth his _Sonnets in Armor_ had done sturdy service in the national +awakening against Napoleon, but his maturer years were devoted to +domestic and academic interests. Every impression of his life, whether +deep or fleeting, was material for a poem or a cycle. He handled with +consummate skill the odd or complicated metres of eastern and southern +lyric forms, and he was most versatile as a translator of foreign +poetry, ancient and modern, occidental and oriental. His unusual formal +talent and mastery of language were a constant temptation to rapid and +superficial versifying; but there are in the vast mass of his production +many genuine poems of great beauty. + +Two other poets of quite distinctive quality stood aloof from the +political interests of the time. The talented Westphalian Catholic +poetess ANNETTE VON DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF (1797-1848) has a place apart in her +generation, not only for the fine religious poems of her _Christian +Year_ (similar in plan to Keble's cycle), but also for her nature-lyrics +and songs of common life, which are marked by minute realistic detail +and refreshing originality of observation and sentiment. This pious +gentlewoman, usually so maidenly in her reserve, nevertheless expressed +something of the spirit of emancipation in her quiet protest against the +narrow conventional limits of the feminine life. But she would have +recoiled with horror from the reckless propaganda for sex-freedom that +was a part of the Young German campaign, as she also repudiated the +violence of the revolutionists of 1848.--If there is something masculine +in Fräulein von Droste's firm and plastic touch, there is something +almost feminine in the finely-chiseled lyrics of the Protestant pastor +EDUARD MÖRIKE (1804-1875), whose _Poems_ appeared in the same year +(1838), and blended the folk-song simplicity and melody of an +Eichendorff with the classical form-sense of a Keats. This Suabian +country vicar, the youngest member of the group about Uhland, lived in +the utmost serenity amid the troubles of revolutionary agitation, +devoted to his art, turning the common experiences of every day into +forms of beauty, or reviving with charming naïveté the romantic figures +of medieval poetry. + +We emerge completely from the quietude and piety of these individualists +when we come to a group of men who were distinctively political poets. +Here we find the direct lyric expression of the revolutionary movement. +The first in the field was ANASTASIUS GRÜN (the pen-name of Count Anton +von Auersperg, 1806-1876). This Austrian nobleman boldly attacked the +reactionary policy of Metternich in his _Saunterings of a Viennese Poet_ +(1831); with biting irony he pictures the fate of the Greek patriot +Hypsilantes, broken in health by the "hospitality" of Austrian +prison-fortresses, or describes the all-powerful minister-of-state +enjoying his social triumphs in the palace ball-room, while Austria +stands outside the gate vainly pleading for liberty. In another +collection entitled _Debris_ (1836) there are whole-hearted protests +against the political martyrdom of the best patriots, and the oppressive +despotism under which Italy groaned, with which Grün contrasts the +blessings of liberty in America. + +Anastasius Grün was the forerunner. The period of the real dominance of +political poetry began with 1840, when a petty official in a Rhenish +village, Nikolaus Becker, electrified Germany with a martial poem, _The +German Rhine_, inspired by French threats of war with Prussia and of the +conquest of the Rhine territory. The same events inspired Max +Schneckenburger's _Wacht am Rhein_, which at the time could not compete +in popularity with Becker's poem, but in later years has quite +supplanted it as a permanent national song. German officialdom, which +had looked askance at all political poetry, easily saw the value to the +national defense of such patriotic strains, and now encouraged these +national singers with gifts and honors. But political poetry could not +be kept within officially recognized bounds. Inevitably it became +partisan and revolutionary in character. HEINRICH HOFFMANN (who styled +himself VON FALLERS-LEBEN after his birthplace; 1798-1874), one of the +most prolific lyric poets of Germany, had the knack of expressing the +common feeling in poems that became genuine national songs; the most +famous of these, _Deutschland, Deutschland über alles_ (1841), is still +sung wherever those who love Germany congregate. But from this +expression of the common German tradition Hoffmann went on to espouse +the liberal cause, and he had his taste of martyrdom when he lost his +professorship at Breslau because of his ironical _Unpolitical Songs_ +(1840-42). Hoffmann was essentially an improviser, and sang only too +copiously in all the tones and fashions of German verse. + +FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876) gained immediate fame with the +brilliant color and tropical exuberance of his early oriental lyrics, of +which the much-declaimed _Lion's Ride_ is an excellent example. But +Freiligrath's strongest work was in the field of political poetry. He, +too, made sacrifices for the faith that was in him; he gave up a royal +pension and twice went into voluntary exile in order to be free to +express his liberal sentiments. He began, indeed, with the denial of any +partisan bias; but when the Revolution of 1848 broke, no other poet +found more daring and eloquent words for the spirit of revolt and of +democratic enthusiasm than Freiligrath. And when the war of 1870 again +brought new hope of German unity, Freiligrath sang in stirring measures +this national awakening. + +GEORG HERWEGH (1817-1875), also driven into exile by his opposition to +the government, created a sensation with his _Poems of the Living_ +(1841), which in ringing refrains incited to revolutionary action. But +when the deed followed the word, and Herwegh led an invading column of +laborers into Baden in 1848, he lacked the courage of the martyr and +fled from the peril of death. _GOTTFRIED KINKEL_ (1815-1882) also took +part in the insurrection in Baden, was captured, and condemned to life +imprisonment, but escaped with the aid of Carl Schurz in 1850. FRANZ +DINGELSTEDT (1814-1881), on the other hand, found his sarcastic _Songs +of a Political Night-Watchman_ (1842) no bar to appointment as director +of the theatres of Munich, Weimar and Vienna. + +While the poets of the revolution were busily at work, the conservatives +were not altogether voiceless; nor were the notes of the romantic lyric +silenced. Indeed, men like Hoffmann, Herwegh, and Kinkel could not deny +the strong influence of the romantic motives and tones upon much of +their best poetry. One lyrist greater than any of them was dominated by +the romantic tradition--an Austrian nobleman of mingled German, Slavonic +and Hungarian blood, NIKOLAUS LENAU (the pen-name of Nikolaus Franz +Niembsch Edler von Strehlenau, 1802-1850). A gifted musician, Lenau was +also a master of the melody of words, and his nature-feeling was +unusually deep and true. Abnormally proud, self-centred and sensitive as +he was, Lenau was born to unhappiness and disillusionment; his journey +to America, begun with the most generous anticipations, ended in +homesickness and bitter disappointment. Before he had reached middle +life, his genius went out in the darkness of insanity. The picturesque +and the tragic fascinated Lenau; he could sing with genuine sympathy the +fate of dismembered Poland, or the lawless freedom of Hungarian rebels +and gipsies; but for the great political movements of the day he had +little regard. In the melodious interpretation of nature in sad and +quiet moods he had no rival. + +Very different was the wholesome and chivalrous nature of the young +Moravian Count MORITZ VON STRACHWITZ (1822-1847), whose ballads are +unmatched in German literature for spirit and fire. Strachwitz despised +the democratic agitation of the revolutionists, and sang with fine +enthusiasm the coming of the strong man, who, after all the intrigues of +the demagogues, like another Alexander should cut the Gordian knot with +the sword. + +With EMANUEL GEIBEL (1815-1884) we come to the voice of fair compromise +between the extremes. Geibel was a conservative liberal, honestly +patriotic without partisanship. Thus his _Twelve Sonnets for +Schleswig-Holstein_ (1846) were broadly German in inspiration, and his +love of liberty was matched by his aristocratic hatred of the mob. +Geibel succeeded in once more gaining the widest popularity, in days +filled with partisan clamor, for the pure lyric of romantic inspiration. +He was in a true sense the poet-laureate of his generation. Lacking in +real originality, he was yet sincere in the expression of his emotion, +and his faultless form clothed the utterance of a soul of rare purity +and nobility. + +As in the days after the War of Liberation, so in the years following +the revolutionary movements of 1848, the generous hopes of the people +seemed doomed to perish in weariness and disappointment, and the voice +of democratic poetry was silenced. In the reaction that followed the +intoxication of liberal enthusiasm, with the failure of the attempt to +unify Germany under Prussian leadership, the German lands relapsed into +dull acquiescence in the old regime. But the seed of the new day had +been sown, and the harvest came in due time. Strachwitz's intuition was +justified; the strong man did appear, in the person of Bismarck, and the +"Gordian knot" was cut with the sword of the war of 1870. But the +liberal dream of 1848 was realized, also, in the creation of a unified +and powerful German Empire on a constitutional basis. + + * * * * * + + +[Illustration: ANASTASIUS GRÜN] + +ANASTASIUS GRÜN + + + A SALON SCENE[14] (1831) + + Evening: In the festive halls the light of many candles gleams, + Shedding from the mirrors' crystal thousand-fold reflected beams. + In the sea of light are gliding, with a stately, solemn air, + Honored, venerable matrons, ladies young and very fair. + + And among them wander slowly, clad in festive garments grand, + Here the valiant sons of battle, there the rulers of the land. + But on one that I see moving every eye is fixed with fear-- + Few indeed among the chosen have the courage to draw near. + + He it is by whose firm guidance Austrians' fortunes rise or sink, + He who in the Princes' Congress for them all must act and think. + But behold him now! How gracious, courteous, gentle he's to all, + And how modest, unassuming, and how kind to great and small! + + In the light his orders sparkle with a faint and careless grace, + But a friendly, gentle smile is always playing on his face + When he plucks the ruddy rose leaves that some rounded bosom wears, + Or when, like to withered blossoms, kingdoms he asunder tears. + + Equally enchanting is it, when he praises golden curls, + Or when, from anointed heads, the royal crowns away he hurls. + Yes, methinks 'tis heavenly rapture, which delights the happy man + Whom his words to Elba's fastness or to Munkacs' prison ban. + + Could all Europe now but see him, so engaging, so gallant, + How the ladies, young and old, his winning smiles delight, enchant; + How the church's pious clergy, and the doughty men of war, + And the state's distinguished servants by his grace enraptured are. + + Man of state and man of counsel, since you're in a mood so kind, + Since you're showing to all present such a gracious frame of mind, + See, without, a needy client standing waiting at your door + Whom the slightest sign of favor will make happy evermore. + + And you do not need to fear him; he's intelligent and fair; + Hidden 'neath his homely garments, knife nor dagger does he wear. + 'Tis the Austrian people, open, honest, courteous as can be. + See, they're pleading: "May we ask you for the freedom to be free?" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: NICOLAUS LENAU] + +NIKOLAUS LENAU + + + PRAYER[15] (1832) + + Eye of darkness, dim dominioned, + Stay, enchant me with thy might, + Earnest, gentle, dreamy-pinioned, + Sweet, unfathomable night. + + With magician's mantle cover + All this day-world from my sight, + That for aye thy form may hover + O'er my being, lovely night. + + * * * * * + + SEDGE SONGS[16] (1832) + + I + + In the west the sun departing + Leaves the weary day asleep, + And the willows trail their streamers + In these waters still and deep. + + Flow, my bitter tears, flow ever; + All I love I leave behind; + Sadly whisper here the willows, + And the reed shakes in the wind. + + Into my deep lonely sufferings + Tenderly you shine afar, + As athwart these reeds and rushes + Trembles soft yon evening star. + + II + + Oft at eve I love to saunter + Where the sedge sighs drearily, + By entangled hidden footpaths, + Love! and then I think of thee. + + When the woods gloom dark and darker, + Sedges in the night-wind moan, + Then a faint mysterious wailing + Bids me weep, still weep alone. + + And methinks I hear it wafted, + Thy sweet voice, remote yet clear, + Till thy song, descending slowly, + Sinks into the silent mere. + + III + + Angry sunset sky, + Thunder-clouds o'erhead, + Every breeze doth fly, + Sultry air and dead. + + From the lurid storm + Pallid lightnings break, + Their swift transient form + Flashes through the lake. + + And I seem to see + Thyself, wondrous nigh-- + Streaming wild and free + Thy long tresses fly. + + * * * * * + + [Illustration: EVENING ON THE SHORE HANS AM ENDE] + + SONGS BY THE LAKE[17] (1832) + + I + + In the sky the sun is failing, + And the weary day would sleep, + Here the willow fronds are trailing + In the water still and deep. + + From my darling I must sever: + Stream, oh tears, stream forth amain! + In the breeze the rushes quiver + And the willow sighs in pain. + + On my soul in silence grieving + Mild thou gleamest from afar, + As through rushes interweaving + Gleams the mirrored evening star. + + IV + + Sunset dull and drear; + Dark the clouds drive past; + Sultry, full of fear, + All the winds fly fast. + + Through the sky's wild rack + Shoots the lightning pale; + O'er the waters black + Burns its flickering trail. + + In the vivid glare + Half I see thy form, + And thy streaming hair + Flutters in the storm. + + V + + On the lake as it reposes + Dwells the moon with glow serene + Interweaving pallid roses + With the rushes' crown of green. + + Stags from out the hillside bushes + Gaze aloft into the night, + Waterfowl amid the rushes + Vaguely stir with flutterings light + + Down my tear-dim glance I bend now, + While through all my soul a rare + Thrill of thought toward thee doth tend now + Like an ecstasy of prayer. + + * * * * * + + THE POSTILION[18] (1833) + + Passing lovely was the night, + Silver clouds flew o'er us, + Spring, methought, with splendor dight + Led the happy chorus. + + Sleep-entranced lay wood and dale, + Empty now each by-way; + No one but the moonlight pale + Roamed upon the highway. + + Breezes wandering in the gloom + Soft their footsteps numbered + Through Dame Nature's sleeping-room + Where her children slumbered. + + Timidly the brook stole by, + While the beds of blossom + Breathed their perfume joyously + On the still night's bosom. + + My postilion, heedless all, + Cracked his whip most gaily, + And his merry trumpet-call + Rang o'er hill and valley. + + Hoofs beat steadily the while, + As the horses gamboled, + And along the shady aisle + Spiritedly rambled. + + Grove and meadow gliding past + Vanished at a glimmer: + Peaceful towns were gone as fast, + Like to dreams that shimmer. + + Midway in the Maytide trance + Tombs were shining whitely; + 'Twas the churchyard met our glance-- + None might view it lightly. + + Close against the mountain braced + Ran the long white wall there, + And the cross, in sorrow placed, + Silent rose o'er all there. + + Jehu straight, his humor spent, + Left his tuneful courses; + On the cross his gaze he bent + Then pulled up his horses. + + "Here's where horse and coach must wait-- + You may think it odd, sir:-- + But up yonder, lies my mate + Underneath the sod, sir. + + "Better lad was never born-- + (Sir 'twas God's own pity!) + No one else could blow the horn + Half as shrill and pretty. + + "So I stop beside the wall + Every time I pass here, + And I blow his favorite call + To him under grass here." + + Toward the churchyard then he blew + One call after other, + That they might go ringing through + To his sleeping brother. + + From the cliff each lively note + Echoing resounded, + As it were the dead man's throat + Answering strains had sounded. + + On we went through field and hedge, + Loosened bridles jingling; + Long that echo from the ledge + In my ear kept tingling. + + * * * * * + + TO THE BELOVED FROM AFAR[19] (1838) + + His sweet rose here oversea + I must gather sadly; + Which, beloved, unto thee + I would bring how gladly! + + But alas! if o'er the foam + I this flower should carry, + It would fade ere I could come; + Roses may not tarry. + + Farther let no mortal fare + Who would be a wooer, + Than unwithered he may bear + Blushing roses to her, + + Or than nightingale may fly + For her nesting grasses, + Or than with the west wind's sigh + Her soft warbling passes. + + * * * * * + + THE THREE GIPSIES[20] + + Three gipsy men I saw one day + Stretched out on the grass together, + As wearily o'er the sandy way + My wagon brushed the heather. + + The first of the three was fiddling there + In the glow of evening pallid, + Playing a wild and passionate air, + The tune of some gipsy ballad. + + From the second's pipe the smoke-wreaths curled, + He watched them melt at his leisure. + So full of content, it seemed the world + Had naught to add to his pleasure. + + And what of the third?--He was fast asleep, + His harp to a bough confided; + The breezes across the strings did sweep, + A dream o'er his heart-strings glided. + + The garb of all was worn and frayed, + With tatters grotesquely mended; + But flouting the world, and undismayed, + The three with fate contended. + + They showed me how, by three-fold scoff, + When cares of life perplex us, + To smoke, or sleep, or fiddle them off, + And scorn the ills that vex us. + + I passed them, but my gaze for long + Dwelt on the trio surly-- + Their dark bronze features sharp and strong, + Their loose hair black and curly. + + * * * * * + + MY HEART[21] (1844) + + Sleepless night, the rushing rain, + While my heart with ceaseless pain + Hears the mournful past subsiding + Or the uncertain future striding. + + Heart, 'tis fatal thus to harken, + Let not fear thy courage darken, + Though the past be all regretting + And the future helpless fretting. + + Onward, let what's mortal die. + Is the storm near, beat thou high. + Who came safe o'er Galilee + Makes the voyage now in thee. + + * * * * * + +EDUARD MÖRIKE + + AN ERROR CHANCED[22] (1824) + + An error chanced in the moonlight garden + Of a once inviolate love. + Shuddering I came on an outworn deceit, + And with sorrowing look, yet cruel, + Bade I the slender + Enchanting maiden + Leave me and wander far. + Alas! her lofty forehead + Was bowed, for she loved me well; + Yet did she go in silence + Into the dim gray + World outside. + + Sick since then, + Wounded and woeful heart! + Never shall it be whole. + + Meseems that, spun of the air, a thread of magic + Binds her yet to me, an unrestful bond; + It draws, it draws me faint with love toward her. + Might it yet be some day that on my threshold + I should find her, as erst, in the morning twilight, + Her traveler's bundle beside her, + And her eye true-heartedly looking up to me, + Saying, "See, I've come back, + Back once more from the lonely world!" + + * * * * * + + A SONG FOR TWO IN THE NIGHT[23] (1825) + + _She_. How soft the night wind strokes the meadow grasses + And, breathing music, through the woodland passes! + Now that the upstart day is dumb, + One hears from the still earth a whispering throng + Of forces animate, with murmured song + Joining the zephyrs' well-attunèd hum. + + _He_. I catch the tone from wondrous voices brimming, + Which sensuous on the warm wind drifts to me, + While, streaked with misty light uncertainly, + The very heavens in the glow are swimming. + + _She_. The air like woven fabric seems to wave, + Then more transparent and more lustrous groweth; + Meantime a muted melody outgoeth + From happy fairies in their purple cave. + To sphere-wrought harmony + Sing they, and busily + The thread upon their silver spindles floweth. + + _He_. Oh lovely night! how effortless and free + O'er samite black-though green by day--thou movest! + And to the whirring music that thou lovest + Thy foot advances imperceptibly. + Thus hour by hour thy step doth measure-- + In trancèd self-forgetful pleasure + Thou'rt rapt; creation's soul is rapt with thee! + + * * * * * + + [Illustration: EDUARD MÖRIKE WEISS] + + EARLY AWAY[24] (1828) + + The morning frost shines gray + Along the misty field + Beneath the pallid way + Of early dawn revealed. + + Amid the glow one sees + The day-star disappear; + Yet o'er the western trees + The moon is shining clear. + + So, too, I send my glance + On distant scenes to dwell; + I see in torturing trance + The night of our farewell. + + Blue eyes, a lake of bliss, + Swim dark before my sight, + Thy breath, I feel, thy kiss; + I hear thy whispering light. + + My cheek upon thy breast + The streaming tears bedew, + Till, purple-black, is cast + A veil across my view. + + The sun comes out; he glows, + And straight my dreams depart, + While from the cliffs he throws + A chill across my heart. + + * * * * * + + THE FORSAKEN MAIDEN[25] (1829) + + Early when cocks do crow + Ere the stars dwindle, + Down to the hearth I go, + Fire must I kindle. + + Fair leap the flames on high, + Sparks they whirl drunken; + I watch them listlessly + In sorrow sunken. + + Sudden it comes to me, + Youth so fair seeming, + That all the night of thee + I have been dreaming. + + Tears then on tears do run + For my false lover; + Thus has the day begun-- + Would it were over! + + * * * * * + + WEYLA'S SONG[26] (1831) + + Thou art Orplede, my land + Remotely gleaming; + The mist arises from thy sun-bright strand + To where the faces of the gods are beaming. + + Primeval rivers spring renewed + Thy silver girdle weaving, child! + Before the godhead bow subdued + Kings, thy worshipers and watchers mild. + + * * * * * + + SECLUSION[27] (1832) + + Let, oh world, ah let me be! + Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure. + Leave alone this heart to treasure + All its joy, its misery. + + What my grief I can not say, + 'Tis a strange, a wistful sorrow; + Yet through tears at every morrow + I behold the light of day. + + When my weary soul finds rest + Oft a beam of rapture brightens + All the gloom of cloud, and lightens + This oppression in my breast. + + Let, oh world, all, let me be! + Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure. + Leave alone this heart to treasure + All its joy, its misery. + + * * * * * + + THE SOLDIER'S BETROTHED[28] (1837) + + Oh dear, if the king only knew + How brave is my sweetheart, how true! + He would give his heart's blood for the king, + But for me he would do the same thing. + + My love has no ribbon or star, + No cross such as gentlemen wear, + A gen'ral he'll never become; + If only they'd leave him at home! + + For stars there are three shining bright + O'er the Church of St. Mary each night; + We are bound by a rose-woven band, + And a house-cross is always at hand. + + * * * * * + + THE OLD WEATHERCOCK: AN IDYLL[29] (1840, 1852) + + At Cleversulzbach in the Underland + A hundred and thirteen years did I stand + Up on the tower in wind and rain, + An ornament and a weathervane. + Through night and tempest gazing down, + Like a good old cock I watched the town. + The lightning oft my form has grazed, + The frost my scarlet comb o'erglazed, + And many a warm long summer's day, + In times when all seek shade who may, + The scorching sun with rage unslaked + My golden body well has baked. + So in my age all black I'd grown, + My beauteous glint and gleam was gone, + Till I at length, despised by all, + Was lifted from my pedestal. + Ah well! 'tis thus we run our race, + Another now must have my place. + Go strut, and preen, but don't forget + What court the wind will pay you yet! + + Farewell, sweet landscape, mount and dell! + Vineyard and forest, fare ye well! + Belovèd tower, the roof's high ridge, + Churchyard and streamlet with its bridge; + Oh fountain, where the cattle throng + And sheep come trooping all day long, + With Hans to urge them on their way. + And Eva on the piebald gray! + Ye storks and swallows with your clatter, + And sparrows, how I'll miss your chatter! + For every bit of dirt seems dear + Which o'er my form you used to smear. + Goodby, my worthy friend the pastor, + And you, poor driveling old schoolmaster. + 'Tis o'er, what cheered my heart so long. + The sound of organ, bells and song. + + So from my, lofty perch I crew, + And would have sung much longer too, + When came a crooked devil's minion, + The slater 'twas in my opinion. + Who after many a knock and shake + Detached me wholly from my stake. + My poor old heart was broke at last + When from the roof he pulled me past + The bells which from their station glared + And on my fate in wonder stared, + But vexed themselves no more about me, + Thinking they'd hang as well without me. + + Then to the scrap-heap I was brought, + For twopence by the blacksmith bought, + Which as he paid he said 'twas wonder + How much folk wanted for such plunder. + And there at noon of that same day + In grief before his hut I lay. + The time being May, a little tree + Shed snow-white blossoms over me, + While other chickens by the dozen + Unheeding cackled round their cousin. + 'Twas then the pastor happened by, + Spoke to the smith, then smiling, "Hi! + And have you come to this, poor cock + A strange bird, Andrew, for your flock! + He'll hardly do to broil or roast; + For me though, I may fairly boast + Things must go hard if I've no place + For old church servants in hard case. + Bring him along then speedily + And drink a glass of wine with me." + + The sooty lout with quick assent + Laughed, picked me up, and off we went. + A little more, and from my throat + Toward heaven I'd sent a joyous note. + Within the manse the strange new guest + Astounded all from most to least; + But soon each face, before afraid, + The glowing light of joy displayed. + Wife, maids and menfolks, girls and boys + Surrounded with a seven-fold noise + The giant rooster in the hall, + Welcoming, looking, handling all. + The man of God with jealous care + Took me himself and climbed the stair + To his own study, while the pack + Came stumbling after at his back. + + Within these walls is peace enshrined! + Entering, we left the world behind. + I seemed to breathe a magic air, + Essence of books and learning rare, + Geranium scent and mignonette, + And faint tobacco lingering yet. + (To me of course all this was new.) + An ancient stove I noticed, too, + In the left corner in full view. + Quite like a tower its bulk was raised + Until its peak the ceiling grazed, + With pillared strength and flowery grace, + O most delightful resting-place! + On the top wreath as on a mast + The blacksmith set me firm and fast. + + Behold my stove with reverent eyes! + Cathedral-like its noble size; + With store of pictures overwrought, + And rhymes that tell of pious thought. + Of such I learned full many a word, + While the old stove from out its hoard + Would draw them forth for young and old, + When the snow fell and winds blew cold. + Here you may see where on the tile + Stands Bishop Hatto's towered isle, + While rats and mice on every side + Swim through the Rhine's opposing tide. + The armed grooms in vain wage war, + + The host of tails grows more and more, + Till thousands ranged in close array + Leap from the walls on those at bay + And seize the bishop in his room: + An awful death is now his doom; + Devoured straightway shall he be + To pay the price of perjury. + --There too Belshazzar's banquet shines, + Voluptuous women, costly wines; + But in the amazèd sight of all + The dread hand writes upon the wall. + --Lastly the pictures represent + How Sarah listens in the tent + While God Almighty, come to earth, + Foretells to Abraham the birth + Of Isaac and his seed thereafter. + Sarah cannot restrain her laughter, + Since both are well advanced in years. + God asks when he the laughter hears: + "Doth Sarah laugh then at God's will, + And doubt if this he may fulfil?" + Her indiscretion to recall + She says, "I did not laugh at all." + Which commonly would be a lie; + But God prefers to pass it by, + Since 'tis not done with malice dark, + And she's a lady patriarch. + + Now that I'm here, I think with reason + That winter is the fairest season + How smooth the daily current flows + To ev'ry week's belovèd close! + --Just about nine on Friday night, + Sole by the lamp's reposeful light + My master with a mind perplexed + Sets out to choose his Sunday text. + Before the stove a while he stands, + Walks to and fro with twisted hands, + And vainly struggles to determine + The theme on which to thread his sermon. + Now and again amid his doubt + He lifts the window and looks out. + --Oh cooling surge of starlit air, + Pour on my brow your tide so rare! + I see where Verrenberg doth glimmer, + And Shepherds' Knoll with snows a-shimmer. + He sits him down to write at last, + Dips pen and makes the A and O, + Which o'er his "Preface" always go. + I meanwhile from my post on high + Ne'er from my master turn an eye, + Look at him now, with far-off gaze + Pondering, testing every phrase; + The snuffer once he seizes quick + And cleans of soot the flaming wick; + Then oft in deep abstraction, he + Murmurs a sentence audibly, + Which I with outstretched bill peck up + And fill with lore my eager crop. + So do we come by smooth gradation + To where begins the "Application." + "Eleven!" comes the watchman's shout. + My master hears and turns about. + "Bedtime!" He rises, takes the light, + Nor ever hears my shrill "good-night!" + Alone in darkness then I'd be; + That has no terrors, though, for me. + Behind the wainscot sharply picking + I hear a while the death-clock ticking, + I hear the marten vainly scoop + The earth around the chicken-coop. + Along the eaves the night-wind brushes, + And through far trees the tempest rushes-- + + Bird Wood's the name that forest bears, + Where rude old Winter raves and tears. + Now splits a beech with such a crack + That all the valleys echo it back. + --My goodness! when these sounds I hear + I'm glad a pious stove's so near, + Which warms you so the long hours through + That night seems fraught with blessings too. + --Just now I well might feel afraid, + When thieves and murderers ply their trade; + 'Tis lucky, faith, for those who are + Secured from harm by bolt and bar. + How could I call so men would hear me + If some one raised a ladder near me? + When thoughts like this attack my brain + The sweat runs down my back like rain. + At two, thank God! again at three, + A cock-crow rises clear and free, + And with the morning bell at five + My whole heart, now once more alive, + High in my breast with rapture springs, + When finally the watchman sings + "Arise, good friends, for Jesus' sake, + For bright and fair the day doth break." + + Soon after this, an hour at most, + My spurs are growing stiff with frost + When in comes Lisa, hums some snatches, + And rakes the fire until it catches. + Then from below, quite savory too, + I scent the steam of onion stew. + At length my master enters gay, + Fresh for the business of the day. + On Saturday a worthy priest + Should keep his room, his house at least; + Not visit or distract his brain, + Turning his thoughts to things profane. + My master was not tempted so, + But once--don't let it out, you know-- + He squandered all his precious wits + Making a titmouse trap for Fritz-- + Right here, and talked and had a smoke; + To me, I'll own, it seemed a joke. + + The blessed Sabbath now is here. + The church-bells call both far and near, + The organ sounds so loud to me + I think I'm in the sacristy. + There's not a soul in all the house; + I hear a fly, and then a mouse. + The sunlight now the window reaches + And through the cactus stems it stretches, + Fain o'er the walnut desk to glide, + Some ancient cabinet-maker's pride. + There it beholds with searching looks + Concordances and children's books, + On wafer-box and seal it dances + And lights the inkwell with its glances; + Across the sand it strikes its wedge, + Is cut upon the penknife's edge, + Across the armchair freely roams, + Then to the bookcase with its tomes. + There clad in parchment and in leather + The Suabian Fathers stand together: + Andrea, Bengel, Riegers two, + And Oetinger are well in view. + The sun each golden name reads o'er + And with a kiss he gilds yet more. + As Hiller's "Harp" his fingers touch-- + Hark! does it ring? It lacks not much. + + With that a spider slim and small + Begins upon my frame to crawl, + And, never asking my goodwill, + Suspends his web from neck to bill. + I don't disturb myself a whit, + Just wait and watch him for a bit. + For him it is a lucky hap + That I'm disposed to take a nap.-- + But tell me now if anywhere + An old church cock might better fare. + + A twinge of longing now and then + Will vex, no doubt, the happiest men. + In summer I could wish outside + Upon the dove-cote roof to bide, + With just beneath the garden bright + And stretch of greensward too in sight. + Or else again in winter time, + When, as today, the weather's prime:-- + Now I've begun, I'll say it out + We've got a sleigh here, staunch and stout, + All colored, yellow, black and green; + Just freshly painted, neat and clean; + And on the dashboard proudly strutting + A strange, new-fangled fowl is sitting: + Now if they'd have me fixed up right-- + The whole expense would be but slight-- + I'd stand there quite as well as he + And none need feel ashamed of me! + --Fool! I reply, accept your fate, + And be not so immoderate. + Perhaps 'twould suit your high behest + If some one, for a common jest, + Would take you, stove and all, away + And set you up there on the sleigh, + With all the family round you too: + Man, woman, child--the whole blest crew! + Old image, what! so shameless yet, + And prone on gauds your mind to set? + Think on your latter end at last! + Your hundredth year's already past. + + * * * * * + + THINK OF IT, MY SOUL![30] (1852) + + Somewhere a pine is green, + Just where who knoweth, + And in a garth unseen + A rose-tree bloweth. + These are ordained for thee-- + Think, oh soul, fixedly-- + Over thy grave to be; + Swift the time floweth. + + Two black steeds on the down + Briskly are faring, + Or on their way to town + Canter uncaring. + These may with heavy tread + Slowly convey the dead + E'en ere the shoes be shed + They now are wearing. + + * * * * * + + ERINNA TO SAPPHO[31] (1863) + + (Erinna was a Greek poetess, a friend and pupil of Sappho of Lesbos. + She died at the age of nineteen.) + + "Many the paths to Hades," an ancient proverb + Tells us, "and one of them thou thyself shalt follow, + Doubt not!" My sweetest Sappho, who can doubt it? + Tells not each day the old tale? + Yet the foreboding word in a youthful bosom + Rankles not, as a fisher bred by the seashore, + Deafened by use, perceives the breaker's thunder no more. + --Strangely, however, today my heart misgave me. Attend: + Sunny the glow of morn-tide, pouring + Through the trees of my well-walled garden, + Roused the slugabed (so of late thou calledst Erinna) + Early up from her sultry couch. + Full was my soul of quiet, although my blood beat + Quick with uncertain waves o'er the thin cheek's pallor. + Then, as I loosed the plaits of my shining tresses, + Parting with nard-moist comb above my forehead + The veil of hair--in the glass my own glance met me. + Eyes, strange eyes, I said, what will ye? + Spirit of me, that within there dwelled securely as yet, + Occultly wed to my living senses-- + Demon-like, half smiling thy solemn message, + Thou dost nod to me, Death presaging! + --Ha! all at once like lightning a thrill went through me, + Or as a deadly arrow with sable feathers + Whizzing had grazed my temples, + So that, with hands pressed over my face, a long time + Dumb-struck I sat, while my thought reeled at the frightful abyss. + + Tearless at first I pondered, + Weighing the terror of Death; + Till I bethought me of thee, my Sappho, + And of my comrades all, + And of the muses' lore, + When straightway the tears ran fast. + + But there on the table gleamed a beautiful hair-net, thy gift, + Costly handwork of Byssos, spangled with golden bees. + This, when next in the flowery festal season + We shall worship the glorious child of Demeter, + This will I offer to her for thy and my sake, + So may she favor us both (for she much availeth), + That no mourning lock thou untimely sever + From thy beloved head for thy poor Erinna. + + * * * * * + + +MOZART'S JOURNEY FROM VIENNA TO PRAGUE +(about 1850) + +A ROMANCE OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE + +BY EDUARD MÖRIKE + +TRANSLATED BY FLORENCE LEONARD + + +In the fall of the year 1787 Mozart and his wife undertook a journey to +Prague, where he was to finish and bring out his masterpiece, _Don +Juan_. + +Eleven o'clock of the fourteenth of September found them well on their +way and in the best of spirits. They had been traveling two days, and +were about one hundred and twenty miles from Vienna, among the beautiful +Mährische mountains. The splendid coach, drawn by three post-horses, +belonged to an elderly Frau Volkstett, wife of General Volkstett, who +prided herself on her intimacy with the Mozarts and on the favors she +had shown them. The carriage was painted a bright yellowish-red, the +body adorned with garlands of gay-colored flowers, the wheels finished +with narrow stripes of gold. The high top was fitted with stiff leather +curtains, now drawn back and fastened. + +The dress of the travelers was simple, for the new clothes to be worn at +court were carefully packed in the trunk. Mozart wore an embroidered +waistcoat of a somewhat faded blue, his ordinary brown coat--with a row +of large, curiously fashioned gilt buttons--black silk stockings and +small-clothes, and shoes with gilt buckles. As the day grew warm, +unusually warm for September, he had taken off both hat and coat and was +sitting in his shirt-sleeves, bare headed, serenely chatting. His thick +hair, drawn back into a braid, was powdered even more carelessly than +usual. + +Frau Mozart's hair, a wealth of light brown curls, never disfigured by +powder, fell, half unfastened, upon her shoulders. She wore a +traveling-suit of striped stuff--light green and white. + +They were slowly ascending a gentle slope, where rich fields alternated +with long stretches of woodland, when Mozart exclaimed: "How many woods +we have passed every day of our journey, and I hardly noticed them, much +less thought of going into them! Postilion, stop and let your horses +rest a bit, while we get some of those blue-bells yonder in the shade!" + +As they rose to leave the coach they became aware of a slight accident +for which the master had to take the blame. Through his carelessness a +bottle of choice perfume had lost its cork, and its contents had run, +unperceived, over clothing and carriage cushions. "I might have known +it," lamented Frau Mozart, "I have smelled it this long while! Oh dear! +A whole bottle of real 'Rosée d'Aurore!' I was as careful of it as if it +had been gold!" + +"Never mind, little goose," was Mozart's comforting answer. "This was +the only way that your sacred smelling-stuff would do us any good. The +air was like an oven here, and all your fanning made it no cooler. But +presently the carriage was comfortable--you said it was because I poured +a couple of drops on my _jabot_--and we could talk and enjoy our journey +instead of hanging our heads like sheep in a butcher's cart. It will +last all the rest of the way. Come now, let us stick our two Vienna +noses into this green wilderness!" + +They climbed the bank arm-in-arm, and strolled into the shade of the +pines, which grew deeper and deeper, till only here and there a stray +sunbeam lighted up the green mossy carpet. So cool was the air that +Mozart soon had to put on the coat, which, but for his prudent wife, he +would have left behind. + +Presently he stopped and looked up through the rows of lofty +tree-trunks. "How beautiful!" he cried. "It is like being +in church! This is a real wood, a whole family of trees! No human +hand planted them, but they seem to have come and stood there just +because it is pleasant to live and grow in company. To think that I have +traveled half over Europe, have seen the Alps and the ocean, and yet, +happening to come into an ordinary Bohemian pine-woods, I am astonished +that such a thing actually exists; not as a poetic fiction like the +nymphs and fauns, but really living, drawn out of the earth by moisture +and sunshine! Imagine the deer, with his wonderful antlers, at home +here, and the mischievous squirrel, the wood-cock, and the jay!" He +stooped and picked a mushroom, praised its deep red color and delicate +white lines, and put a handful of cones into his pocket. + +"Any one would think that you had never walked a dozen steps in the +Prater," said his wife; "these same rare cones and mushrooms are to be +found there too!" + +"The Prater! Heavens, how can you mention it! What is there in the +Prater but carriages and swords, gowns and fans, music and hubbub! As +for the trees, large as they are--well, even the acorns on the ground +seem like second cousins to the old corks lying beside them! You could +walk there two hours, and still smell waiters and sauces!" + +"Oh, what a speech from a man whose greatest pleasure is to eat a good +supper in the Prater!" + +After they had returned to the carriage and sat watching the smiling +fields which stretched away to the mountains behind them, Mozart +exclaimed: "Indeed the earth is beautiful, and no one can be blamed for +wanting to stay on it as long as possible. Thank God, I feel as fresh +and strong as ever, and ready for a thousand things as soon as my new +opera is finished and brought out. But how much there is in the outside +world, and how much at home, both wonderful and beautiful, that I know +nothing about! Beauties of nature, sciences, and both fine arts and +useful arts! That black charcoal-burner there by his kiln knows just as +much as I do about many things. And I should like well enough to look +into some subjects that aren't connected with my own trade!" + +"The other day," interrupted his wife, "I came across your old +pocket-calendar for '85. There were three or four special memoranda at +the end. One read: 'About the middle of October they are to cast the +great lions at the imperial brass foundry.' Another was underlined twice +'Call on Professor Gottner.' Who is he?" + +"Oh Oh yes, I remember! That kind old gentleman in the observatory, who +invites me there now and then. I meant, long ago, to take you to see the +moon and the man in it. They have a new telescope, so strong that they +can see distinctly mountains and valleys and chasms, and, on the side +where the sun does not fall, the shadows of the mountains. Two years ago +I planned to go there! Shameful!" + +"Well, the moon will not run away!" + +"But it is so with everything. It is too hard to think of all that one +puts off and loses, not duties to God and to man only, but pure +pleasures--those small innocent pleasures which are within one's grasp +every day!" + +Madame Mozart could not or would not turn his thoughts into another +channel, and could only agree with him as he went on: "Have I ever been +able to have a whole hour of pleasure with my own children? Even they +can be only half enjoyed! The boys have one ride on my knee, chase me +once around the room, and stop. I must shake them off and go! I cannot +remember that we have had once a whole day in the country together, at +Easter or Whitsuntide, in garden or woods or meadows to grow young again +among the children and flowers. And meanwhile life is gradually slipping +and running and rushing away from us! Dear Lord! To think of it!" + +With such self-reproach began a serious conversation. How sad that +Mozart, passionate as he was, keenly alive to all the beauties of the +world, and full of the highest aspirations, never knew peace and +contentment, in spite of all that he enjoyed and created +in his short life. The reason is easily found in those weaknesses, +apparently unconquerable, which were so large a part of his +character. The man's needs were many; his fondness for society +extraordinarily great. Honored and sought by all the families of +rank, he seldom refused an invitation to a fête or social gathering of +any sort. He had, besides, his own circle of friends whom he entertained +of a Sunday evening, and often at dinner at his own well-ordered table. +Occasionally, to the inconvenience of his wife, he would bring in +unexpected guests of diverse gifts, any one whom he might happen to +meet--amateurs, fellow-artists, singers, poets. An idle hanger-on whose +only merit lay in his companionable mood or in his jests, was as welcome +as a gifted connoisseur or a distinguished musician. But the greater +part of his recreation Mozart sought away from home. He was to be found +almost every afternoon at billiards in the Kaffeehaus, and many an +evening at the inn. He enjoyed both driving and riding, frequented balls +and masquerades--a finished dancer--and took part in popular +celebrations also, masquerading regularly on St. Bridget's Day as +Pierrot. + +These pleasures, sometimes wild and extravagant, sometimes quieter in +tone, were designed to refresh the severely taxed brain after extreme +labors; and in the mysterious ways of genius they bore fruit in later +days. But unfortunately he was so bent on enjoying to the full every +moment of pleasure that there was room for no other consideration, +whether of prudence or duty, of self-preservation or of economy. Both in +his amusements and in his creative activity Mozart knew no limits. Part +of the night was always devoted to composition; early in the morning, +often even while in bed, he finished his work. Then, driving or walking, +he made the rounds of his lessons, which generally took a part of the +afternoon also. "We take a great deal of trouble for our pupils, and it +is often hard not to lose patience," he wrote to one of his +patrons. "Because we are well recommended as pianists and +teachers of music we load ourselves down with pupils, and +are always willing to add another; if only the bills are +promptly paid it does not matter whether the new student be a +Hungarian mustachio from the engineer corps, whom Satan has tempted to +wade through thorough-bass and counterpoint, or the haughtiest little +countess who receives us in a fury, as she would Master Coquerel, the +hair-dresser, if we do not arrive on the stroke of the hour." So, when +weary with the occupations of his profession, school-work, and +rehearsals as well as private lessons, and in need of refreshment, he +gave his nerves a seeming restorative only in new excitement. His health +began to suffer, and ever-recurring fits of melancholy were certainly +fostered, if not actually induced, by his ill health; and the +premonition of his early death, which for a long time haunted him, was +finally fulfilled. The deepest melancholy and remorse were the bitter +fruits of every pleasure which he tasted; yet we know that even these +troubled streams emptied pure and clear in the deep spring from which +all joy and all woe flowed in marvelous melodies. + +The effects of Mozart's illness showed most plainly when at home. The +temptation to spend his money foolishly and carelessly was very great. +It was due, as a matter of course, to one of his most lovely traits. If +any one in need came to him to borrow money or to ask his name as +security, he consented at once with smiling generosity and without +making arrangements to insure the return of the loan. The means which +such generosity, added to the needs of his household, required, were out +of all proportion to his actual income. The sums which he received from +theatres and concerts, from publishers and pupils, together with the +Emperor's pension, were the smaller because the public taste was far +from declaring itself in favor of Mozart's compositions. The very +beauty, depth, and fulness of his music were, in general, opposed to the +easily understood compositions then in favor. To be sure, +the Viennese public could not get enough of _Die Entführung +aus dem Serail_, thanks to its popular element. But, on the +other hand, several years later _Figaro_ made a most unexpected +and lamentable fiasco, in comparison with the success of its +pleasing, though quite insignificant rival _Cosa rara_--and not +alone through the intrigue of the manager. It was the same _Figaro_ +which, soon after, the cultivated and unprejudiced people of Prague +received with such enthusiasm that the master, in gratitude, determined +to write his next great opera for them. + +But despite the unfavorable period and the influence of his enemies, +Mozart, if he had been more prudent and circumspect, might have received +a very considerable sum from his art. As it was, he was in arrears after +every enterprise, even when full houses shouted their applause to him. +So circumstances, his own nature, and his own faults conspired to keep +him from prosperity. + +And what a sad life was that of Frau Mozart! She was young and of a +cheerful disposition, musical, and of a musical family, and had the best +will in the world to stop the mischief at the outset, and, failing in +that, to make up for the loss in great things by saving in small +affairs. But she lacked, perhaps, skill and experience. She held the +purse, and kept the account of the house expenses. Every claim, every +bill, every vexation was carried to her. How often must she have choked +back the tears when to such distress and want, painful embarrassment, +and fear of open disgrace, was added the melancholy of her husband, in +which he would remain for days, accomplishing nothing, refusing all +comfort, and either sighing and complaining, or sitting silent in a +corner, thinking continually of death! But she seldom lost courage, and +almost always her clear judgment found counsel and relief, though it +might be but temporary. In reality she could make no radical change in +the situation. If she persuaded him in seriousness or in jest, by +entreaties or by coaxing, to eat his supper and spend his +evening with his family, she had gained but little. Perhaps, +touched by the sight of his wife's distress, he would curse his bad +habits and promise all that she asked--even more. But to no purpose; he +would soon, unexpectedly, find himself in the old ruts again. One is +tempted to believe that he could not do otherwise, and that a code of +morals, totally different from our ideas of right and wrong, of +necessity controlled him. + +Yet Frau Constanze hoped continually for a favorable turn of affairs, a +great improvement in their financial condition, which could hardly fail +to follow Mozart's increasing fame. If the anxiety which always pressed +upon him, more or less, could be lightened; if, instead of devoting half +his strength and time to earning money he could live only for his art, +and, moreover, could enjoy with a clear conscience those pleasures which +he needed for body and mind, then he would grow calmer and more natural. +She hoped, indeed, for an opportunity to leave Vienna, for, in spite of +his affection for the place, she was convinced that he would never +prosper there. Some decisive step toward the realization of her plans +and wishes she promised herself as the result of the new opera, for +which they were now on their way to Prague. + +The composition was more than half written. Trusty friends and competent +judges who had heard the beginning of the work talked of it with such +enthusiasm that many of Mozart's enemies, even, were prepared to hear, +within six months, that his _Don Juan_ had taken all Germany by storm. +His more prudent and moderate friends, who took into consideration the +state of the public taste, hardly expected an immediate and universal +success; and with these the master himself secretly agreed. + +Constanze, however, was like all women. If once they hope, particularly +in a righteous cause, they are less apt than men are to give heed to +discouraging features. She still held fast to her favorable opinion, and +had, even now, new occasion to defend it. She did so in her gay and +lively fashion, the more earnestly because Mozart's spirits had fallen +decidedly in the course of the previous conversation. She described +minutely how, after their return, she should use the hundred ducats +which the manager at Prague would pay for the score. That sum would +supply their most pressing needs, and they could live comfortably till +spring. + +"Your Herr Bondine will make some money with this opera, you may be +sure; and if he is half as honest as you think him, he will give you +later also a fair per cent. of the price that other theatres pay him for +their copies of _Don Juan_. But, even if he doesn't, there are plenty of +other good things that might happen to us; they are more probable too!" + +"What, for instance?" + +"A little bird told me that the King of Prussia needs a leader for his +orchestra." + +"Oh!" + +"A general music director, I mean. Let me build you an air-castle! That +weakness I got from my mother." + +"Build away! The higher the better!" + +"No, my air-castles are very real ones! In a year from now they'll be +reporting--" + +"If the Pope to Gretchen comes a-courting!" + +"Keep quiet, you ridiculous goose! I tell you by the first of next +September there will be no 'Imperial Court Composer' of the name of Wolf +Mozart to be found in Vienna." + +"May the foxes bite you for that!" + +"I hear already what our old friends are saying and gossiping about us." + +"What, then?" + +"Well, a little after nine o'clock one fine morning our old friend and +admirer Frau Volkstett comes sailing at full speed across the Kahlmarkt. +She has been away for three months. That famous visit to her +brother-in-law in Saxony, that we have heard about every day, has at +last come off. She returned yesterday, and cannot wait any +longer to see her dear friend, the Colonel's wife. Upstairs she goes +and knocks at the door, and does not wait for an answer. You may imagine +the rejoicing and the embracing an both sides. 'Now dearest, best Frau +Colonel,' she begins after the greetings are over, 'I have so many +messages for you. Guess from whom? I didn't come straight from Stendal, +but by way of Brandenburg.' + +"'What! Not through Berlin! You haven't been with the Mozarts?' 'Yes, +ten heavenly days!' 'Oh, my dear, good Frau General, tell me all about +them! How are our dear people? Do they like Berlin as well as ever? I +can hardly imagine Mozart living in Berlin! How does he act? How does he +look?' 'Mozart! You should see him! This summer the King sent him to +Karlsbad. When would that have occurred to his dear Emperor Joseph? They +had but just returned when I arrived. He is fairly radiant with health +and good spirits, as sound and solid and lively as quicksilver, with +happiness and comfort beaming from his countenance.'" + +And then the speaker began to paint in the brightest colors the glories +of the new position. From their dwelling on Unter den Linden, from their +garden and country-house to the brilliant scenes of public activity and +the smaller circle of the court--where he was to play accompaniments for +the Queen--all were vividly described. She recited, with the greatest +ease, whole conversations, and the most delightful anecdotes. Indeed she +seemed more familiar with Berlin, Potsdam, and Sans Souci than with the +palace at Schönbrunn and the Emperor Joseph's castle. She was, moreover, +cunning enough to depict our hero with many new domestic virtues which +had developed on the firm ground of the Berlin life, and among which +Frau Volkstett had perceived (as a most remarkable phenomenon and a +proof that extremes sometimes meet) the disposition of a veritable +little miser--and it made him altogether most charming. + +"'Yes, think of it! He is sure of his three thousand thalers, +and for what? For directing a chamber concert once a week, and +the opera twice. Ah, Frau Colonel, I have seen him, our dear, precious +little man, in the midst of his excellent orchestra who adore him! I sat +with Frau Mozart in her box almost opposite the King's box. And what was +on the posters, do you think? Look, please! I brought it for you, +wrapped around a little souvenir from the Mozarts and myself. Look, read +it, printed in letters a yard long!' 'Heaven forbid! Not _Tarare_!' +'Yes! What cannot one live to see! Two years ago, when Mozart wrote _Don +Juan_, and the wretched, malicious, yellow, old Salieri was preparing to +repeat in Vienna the triumph which he had won with his piece, in Paris, +and to show our good plain public, contented with _Cosa rara_, a hawk or +two; while he and his arch-accomplice were plotting to present _Don +Juan_ just as they had presented _Figaro_, mutilated, ruined, I vowed +that if the infamous _Tarare_ was ever given, nothing should hire me to +go to see it. And I kept my word. When everybody else ran to hear +it--you too, Frau Colonel--I sat by my fire with my cat in my lap, and +ate my supper. Several times after that, too. But now imagine! _Tarare_ +on the Berlin stage, the work of his deadly foe, conducted by Mozart +himself!' 'You must certainly go,' he said, 'if it is only to be able to +say in Vienna whether I had a hair clipped from Absalom's head. I wish +he were here himself! The jealous old sheep should see that I do not +need to bungle another person's composition in order to show off my +own.'" + +"Brava! Bravissima!" shouted Mozart, and taking his wife by the ears he +kissed her and teased her till the play with the bright bubbles of an +imaginary future--which, sad to say, were never in the least to be +realized--ended finally in laughter and jollity. + +Meanwhile they had long ago reached the valley, and were approaching a +town, behind which lay the small modern palace of Count Schinzberg. In +this town they were to feed the horses, to rest, and to take their +noonday meal. + +The inn where they stopped stood alone near the end of the village +where an avenue of poplar trees led to the count's garden, not six +hundred paces away. After they had alighted, Mozart, as usual, left to +his wife the arrangements for dinner, and ordered for himself a glass of +wine, while she asked only for water and a quiet room where she could +get a little sleep. The host led the way upstairs, and Mozart, now +singing, now whistling, brought up the rear. The room was newly +whitewashed, clean, and fresh. The ancient articles of furniture were of +noble descent; they had probably once adorned the dwelling of the Count. +The clean white bed was covered with a painted canopy, resting upon +slender green posts, whose silken curtains were long ago replaced by a +more ordinary stuff. Constanze prepared for her nap, Mozart promising to +wake her in time for dinner. She bolted the door behind him, and he +descended to seek entertainment in the coffee-room. Here, however, no +one but the host was to be seen, and, since his conversation suited +Mozart no better than his wine, the master proposed a walk to the palace +garden while dinner was preparing. Respectable strangers, he was told, +were allowed to enter the grounds; besides, the family were away for the +day. + +A short walk brought him to the gate, which stood open; then he slowly +followed a path overhung by tall old linden-trees, till he suddenly came +upon the palace which stood a little to the left. It was a light, +plaster building, in the Italian style, with a broad, double flight of +steps in front; the slate-covered roof was finished in the usual manner, +with a balustrade, and was adorned with statues of gods and goddesses. + +Our master turned toward the shrubbery, and, passing many flower-beds +still gay with blossoms, took his leisurely way through a dark grove of +pines until he came to an open space where a fountain was playing. The +rather large oval basin was surrounded with carefully kept orange-trees, +interspersed with laurels and oleanders; a smooth gravel +walk upon which an arbor opened ran around the fountain. It was a most +tempting resting-place, and Mozart threw himself down upon the rustic +bench which stood by a table within the arbor. + +Listening to the splash of the water, and watching an orange-tree which +stood, heavy with fruit, apart from the rest, our friend was carried +away by visions of the South and favorite memories of his childhood. +Smiling thoughtfully, he reached toward the nearest orange, as if to +take the tempting fruit in his hand. But closely connected with that +scene of his youth there flashed upon him a long-forgotten, +half-effaced, musical memory, which he pondered long and tried to follow +out. Then his glance brightened, and darted here and there; an idea had +come to him, and he worked it out eagerly. Absently he grasped the +orange again--it broke from the tree and remained in his hand. He looked +at it, but did not see it; indeed, his artistic abstraction went so far +that, after rolling the fragrant fruit back and forth before his nose, +while his lips moved silently with the melody which was singing itself +to him, he presently took from his pocket an enameled case, and with a +small silver-handled knife slowly cut open the fruit. Perhaps he had a +vague sense of thirst, but, if so, the fragrance of the open fruit +allayed it. He looked long at the inner surfaces, then fitted them +gently together, opened them again, and again put them together. + +Just then steps approached the arbor. Mozart started, suddenly +remembering where he was and what he had done. He was about to hide the +orange, but stopped, either from pride or because he was too late. A +tall, broad-shouldered man in livery, the head-gardener, stood before +him. He had evidently seen the last guilty movement, and stopped, +amazed. Mozart, likewise, was too much surprised to speak, and, sitting +as if nailed to his chair, half laughing yet blushing, looked the +gardener somewhat boldly in the face with his big, blue eyes. Then--it +would have been most amusing for a third person--with a sort of defiant +courage he set the apparently uninjured orange in the middle of the +table. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," began the gardener rather angrily, as he +looked at Mozart's unprepossessing clothing, "I do not know whom I have +the honor--" + +"Kapellmeister Mozart, of Vienna." + +"You are acquainted in the palace, I presume." + +"I am a stranger, merely passing through the village. Is the Count at +home?" + +"No." + +"His wife?" + +"She is engaged and would hardly see you." Mozart rose, as if he would +go. + +"With your permission, sir, how do you happen to be pilfering here?" + +"What!" cried Mozart. "Pilfering! The devil! Do you believe, then, that +I meant to steal and eat that thing?" + +"I believe what I see, sir. Those oranges are counted, and I am +responsible for them. That tree was just to be carried to the house for +an entertainment. I cannot let you go until I have reported the matter +and you yourself have told how it happened." + +"Very well. Be assured that I will wait here." The gardener hesitated, +and Mozart, thinking that perhaps he expected a fee, felt in his pocket; +but he found nothing. + +Two men now came by, lifted the tree upon a barrow and carried it away. +Meanwhile Mozart had taken a piece of paper from his pocket-book, and, +as the gardener did not stir, began to write: + + "_Dear Madam_.--Here I sit, miserable, in your Paradise, like Adam of + old, after he had tasted the apple. The mischief is done, and I cannot + even put the blame on a good Eve, for she is at the inn sleeping the + sleep of innocence in a canopy-bed, surrounded by Graces and Cupids. If + you require it I will give you an account of my offense, which is + incomprehensible even to myself. + + "I am covered with confusion, and remain + + "Your most obedient servant, + + "W. A. MOZART. + + "On the way to Prague." + +He hastily folded the note and handed it to the impatient servant. + +The fellow had scarcely gone when a carriage rolled up to the opposite +side of the palace. In it was the Count, who had brought with him, from +a neighboring estate, his niece and her fiancé, a young and wealthy +Baron. The betrothal had just taken place at the house of the latter's +invalid mother; but the event was also to be celebrated at the Count's +palace, which had always been a second home to his niece. The Countess, +with her son, Lieutenant Max, had returned from the betrothal somewhat +earlier, in order to complete arrangements at the palace. Now corridors +and stairways were alive with servants, and only with difficulty did the +gardener finally reach the antechamber and hand the note to the +Countess. She did not stop to open it, but, without noticing what the +messenger said, hurried away. He waited and waited, but she did not come +back. One servant after another ran past him--waiters, chambermaids, +valets; he asked for the Count, only to be told "He is dressing." At +last he found Count Max in his own room; but he was talking with the +Baron, and for fear the gardener would let slip something which the +Baron was not to know beforehand, cut the message short with: "Go along, +I'll be there in a moment." Then there was quite a long while to wait +before father and son at last appeared together, and heard the fatal +news. + +"That is outrageous," cried the fat, good-natured, but somewhat hasty +Count. "That is an impossible story! A Vienna musician is he? Some +ragamuffin, who walks along the high-road and helps himself to whatever +he sees!" + +"I beg your pardon, sir. He doesn't look just like that. I thinks he's +not quite right in the head, sir, and he seems to be very proud. He says +his name is 'Moser.' He is waiting downstairs. I told Franz to keep an +eye on him." + +"The deuce! What good will that do, now? Even if I should have the fool +arrested, it wouldn't mend matters. I've told you a thousand times that +the front gates were to be kept locked! Besides, it couldn't have +happened if you had had things ready at the proper time!" + +Just then the Countess, pleased and excited, entered the room with the +open note in her hand. "Do you know who is downstairs?" she exclaimed. +"For goodness' sake, read that note! Mozart from Vienna, the composer! +Some body must go at once and invite him in! I'm afraid he will be gone! +What will he think of me? You treated him very politely, I hope, Velten. +What was it that happened?" + +"What happened?" interrupted the Count, whose wrath was not immediately +assuaged by the prospect of a visit from a famous man. "The madman +pulled one of the nine oranges from the tree which was for Eugenie. +Monster! So the point of our joke is gone, and Max may as well tear up +his poem." + +"Oh, no!" she answered, earnestly; "the gap can easily be filled. Leave +that to me. But go, both of you, release the good man, and persuade him +to come in, if you possibly can. He shall not go further today if we can +coax him to stay. If you do not find him in the garden, go to the inn +and bring him and his wife too. Fate could not have provided a greater +gift or a finer surprise for Eugenie today." + +"No, indeed," answered Max, "that was my first thought, too. Come, Papa! +And"--as they descended the staircase--"you may be quite easy about the +verses. The ninth Muse will not desert me; instead, I can use the +accident to especial advantage." + +"Impossible!" + +"Not at all!" + +"Well, if that is so--I take your word for it--we will do the lunatic +all possible honor." + +While all this was going on in the palace, our quasi-prisoner, not very +anxious over the outcome of the affair, had busied himself some time in +writing. Then, as no one appeared, he began to walk uneasily up and +down. Presently came an urgent message from the inn, that dinner was +ready long ago and the postilion was anxious to start; would +he please come at once. So he packed up his papers and was just +about to leave, when the two men appeared before the arbor. + +The Count greeted him in his jovial, rather noisy fashion, and would +hear not a word of apology, but insisted that Mozart should accompany +him to the house, for the afternoon and evening at least. + +"You are so well known to us, my dear Maestro, that I doubt if you could +find a family where your name is spoken more often, or with greater +enthusiasm. My niece sings and plays, she spends almost the whole day at +her piano, knows your works by heart, and has had the greatest desire to +meet you, particularly since the last of your concerts. She had been +promised an invitation from Princess Gallizin, in Vienna, in a few +weeks--a house where you often play, I hear. But now you are going to +Prague, and no one knows whether you will ever come back to us. Take +today and tomorrow for rest; let us send away your traveling carriage +and be responsible for the remainder of your journey." + +The composer, who would willingly have sacrificed upon the altar of +friendship or of pleasure ten times as much as was asked of him now, did +not hesitate long. He insisted, however, that very early next morning +they must continue their journey. Count Max craved the pleasure of +bringing Frau Mozart and of attending to all necessary matters at the +inn; he would walk over, and a carriage should follow immediately. + +Count Max inherited from both father and mother a lively imagination, +and had, besides, talent and inclination for _belles lettres_. As an +officer he was distinguished rather for his learning and culture than +because of fondness for military life. He was well read in French +literature, and at a time when German verse was of small account in the +higher circles had won appreciation for uncommon ease of style--writing +after such models as Hagedorn and Götz. The betrothal had offered him, +as we already learned, a particularly happy occasion for the exercise +of his gifts. + +He found Madame Mozart seated at the table, where she had already begun +the meal, talking with the inn-keeper's daughter. She was too well used +to Mozart's habits of forming acquaintances and accepting impromptu +invitations to be greatly surprised at the appearance and message of the +young officer. With undisguised pleasure she prepared to accompany him, +and thoughtfully and quickly gave all necessary orders. Satchels were +repacked, the inn-keeper was paid, the postilion dismissed, and, without +too great anxiety over her toilet, she herself made ready, and drove off +in high spirits to the palace, never guessing in what a strange fashion +her spouse had introduced himself there. + +He, meanwhile, was most comfortably and delightfully entertained. He had +met Eugenie, a most lovely creature, fair and slender, gay in shining +crimson silk and costly lace, with a white ribbon studded with pearls in +her hair. The Baron, too, was presented, a man of gentle and frank +disposition, but little older than his fiancée and seemingly well suited +to her. + +The jovial host, almost too generous with his jests and stories, led the +conversation; refreshments were offered, which our traveler did not +refuse. Then some one opened the piano, upon which _Figaro_ was lying, +and Eugenie began to sing, to the Baron's accompaniment, Susanne's +passionate aria in the garden scene. The embarrassment which for a +moment made her bright color come and go, fled with the first notes from +her lips, and she sang as if inspired. + +Mozart was evidently surprised. As she finished he went to her with +unaffected pleasure. "How can one praise you, dear child," he said. +"Such singing is like the sunshine, which praises itself best because it +does every one good. It is to the soul like a refreshing bath to a +child; he laughs, and wonders, and is content. Not every day, I assure +you, do we composers hear ourselves sung with such purity +and simplicity--with such perfection!" and he seized her hand +and kissed it heartily. Mozart's amiability and kindness, no less than +his high appreciation of her talent, touched Eugenie deeply, and her +eyes filled with tears of pleasure. + +At that moment Madame Mozart entered, and immediately after appeared +other guests who had been expected--a family of distant relatives, of +whom one, Franziska, had been from childhood Eugenie's intimate friend. + +When all the greetings and congratulations were over, Mozart seated +himself at the piano. He played a part of one of his concertos, which +Eugenie happened to be learning. It was a great delight to have the +artist and his genius so near--within one's own walls. The composition +was one of those brilliant ones in which pure Beauty, in a fit of +caprice, seems to have lent herself to the service of Elegance, but, +only half disguised in changing forms and dazzling lights, betrays in +every movement her own nobility and pours out lavishly her glorious +pathos. + +The Countess noticed that most of the listeners, even Eugenie herself, +were divided between seeing and hearing, although they gave the close +attention and kept the perfect silence which were due to such enchanting +playing. Indeed it was not easy to resist a throng of distracting and +wondering thoughts as one watched the composer--his erect, almost stiff +position, his good-natured face, the graceful movements of his small +hands and curved fingers. + +Turning to Madame Mozart, as the playing ceased, the Count began: "When +it is necessary to give a compliment to a composer--not everybody's +business--how easy it is for kings and emperors. All words are equally +good and equally extraordinary in their mouths; they dare to say +whatever they please. And how comfortable it must be, for instance, to +sit close behind Herr Mozart's chair, and, at the final chord of a +brilliant Fantasia, to clap the modest and learned man on the shoulder +and say: 'My dear Mozart, you are a Jack-at-all-trades!' And the word goes +like wild-fire through the hall: 'What did he say?' 'He said Mozart was a +Jack-at-all-trades!' and everybody who fiddles or pipes a song or +composes is enraptured over the expression. In short, that is the way of +the great, the familiar manner of the emperors, and quite inimitable. I +have always envied the Friedrichs and the Josefs that faculty, but never +more than now when I quite despair of finding in my mind's pockets the +suitable coin!" + +The Count's jest provoked a laugh, as usual, and the guests followed +their hostess toward the dining-hall, where the fragrance of flowers and +refreshingly cool air greeted them. They took their places at the table, +Mozart opposite Eugenie and the Baron. His neighbor on one side was a +little elderly lady, an unmarried aunt of Franziska's; on the other side +was the charming young niece who soon commended herself to him by her +wit and gaiety. Frau Constanze sat between the host and her friendly +guide, the Lieutenant. The lower end of the table was empty. In the +centre stood two large _epergnes_, heaped with fruits and flowers. The +walls were hung with rich festoons, and all the appointments indicated +an extensive banquet. Upon tables and side-boards were the choicest +wines, from the deepest red to the pale yellow, whose sparkling foam +crowns the second half of the feast. For some time the conversation, +carried on from all sides, had been general. But when the Count, who, +from the first, had been hinting at Mozart's adventure in the garden, +came mysteriously nearer and nearer to it, so that some were smiling, +others puzzling their brains to know what it all meant, Mozart at last +took the cue. + +"I will truthfully confess," he began, "how I came to have the honor of +an acquaintance with this noble house. I do not play a very dignified +rôle in the tale; in fact, I came within a hair's breadth of sitting, +not here at this bountiful table, but hungry and alone in the most +remote dungeon of the palace, watching the spider-webs on the wall." + +"It must, indeed, be a pretty story," cried Madame Mozart. + +Then Mozart related minutely all that we already know, to the great +entertainment of his audience. There was no end to the merriment, even +the gentle Eugenie shaking with uncontrollable laughter. + +"Well," he went on, "according to the proverb I need not mind your +laughter, for I have made my small profit out of the affair, as you will +soon see. But first hear how it happened that an old fellow could so +forget himself. A reminiscence of my childhood was to blame for it. + +"In the spring of 1770, a thirteen-year-old boy, I traveled with my +father in Italy. We went from Rome to Naples, where I had already played +twice in the conservatory and several times in other places. + +"The nobility and clergy had shown us many attentions, but especially +attracted to us was a certain Abbé, who flattered himself that he was a +connoisseur, and who, moreover, had some influence at court. The day +before we left he conducted us, with some other acquaintances, into a +royal garden, the Villa Reale, situated upon a beautiful street, close +to the sea. A company of Sicilian comedians were performing there--'Sons +of Neptune' was one of the many names they gave themselves. + +"With many distinguished spectators, among whom were the young and +lovely Queen Carolina and two princesses, we sat on benches ranged in +long rows in a gallery shaded with awnings, while the waves splashed +against the wall below. The many-colored sea reflected the glorious +heavens; directly before us rose Vesuvius; on the left gleamed the +gentle curve of the shore. + +"The first part of the entertainment was rather uninteresting. A float +which lay on the water had served as a stage. But the second part +consisted of rowing, swimming, and diving, and every detail has always +remained fresh in my memory. + +"From opposite sides of the water two graceful light boats approached +each other, bent, as it seemed, upon a pleasure-trip. The larger one, +gorgeously painted, with a gilded prow, was provided with a +quarter-deck, and had, besides the rowers' seats, a slender mast and a +sail. Five youths, ideally handsome, with bared shoulders and limbs, +were busy about the boat, or were amusing themselves with a like number +of maidens, their sweethearts. One of these, who was sitting in the +centre of the deck twining wreaths of flowers, was noticeable as well +for her beauty as for her dress. The others waited upon her, stretched +an awning to shield her from the sun, and passed her flowers from the +basket. One, a flute player, sat at her feet, and accompanied with her +clear tones the singing of the others. The beauty in the centre had her +own particular admirer; yet the pair seemed rather indifferent to each +other, and I thought the youth almost rude. + +"Meanwhile the other boat had come nearer. It was more simply fashioned, +and carried youths only. The colors of the first boat were red, but the +crew of this one wore green. They stopped at sight of the others, nodded +greetings to the maidens, and made signs that they wished to become +better acquainted. Thereupon the liveliest of the girls took a rose from +her bosom, and roguishly held it on high, as if to ask whether such a +gift would be welcome. She was answered with enthusiasm. The red youths +looked on, sullen and contemptuous, but could not object when several of +the maidens proposed to throw to the poor strangers at least enough to +keep them from starving. A basket of oranges--probably only yellow +balls--stood on deck; and now began a charming display, accompanied by +music from the quay. + +"One of the girls tossed from light fingers a couple of oranges; back +they came from fingers in the other boat, as light. On they went, back +and forth, and as one girl after another joined in the sport dozens of +oranges were soon flying through the air. Only one, the beauty in the +middle of the boat, took no part, except to look on, curiously, from +her comfortable couch. We could not sufficiently admire the skill on +both sides. The boats circled slowly about, turning now the prow, now +the sides, toward each other. There were about two dozen balls +continually in the air, yet they seemed many more, sometimes falling in +regular figures, sometimes rising high in lofty curves, almost never +going astray, but seeming to be attracted by some mysterious power in +the outstretched hands. + +"The ear was quite as well entertained as the eye--with charming +melodies, Sicilian airs, dances, Saltorelli, _Canzoni a ballo_--a long +medley woven together like a garland. The youngest princess, an +impulsive little creature, about my own age, kept nodding her head in +time to the music. Her smile and her eyes with their long lashes I can +see to this day. + +"Now let me briefly describe the rest of the entertainment, though it +has nothing to do with my affair in the garden. You could hardly imagine +anything prettier. The play with the balls gradually ceased, and then, +all of a sudden, one of the youths of the green colors drew out of the +water a net with which he seemed to have been playing. To the general +surprise, a huge shining fish lay in it. The boy's companions sprang to +seize it, but it slipped from their hands to the sea, as if it had +really been alive. This was only a ruse, however, to lure the red youths +from their boat; and they fell into the trap. They, as well as those of +the green, threw themselves into the water after the fish. So began a +lively and most amusing chase. At last the green swimmers, seeing their +opportunity, boarded the red boat, which now had only the maidens to +defend it. The noblest of the enemy, as handsome as a god, hastened +joyfully to the beautiful maiden, who received him with rapture, +heedless of the despairing shrieks of the others. All efforts of the red +to recover their boat were vain; they were beaten back with oars and +weapons. Their futile rage and struggles, the cries and prayers of the +maidens, the music--now changed in tone--the waters--all made a scene +beyond description, and the audience applauded wildly. Then suddenly the +sail was loosed, and out of it sprang to the bowsprit a rosy, +silver-winged boy, with bow and arrows and quiver; the oars began to +move, the sail filled, and the boat glided away, as if under the +guidance of the god, to a little island. Thither, after signals of truce +had been exchanged, the red youths hastened after boarding the deserted +boat. The unhappy maidens were released, but the fairest one of all +sailed away, of her own free will, with her lover. And that was the end +of the comedy." + +"I think," whispered Eugenie to the Baron, in the pause that followed, +"that we had there a complete symphony in the true Mozart spirit. Am I +not right? Hasn't it just the grace of _Figaro_?" + +But just as the Baron would have repeated this remark to Mozart, the +composer continued: "It is seventeen years since I was in Italy. But who +that has once seen Italy, Naples especially, even with the eyes of a +child, will ever forget it? Yet I have never recalled that last +beautiful day more vividly than today in your garden. When I closed my +eyes the last veil vanished, and I saw the lovely spot--sea and shore, +mountain and city, the gay throng of people, and the wonderful game of +ball. I seemed to hear the same music--a stream of joyful melodies, old +and new, strange and familiar, one after another. Presently a little +dance-song came along, in six-eighth measure, something quite new to me. +Hold on, I thought, that is a devilishly cute little tune! I listened +more closely. Good Heavens! That is Masetto, that is Zerlina!" He smiled +and nodded at Madame Mozart, who guessed what was coming. + +"It was this way," he went on; "there was a little, simple number of my +first act unfinished--the duet and chorus of a country wedding. Two +months ago, when in composing my score I came to this number, the right +theme did not present itself at the first attempt. It should be a simple +child-like melody, sparkling with joy--a fresh bunch of flowers tucked +in among a maiden's fluttering ribbons. So, because one should not +force such a thing, and because such trifles often come of themselves, I +left that number, and was so engrossed in the rest of the work that I +almost forgot it. Today, while we were driving along, just outside the +village, the text came into my head; but I cannot remember that I +thought much about it. Yet, only an hour later, in the arbor by the +fountain, I caught just the right _motif_, more happily than I could +have found it in any other way, at any other time. An artist has strange +experiences now and then, but such a thing never happened to me be fore. +For to find a melody exactly fitted to the verse--but I must not +anticipate. The bird had only his head out of the shell, and I proceeded +to pull off the rest of it! Meantime Zerlina's dance floated before my +eyes, and, somehow, too, the view on the Gulf of Naples. I heard the +voices of the bridal couple, and the chorus of peasants, men and girls." +Here Mozart gayly hummed the beginning of the song. "Meantime my hands +had done the mischief, Nemesis was lurking near, and suddenly appeared +in the shape of the dreadful man in livery. Had an eruption of Vesuvius +suddenly destroyed and buried with its rain of ashes audience and +actors, the whole majesty of Parthenope, on that heavenly day by the +sea, I could not have been more surprised or horrified. The fiend! +People do not easily make me so hot! His face was as hard as bronze--and +very like the terrible Emperor Tiberius, too! If the servant looks like +that, thought I, what must His Grace the Count be! But to tell the truth +I counted--and not without reason--on the protection of the ladies. For +I overheard the fat hostess of the inn telling my wife, Constanze there, +who is somewhat curious in disposition, all the most interesting facts +about the family, and so I knew--" + +Here Madame Mozart had to interrupt him and give them most positive +assurance that he was the one who asked the questions, and a lively and +amusing discussion followed. + +"However that may be," he said at last, "I heard something about a +favorite foster-daughter who, besides being beautiful, was goodness +itself, and sang like an angel. '_Per Dio_!' I said to myself, as I +remembered that, 'that will help you out of your scrape! Sit down and +write out the song as far as you can, explain your behavior truthfully, +and they will think it all a good joke.' No sooner said than done! I had +time enough, and found a blank piece of paper--and here is the result! I +place it in these fair hands, an impromptu wedding-song, if you will +accept it!" + +He held out the neatly written manuscript toward Eugenie, but the Count +anticipated her, and quickly taking it himself, said: "Have patience a +moment longer, my dear!" + +At his signal the folding-doors of the salon opened, and servants +appeared, bringing in the fateful orange-tree, which they put at the +foot of the table, placing on each side a slender myrtle-tree. An +inscription fastened to the orange-tree proclaimed it the property of +Eugenie; but in front of it, upon a porcelain plate, was seen, as the +napkin which covered it was lifted, an orange, cut in pieces, and beside +it the count placed Mozart's autograph note. + +"I believe," said the Countess, after the mirth had subsided, "that +Eugenie does not know what that tree really is. She does not recognize +her old friend with all its fruit and blossoms." + +Incredulous, Eugenie looked first at the tree, then at her uncle. "It +isn't possible," she said; "I knew very well that it couldn't be saved." + +"And so you think that we have found another to take its place? That +would have been worth while! No! I shall have to do as they do in the +play, when the long-lost son or brother proves his identity by his moles +and scars! Look at that knot, and at this crack, which you must have +noticed a hundred times. Is it your tree or isn't it?" + +Eugenie could doubt no longer, and her surprise and delight knew no +bounds. To the Count's family this tree always suggested the story of a +most excellent woman, who lived more than a hundred years before their +day, and who well deserves a word in passing. + +The Count's grandfather--a statesman of such repute in Vienna that he +had been honored with the confidence of two successive rulers--was as +happy in his private life as in his public life; for he possessed a most +excellent wife, Renate Leonore. During her repeated visits to France she +came in contact with the brilliant court of Louis XIV., and with the +most distinguished men and women of the day. She sympathized with the +ever-varying intellectual pleasures of the court without sacrificing in +the least her strong, inborn sense of honor and propriety. On this very +account, perhaps, she was the leader of a certain naïve opposition, and +her correspondence gives many a hint of the courage and independence +with which she could defend her sound principles and firm opinions, and +could attack her adversary in his weakest spot, all without giving +offense. + +Her lively interest in all the personages whom one could meet at the +house of a Ninon, in the centres of cultivation and learning, was +nevertheless so modest and so well controlled that she was honored with +the friendship of one of the noblest women of the time--Mme. de Sévigné. +The Count, after his grandmother's death, had found in an old oaken +chest, full of interesting papers, the most charming letters from the +Marquise and her daughter. + +From the hand of Mme. de Sévigné, indeed, she had received, during a +fête at Trianon, the sprig from an orange-tree, which she had planted +and which became in Germany a flourishing tree. For perhaps twenty-five +years it grew under her care, and afterward was treated with the +greatest solicitude by children and grandchildren. Prized for its own +actual worth, it was treasured the more as the living symbol of an age +which, intellectually, was then regarded as little less than divine--an +age in which we, today, can find little that is truly admirable, but +which was preparing the way for events, only a few years distant from +our innocent story, which shook the world. + +To the bequest of her excellent ancestor Eugenie showed much devotion, +and her uncle had often said that the tree should some day belong to +her. The greater was her disappointment then, when, during her absence +in the preceding spring, the leaves of the precious tree began to turn +yellow and many branches died. The gardener gave it up for lost, since +he could find no particular cause for its fading, and did not succeed in +reviving it. But the Count, advised by a skilful friend, had it placed +in a room by itself and treated according to one of the strange and +mysterious prescriptions which exist among the country folk, and his +hope of surprising his beloved niece with her old friend in all its new +strength and fruitfulness was realized beyond expectation. Repressing +his impatience, and anxious, moreover, lest those oranges which had +ripened first should fall from the tree, he had postponed the surprise +for several weeks, until the day of the betrothal; and there is no need +of further excuse for the good man's emotion, when, at the last moment, +he found that a stranger had robbed him of his pleasure. + +But the Lieutenant had long before dinner found opportunity to arrange +his poetical contribution to the festive presentation, and had altered +the close of his verses, which might otherwise have been almost too +serious. Now he rose and drew forth his manuscript, and, turning to +Eugenie, began to read. + +The oft-sung tree of the Hesperides--so ran the story--sprang up, ages +ago, in the garden of Juno on a western island, as a wedding gift from +Mother Earth, and was watched over by three nymphs, gifted with song. A +shoot from this tree had often wished for a similar fate, for the custom +of bestowing one of his race on a royal bride had descended from gods to +mortals. After long and vain waiting, the maiden to whom he might turn +his fond glances seemed at last to be found. She was kind to him and +lingered by him often. But the proud laurel (devoted to the Muses), his +neighbor beside the spring, roused his jealousy by threatening to steal +from the talented beauty all thought of love for man. In vain the myrtle +comforted him and taught him patience by her own example; finally the +absence of his beloved increased his malady till it became well-nigh +fatal. + +But summer brought back the absent one, and, happily, with a changed +heart. Town, palace, and garden received her with the greatest joy. +Roses and lilies, more radiant than ever, looked up with modest rapture; +shrubs and trees nodded greetings to her; but for one, the noblest, she +came alas! too late. His leaves were withered, and only the lifeless +stem and the dry tips of his branches were left. He would never know his +kind friend again. And how she wept and mourned over him! + +But Apollo heard her voice from afar, and, coming nearer, looked with +compassion upon her grief. He touched the tree with his all-healing +hands. Immediately the sap began to stir and rise in the trunk; young +leaves unfolded; white, nectar-laden flowers opened here and there. +Yes--for what cannot the immortals do-the beautiful, round fruits +appeared, three times three, the number of the nine sisters; they grew +and grew, their young green changing before his eyes to the color of +gold. Phoebus--so ended the poem-- + + Phoebus, in his work rejoicing, + Counts the fruit; but, ah! the sight + Tempts him. In another moment + Doth he yield to appetite. + + Smiling, plucks the god of music + One sweet orange from the tree + "Share with me the fruit, thou fair one, + And this, slice shall Amor's be." + +The verses were received with shouts of applause, and Max was readily +pardoned for the unexpected ending which had so completely altered the +really charming effect which he had made in the first version. + +Franziska, whose ready wit had already been called out by the Count and +Mozart, suddenly left the table, and returning brought with her a large +old English engraving which had hung, little heeded, in a distant room. +"It must be true, as I have always heard, that there is nothing new +under the sun," she cried, as she set up the picture at the end of the +table. "Here in the Golden Age is the same scene which we have heard +about today. I hope that Apollo will recognize himself in this +situation." + +"Excellent," answered Max. "There we have the god just as he is bending +thoughtfully over the sacred spring. And, look! behind him in the +thicket is an old Satyr watching him. I would take my oath that Apollo +is thinking of some long-forgotten Acadian dances which old Chiron +taught him to play on the cithern when he was young." + +"Exactly," applauded Franziska, who was standing behind Mozart's chair. +Turning to him, she continued, "Do you see that bough heavy with fruit, +bending down toward the god?" + +"Yes; that is the olive-tree, which was sacred to him." + +"Not at all. Those are the finest oranges. And in a moment--in a fit of +abstraction--he will pick one." + +"Instead," cried Mozart, "he will stop this roguish mouth with a +thousand kisses." And catching her by the arm he vowed that she should +not go until she had paid the forfeit--which was promptly done. + +"Max, read us what is written beneath the picture," said the Countess. + +"They are verses from a celebrated ode of Horace.[32] The poet Ramler, +of Berlin, made a fine translation of them a while ago. It is in most +beautiful rhythm. How splendid is even this one passage: + + "--And he, who never more + Will from his shoulders lay aside the bow, + Who in the pure dew of Castalia's fountain + Laves loosened hair; who holds the Lycian thicket + And his own native wood-- + Apollo! Delian and Pataréan King." + +"Beautiful!" exclaimed the Count, "but it needs a little explanation +here and there. For instance, 'He who will never lay aside the bow,' +would, of course, mean in plain prose, 'He who was always a most +diligent fiddler.' But, Mozart, you are sowing discord in two gentle +hearts." + +"How so?" + +"Eugenie is envying her friend--and with good reason." + +"Ah! you have discovered my weak point. But what would the Herr Baron +say?" + +"I could forgive for once." + +"Very well, then; I shall not neglect my opportunity. But you need not +be alarmed, Herr Baron. There is no danger as long as the god does not +lend me his countenance and his long yellow hair. I wish he would. I +would give him on the spot Mozart's braid and his very best hair-ribbon +besides." + +"Apollo would have to be careful, in future, how he gracefully laved his +new French finery in the Castalian fountain," laughed Franziska. + +With such exchange of jests the merriment grew; the wines were passed, +many a toast was offered, and Mozart soon fell into his way of talking +in rhyme. The Lieutenant was an able second, and his father, also, would +not be outdone; indeed, once or twice the latter succeeded remarkably +well. But such conversations cannot well be repeated, because the very +elements which make them irresistible at the time--the gaiety of the +mood and the charm of personality in word and look--are lacking. + +Among the toasts was one proposed by Franziska's aunt--that Mozart +should live to write many more immortal works. "Exactly! I am with you +in that," cried Mozart, and they eagerly touched glasses. Then the Count +began to sing--with much power and certainty, thanks to his inspiration: + + "Here's to Mozart's latest score; + May he write us many more." + + _Max_. + + "Works, da Ponte, such as you + (Mighty Schikaneder, too)," + + _Mozart_. + + "And Mozart, even, until now + Never thought of once, I vow." + + _The Count_. + + "Works that you shall live to see, + Great arch-thief of Italy; + That shall drive you to despair, + Clever Signor Bonbonnière." + + _Max_. + + "You may have a hundred years," + + _Mozart_. + + "Unless you with all your wares," + + _All three, con forza_. + + "Straight _zum Teufel_ first repair, + Clever Monsieur Bonbonnière." + +The Count was loth to stop singing, and the last four lines of the +impromptu terzetto suddenly became a so-called "endless canon," and +Franziska's aunt had wit and confidence enough to add all sorts of +ornamentation in her quavering soprano. Mozart promised afterward to +write out the song at leisure, according to the rules of the art, and he +did send it to the Count after he returned to Vienna. + +Eugenie had long ago quietly examined her inheritance from the +shrubbery of "Tiberius," and presently some one asked to hear the new +duet from her and Mozart. The uncle was glad to join in the chorus, and +all rose and hastened to the piano, in the large salon. + +The charming composition aroused the greatest enthusiasm; but its very +character was a temptation to put music to another use, and indeed it +was Mozart himself who gave the signal, as he left the piano, to ask +Franziska for a waltz, while Max took up his violin. The Count was not +slow in doing the honors for Madame Mozart, and one after another joined +in the dance. Even Franziska's aunt became young again as she trod the +minuet with the gallant Lieutenant. Finally, as Mozart and the fair +Eugenie finished the last dance, he claimed his promised privilege. + +It was now almost sunset, and the garden was cool and pleasant. There +the Countess invited the ladies to rest and refresh themselves, while +the Count led the way to the billiard room, for Mozart was known to be +fond of the game. + +We will follow the ladies. + +After they had walked about they ascended a little slope, half inclosed +by a high vine-covered trellis. From the hill they could look off into +the fields, and down into the streets of the village. The last rosy rays +of sunlight shone in through the leaves. + +"Could we not sit here for a little," suggested the Countess, "if Madame +Mozart would tell us about herself and her husband?" + +Madame Mozart was willing enough, and her eager listeners drew their +chairs close about her. + +"I will tell you a story that you must know in order to understand a +little plan of mine. I wish to give to the Baroness-to-be a souvenir of +a very unusual kind. It is no article of luxury or of fashion but it is +interesting solely because of its history." + +"What can it be, Eugenie?" asked Franziska. "Perhaps the ink-bottle of +some famous man." "Not a bad guess. You shall see the treasure within +an hour; it is in my trunk. Now for the story and with your permission +it shall begin back a year or more. + +"The winter before last, Mozart's health caused me much anxiety, on +account of his increasing nervousness and despondency. Although he was +now and then in unnaturally high spirits when in company, yet at home he +was generally silent and depressed, or sighing and ailing. The physician +recommended dieting and exercise in the country. But his patient paid +little heed to the good advice; it was not easy to follow a prescription +which took so much time and was so directly contrary to all his plans +and habits. Then the doctor frightened him with a long lecture on +breathing, the human blood, corpuscles, phlogiston, and such unheard-of +things; there were dissertations on Nature and her purposes in eating, +drinking, and digestion--a subject of which Mozart was, till then, as +ignorant as a five-year-old child. + +"The lesson made a distinct impression. For the doctor had hardly been +gone a half hour when I found my husband, deep in thought but of a +cheerful countenance, sitting in his room and examining a walking-stick +which he had ferreted out of a closet full of old things. I supposed +that he had entirely forgotten it. It was a handsome stick, with a large +head of lapis lazuli, and had belonged to my father. But no one had ever +before seen a cane in Mozart's hand, and I had to laugh at him. + +"'You see,' he cried, 'I have surrendered myself to my cure, with all +its appurtenances. I will drink the water, and take exercise every day +in the open air, with this stick as my companion. I have been thinking +about it; there is our neighbor, the privy-councilor, who cannot even +cross the street to visit his best friend without his cane; tradesmen +and officers, chancellors and shop-keepers, when they go with their +families on Sunday for a stroll in the country, carry each one his +trusty cane. And I have noticed how in the Stephansplatz, a quarter of +an hour before church or court, the worthy citizens stand talking in +groups and leaning on their stout sticks, which, one can see, are the +firm supports of their industry, order, and tranquillity. In short, this +old-fashioned and rather homely custom must be a blessing and a comfort. +You may not believe it, but I am really impatient to go off with this +good friend for my first constitutional across the bridge. We are +already slightly acquainted, and I hope that we are partners for life.' + +"The partnership was but a brief one, however. On the third day of their +strolls the companion failed to return. Another was procured, and lasted +somewhat longer; and, at any rate, I was thankful to Mozart's sudden +fancy for canes, since it helped him for three whole weeks to carry out +the doctor's instructions. Good results began to appear; we had almost +never seen him so bright and cheerful. But after a while the fancy +passed, and I was in despair again. Then it happened that, after a very +fatiguing day, he went with some friends who were passing through Vienna +to a musical soirée. He promised faithfully that he would stay but an +hour, but those are always the occasions when people most abuse his +kindness, once he is seated at the piano and lost in music; for he sits +there like a man in a balloon, miles above the earth, where one cannot +hear the clocks strike. I sent twice for him, in the middle of the +night; but the servant could not even get a word with him. At last, at +three in the morning, he came home, and I made up my mind that I must be +very severe with him all day." + +Here Madame Mozart passed over some circumstances in silence. It was not +unlikely that the Signora Malerbi (a woman with whom Frau Constanze had +good reason to be angry) would have gone also to this soirée. The young +Roman singer had, through Mozart's influence, obtained a place in the +opera, and without doubt her coquetry had assisted her in winning his +favor. Indeed, some gossips would have it that she had made a conquest +of him, and had kept him for months on the rack. However that may have +been, she conducted herself afterward in the most impertinent and +ungrateful manner, and even permitted herself to jest at the expense of +her benefactor. So it was quite like her to speak of Mozart to one of +her more fortunate admirers as _un piccolo grifo raso_ (a little +well-shaven pig). The comparison, worthy of a Circe, was the more +irritating because one must confess that it contained a grain of truth. + +As Mozart was returning from this soirée (at which, as it happened, the +singer was not present), a somewhat excited friend was so indiscreet as +to repeat to him the spiteful remark. It was the more amazing to him +because it was the first unmistakable proof of the utter ingratitude of +his protegée. In his great indignation he did not notice the extreme +coolness of Frau Constanze's reception. Without stopping to take breath +he poured out his grievance, and well-nigh roused her pity; yet she held +conscientiously to her determination that he should not so easily escape +punishment. So when he awoke from a sound sleep shortly after noon, he +found neither wife nor children at home, and the table was spread for +him alone. + +Ever since Mozart's marriage there had been little which could make him +so unhappy as any slight cloud between his better half and himself. If +he had only known how heavy an anxiety had burdened her during the past +few days! But, as usual, she had put off as long as possible the +unpleasant communication. Her money was now almost spent, and there was +no prospect that they should soon have more. Although Mozart did not +guess this state of affairs, yet his heart sank with discouragement and +uncertainty. He did not wish to eat; he could not stay in the house. He +dressed himself quickly, to go out into the air. On the table he left an +open note in Italian: + + "You have taken a fair revenge, and treated me quite as I deserved. + But be kind and smile again when I come home, I beg you. I should like + to turn Carthusian or Trappist and make amends for my sins." + +Then he took his hat, but not his cane--that had had its +day--and set off. + +Since we have excused Frau Constanze from telling so much of her story +we may as well spare her a little longer. The good man sauntered along +past the market toward the armory--it was a warm, sunshiny, summer +afternoon--and slowly and thoughtfully crossed the Hof, and, turning to +the left, climbed the Mölkenbastei, thus avoiding the greetings of +several acquaintances who were just entering the town. + +Although the silent sentinel who paced up and down beside the cannon did +not disturb him, he stopped but a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful +view across the green meadows and over the suburbs to the Kahlenberg. +The peaceful calm of nature was too little in sympathy with his +thoughts. With a sigh he set out across the esplanade, and so went on, +without any particular aim, through the Alser-Vorstadt. + +At the end of Währinger Street there was an inn, with a bowling alley; +the proprietor, a master rope-maker, was as well known for his good beer +as for the excellence of his ropes. Mozart heard the balls and saw a +dozen or more guests within. A half-unconscious desire to forget himself +among natural and unassuming people moved him to enter the garden. He +sat down at one of the tables--but little shaded by the small +trees--with an inspector of the water-works and two other Philistines, +ordered his glass of beer, joined in their conversation, and watched the +bowling. + +Not far from the bowling-ground, toward the house, was the open shop of +the rope-maker. It was a small room, full to overflowing; for, besides +the necessaries of his trade, he had for sale all kinds of dishes and +utensils for kitchen, cellar, and farm-oil and wagon grease, also seeds +of various kinds, and dill and cheap brandy. A girl, who had to serve +the guests and at the same time attend to the shop, was busy with a +countryman, who, leading his little boy by the hand, had just stepped up +to make a few purchases--a measure for fruit, a brush, a whip. He +would choose one article, try it, lay it down, take up a second and a +third, and go back, uncertainly, to the first one; he could not decide +upon any one. The girl went off several times to wait on the guests, +came back, and with the utmost patience helped him make his choice. + +Mozart, on a bench near the alley, saw and heard, with great amusement, +all that was going on. As much as he was interested in the good, +sensible girl, with her calm and earnest countenance, he was still more +entertained by the countryman who, even after he had gone, left Mozart +much to think about. The master, for the time being, had changed places +with him; he felt how important in his eyes was the small transaction, +how anxiously and conscientiously the prices, differing only by a few +kreutzers, were considered. "Now," he thought, "the man will go home to +his wife and tell her of his purchases, and the children will all wait +until the sack is opened, to see if it holds anything for them; while +the good wife will hasten to bring the supper and the mug of fresh +home-brewed cider, for which her husband has been keeping his appetite +all day. If only I could be as happy and independent waiting only on +Nature, and enjoying her blessings though they be hard to win! But if my +art demands of me a different kind of work, that I would not, after all, +exchange for anything in the world, why should I meanwhile remain in +circumstances which are just the opposite of such a simple and innocent +life? If I had a little land in a pleasant spot near the village, and a +little house, then I could really live. In the mornings I could work +diligently at my scores; all the rest of the time I could spend with my +family. I could plant trees, visit my garden, in the fall gather apples +and pears with my boys, now and then take a trip to town for an opera, +or have a friend or two with me--what delight! Well, who knows what may +happen!" + +He walked up to the shop, spoke to the girl, and began to examine her +stock more closely. His mind had not quite descended from its idyllic +flight, and the clean, smooth, shining wood, with its fresh smell, +attracted him. It suddenly occurred to him that he would pick out +several articles for his wife, such as she might need or might like to +have. At his suggestion, Constanze had, a long time ago, rented a little +piece of ground outside the Kärnthner Thor, and had raised a few +vegetables; so now it seemed quite fitting to invest in a long rake and +a small rake and a spade. Then, as he looked further, he did honor to +his principles of economy by denying himself, with an effort and after +some deliberation, a most tempting churn. To make up for this, however, +he chose a deep dish with a cover and a prettily carved handle; for it +seemed a most useful article. It was made of narrow strips of wood, +light and dark, and was carefully varnished. There was also a +particularly fine choice of spoons, bread-boards, and plates of all +sizes, and a salt-box of simple construction to hang on the wall. + +At last he spied a stout stick, which had a handle covered with leather +and studded with brass nails. As the strange customer seemed somewhat +undecided about this also, the girl remarked with a smile that that was +hardly a suitable stick for a gentleman to carry. "You are right, +child," he answered. "I think I have seen butchers carry such sticks. +No, I will not have it. But all the other things which we have laid out +you may bring to me today or tomorrow." And he gave his name and +address. Then he went back to the table to finish his beer. Only one of +his former companions was sitting there, a master-tinker. + +"The girl there has had a good day for once," he remarked. "Her uncle +gives her a commission on all that she sells." + +Mozart was now more pleased with his purchase than ever. But his +interest was to become still greater. For, in a moment, as the girl +passed near, the tinker called out, "Well, Crescenz, how is your friend +the locksmith? Will he soon be filing his own iron?" "Oh," she answered +without stopping, "that iron is still growing deep in the mountain." + +"She is a good goose," said the tinsmith. "For a long time she kept +house for her stepfather, and took care of him when he was ill; but +after he died it came out that he had spent all her money. Since that +she has lived with her uncle, and she is a treasure, in the shop, in the +inn, and with the children. There is a fine young apprentice who would +have liked to marry her long ago, but there is a hitch somewhere." + +"How so? Has he nothing to live on?" + +"They both have saved a little, but not enough. Now comes word of a good +situation and a part of a house in Ghent. Her uncle could easily lend +them the little money that they need, but of course he will not let her +go. He has good friends in the council and in the union, and the young +fellow is meeting with all sorts of difficulties." + +"The wretches!" cried Mozart, so loud that the other looked around +anxiously, fearing that they might have been overheard. "And is there no +one who could speak the right word or show those fellows a fist? The +villains! We will get the best of them yet." + +The tinker was on thorns. He tried, clumsily enough, to moderate his +statements, and almost contradicted himself. But Mozart would not +listen. "Shame on you, how you chatter! That's just the way with all of +you as soon as you have to answer for anything!" And with that he turned +on his heel and left the astonished tinker. He hastened to the girl, who +was busy with new guests: "Come early tomorrow, and give my respects to +your good friend. I hope that your affairs will prosper." She was too +busy and too much surprised to thank him. + +He retraced his way to the city at a quick pace, for the incident had +stirred his blood. Wholly occupied with the affairs of the poor young +couple, he ran over in his mind a list of his friends and acquaintances +who might be able to help them. Then, since it was necessary to have +more particulars from the girl before he could decide upon any step, he +dismissed the subject from his thoughts and hastened eagerly toward +home. + +He confidently expected a more than cordial welcome and a kiss at the +door, and longing redoubled his haste. Presently the postman called to +him and handed him a small but heavy parcel, which was addressed in a +fair clear hand which he at once recognized. He stepped into the first +shop to give the messenger his receipt, but when once in the street +again his impatience was not to be checked, so he broke the seal, and, +now walking, now standing still, devoured his letter. + +"I was sitting at my sewing-table," continued Madame Mozart, in her +story, "and heard my husband come upstairs and ask the servant for me. +His step and tone were more cheerful and gay than I had expected, and +more so than I quite liked. He went first to his room, but came +immediately to me. 'Good-evening!' he said. I answered him quietly, +without looking up. After walking across the room once or twice, with a +smothered yawn he took up the fly-clap from behind the door--a most +unusual proceeding--and remarking, 'Where do all these flies come from?' +began to slap about, as loudly as possible. The noise is particularly +unpleasant to him, and I had been careful not to let him hear it. 'H'm,' +I thought, 'when he does it himself it's another matter.' Besides, I had +not noticed many flies. His strange behavior vexed me much. 'Six at a +blow!' he cried. 'Do you see?' No answer. Then he laid something on the +table before me, so near that I could not help seeing it without lifting +my eyes from my work. It was nothing less than a heap of ducats. He kept +on with his nonsense behind my back, talking to himself, and giving a +slap now and then. 'The disagreeable good-for-nothing beasts! What were +they put in the world for"' _Pitsch_. 'To be killed, I suppose!' +_Patsch_. 'Natural history teaches us how rapidly their numbers +multiply.' _Pitsch, patsch_. 'In my house they are soon dispatched. Ah, +_maledette! disperate_! Here are twenty more. Do you want them?' +And he came and laid down another pile of gold. I had had hard work to +keep from laughing, and could hold out no longer. He fell on my neck and +we laughed as if for a wager. + +"'But where did the money come from' I asked, as he shook the last +pieces from the roll. 'From Prince Esterhazy,[33]rough Haydn. Read the +letter.' I read: + + "'Eisenstadt, Etc. + + "'_My good friend_.--His Highness has, to my great delight, intrusted + me with the errand of sending to you these 60 ducats. We have been + playing your quartettes again, and his Highness was even more charmed + and delighted than at the first hearing, three months ago. He said to + me (I must write it word for word): "When Mozart dedicated these + works to you, he thought to honor you alone. Yet he cannot take it + amiss if I find in them a compliment to myself also. Tell him that I + think as highly of his genius as you do, and more than that he could not + wish." "Amen," said I. Are you satisfied? + + "'_Postscript_ (for the ear of the good wife).--Take care that the + acknowledgment be not too long delayed. A note from Mozart himself + would be best. We must not lose so favorable a breeze.' + +"'You angel! You divine creature!' cried Mozart again and again. It +would be hard to say which pleased him most, the letter, or the praise +of the prince, or the money. I confess that just then the money appealed +most to me. We passed a very happy evening, as you may guess. + +"Of the affair in the suburb I heard neither that day nor the next. The +whole week went by; no Crescenz appeared, and my husband, in a whirl of +engagements, soon forgot her. One Sunday evening we had a small +musicale. Captain Wasselt, Count Hardegg, and others were there. During +a pause I was called out, and there was the outfit. I went back to the +room and asked, 'Have you ordered a lot of woodenware from the +Alservorsstadt?' + +"'By thunder, so I did! I suppose the girl is here? Tell her to come +in.' + +"So in she came, quite at ease, with rakes, spades, and all, +and apologized for her delay, saying that she had forgotten the +name of the street and had only just found it. Mozart took the things +from her, one after another, and handed them to me with great +satisfaction. I thanked him and was pleased with everything, praising +and admiring, though I wondered all the time what he had bought the +garden tools for. + +"'For your garden,' he said. + +"'Goodness! we gave that up long ago, because the river did so much +damage; and besides we never had good luck with it. I told you, and you +didn't object.' + +"'What! And so the asparagus that we had this spring--' + +"'Was always from the market!' + +"'Hear that! If I had only known it! And I praised it just out of pity +for your poor garden, when really the stalks were no bigger than Dutch +quills.' + +"The guests enjoyed the fun, and I had to give them some of the +unnecessary articles at once. And when Mozart inquired of the girl about +the prospects of her marriage, and encouraged her to speak freely, +assuring her that whatever assistance we could offer should be quietly +given and cause her no trouble, she told her story with so much modesty +and discretion that she quite won her audience, and was sent away much +encouraged. + +"'Those people must be helped,' said the Captain. 'The tricks of the +union do not amount to much. I know some one who will see to that. The +important thing is a contribution toward the expenses of the house and +the furniture. Let us give a benefit concert, admission fee _ad +libitum_!' + +"The suggestion found hearty approval. Somebody picked up the salt-box +and said: 'We must have an historic introduction, with a description of +Herr Mozart's purchase, and an account of his philanthropic spirit; and +we will put this box on the table to receive the contributions and +arrange the rakes as decorations.' This did not happen, however, though +the concert came off; and what with the receipts of the concert and +outside contributions, the young couple had more than enough for their +housekeeping outfit, and also the other obstacles were quickly removed. + +"The Duscheks, in Prague, dear friends of ours, with whom we are to +stay, heard the story, and Frau Duschek asked for some of the woodenware +as souvenirs. So I laid aside two which I thought were suitable, and was +taking them to her. + +"But since we have made another artist friend by the way, one who is, +too, about to provide her wedding furnishings, and who will not despise +what Mozart has chosen, I will divide my gift, and you, Eugenie, may +choose between a lovely open-work rod for stirring chocolate and the +salt-box, which is decorated with a tasteful tulip. My advice is to take +the salt-box; salt, as I have heard, is a symbol of home and +hospitality, and with the gift go the best and most affectionate +wishes." + +So ended Madame Mozart's story. How pleased and gratified her listeners +were is easily to be imagined. Their delight was redoubled when, in the +presence of the whole party, the interesting articles were brought out, +and the model of patriarchal simplicity was formally presented. This, +the Count vowed, should have in the silver-chest of its present owner +and all her posterity, as important a place as that of the Florentine +master's famous work. + +It was, by this time, almost eight o'clock and tea-time, and soon our +master was pressingly reminded of his promise to show his friends _Don +Juan_, which lay under lock and key, but, happily, not too deep down in +his trunk. Mozart was ready and willing, and by the time he had told the +story of the plot and had brought the libretto, the lights were burning +at the piano. + +We could wish that our readers could here realize a touch, at least, of +that peculiar sensation with which a single chord, floating from a +window as we pass, stops us and holds us spellbound--a touch of that +pleasant suspense with which we sit before the curtain in the theatre +while the orchestra is still tuning! Or am I wrong? Can the soul stand +more deeply in awe of everlasting beauty than when pausing before any +sublime and tragic work of art--Macbeth, OEdipus, or whatever it may be? +Man wishes and yet fears to be moved beyond his ordinary habit; he feels +that the Infinite will touch him, and he shrinks before it in the very +moment when it draws him most strongly. Reverence for perfect art is +present, too; the thought of enjoying a heavenly miracle--of being able +and being permitted to make it one's own--stirs an emotion--pride, if +you will--which is perhaps the purest and happiest of which we are +capable. + +This little company, however, was on very different ground from ours. +They were about to hear, for the first time, a work which has been +familiar to us from childhood. If one subtracts the very enviable +pleasure of hearing it through its creator, we have the advantage of +them; for in one hearing they could not fully appreciate and understand +such a work, even if they had heard the whole of it. + +Of the eighteen numbers which were already written the composer did not +give the half (in the authority from which we have our statement we find +only the last number, the sextet, expressly mentioned), and he played +them in a free sort of transcription, singing here and there as he felt +disposed. Of his wife it is only told that she sang two arias. We might +guess, since her voice was said to be as strong as it was sweet, that +she chose Donna Anna's _Or sai, chi l'onore_, and one of Zerlina's two +arias. + +In all probability Eugenie and her fiancé were the only listeners who, +in spirit, taste, and judgment, were what Mozart could wish. They sat +far back in the room, Eugenie motionless as a statue, and so engrossed +that, in the short pauses when the rest of the audience expressed their +interest or showed their delight in involuntary exclamations, she +gave only the briefest replies to the Baron's occasional remarks. + +When Mozart stopped, after the beautiful sextet, and conversation began +again, he showed himself particularly pleased with the Baron's comments. +They spoke of the close of the opera, and of the first performance, +announced for an early date in November; and when some one remarked that +certain portions yet to be written must be a gigantic task, the master +smiled, and Constanze said to the Countess, so loudly that Mozart must +needs hear: "He has ideas which he works at secretly; before me, +sometimes." + +"You are playing your part badly, my dear," he interrupted. "What if I +should want to begin anew? And, to tell the truth, I'd rather like to." + +"Leporello!" cried the Count, springing up and nodding to a servant. +"Bring some wine. Sillery--three bottles." + +"No, if you please. That is past; my husband will not drink more than he +still has in his glass." + +"May it bring him luck--and so to every one!" + +"Good heavens! What have I done," lamented Constanze, looking at the +clock. "It is nearly eleven, and we must start early tomorrow. How shall +we manage?" + +"Don't manage at all, dear Frau Mozart." + +"Sometimes," began Mozart, "things work out very strangely. What will my +Stanzl say when she learns that the piece of work which you are going to +hear came to life at this very hour of the night, just before I was to +go on a journey?" + +"Is it possible! When? Oh! three weeks ago, when you were to go to +Eisenstadt." + +"Exactly. This is how it came about. I came in after ten (you were fast +asleep) from dinner at the Richters'. and intended to go to bed early, +as I had promised, for I was to start very early in the morning. +Meanwhile Veit had lighted the candles on the writing-table, as usual. I +made ready for bed mechanically, and then thought I would take just a +look at the last notes I had written. But, cruel fate! with woman's +deuced inconvenient spirit of order you had cleared up the room and +packed the music--for the Prince wished to see a number or two from the +opera. I hunted, grumbled, scolded-all in vain. Then my eye fell on a +sealed envelope from Abbate--his pot-hooks in the address. Yes; he had +sent me the rest of his revised text, which I had not hoped to see for +months. I sat down with great curiosity and began to read, and was +enraptured to find how well the fellow understood what I wanted. It was +all much simpler, more condensed, and at the same time fuller. The scene +in the churchyard and the _finale_, with the disappearance of the hero, +were greatly improved. 'But, my excellent poet,' I said to myself, 'you +need not have loaded me with heaven and hell a second time, so +carelessly.' + +"Now, it is never my habit to write any number out of order, be it never +so tempting; that is a mistake which may be too severely punished. Yet +there are exceptions, and, in short, the scene near the statue of the +governor, the warning which, coming suddenly from the grave of the +murdered man, interrupts so horribly the laughter of the revelers--that +scene was already in my head. I struck a chord, and felt that I had +knocked at the right door, behind which lay all the legion of horrors to +be let loose in the _finale_. First came out an adagio--D-minor, only +four measures; then a second, with five. 'There will be an extraordinary +effect in the theatre,' thought I, 'when the strongest wind instruments +accompany the voice.' Now you shall hear it, as well as it can be done +without the orchestra." + +He snuffed out the candles beside him, and that fearful choral, "Your +laughter shall be ended ere the dawn," rang through the death-like +stillness of the room. The notes of the silver trumpet fell through the +blue night as if from another sphere--ice-cold, cutting through nerve +and marrow. "Who is here? Answer!" they heard Don Juan ask. Then the +choral, monotonous as before, bade the ruthless youth leave the dead in +peace. + +After this warning had rung out its last notes, Mozart went on: "Now, as +you can think, there was no stopping. When the ice begins to break at +the edge, the whole lake cracks and snaps from end to end. +Involuntarily, I took up the thread at Don Juan's midnight feast, when +Donna Elvira has just departed and the ghost enters in response to the +invitation. Listen!" + +And then the whole, long, horrible dialogue followed. When the human +voices have become silent, the voice of the dead speaks again. After +that first fearful greeting, in which the half-transformed being refuses +the earthly nourishment offered him, how strangely and horribly moves +the unsteady voice up and down in that singular scale! He demands speedy +repentance; the spirit's time is short, the way it must travel, long. +And Don Juan, in monstrous obstinacy withstanding the eternal commands, +beneath the growing influence of the dark spirits, struggles and writhes +and finally perishes, keeping to the last, nevertheless, that wonderful +expression of majesty in every gesture. How heart and flesh tremble with +delight and terror! It is a feeling like that with which one watches the +mighty spectacle of an unrestrained force of nature, or the burning of a +splendid ship. In spite of ourselves, we sympathize with the blind +majesty, and, shuddering, share the pain of its self-destruction. + +The composer paused. For a while no one could speak. Finally, the +Countess, with voice still unsteady, said "Will you give us some idea of +your own feelings when you laid down the pen that night?" + +He looked up at her as if waked from a dream, hesitated a moment, and +then said, half to the Countess, half to his wife: "Yes, my head swam at +last. I had written this dialogue and the chorus of demons, in fever +heat, by the open window, and, after resting a moment, I rose to go to +your room, that I might talk a little and cool off. But another thought +stopped me half way to the door." His glance fell, and his voice +betrayed his emotion. "I said to myself, 'If you should die tonight and +leave your score just here, could you rest in your grave?' My eye fell +on the wick of the light in my hand and on the mountain of melted wax. +The thought that it suggested was painful. 'Then,' I went on, 'if after +this, sooner or later, some one else were to complete the opera, perhaps +even an Italian, and found all the numbers but one, up to the +seventeenth--so many sound, ripe fruits, lying ready to his hand in the +long grass-if he dreaded the finale, and found, unhoped for, the rocks +for its construction close by--he might well laugh in his sleeve. +Perhaps he would be tempted to rob me of my honor. He would burn his +fingers, though, for I have many a good friend who knows my stamp and +would see that I had my rights.' + +"Then I thanked God and went back, and thanked your good angel, dear +wife, who held his hand so long over your brow, and kept you sleeping so +soundly that you could not once call to me. When at last I did go to bed +and you asked me the hour, I told you you were two hours younger than +you were, for it was nearly four; and now you will understand why you +could not get me to leave the feathers at six, and why you had to +dismiss the coach and order it for another day." + +"Certainly," answered Constanze; "but the sly man must not think that I +was so stupid as not to know something of what was going on. You didn't +need, on that account, to keep your beautiful new numbers all to +yourself." + +"That was not the reason." + +"No, I know. You wanted to keep your treasure away from criticism yet a +little while." + +"I am glad," cried the good-natured host, "that we shall not need to +grieve the heart of a noble Vienna coachman to-morrow, when Herr +Mozart cannot arise. The order, 'Hans, you may unharness!' always makes +one sad." + +This indirect invitation for a longer stay, which was heartily seconded +by the rest of the family, obliged the travelers to explain their urgent +reason for declining it; yet they readily agreed that the start need not +be made so early as to interfere with a meeting at breakfast. + +They stood, talking in groups, a little while longer. Mozart looked +about him, apparently for Eugenie; since she was not there he turned +naïvely with his question to Franziska. + +"What do you think, on the whole, of our Don Juan? Can you prophesy +anything good for him?" + +"In the name of my aunt, I will answer as well as I can," was the +laughing reply. "My opinion is that if Don Juan does not set the world +mad, the good Lord may shut up his music chests for years to come, and +give mankind to understand--" + +"And give mankind," corrected the Count, "the bag-pipes to play on, and +harden the hearts of the people so that they worship Baal." + +"The Lord preserve us!" laughed Mozart. "But in the course of the next +sixty or seventy years, long after I am gone, will arise many false +prophets." + +Eugenie approached, with the Baron and Max; the conversation took a new +turn, growing ever more earnest and serious, and the composer, ere the +company separated, rejoiced in many a word of encouragement and good +cheer. Finally, long after midnight, all retired; nor, till then, had +any one felt weary. + +Next day--for the fair weather still held--at ten o'clock a handsome +coach, loaded with the effects of the two travelers, stood in the +courtyard. The Count, with Mozart, was waiting for the horses to be put +in, and asked the master how the carriage pleased him. + +"Very well, indeed; it seems most comfortable." "Good! Then be so kind +as to keep it to remind you of me." + +"What! You are not in earnest?" + +"Why not?" + +"Holy Sixtus and Calixtus! Constanze, here!" he called up to the window +where, with the others, she sat looking out. "The coach is mine. You +will ride hereafter in your own carriage." + +He embraced the smiling donor, and examined his new possession on all +sides; finally he threw open the door and jumped in, exclaiming: "I feel +as rich and happy as Ritter Gluck. What eyes they will make in Vienna!" + +"I hope," said the Countess, "when you return from Prague, to see your +carriage again, all hung with wreaths." + +Soon after this last happy scene the much-praised carriage moved away +with the departing guests, and rolled rapidly toward the road to Prague. +At Wittingau the Count's horses were to be exchanged for post-horses, +with which they would continue their journey. + +When such excellent people have enlivened our houses by their presence, +have given us new impulses through their fresh spirits, and have made us +feel the blessings of dispensing hospitality, their departure leaves an +uncomfortable sense of vacancy and interruption, at least for the rest +of the day, and especially if we are left to ourselves. The latter case, +at least, was not true with our friends in the palace. Franziska's +parents and aunt soon followed the Mozarts. Franziska herself, the +Baron, and Max of course, remained. Eugenie, with whom we are especially +concerned, because she appreciated more deeply than the others the +priceless experience she had had--she, one would think, could not feel +in the least unhappy or troubled. Her pure happiness in the truly +beloved man to whom she was now formally betrothed would drown all other +considerations; rather, the most noble and lovely things which could +move her heart must be mingled with that other happiness. So would +it have been, perhaps, if she could have lived only in the present, or +in joyful retrospect. But she had been moved by anxiety while Frau +Mozart was telling her story, and the apprehension increased all the +while that Mozart was playing, in spite of the ineffable charm beneath +the mysterious horror of the music, and was brought to a climax by his +own story of his night work. She felt sure that this man's energy would +speedily and inevitably destroy him; that he could be but a fleeting +apparition in this world, which was unable to appreciate the profusion +of his gifts. + +This thought, mingled with many others and with echoes of Don Juan, had +surged through her troubled brain the night before, and it was almost +daylight when she fell asleep. Now, the three women had seated +themselves in the garden with their work; the men bore them company, and +when the conversation, as was natural, turned upon Mozart, Eugenie did +not conceal her apprehensions. No one shared them in the least, although +the Baron understood her fully. She tried to rid herself of the feeling, +and her friends, particularly her uncle, brought to her mind the most +positive and cheering proofs that she was wrong. How gladly she heard +them! She was almost ready to believe that she had been foolishly +alarmed. + +Some moments afterward, as she passed through the large hall which had +just been swept and put in order, where the half-drawn green damask +curtains made a soft twilight, she stopped sadly before the piano. It +was like a dream, to think who had sat there but a few hours before. She +looked long and thoughtfully at the keys which _he_ had touched last; +then she softly closed the lid and took away the key, in jealous care +lest some other hand should open it too soon. As she went away, she +happened to return to its place a book of songs; an old leaf fell out, +the copy of a Bohemian folk-song, which Franziska, and she too, had sung +long ago. She took it up, not without emotion, for in her present mood +the most natural occurrence might easily seem an oracle. And the +simple verses, as she read them through again, brought the hot tears to +her eyes: + + "A pine-tree stands in a forest--who knows where? + A rose-tree in some garden fair doth grow; + Remember they are waiting there, my soul, + Till o'er thy grave they bend to whisper and to blow. + + "Far in the pasture two black colts are feeding. + Toward home they canter when the master calls; + They shall go slowly with thee to thy grave, + Perchance ere from their hoofs the gleaming iron falls." + + * * * * * + + + +[Illustration: ANNETTE VON DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF] + +ANNETTE ELIZABETH VON DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF + + + PENTECOST[34] (1839) + + The day was still, the sun's bright glare + Fell sheer upon the Temple's beauteous wall + Withered by tropic heat, the air + Let, like a bird, its listless pinions fall. + Behold a group, young men and gray, + And women, kneeling; silence holds them all; + They mutely pray! + + Where is the faithful Comforter + Whom, parting, Thou didst promise to Thine own? + They trust Thy word which cannot err, + But sad and full of fear the time has grown. + The hour draws nigh; for forty days + And forty wakeful nights toward Thee we've thrown + Our weeping gaze. + + Where is He? Hour on hour doth steal, + And minute after minute swells the doubt. + Where doth He bide? And though a seal + Be on the mouth, the soul must yet speak out. + Hot winds blow, in the sandy lake + The panting tiger moans and rolls about, + Parched is the snake. + + But hark! a murmur rises now, + Swelling and swelling like a storm's advance, + Yet standing grass-blades do not bow, + And the still palm-tree listens in a trance. + Why seem these men to quake with fear + While each on other casts a wondering glance? + Behold! 'Tis here! + + 'Tis here, 'tis here! the quivering light + Rests on each head; what floods of ecstasy + Throng in our veins with wondrous might! + The future dawns; the flood-gates open free; + Resistless pours the mighty Word; + Now as a herald's call, now whisperingly, + Its tone is heard. + + Oh Light, oh Comforter, but there + Alas! and but to them art Thou revealed + And not to us, not everywhere + Where drooping souls for comfort have appealed! + I yearn for day that never breaks; + Oh shine, before this eye is wholly sealed, + Which weeps and wakes. + + * * * * * + + THE HOUSE IN THE HEATH[35] (1841) + + Beneath yon fir trees in the west, + The sunset round it glowing, + A cottage lies like bird on nest, + With thatch roof hardly showing. + + And there across the window-sill + Leans out a white-starred heifer; + She snorts and stamps; then breathes her fill + Of evening's balmy zephyr. + + Near-by reposes, hedged with thorn, + A garden neatly tended; + The sunflower looks about with scorn; + The bell-flower's head is bended. + + And in the garden kneels a child, + She weeds or merely dallies, + A lily plucks with gesture mild + And wanders down the alleys. + + A shepherd group in distance dim + Lie stretched upon the heather, + And with a simple evening hymn + Wake the still breeze together. + + And from the roomy threshing hall + The hammer strokes ring cheery, + The plane gives forth a crunching drawl, + The rasping saw sounds weary. + + The evening star now greets the scene + And smoothly soars above it, + And o'er the cottage stands serene; + He seems in truth to love it. + + A vision with such beauty crowned, + Had pious monks observed it, + They straight upon a golden ground + Had painted and preserved it. + + The carpenter, the herdsmen there + A pious choral sounding; + The maiden with the lily fair, + And peace the whole surrounding; + + The wondrous star that beams on all + From out the fields of heaven-- + May it not be that in the stall + The Christ is born this even? + +[Illustration: HANS AM ENDE THE FARM HOUSE] + + * * * * * + + THE BOY ON THE MOOR[36] (1841) + + 'Tis an eerie thing o'er the moor to fare + When the eddies of peat-smoke justle, + When the wraiths of mist whirl here and there + And wind-blown tendrils tussle, + When every step starts a hidden spring + And the trodden moss-tufts hiss and sing + 'Tis an eerie thing o'er the moor to fare + When the tangled reed-beds rustle. + + The child with his primer sets out alone + And speeds as if he were hunted, + The wind goes by with a hollow moan-- + There's a noise in the hedge-row stunted. + 'Tis the turf-digger's ghost, near-by he dwells, + And for drink his master's turf he sells. + "Whoo! whoo!" comes a sound like a stray cow's groan; + The poor boy's courage is daunted. + + Then stumps loom up beside the ditch, + Uncannily nod the bushes, + The boy running on, each nerve a twitch, + Through a jungle of spear-grass pushes. + And where it trickles and crackles apace + Is the Spinner's unholy hiding-place, + The home of the cursèd Spinning-witch + Who turns her wheel 'mid the rushes. + + On, ever on, goes the fearsome rout, + In pursuit through that region fenny, + At each wild stride the bubbles burst out, + And the sounds from beneath are many. + Until at length from the midst of the din + Comes the squeak of a spectral violin, + That must be the rascally fiddler lout + Who ran off with the bridal penny! + + The turf splits open, and from the hole + Bursts forth an unhappy sighing, + "Alas, alas, for my wretched soul!" + 'Tis poor damned Margaret crying! + The lad he leaps like a wounded deer, + And were not his guardian angel near + Some digger might find in a marshy knoll + Where his little bleached bones were lying. + + But the ground grows firmer beneath his feet, + And there from over the meadow + A lamp is flickering homely-sweet; + The boy at the edge of the shadow + Looks back as he pauses to take his breath, + And in his glance is the fear of death. + 'Twas eerie there 'mid the sedge and peat, + Ah, that was a place to dread, O! + + * * * * * + + ON THE TOWER[37] (1842) + + I stand aloft on the balcony, + The starlings around me crying, + And let like maenad my hair stream free + To the storm o'er the ramparts flying. + Oh headlong wind, on this narrow ledge + I would I could try thy muscle + And, breast to breast, two steps from the edge, + Fight it out in a deadly tussle. + + Beneath me I see, like hounds at play, + How billow on billow dashes; + Yea, tossing aloft the glittering spray, + The fierce throng hisses and clashes. + Oh, might I leap into the raging flood + And urge on the pack to harry + + The hidden glades of the coral wood, + For the walrus, a worthy quarry! + From yonder mast a flag streams out + As bold as a royal pennant; + I can watch the good ship lunge about + From this tower of which I am tenant; + But oh, might I be in the battling ship, + Might I seize the rudder and steer her, + How gay o'er the foaming reef we'd slip + Like the sea-gulls circling near her! + + Were I a hunter wandering free, + Or a soldier in some sort of fashion, + Or if I at least a man might be, + The heav'ns would grant me my passion. + + But now I must sit as fine and still + As a child in its best of dresses, + And only in secret may have my will + And give to the wind my tresses. + + * * * * * + + THE DESOLATE HOUSE[38] (1842) + + Deep in a dell a woodsman's house + Has sunk in wild dilapidation; + There buried under vines and boughs + I often sit in contemplation. + So dense the tangle that the day + Through heavy lashes can but glimmer; + The rocky cleft is rendered dimmer + By overshadowing tree-trunks gray. + + Within that dell I love to hear + The flies with their tumultuous humming, + And solitary beetles near + Amid the bushes softly drumming. + + And when the trickling cliffs of slate + The color from the sunset borrow, + Methinks an eye all red with sorrow + Looks down on me disconsolate. + + The arbor peak with jagged edge + Wears many a vine-shoot long and meagre + And from the moss beneath the hedge + Creep forth carnations, nowise eager. + There from the moist cliff overhead + The muddy drippings oft bedew them, + Then creep in lazy streamlets through them + To sink within a fennel-bed. + + Along the roof o'ergrown with moss + Has many a tuft of thatch projected, + A spider-web is built across + The window-jamb, else unprotected; + The wing of a gleaming dragon-fly + Hangs in it like some petal tender, + The body armed in golden splendor + Lies headless on the sill near-by. + + A butterfly sometimes may chance + In heedless play to flutter hither + And stop in momentary trance + Where the narcissus blossoms wither; + A dove that through the grove has flown + Above this dell no more will utter + Her coo, one can but hear her flutter + And see her shadow on the stone. + + And in the fireplace where the snow + Each winter down the chimney dashes + A mass of bell-capped toad-stools grow + On viscid heaps of moldering ashes. + High on a peg above the rest + A hank of rope-yarn limply dangles + Like rotted hair, and in the tangles + The swallow built her last year's nest. + + An old dog-collar set with bells + Swings from a hook by clasp and tether, + With rude embroidery that spells + "Diana" worked upon the leather. + A flute too, when the woodsman died, + The men who dug his grave forgot here; + The dog, his only friend, they shot here + And laid her by her master's side. + + But while I sit in reverie, + A field-mouse near me shrilly crying, + The squirrel barking from his tree, + And from the marsh the frogs replying-- + Then eerie shudders o'er me shoot, + As if I caught from out the dingle + Diana's bells once more a-jingle + And echoes of the dead man's flute. + + * * * * * + + + +THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE (1841) + +BY ANNETTE ELIZABETH VON DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF + +TRANSLATED BY LILLIE WINTER, A.B. + + +Frederick Mergel, born in 1738, was the son of a so-called _Halbmeier_ +or property holder of low station in the village of B., which, however +badly built and smoky it may be, still engrosses the eye of every +traveler by the extremely picturesque beauty of its situation in a green +woody ravine of an important and historically noteworthy mountain chain. +The little country to which it belonged was, at that time, one of those +secluded corners of the earth, without trade or manufacturing, without +highways, where a strange face still excited interest and a journey of +thirty miles made even one of the more important inhabitants the Ulysses +of his vicinage--in short, a spot, as so many more that once could be +found in Germany, with all the failings and the virtues, all the +originality and the narrowness that can flourish only under such +conditions. + +Under very simple and often inadequate laws the inhabitants' ideas of +right and wrong had, in some measure, become confused, or, rather, a +second law had grown up beside the official, a law of public opinion, of +custom, and of long uncontested privilege. The property holders, who sat +as judges in the lower courts, meted out punishments or rewards in +accordance with their own notions, which were, in most cases, honest. +The common people did what seemed to them practicable and compatible +with a somewhat lax conscience, and it was only the loser to whom it +sometimes occurred to look up dusty old documents. It is hard to view +that period without prejudice; since it has passed away it has been +either haughtily criticised or foolishly praised; for those who lived +through it are blinded by too many precious recollections, and the newer +generation does not understand it. This much, however, one may assert, +that the shell was weaker, the kernel stronger, crime more frequent, +want of principle rarer. For he who acts according to his convictions, +be they ever so faulty, can never be entirely debased; whereas nothing +kills the soul more surely than appealing to the written law when it is +at variance with one's own sense of what is right. + +The inhabitants of the little country of which we speak, being more +restless and enterprising than their neighbors, certain features of life +came out more sharply here than would have been the case elsewhere under +like conditions. Wood stealing and poaching were every-day occurrences, +and in the numerous fights which ensued each one had to seek his own +consolation if his head was bruised. Since great and productive forests +constituted the chief wealth of the country, these forests were of +course vigilantly watched over, less, however, by legal means than by +continually renewed efforts to defeat violence and trickery with like +weapons. + +The village of B. was reputed to be the most arrogant, most cunning, and +most daring community in the entire principality. Perhaps its situation +in the midst of the deep and proud solitude of the forest had early +strengthened the innate obstinacy of its inhabitants. The proximity of a +river which flowed into the sea and bore covered vessels large enough to +transport shipbuilding timber conveniently and safely to foreign ports, +helped much in encouraging the natural boldness of the wood-thieves; and +the fact that the entire neighborhood swarmed with foresters served only +to aggravate matters, since in the oft-recurring skirmishes the peasants +usually had the advantage. Thirty or forty wagons would start off +together on beautiful moonlight nights with about twice as many men of +every age, from the half-grown boy to the seventy-year-old village +magistrate, who, as an experienced bell-wether, led the procession +as proudly and self-consciously as when he took his seat in the +court-room. Those who were left behind listened unconcernedly to the +grinding and pounding of the wheels dying away in the narrow passes, and +slept calmly on. Now and then an occasional shot, a faint scream, +startled perhaps a young wife or an engaged girl; no one else paid any +attention to it. At the first gray light of dawn the procession returned +just as silently--every face bronzed, and here and there a bandaged +head, which did not matter. A few hours later the neighborhood would be +alive with talk about the misfortune of one or more foresters, who were +being carried out of the woods, beaten, blinded with snuff, and rendered +unable to attend to their business for some time. + +In this community Frederick Mergel was born, in a house which attested +the pretensions of its builder by the proud addition of a chimney and +somewhat less diminutive window panes, but at the same time bespoke the +miserable circumstances of its owner by its present state of +dilapidation. What had once been a hedge around the yard and the garden +had given way to a neglected fence; the roof was damaged; other people's +cattle grazed in the pastures; other people's corn grew in the field +adjoining the yard; and the garden contained, with the exception of a +few woody rose bushes of a better time, more weeds than useful plants. +Strokes of misfortune had, it is true, brought on much of this, but +disorder and mismanagement had played their part. Frederick's father, +old Herman Mergel, was, in his bachelor days, a so-called orderly +drinker--that is, one who lay in the gutter on Sundays and holidays, but +during the week was as well behaved as any one, and so he had had no +difficulty in wooing and winning a right pretty and wealthy girl. There +was great merrymaking at the wedding. Mergel did not get so very drunk, +and the bride's parents went home in the evening satisfied; but the next +Sunday the young wife, screaming and bloody, was seen running through +the village to her family, leaving behind all her good clothes and new +household furniture. Of course that meant great scandal and vexation for +Mergel, who naturally needed consolation; by afternoon therefore there +was not an unbroken pane of glass in his house and he was seen late at +night still lying on his threshold, raising, from time to time, the neck +of a broken bottle to his mouth and pitifully lacerating his face and +hands. The young wife remained with her parents, where she soon pined +away and died. Whether it was remorse or shame that tormented Mergel, no +matter; he seemed to grow more and more in need of "spiritual" +bolstering up, and soon began to be counted among the completely +demoralized good-for-nothings. + +The household went to pieces, hired girls caused disgrace and damage; so +year after year passed. Mergel was and remained a distressed and finally +rather pitiable widower, until all of a sudden he again appeared as a +bridegroom. If the event itself was unexpected, the personality of the +bride added still more to the general astonishment. Margaret Semmler was +a good, respectable person, in her forties, a village belle in her +youth, still respected for her good sense and thrift, and at the same +time not without some money. What had induced her to take this step was +consequently incomprehensible to every one. We think the reason is to be +found in her very consciousness of perfection. On the evening before the +wedding she is reported to have said: "A woman who is badly treated by +her husband is either stupid or good-for-nothing; if I am unhappy, put +it down as my fault." The result proved, unfortunately, that she had +overestimated her strength. At first she impressed her husband; if he +had taken too much, he would not come home, or would creep into the +barn. But the yoke was too oppressive to be borne long, and soon they +saw him quite often staggering across the street right into his house, +heard his wild shouting within, and saw Margaret hastily closing doors +and windows. On one such day--it was no longer a Sunday now--they saw +her rush out of the house in the evening, without hood or Shawl, with +her hair flying wildly about her head. They saw her throw herself down +in the garden beside a vegetable bed and dig up the earth with her +hands, then, anxiously looking about her, quickly pick off some +vegetables and slowly return with them in the direction of the house, +but, instead of entering it, go into the barn. It was said that this was +the first time that Mergel had struck her, although she never let such +an admission pass her lips. The second year of this unhappy marriage was +marked by the coming of a son--one cannot say gladdened, for Margaret is +reported to have wept bitterly when the child was handed to her. +Nevertheless, although born beneath a heart full of grief, Frederick was +a healthy, pretty child who grew strong in the fresh air. His father +loved him dearly, never came home without bringing him a roll or +something of that sort, and it was even thought he had become more +temperate since the birth of the boy; at least the noise in the house +decreased. + +Frederick was in his ninth year. It was about the Feast of the Three +Kings, a raw and stormy winter night. Herman had gone to a wedding, and +had started out early because the bride's house was three miles away. +Although he had promised to return in the evening, Mistress Mergel +hardly counted on it because a heavy snowfall had set in after sunset. +About ten o'clock she banked the fire and made ready to go to bed. +Frederick stood beside her, already half undressed, and listened, to the +howling of the wind and the rattling of the garret windows. + +"Mother, isn't father coming home tonight?" he asked. + +"No, child; tomorrow." + +"But why not, mother? He promised to." + +"Oh, God, if he only kept every promise he makes!--Hurry now, hurry and +get ready." + +They had hardly gone to bed when a gale started to rage as though it +would carry the house along with it. The bed-stead quivered, and the +chimney-stack rattled as if there were goblins in it. + +"Mother, some one's knocking outside!" + +"Quiet, Fritzy; that's the loose board on the gable being shaken by the +wind." + +"No; mother, it's at the door." + +"It does not lock; the latch is broken. Heavens, go to sleep! Don't +deprive me of my bit of rest at night!" + +"But what if father should come now!" + +His mother turned angrily in her bed. "The devil holds him tight +enough!" + +"Where is the devil, mother? + +"Wait, you restless boy! He's standing at the door, ready to get you if +you don't keep quiet!" + +Frederick became quiet. A little while longer he listened, and then fell +asleep. A few hours later he awoke. The wind had changed, and hissed +like a snake through the cracks in the window near his ear. His shoulder +was stiff; he crept clear under his quilt and lay still and trembling +with fear. After a while he noticed that his mother was not asleep +either. He heard her weep and moan between sobs: "Hail, Mary!" and "Pray +for us poor sinners!" The beads of the rosary slid by his face. An +involuntary sigh escaped him. "Frederick, are you awake? + +"Yes, mother." + +"Child, pray a little--you know half of the Paternoster already, don't +you?-that God protect us from flood and fire." + +Frederick thought of the devil, and wondered how he looked, anyway. The +confused noise and rumbling in the house seemed strange to him. He +thought there must be something alive within and without. "Listen, +mother! I am sure I hear people knocking." + +"Oh, no, child; but there's not an old board in the house that isn't +rattling." + +"Hark! Don't you hear? Someone's calling! Listen!" + +His mother sat up; the raging of the storm subsided a moment. Knocking +on the shutters, was distinctly audible, and several voices called: +"Margaret!. Mistress Margaret! Hey there! Open the door!" Margaret +ejaculated violently, "There, they're again bringing the swine home to +me!" + +The rosary flew clattering down on the wooden chair; hastily she +snatched her clothes; she rushed to the hearth, and soon Frederick heard +her walk across the hall with defiant steps. Margaret did not return; +but in the kitchen there was a loud murmuring of strange voices. Twice a +strange man came into the bedroom and seemed to be nervously searching +for something. Suddenly a lamp was brought in; two men were supporting +his mother. She was white as chalk and her eyes were closed; Frederick +thought she was dead. He emitted a fearful scream, whereupon some one +boxed his ear. That silenced him; and now he gradually gleaned from the +remarks of the bystanders that his father had been found dead in the +woods by his Uncle Franz Semmler and by Huelsmeyer, and was now lying in +the kitchen. + +As soon as Margaret regained consciousness she tried to get rid of the +strangers. Her brother remained with her, and Frederick, who was +threatened with severe punishment if he got out of bed, heard the fire +crackling in the kitchen all night and a noise like stroking something +back and forth, and brushing it. There was little spoken and that +quietly, but now and then sobs broke out that went through and through +the child, young as he was. Once he understood his uncle to say, +"Margaret, don't take it so badly; we will all have three masses read, +and at Eastertide we'll make together a pilgrimage to the Holy Virgin of +Werl." + +When the body was carried away two days later, Margaret sat on the +hearth and covered her face with her apron. After a few minutes, when +everything had become quiet, she mumbled, "Ten years, ten crosses! But +we carried them together, after all, and now I am alone!" Then louder, +"Fritzy, come here!" + +Frederick approached her timidly; his mother had become quite uncanny to +him with her black ribbons and her haggard, troubled face. "Fritzy," she +said, "will you now really be good and make me happy, or will you be +naughty and lie, or drink and steal?" + +"Mother, Huelsmeyer steals." + +"Huelsmeyer? God forbid! Must I spank you? Who tells you such wicked +things?" + +"The other day he beat Aaron and took six groschen from him." + +"If he took money from Aaron, no doubt the accursed Jew had first +cheated him out of it. Huelsmeyer is a respectable householder, and the +Jews are all rascals!" + +"But, mother, Brandes also says that he steals wood and deer." + +"Child, Brandes is a forester." + +"Mother, do foresters tell lies?" + +Margaret was silent a moment, and then said, "Listen, Fritz! Our Lord +makes the wood grow free and the wild game moves from one landowner's +property into another's. They can belong to no one. But you do not +understand that yet. Now go into the shed and get me some fagots." + +Frederick had seen his father lying on the straw, where he was said to +have looked blue and fearful; but the boy never spoke of it and seemed +indisposed to think of it. On the whole, the recollection of his father +had left behind a feeling of tenderness mingled with horror, for nothing +so engrosses one as love and devotion on the part of a person who seems +hardened against everything else; and in Frederick's case this sentiment +grew with the years, through the experience of many slights on the part +of others. As a child he was very sensitive about having any one mention +his deceased father in a tone not altogether flattering to him--a cause +for grief that the none too delicate neighbors did not spare him. There +is a tradition in those parts which denies rest in the grave to a person +killed by accident. Old Mergel had thus become the ghost of the forest +of Brede; as a will o' the wisp he led a drunken man into the pond by a +hair; the shepherd boys, when they crouched by their fires at night and +the owls screeched in the hollows, sometimes heard quite clearly in +broken accents his "Just listen, sweet Lizzie;" and an unprivileged +woodman who had fallen asleep under the broad oak and been overtaken by +nightfall, had, upon awakening, seen his swollen blue face peeping +through the branches. Frederick was obliged to hear much of this from +other boys; then he would howl and strike any one who was near; once he +even cut some one with his little knife and was, on this occasion, +pitilessly thrashed. After that he drove his mother's cows alone to the +other end of the valley, where one could often see him lie in the grass +for hours in the same position, pulling up the thyme. + +He was twelve years old when his mother received a visit from her +younger brother who lived in Brede and had not crossed his sister's +threshold since her foolish marriage. + +Simon Semmler was a short, restless, lean man with bulging fishlike eyes +and a face altogether like a pike--an uncanny fellow, in whom +exaggerated reserve often alternated with affability no less +affected--who would have liked to pass for a shrewd intellect but was +considered disagreeable instead. He was a quarrelsome chap, and +everybody grew more anxious to avoid him the farther he advanced toward +that age when persons of limited intellect are apt to make up in +pretensions for what they lose in usefulness. Nevertheless poor Margaret +was glad to see him, as she had no other relatives living. + +"Simon, is that you?" she asked, trembling so that she had to steady +herself on a chair. "You want to see how I am getting along with my +dirty boy?" + +Simon looked at her earnestly and clasped her hand. "You have grown old, +Margaret." + +Margaret sighed. "I've had much sorrow and all kinds of bad luck since I +saw you." + +"Yes, girl, marry at leisure, repent in haste! Now you are old and the +child is small. Everything has its time. But when an old house is +burning nothing will quench the fire." A flame, red as blood, flashed +across Margaret's care-worn face. + +"But I hear your son is cunning and smart," Simon continued. + +"Well, rather, but good withal," replied Margaret. + +"H'm, some one once stole a cow; he was called 'good' too. But he is +quiet and thoughtful, isn't he? He doesn't run around with the other +boys?" + +"He is a peculiar child," said Margaret, as though to herself; "it's not +a good thing." + +Simon laughed aloud. "Your boy is timid because the others have given +him a few good thrashings. Don't worry, the lad will repay them! +Huelsmeyer came to see me lately; said the boy was like a deer." + +What mother's heart does not rejoice when she hears her child praised? +Poor Margaret seldom had this pleasure; every one called her boy +malicious and close-mouthed. Tears started to her eyes. "Yes, thank God, +his limbs are straight!" + +"What does he look like?" continued Simon. + +"He's a good deal like you, Simon, a good deal." Simon laughed. "Indeed, +he must be a rare fellow; I'm getting better-looking every day. Of +course he shouldn't be wasting his time at school. You let him pasture +the cows? Just as well; what the teacher says isn't half true anyway. +But where does he pasture? In the Telgen glen? In the Roder woods? In +the Teutoburg forest? At night and early in the morning, too?" + +"All through the night; but what do you mean?" + +Simon seemed not to hear this. He craned his neck toward the door. +"Look, there comes the youngster! His father's son! He swings his arms +like your departed husband. And just see! The lad actually has my light +hair!" + +A proud smile spread secretly over the mother's face; her Frederick's +blond curls and Simon's reddish bristles! Without answering she broke a +branch from the hedge near-by and went to meet her son, apparently to +hurry on a lazy cow, in reality, however, to whisper a few hasty, half +threatening words into his ear; for she knew his obstinate disposition, +and Simon's manner today had seemed to her more intimidating than ever. +But everything ran smoothly beyond expectation; Frederick showed himself +neither obdurate nor insolent-rather, somewhat embarrassed and anxious +to please his uncle. And so matters progressed until, after half an +hour's discussion, Simon proposed a kind of adoption of the boy, by +virtue of which he was not to take him entirely away from his mother but +was, nevertheless, to command the greater part of his time. And for this +the boy was eventually to inherit the old bachelor's fortune, which, to +be sure, couldn't have escaped him anyway. Margaret patiently allowed +her brother to explain how great the advantages of the arrangement would +be to her, how slight the loss. She knew best what a sickly widow misses +in the help of a twelve-year-old boy whom she has trained practically to +replace a daughter. But she kept silent and yielded to everything. She +only begged her brother to be firm, but not harsh, with the boy. + +"He is good," she said, "but I am a lonely woman; my son is not like one +who has been ruled by a father's hand." + +Simon nodded slyly. "Leave it to me; we'll get along all right; and, do +you know what?--let me have the boy right now; I have two bags to fetch +from the mill; the smallest is just right for him and that's how he'll +learn to help me. Come, Fritzy, put your wooden shoes on!" And presently +Margaret was watching them both as they walked away, Simon ahead with +his face set forward and the tails of his red coat flying out behind him +like flames, looking a good deal like a man of fire doing penance +beneath the sack he has stolen. Frederick followed him, tall and slender +for his age, with delicate, almost noble, features and long blond curls +that were better cared for than the rest of his exterior appearance +would have led one to expect; for the rest, ragged, sunburnt, with a +look of neglect and a certain hard melancholy in his countenance. +Nevertheless a strong family resemblance between the two could not be +mistaken, and as Frederick slowly followed his leader, with his eyes +riveted on the man who attracted him by the very strangeness of his +appearance, involuntarily he reminded one of a person who with anxious +interest gazes on the picture of his future in a magic mirror. + +They were now approaching the place in the Teutoburg Forest where the +Forest of Brede extends down the slope of the mountain and fills a very +dark ravine. Until now they had spoken little. Simon seemed pensive, the +boy absent-minded, and both were panting under their sacks. Suddenly +Simon asked, "Do you like whiskey?" The boy did not answer. "I say, do +you like whiskey? Does your mother give you some once in a while?" + +"Mother hasn't any herself," answered Frederick. + +"Well, well, so much the better! Do you know the woods before us?" + +"It is the Forest of Brede." + +"Do you know what happened here?" Frederick remained silent. Meanwhile +they came nearer and nearer to the gloomy ravine. + +"Does your mother still pray much?" Simon began again. + +"Yes, she tells her beads twice every evening." + +"Really? And you pray with her?" + +Somewhat ill at ease, the boy looked aside slyly and laughed. "At +twilight before supper she tells her beads once--then I have not yet +returned with the cows; and again in bed--then I usually fall asleep." + +"Well, well, my boy!" These last words were spoken under the sheltering +branches of a broad beech-tree which arched the entrance to the glen. It +was now quite dark and the new, moon shone in the sky, but its weak rays +served only to lend a strange appearance to the objects they +occasionally touched through an aperture between the branches. Frederick +followed close behind his uncle; his breath came fast and, if one could +have distinguished his features, one would have noticed in them an +expression of tremendous agitation caused by imagination rather than +terror. Thus both trudged ahead sturdily, Simon with the firm step of +the hardened wanderer, Frederick unsteadily and as if in a dream. It +seemed to him that everything was in motion, and that the trees swayed +in the lonely rays of the moon now towards one another, now away. Roots +of trees and slippery places where water had gathered made his steps +uncertain; several times he came near falling. Now some distance ahead +the darkness seemed to break, and presently both entered a rather large +clearing. The moon shone down brightly and showed that only a short +while ago the axe had raged here mercilessly. Everywhere stumps of trees +jutted up, some many feet above the ground, just as it had been most +convenient to cut through them in haste; the forbidden work must have +been interrupted unexpectedly, for directly across the path lay a +beech-tree with its branches rising high above it, and its leaves, still +fresh, trembling in the evening breeze. Simon stopped a moment and +surveyed the fallen tree-trunk with interest. In the centre of the open +space stood an old oak, broad in proportion to its height. A pale ray of +light that fell on its trunk through the branches showed that it was +hollow, a fact that had probably saved it from the general destruction. + +Here Simon suddenly clutched the boy's arm. "Frederick, do you know that +tree? That is the broad oak." Frederick started, and with his cold hands +clung to his uncle. "See," Simon continued, "here Uncle Franz and +Huelsmeyer found your father, when without confession and extreme +unction he had gone to the Devil in his drunkenness." + +"Uncle, uncle!" gasped Frederick. + +"What's coming over you? I should hope you are not afraid? Devil of a +boy, you're pinching my arm! Let go, let go!" He tried to shake the boy +off. "On the whole your father was a good soul; God won't be too strict +with him. I loved him as well as my own brother." Frederick let go his +uncle's arm; both walked the rest of the way through the forest in +silence, and soon the village of Brede lay before them with its mud +houses and its few better brick houses, one of which belonged to Simon. + +The next evening Margaret sat at the door with her flax for fully an +hour, awaiting her boy. It had been the first night she had passed +without hearing her child's breathing beside her, and still Frederick +did not come. She was vexed and anxious, and yet knew that there was no +reason for being so. The clock in the tower struck seven; the cattle +returned home; still he was not there, and she had to get up to look +after the cows. + +When she reëntered the dark kitchen, Frederick was standing on the +hearth; he was bending forward and warming his hands over the coal fire. +The light played on his features and gave him an unpleasant look of +leanness and nervous twitching. Margaret stopped at the door; the child +seemed to her so strangely changed. + +"Frederick, how's your uncle?" The boy muttered a few unintelligible +words and leaned close against the chimney. + +"Frederick, have you forgotten how to talk? Boy, open your mouth! Don't +you know I do not hear well with my right ear?" The child raised his +voice and began to stammer so that Margaret failed to understand +anything. + +"What are you saying? Greeting from Master Semmler? Away again? Where? +The cows are at home already. You bad boy, I can't understand you. Wait, +I'll have to see if you have no tongue in your mouth!" She made a few +angry steps forward. The child looked up to her with the pitiful +expression of a poor, half-grown dog that is learning to sit up on his +hind legs. In his fear he began to stamp his feet and rub his back +against the chimney. + +Margaret stood still; her glances became anxious. The boy looked as +though he had shrunk together. His clothes were not the same either; no, +that was not her child! And. yet--"Frederick, Frederick!" she cried. + +A closet door in the bedroom slammed and the real Frederick came out, +with a so-called clog-violin in one hand, that is, a wooden shoe strung +with three or four resined strings, and in his other hand a bow, quite +befitting the instrument. Then he went right up to his sorry double, +with an attitude of conscious dignity and independence on his part, +which at that moment revealed distinctly the difference between the two +boys who otherwise resembled each other so remarkably. + +"Here, John!" he said, and handed him the work of art with a patronizing +air; "here is the violin that I promised you. My play-days are over; now +I must earn money." + +John cast another timid glance at Margaret, slowly stretched out his +hand until he had tightly grasped the present, and then hid it +stealthily under the flaps of his shabby coat. + +Margaret stood perfectly still and let the children do as they liked. +Her thoughts had taken another, very serious, turn, and she looked +restlessly from one to the other. The strange boy had again bent over +the coals with an expression of momentary comfort which bordered on +simple-mindedness, while Frederick's features showed the alternating +play of a sympathy evidently more selfish than good-humored, and his +eyes, in almost glassy clearness, for the first time distinctly showed +the expression of that unrestrained ambition and tendency to swagger +which afterwards revealed itself as so strong a motive in most of his +actions. + +His mother's call aroused him from his thoughts which were as new as +they were pleasant to him; again she was sitting at her spinning-wheel. +"Frederick," she said, hesitating, "tell me--" and then stopped. +Frederick looked up and, hearing nothing more, again turned to his +charge. "No, listen!" And then, more softly: "Who is that boy I What is +his name?" + +Frederick answered, just as softly: "That is Uncle Simon's swineherd; he +has a message for Huelsmeyer. Uncle gave me a pair of shoes and a +huckaback vest which the boy carried for me; in return I promised him my +violin; you see, he's a poor child. His name is John." + +"Well?" said Margaret. + +"What do you want, mother?" + +"What's his other name?" + +"Well--he has none, but, wait--yes, Nobody, John Nobody is his name. He +has no father," he added under his breath. + +Margaret arose and went into the bedroom. After a while she came out +with a harsh, gloomy expression on her countenance. "Well, Frederick," +she said, "let the boy go, so that he may attend to his errand. Boy, why +do you lie there in the ashes? Have you nothing to do at home?" With the +air of one who is persecuted the boy roused himself so hastily that all +his limbs got in his way, and the clog-violin almost fell into the fire. + +"Wait, John," said Frederick proudly, "I'll give you half of my bread +and butter; it's too much for me anyhow. Mother always gives me a whole +slice." + +"Never mind," said Margaret, "he is going home." + +"Yes, but he won't get anything to eat now. Uncle Simon eats at seven +o'clock." + +Margaret turned to the boy. "Won't they save anything for you? Tell me! +Who takes care of you?" + +"Nobody," stuttered the child. + +"Nobody?" she repeated; "then take it, take it!" she added nervously; +"your name is Nobody and nobody takes care of you. May God have pity on +you! And now see that you get away! Frederick, do not go with him, do +you hear? Do not go through the village together." + +"Why, I only want to get wood out of the shed," answered Frederick. When +both boys had gone Margaret sank down in a chair and clasped her hands +with an expression of the deepest grief. Her face was as white as a +sheet. "A false oath, a false oath!" she groaned. "Simon, Simon, how +will you acquit yourself before God!" + +Thus she sat for a while, motionless, with her lips shut tight, as if +completely unconscious. Frederick stood before her and had already +spoken to her twice. + +"What's the matter? What do you want?" she cried, starting up. + +"I have some money for you," he said, more astonished than frightened. + +"Money? Where?" She moved and the little coin fell jingling to the +floor. Frederick picked it up. + +"Money from Uncle Simon, because I helped him work. Now I can earn +something for myself." + +"Money from Simon! Throw it away, away!--No, give it to the poor. But +no, keep it!" she whispered, scarcely audibly. "We are poor ourselves; +who knows whether we won't be reduced to begging!" + +"I am to go back to Uncle Monday and help him with the sowing." + +"You go back to him? No, no, never!" She embraced her child wildly. +"Yet," she added, and a stream of tears suddenly rushed down her sunken +cheeks, "go; he is the only brother I have, and slander is great! But +keep God before your eyes, and do not forget your daily prayers!" +Margaret pressed her face against the wall and wept aloud. She had borne +many a heavy burden--her husband's harsh treatment, and, worse than +that, his death; and it was a bitter moment when the widow was compelled +top give over to a creditor the usufruct of her last piece of arable +land, and her own plow stood useless in front of her house. But as badly +as this she had never felt before; nevertheless, after she had wept +through an evening and lain awake a whole night, she made herself +believe that her brother Simon could not be so godless, that the boy +certainly did not belong to him; for resemblances can prove nothing. +Why, had she not herself lost a little sister forty years ago who looked +exactly like the strange peddler! One is willing to believe almost +anything when one has so little, and is liable to lose that little by +unbelief! + +From this time on Frederick was seldom at home. Simon seemed to have +lavished on his nephew all the more tender sentiments of which he was +capable; at least he missed him greatly and never ceased sending +messages if some business at home kept him at his mother's house for any +length of time. The boy was as if transformed since that time; his +dreamy nature had left him entirely; he walked firmly, began to care for +his external appearance, and soon to have the reputation of being a +handsome, clever youth. His uncle, who could not be happy without +schemes, sometimes undertook important public works--for example, road +building, at which Frederick was everywhere considered one of his best +workmen and his right-hand man; for although the boy's physical strength +had not yet attained its fullest development, scarcely any one could +equal him in endurance. Heretofore Margaret had only loved her son; now +she began to be proud of him and even feel a kind of respect for him, +seeing the young fellow develop so entirely without her aid, even +without her advice, which she, like most people, considered invaluable; +for that reason she could not think highly enough of the boy's +capabilities which could dispense with such a precious means of +furtherance. + +In his eighteenth year Frederick had already secured for himself an +important reputation among the village youth by the successful execution +of a wager that he could carry a wild boar for a distance of more than +two miles without resting. Meanwhile participation in his glory was +about the only advantage that Margaret derived from these favorable +circumstances, since Frederick spent more and more on his external +appearance and gradually began, to take it to heart if want of money +compelled him to be second to any one in that respect. Moreover, all his +powers were directed toward making his living outside; quite in +contrast to his reputation all steady work around the house seemed +irksome to him now, and he preferred to submit to a hard but short +exertion which soon permitted him to follow his former occupation of +herding the cattle, although it was beginning to be unsuitable for his +age and at times drew upon him ridicule. That he silenced, however, by a +few blunt reprimands with his fist. So people grew accustomed to seeing +him, now dressed up and jolly as a recognized village beau and leader of +the young folks, and again as a ragged boy slinking along, lonely and +dreamily, behind his cows, or lying in a forest clearing, apparently +thoughtless, scratching the moss from the trees. + +About this time, however, the slumbering laws were roused somewhat by a +band of forest thieves which, under the name of the "Blue Smocks," +surpassed all its predecessors in cunning and boldness to such an extent +that even the most indulgent would have lost patience. Absolutely +contrary to the usual state of affairs, when the leading bucks of the +herd could always be pointed out, it had thus far been impossible, in +spite of all watchfulness, to specify even one member of this company of +thieves. Their name they derived from their uniform clothing which made +recognition more difficult if a forester happened by chance to see a few +stragglers disappear in the thicket. Like caterpillars they destroyed +everything; whole tracts of forest-land would be cut down in a single +night and immediately made away with, leaving nothing to be found next +morning but chips and disordered heaps of brushwood. The fact that there +were never any wagon tracks leading towards a village, but always to and +from the river, proved that the work was carried on under the +protection, perhaps with the coöperation, of the shipowners. There must +have been some very skilful spies in the band, for the foresters could +watch in vain for weeks at a time; nevertheless, the first night they +failed, from sheer fatigue, to watch, the devastation began again, +whether it was a stormy night or moonlight. It was strange that the +country folk in the vicinity seemed just as ignorant and excited as the +foresters themselves. + +Of several villages it could be asserted with certainty that they did +not belong to the "Blue Smocks," while no strong suspicion could be +attached to a single one, since the most suspected of all, the village +of B., had to be acquitted. An accident had brought this about--a +wedding, at which almost every resident of this village had notoriously +passed the night, while during this very time the "Blue Smocks" had +carried out one of their most successful expeditions. + +The damage to the forest, in the meanwhile, was so enormous that +preventive measures were made more stringent than ever before; the +forest was patrolled day and night; head-servants and domestics were +provided with firearms and sent to help the forest officers. +Nevertheless, their success was but slight, for the guards had often +scarcely left one end of the forest when the "Blue Smocks" were already +entering the other. This lasted more than a whole year; guards and "Blue +Smocks," "Blue Smocks" and guards, like sun and moon, ever alternating +in the possession of the land and never meeting each other. + +It was July, 1756, at three o'clock in the morning; the moon shone +brightly in the sky, but its light had begun to grow dim; and in the +East there was beginning to appear a narrow, yellow streak which +bordered the horizon and closed the entrance to the narrow dale as with +a hand of gold. Frederick was lying in the grass in his accustomed +position, whittling a willow stick, the knotty end of which he was +trying to form roughly into the shape of an animal. He seemed to be very +tired, yawned, rested his head against a weather-beaten stump and cast +glances, more sleepy than the horizon, over the entrance of the glen +which was almost overgrown with shrubbery and underbrush. Now and then +his eyes manifested life and assumed their characteristic glassy +glitter, but immediately afterwards be half shut them again, and +yawned, and stretched, as only lazy shepherds may. His dog lay some +distance away near the cows which, unconcerned by forest laws, feasted +indiscriminately on tender saplings and the grass, and snuffed the fresh +morning air. + +Out of the forest there sounded from time to time a muffled, crashing +noise; it lasted but a few seconds, accompanied by a long echo on the +mountain sides, and was repeated about every five or eight minutes. +Frederick paid no attention to it; only at times, when the noise was +exceptionally loud or long continued, he lifted his head and glanced +slowly down the several paths which led to the valley. + +Day was already dawning; the birds were beginning to twitter softly and +the dew was rising noticeably from the ground. Frederick had slid down +the trunk and was staring, with his arms crossed back of his head, into +the rosy morning light softly stealing in. Suddenly he started, a light +flashed across his face, and he listened a few moments with his body +bent forward like a hunting dog which scents something in the air. Then +he quickly put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle. +"Fido, you cursed beast!" He threw a stone and hit the unsuspecting dog +which, frightened out of his sleep, first snarled and then, limping on +three feet and howling, went in search of consolation to the very place +from which the hurt had come. + +At the same moment the branches of a near-by bush were pushed back +almost without a rustle, and a man stepped out, dressed in a green +hunting jacket, with a silver shield on his arm and his rifle cocked in +his hand. He cast a hurried glance over the glen and stared sharply at +the boy, then stepped forward, nodded toward the shrubbery, and +gradually seven or eight men came into sight, all in the same costume, +with hunting knives in their belts and cocked weapons in their hands. + +"Frederick, what was that?" asked the one who had first appeared. "I +wish the cur would die on the spot. For all he knows, the cows could +chew the ears off my head." + +"The scoundrel has seen us," said another. "Tomorrow you'll go on a trip +with a stone about your neck," Frederick went on, and kicked at the dog. +"Frederick, don't act like a fool! You know me, and you understand me +too!" A look accompanied these words, which had an immediate effect. + +"Mr. Brandes, think of my mother!" + +"That's what I'm doing. Didn't you hear anything in the forest?" + +"In the forest?" The boy threw a hasty glance at the forester's face. +"Your woodchoppers--nothing else." + +"My woodchoppers!" The naturally dark complexion of the forester changed +to a deep brownish red. "How many of them are there, and where are they +doing their job?" + +"Wherever you have sent them; I don't know." + +Brandes turned to his comrades. "Go ahead; I'll follow directly." When +one by one they had disappeared in the thicket, Brandes stepped close up +to the boy. "Frederick," he said in tones of suppressed rage, "my +patience is worn out; I'd like to thrash you like a dog, and that's no +worse than you deserve. You bundle of rags, without a tile in your roof +to call your own! Thank God, you'll soon find yourself begging; and at +my door, your mother, the old witch, shan't get as much as a moldy +crust! But first both of you'll go to the dungeon!" + +Frederick clutched a branch convulsively. He was pale as death, and his +eyes looked as if they would shoot out of his head like crystal +bullets--but only for a moment. Then the greatest calmness, bordering on +complete relaxation, returned. "Sir," he said firmly, in an almost +gentle voice, "you have said something that you cannot defend, and so, +perhaps, have I. Let us call it quits; and now I will tell you what you +wish. If you did not engage the woodchoppers yourself, they must be the +'Blue Smocks,' for not a wagon has come from the village; why, the road +is right before me, and there are four wagons. I did not see them, but +I heard them drive up the pass." He faltered a moment. "Can you say that +I have ever hewn a tree on your land, or even that I ever raised my axe +in any other place but where I was ordered to? Think it over, whether +you can say that?" A confused muttering was the forester's only answer; +like most blunt people, he repented easily. He turned, exasperated, and +started toward the shrubbery. "No, sir," called Frederick, "if you want +to follow the other foresters, they've gone up yonder by the +beech-tree." + +"By the beech-tree!" exclaimed Brandes doubtfully. "No, across there, +toward Mast Gorge." + +"I tell you, by the beech-tree; long Heinrich's gun-sling even caught on +the crooked branch; why, I saw it!" + +The forester turned into the path designated. Frederick had not changed +his position the whole time; half reclining, with his arm wound about a +dry branch, he gazed immovably after the departing man, as he glided +through the thickly wooded path with the long cautious steps +characteristic of his profession, as noiseless as a lynx climbing into +the hen-roost. Here and there a branch sank behind him; the outlines of +his body became fainter and fainter. Then there was one final flash +through the foliage; it was a steel button on his hunting jacket; and +now he was gone. During this gradual disappearance Frederick's face had +lost its expression of coldness, and his features had finally become +anxious and restless. Was he sorry, perhaps, that he had not asked the +forester to keep his information secret? He took a few steps forward, +then stopped. "It is too late," he mused, and reached for his hat. There +was a soft pecking in the thicket, not twenty paces from him. It was the +forester sharpening his flint-stone. Frederick listened. "No!" he said +in a decisive tone, gathered up his belongings, and hastily drove the +cattle down into the hollow. + +About noon, Margaret was sitting by the hearth, boiling tea. Frederick +had come home sick; he had complained of a violent headache and had told +her, upon her anxious questioning, how he had become deeply provoked +with the forester--in short, all about the incident just described, with +the exception of several details which he considered wiser to keep to +himself. Margaret gazed into the boiling water, silent and sad. She was +not unaccustomed to hear her son complain at times, but today he seemed +more shaken than ever. Was this perhaps the symptom of some illness? +She, sighed deeply and dropped a log of wood she had just lifted. + +"Mother!" called Frederick from the bedroom. "What is it? Was that a +shot?" + +"Oh, no! I don't know what you mean." + +"I suppose it's the throbbing in my head," he replied. A neighbor +stepped in and related in a low whisper some bit of unimportant gossip +which Margaret listened to without interest. Then she went. "Mother!" +called Frederick. Margaret went in to him. "What did Huelsmeyer's wife +say?" + +"Oh, nothing at all--lies, nonsense!" Frederick sat up. "About Gretchen +Siemers; you know the old story well enough!--there isn't a word of +truth in it either." + +Frederick lay down again. "I'll see if I can sleep," he said. + +Margaret was sitting by the hearth. She was spinning and thinking of +rather unpleasant things. The village clock struck half-past eleven; the +door opened and the court-clerk, Kapp, came in. "Good day, Mrs. Mergel," +he said. "Can you give me a drink of milk? I'm on my way from M." When +Mrs. Mergel brought what he wished, he asked "Where is Frederick?" She +was just then busy getting a plate out and did not hear the question. He +drank hesitatingly and in short draughts. Then he asked, "Do you know +that last night the 'Blue Smocks' again cleared away a whole tract in +the Mast forest as bare as my hand?" + +"Oh, you don't mean it!" she replied indifferently. + +"The scoundrels!" continued the clerk. "They ruin everything; if only +they had a little regard at least for the young trees; but they go after +little oaks of the thickness of my arm, too small even to make oars of! +It looks as if loss on the part of other people were just as gratifying +to them as gain on their own part!" + +"It's a shame!" said Margaret. + +The clerk had finished his milk, but still he did not go. He seemed to +have something on his mind. "Have you heard nothing about Brandes?" he +asked suddenly. + +"Nothing; he never enters this house." + +"Then you don't know what has happened to him?" + +"Why, what?" asked Margaret, agitated. + +"He is dead!" + +"Dead!" she cried. "What, dead? For God's sake! Why, only this morning +he passed by here, perfectly well, with his gun on his back!" + +"He is dead," repeated the clerk, eyeing her sharply, "killed by the +'Blue Smocks.' The body was brought into the village fifteen minutes +ago." + +Margaret clasped her hands. "God in Heaven, do not judge him! He did not +know what he was doing!" + +"Him!" cried the clerk--"the cursèd murderer you mean?" + +A heavy groan came from the bedroom. Margaret hurried there and the +clerk followed her. Frederick was sitting upright in bed, with his face +buried in his hands, and moaning like one dying. "Frederick, how do you +feel?" asked his mother. + +"How do you feel?" repeated the clerk. + +"Oh, my body, my head!" he wailed. + +"What's the matter with him?" inquired the clerk. + +"Oh, God knows," she replied; "he came home with the cows as early as +four o'clock because he felt sick." "Frederick, Frederick, answer me! +Shall I go for the doctor?" + +"No, no," he groaned; "it is only the colic; I'll be better soon." He +lay down again; his face twitched convulsively with pain; then his color +returned. "Go," he said, feebly; "I must sleep; then it will pass away." + +"Mistress Mergel," asked the clerk earnestly, "are you sure that +Frederick came home at four and did not go away again?" + +She stared in his face. "Ask any child on the street. And go away?--I +wish to God he could!" + +"Didn't he tell you anything about Brandes?" + +"In the name of God, yes--that Brandes had reviled him in the woods and +reproached him with our poverty, the rascal! But God forgive me, he is +dead! Go!" she continued; "have you come to insult honest people? Go!" + +She turned to her son again, as the clerk went out. "Frederick, how do +you feel?" asked his mother. "Did you hear? Terrible, terrible--without +confession or absolution!" + +"Mother, mother, for God's sake, let me sleep. I can stand no more!" + +At this moment John Nobody entered the room; tall and thin like a +bean-pole, but ragged and shy, as we had seen him five years before. His +face was even paler than usual. "Frederick," he stuttered, "you are to +come to your Uncle immediately; he has work for you; without delay, +now!" + +Frederick turned toward the wall. "I won't come," he snapped, "I am +sick." + +"But you must come," gasped John; "he said I must bring you back." + +Frederick laughed scornfully. "I'd like to see you!" + +"Let him alone; he can't," sighed Margaret; "you see how it is." She +went out for a few minutes; when she returned, Frederick was already +dressed. "What are you thinking of?" she cried. "You cannot, you shall +not go!" + +"What must be, must," he replied, and was gone through the door with +John. + +"Oh, God," sobbed the mother, "when children are small they trample our +laps, and when they are grown, our hearts!" + +The judicial investigation had begun, the deed was as clear as day; but +the evidence concerning the perpetrator was so scanty that, although all +circumstances pointed strongly towards the "Blue Smocks," nothing but +conjectures could be risked. One clue seemed to throw some light +upon the matter; there were reasons, however, why but little dependence +could be placed on it. The absence of the owner of the estate had made +it necessary for the clerk of the court to start the case himself. He +was sitting at his table; the room was crowded with peasants, partly +those who came out of curiosity, and partly those from whom the court +hoped to receive some information, since actual witnesses were +lacking--shepherds who had been watching their flocks that night, +laborers who had been working in near-by fields; all stood erect and +firm,, with their hands in their pockets, as if thus silently +manifesting their intention not to interfere. + +Eight forest officers were heard; their evidence was entirely identical. +Brandes, on the tenth day of the month, had ordered them to go the +rounds because he had evidently secured information concerning a plan of +the "Blue Smocks"; he had, however, expressed himself but vaguely +regarding the matter. At about two o'clock at night they had gone out +and had come upon many traces of destruction, which put the +head-forester in a very bad humor; otherwise, everything had been quiet. +About four o'clock Brandes had said, "We have been led astray; let us go +home." When they had come around Bremer mountain and the wind had +changed at the same time, they had distinctly heard chopping in the Mast +forest and concluded from the quick succession of the strokes that the +"Blue Smocks" were at work. They had deliberated a while whether it were +practical to attack the bold band with such a small force, and then had +slowly approached the source of the sound without any fixed +determination. Then followed the scene with Frederick. Finally, after +Brandes had sent them away without instructions they had gone forward a +while and then, when they noticed that the noise in the woods, still +rather far away, had entirely ceased, they had stopped to wait for the +head-forester. + +They had grown tired of waiting, and after about ten minutes had +gone on toward the scene of devastation. It was all over; not another +sound was to be heard in the forest; of twenty fallen trees eight were +still left, the rest had been made way with. It was incomprehensible to +them how this had been accomplished, since no wagon tracks were to be +found. Moreover, the dryness of the season and the fact that the earth +was strewn with pine-needles had prevented their distinguishing any +footprints, although the ground in the vicinity looked as if it had been +firmly stamped down. Then, having come to the conclusion that there was +no point in waiting for the head-forester, they had quickly walked to +the other side of the wood in the hope of perhaps catching a glimpse of +the thieves. Here one of them had caught his bottle-string in the +brambles on the way out of the wood, and when he had looked around he +had seen something flash in the shrubbery; it was the belt-buckle of the +head-forester whom they then found lying behind the brambles, stretched +out, with his right hand clutching the barrel of his gun, the other +clenched, and his forehead split with an axe. + +These were the statements of the foresters. It was then the peasants' +turn, but no evidence could be obtained from them. Some declared they +had been at home or busy somewhere else at four o'clock, and they were +all decent people, not to be suspected. The court had to content itself +with their negative testimonies. + +Frederick was called in. He entered with a manner in no respect +different from his usual one, neither strained nor bold. His hearing +lasted some time, and some of the questions were rather shrewdly framed; +however, he answered them frankly and decisively and related the +incident between himself and the forester truthfully, on the whole, +except the end, which he deemed expedient to keep to himself. His alibi +at the time of the murder was easily proved. The forester lay at the end +of the Mast forest more than three-quarters of an hour's walk from the +ravine where he had spoken with Frederick at four o'clock, and whence +the latter had driven his cows only ten minutes later. Every one had +seen this; all the peasants present did their utmost to confirm it; to +this one he had spoken, to that one, nodded. + +The court clerk sat ill-humored and embarrassed. Suddenly he reached +behind him and, presenting something gleaming to Frederick's gaze, +cried: "To whom does this belong?" Frederick jumped back three paces, +exclaiming, "Lord Jesus! I thought you were going to brain me." + +His eyes had quickly passed across the deadly tool and seemed to fix +themselves for a moment on a splinter broken out of the handle. "I do +not know," he added firmly. It was the axe which they had found plunged +in the head-forester's skull. + +"Look at it carefully," continued the clerk. Frederick took it in his +hand, looked at the top, the bottom, turned it over. "One axe looks like +another," he then said, and laid it unconcernedly on the table. A +blood-stain was visible; he seemed to shudder, but he repeated once more +with decision: "I do not know it." The clerk of the court sighed with +displeasure. He himself knew of nothing more, and had only sought to +bring about a possible disclosure through surprise. There was nothing +left to do but to close the hearing. + +To those who are perhaps interested in the outcome of this affair, I +must say that the story was never cleared up, although much effort was +made to throw light upon it and several other judicial examinations +followed. The sensation which the incident had caused and the more +stringent measures adopted in consequence of it, seemed to have broken +the courage of the "Blue Smocks"; from now on it looked as though they +had entirely disappeared, and although many a wood-thief was caught +after that, they never found cause to connect him with the notorious +band. Twenty years afterwards the axe lay as a useless _corpus delicti_ +in the archives of the court, where it is probably resting yet with its +rust spots. In a made-up story it would be wrong thus to disappoint the +curiosity of the reader, but all this actually happened; I can add or +detract nothing. The next Sunday Frederick rose very early to go to +confession. It was the day of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin and +the parish priests were in the confessionals before dawn. He dressed in +the dark, and as quietly as possible left the narrow closet which had +been consigned to him in Simon's house. His prayer-book, he thought, +would be lying on the mantelpiece in the kitchen, and he hoped to find +it with the help of the faint moonlight. It was not there. He glanced +searchingly around, and started; at the bedroom door stood Simon, +half-dressed; his rough figure, his uncombed, tangled hair, and the +paleness of his face in the moonlight, gave him a horribly changed +appearance. "Can he possibly be walking in his sleep?" thought +Frederick, and kept quite still. "Frederick, where are you going?" +whispered the old man. + +"Uncle, is that you? I am on my way to confession." + +"That's what I thought; go, in the name of God, but confess like a good +Christian." + +"That I will," said Frederick. + +Think of the Ten Commandments: 'Thou shalt not bear witness against thy +neighbor.'" + +"Not _false_ witness!" + +"No, none at all; you have been badly taught; he who accuses another in +his confession is unworthy to receive the Sacrament." + +Both were silent. "Uncle, what makes you think of this?" Frederick +finally asked. "Your conscience is not clear; you have lied to me." + +"I? How?" + +"Where is your axe?" + +"My axe? On the barn-floor." + +"Did you make a new handle for it? Where is the old one?" + +"You'll find it at daylight in the woodshed." + +"Go," he continued scornfully. "I thought you were a man; but you are +like an old woman who thinks the house must be on fire as soon as she +sees smoke rising from her pot. See," he went on, "if I know anything +more about this story than that doorpost there, may I never hope for +salvation. I was at home long before," he added. Frederick stood still, +oppressed and doubtful. He would have given much to be able to see his +uncle's face. But while they were whispering, the sky had clouded over. + +"I am very guilty," sighed Frederick, "because I sent him the wrong way; +although--but still, I never thought it would come to this, no, +certainly not! Uncle, I have you to thank for a troubled conscience." + +"Well, go and confess!" whispered Simon in a trembling voice. "Desecrate +the Sacrament by tale-bearing, and set a spy on poor people who will +manage to find a way to snatch their bit of bread from between their +teeth, even if he is not permitted to talk--go!" Frederick stood, +undecided; he heard a soft noise; the clouds cleared away, the moonlight +again fell on the bedroom door; it was closed. Frederick did not go to +confession that morning. + +The impression which this incident had made on Frederick wore off only +too soon. Who doubts that Simon did everything to lead his adopted son +down the same paths that he was following? And Frederick possessed +qualities which made this only too easy: carelessness, excitability, +and, above all, boundless pride, which did not always scorn pretense and +ended by doing its utmost to escape possible disgrace, by trying to +realize what it first had pretended to possess. He was not naturally +ignoble, but he fell into the habit of preferring inward to outward +shame. One need only say that he habitually made a display while his +mother starved. + +This unfortunate change in his character was, however, the work of many +years, during which it was noticed that Margaret became more and more +quiet on the subject of her son, and gradually came to a state of +demoralization which once would have been thought impossible. She became +timid, negligent, even slovenly, and many thought her brain had +suffered. Frederick, on the other hand, grew all the more +self-assertive; he missed no fair or wedding, and since his irritable +sense of honor would not permit him to overlook the secret +disapprobation of many, he was, so to speak, up in arms, not so much to +defy public opinion as to direct it into the channel which pleased him. +Externally he was neat, sober, apparently affable, but crafty, boastful, +and often coarse--a man in whom no one could take delight, least of all +his mother, and who, nevertheless, through his audacity, which every one +feared, and through his cunning, which they dreaded even more, had +attained a certain preeminence in the village. The preëminence came to +be acknowledged more and more as people became conscious of the fact +that they neither knew him nor could guess of what he might be capable. +Only one young fellow in the village, Will Huelsmeyer, who realized his +own strength and good circumstances, dared to defy him. Since he was +also readier with his tongue than Frederick, and could always make a +pointed joke, he was the only one whom Frederick did not like to meet. + +Four years had passed. It was the month of October; the open autumn of +1760, which filled every barn with corn and every cellar with wine, had +also lavished its riches on this corner of the earth, and more +intoxicated people were seen and more fights and stupid tricks were +heard of than ever before. Everywhere there were festivities; Blue +Mondays were the fashion, and whoever had laid aside a few dollars +quickly wanted also a wife to help him feast today and starve tomorrow. +A big, noteworthy wedding took place in the village, and the guests +could expect more than the one violin, generally out of tune, than the +single glass of whiskey, and higher spirits than they themselves brought +along. Since the early morning all had been astir; clothing had been +aired in front of every door, and all day B. had looked like a +frippery-stall. Since many outsiders were expected, everybody was +anxious to uphold the honor of the village. + +It was seven o'clock in the evening and everything was in full swing; +fun and laughter were rampant on every side, and the low rooms were +crowded to suffocation with blue, red, and yellow figures, like +pen-folds into which too large a herd had been huddled. On the barn +floor there was dancing--that is, whoever succeeded in capturing a +two-foot space twirled around on it and tried to make up by shouting for +what was lacking in motion. The orchestra was brilliant, the first +violinist as a recognized artist drowned out the second, and a great +bass-viol with three strings was sounded _ad libitum_ by dilettantes, +whiskey and coffee flowed in abundance, all the guests were dripping +with perspiration--in short, it was a glorious affair. + +Frederick strutted about like a cock in his new sky-blue jacket and +asserted his position as the first beau of the village. When the lord of +the manor and his family arrived he happened to be sitting behind the +bass-viol, sounding the lowest string with great strength and much +decorum. "John," he called imperiously, and up stepped his protégé from +the dancing-floor, where he too had tried to swing his awkward legs and +shout a cheer. Frederick handed him the bow, made his wishes known by a +proud nod, and joined the dancers. "Now, strike up, musician, the 'Pape +van Istrup!'" The favorite dance was played, and Frederick cut such +capers before the company that the cows in the barn drew back their +horns and a lowing and a rattling of chains sounded from their stalls. A +foot high above the others, his blond head bobbed up and down like a +pike diving out of the waters, on every side girls screamed as he dashed +his long flaxen hair, by a quick movement of the head, into their faces +as a sign of admiration. + +"Now is the time," he said finally, and stepped up to the refreshment +table, dripping with perspiration. "Here's to the gracious lords and +ladies and all the noble princes and princesses; and whoever doesn't +join in the toast will get such a boxing on the ears from me that he'll +hear the angels singing!" A loud _Vivat_ responded to the gallant toast. +Frederick bowed. "Take nothing amiss, gracious lords and ladies; we are +but ignorant peasant people." At this moment a disturbance arose at the +end of the floor--shouting, scolding, laughter, all in confusion. +"Butter-thief, butter-thief!" called a few children; and John Nobody +pushed his way, or rather was pushed, through the crowd, his head sunk +between his shoulders and pressing with all his might toward the door. + +"What's the matter? What are you doing to our John!" called Frederick +imperiously. + +"You'll find out soon enough," coughed an old woman in a kitchen apron +and with a dish-rag in her hand. "Shame!" John, the poor devil, who had +to put up with the worst at home, had tried to secure for himself a +paltry half pound of butter for the coming time of scarcity, and, +without remembering that he had concealed it in his pocket, neatly +wrapped in his handkerchief, had stepped near the kitchen fire, and now +the grease was disgracing him by running down his coat. + +There was general excitement; the girls sprang back from fear of soiling +their clothes, or pushed the culprit forward. Others made room as much +out of pity as of caution. But Frederick stepped forward. "Rogue!" he +cried; and a few hard slaps struck his patient protégé; then he pushed +him toward the door and gave him a good kick on the way. The gallant +came back dejected; his dignity was injured; the general laughter cut +him to the quick, although he tried to bring himself into the swing +again by a bold huzza!--It did not work. He was on the point of taking +refuge behind the bass-viol again, but before that he wanted to produce +still another brilliant effect; he drew out his silver watch, at that +time a rare and precious ornament. "It is almost ten o'clock," he said. +"Now the Bride's Minuet! I will strike up." + +"A beautiful watch!" said the swineherd, and leaned forward in +reverential curiosity. + +"What did it cost?" cried Will Huelsmeyer, Frederick's rival. + +"Will you pay for it?" asked Frederick. "Have you paid for it?" +retorted Will. Frederick threw him a haughty glance and seized the bow +in silent majesty. "Well, well," Huelsmeyer went on, "such things have +happened. As you know well enough, Franz Ebel had a beautiful watch too, +till Aaron the Jew took it away from him." Frederick did not answer, but +nodded proudly to the first violin and they began to play with all their +might and main. + +Meanwhile the lord of the manor had stepped into the room where the +women of the neighborhood were investing the bride with the white head +band, the insignia of her new position. The young girl was crying +bitterly, partly because custom so decreed, partly from honest +nervousness. She was to manage a run-down household, under the eye of a +peevish old man, whom, moreover, she was expected to love. He stood +beside her, by no means like the groom in the Song of Solomon who "steps +into the chamber like the morning sun." "You've cried enough now," he +said crossly; "remember, it isn't you who are making me happy; I am +making you happy!" She looked up to him humbly and seemed to feel that +he was right. The business was ended; the young wife had drunk to her +husband's health, some young wags had looked through the tripod to see +if the bride's head band was straight, and they were all crowding again +toward the dancing-floor, whence there still resounded inextinguishable +laughter and noise. Frederick was no longer there. He had met with a +great unbearable disgrace, when Aaron the Jew, a butcher and casual +second-hand dealer from the nearest town, had suddenly appeared, and, +after a short unsatisfactory conversation, had dunned him before the +whole company for the sum of ten thalers in payment of a watch delivered +at Eastertide. Frederick had gone away, as if annihilated, and the Jew +followed him, shouting all the while: "Oh, woe is me! Why didn't I +listen to sensible people! Didn't they tell me a hundred times you had +all your possessions on your back and no bread in your cupboard!" The +room shook with laughter. Some had pushed after them into the yard. +"Catch the Jew! Balance him against a pig!" called some; others had +become serious. "Frederick looked as white as a sheet," said an old +woman, and the crowd separated as the carriage of the lord of the estate +turned into the yard. Herr von S. was out of sorts on the way home, the +usual and inevitable effect when the desire to maintain popularity +induced him to attend such feasts. He looked out of the carriage +silently. "What two figures are those?" He pointed to two dark forms +running ahead of the wagon like two ostriches. Now they sneaked into the +castle. "Another blessed pair of swine out of our own pen!" sighed Herr +von S. Having arrived at home, he found the corridor crowded with all +the domestics standing around two lower-servants, who had sunk down pale +and breathless on the steps. + +They declared that they had been chased by old Mergel's ghost, when they +were coming home through the forest of Brede. First they had heard a +rustling and crackling high above them, and then, up in the air, a +rattling noise like sticks beating against one another; then suddenly +had sounded a shrieking yell and quite distinctly the words, "O, my poor +soul!" coming down from on high. One of them even claimed to have seen +fiery eyes gleaming through the branches, and both had run as fast as +their legs could carry them. + +"Stupid nonsense!" exclaimed the lord of the estate crossly, and went +into his room to change his clothes. The next morning the fountain in +the garden would not play, and it was discovered that some one had +removed a pipe, apparently to look for the head of a horse's skeleton +which had the reputation of being an attested instrument against any +wiles of witches or ghosts. "H'm," said Baron von S.; "what rogues do +not steal, fools destroy." + +Three days later a frightful storm was raging. It was midnight, but +every one in the castle was out of bed. The Baron stood at the window +and looked anxiously out into the dark toward his fields. Leaves and +twigs flew against the panes; now and, then a brick fell and was dashed +to pieces on the pavement of the courtyard. "Terrible weather!" said +Herr von S. His wife looked out anxiously. "Are you sure the fire is +well banked?" she asked; "Gretchen, look again; if not, put it all out +with water! Come, let us read the Gospel of St. John." They all knelt +down and the lady of the house began: "In the beginning was the Word, +and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." There was a terrible +clap of thunder. All started; then there was a terrible scream and noise +up the stairs. "For God's sake! Is something burning?" cried Frau von +S., and sank down with her face on the chair. The door burst open and in +rushed the wife of Aaron the Jew, pale as death, with her hair wildly +disheveled, dripping with rain. She threw herself on her knees before +the Baron. "Justice!" she cried, "Justice! My husband is murdered!" and +she fell in a faint. + +It was only too true, and the ensuing investigation proved that Aaron +the Jew had lost his life by a single blow on the temples delivered by +some blunt instrument, probably a staff. On his left temple was the blue +mark; beyond that there was no other injury. The statement of the Jewess +and her servant, Samuel, ran thus: Three days ago Aaron had gone out in +the afternoon to buy cattle and had said at the time that he would +probably be gone overnight, because there were still several bad debtors +in B. and S., on whom he would call for payment; in this case he would +spend the night with the butcher, Solomon, in B. When he did not return +home the next day his wife had become greatly worried and had finally +set out at three o'clock in the afternoon with her servant and the big +butcher dog. At the house of Solomon the Jew, no one knew anything about +Aaron; he had not been there at all. Then they had gone to all the +peasants with whom they knew Aaron had intended to transact some +business. Only two had seen him, and those on the very day when he had +left home. Meanwhile it had become very late. Her great anxiety drove +the woman back home, where she cherished a faint hope of finding +her husband after all. They had been overtaken by the storm in the +Forest of Brede and had sought shelter under a great beech on the +mountain side. In the meantime the dog had been running about and acting +strangely, and had, in spite of repeated calling, finally run off into +the woods. Suddenly, during a lightning flash, the woman had seen +something white beside her on the moss. It was her husband's staff, and +almost at the same moment the dog had broken through the shrubbery with +something in his mouth; it was her husband's shoe. Before long they +found the Jew's body in a trench filled with dry leaves. + +This was the report of the servant, supported only in general by the +wife; her intense agitation had subsided and her senses now seemed half +confused or, rather, blunted. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!" +These were her only words, which she at intervals ejaculated. + +The same night the guards were summoned to take Frederick into custody. +They needed no warrant, because Herr von S. himself had been witness to +a scene which inevitably threw the strongest suspicion on him; +furthermore there was the ghost story of that night, the beating +together of the sticks in the forest of Brede, the scream from above. +Since the clerk of the court was at that time absent, Herr von S. +hastened everything faster than would otherwise have been done. +Nevertheless dawn was already breaking when the riflemen as quietly as +possible surrounded poor Margaret's house. The Baron himself knocked; it +was hardly a minute before the door was opened, and Margaret appeared, +fully dressed. Herr von S. started; he scarcely recognized her, so pale +and stony did she look. "Where is Frederick?" he asked in an unsteady +voice. + +"Search for him!" she answered, and sat down on a chair. The Baron +hesitated a moment longer. + +"Come in, come in," he then said roughly to the guards; "what are we +waiting for?" They stepped into Frederick's room. He was not there, but +the bed was still warm. They climbed to the garret, down the cellar, +examined the straw, looked behind every barrel, even into the oven; he +was not there. Some of them went into the garden, looked behind the +fence and up into the apple trees; he was not to be found. + +"Escaped!" said the Baron with conflicting feelings; the sight of the +old woman made a strong impression on him. "Give me the key to that +trunk!" Margaret did not answer. "Give me the key," he repeated, and +noticed now for the first time that the key was already in the lock. The +contents of the trunk were brought into view--the fugitive's best Sunday +clothes and his mother's poor finery, then two shrouds with black +ribbons, one made for a man, the other for a woman. Herr von S. was +deeply affected. Under everything else, at the very bottom of the trunk, +lay the silver watch and some documents in a very legible hand, one of +these signed by a man who was strongly suspected of alliance with the +forest-thieves. Herr von S. took them along to examine them, and the +guards left the house without Margaret's giving another sign of life +than that of incessantly biting her lips and blinking her eyes. + +Having arrived at the castle, the Baron found the court clerk, who had +returned the night before and declared he had slept through the whole +affair because his Honor had not sent for him. "You always come too +late," said Herr von S. crossly; "wasn't there any old woman in the +village to tell your maid about it? And why didn't they wake you up +then?" + +"Your Honor," replied Kapp, "of course my Anne Marie learned of the +incident an hour before I did; but she knew that your Honor was +directing the matter yourself--and then," he added in a plaintive tone, +"that I was deathly tired!" + +"A fine police force!" muttered the Baron. "Every old hag in the village +knows about a thing whenever it's supposed to be conducted in absolute +secrecy." Then he continued angrily: "He'd have indeed to be a stupid +devil of a criminal who would let himself be caught!" + +Both were silent a moment. "My driver lost his way in the dark," began +the clerk again; "we were delayed over an hour in the wood; the weather +was awful; I thought the wind would blow the wagon over. At last, when +the rain slackened, we drove on in the name of God, heading toward the +Zellerfeld, unable to see our hands before our eyes. Then the coachman +said: 'If only we don't get too near the stone-quarries!' I was +frightened myself; I had him stop, and struck a light, to find some +comfort at least in my pipe. Suddenly we heard a bell ring very near, +perpendicularly under us. Your Honor will realize that I felt +dreadfully. I jumped out of the wagon, for one can trust one's own +limbs, but not those of a horse. So I stood in the mud and rain without +moving, until presently, thank God, it began to dawn. And where had we +stopped? Right near the Heerse ravine with the tower of Heerse directly +under us! If we had driven on twenty paces farther, we should all have +been children of Death." + +"That was indeed no joke!" exclaimed the Baron, half conciliated. +Meanwhile he had examined the papers that he had taken along. They were +dunning letters for money lent, most of them from usurers. "I had not +thought," he muttered, "that the Mergels were so deeply in debt." "Yes, +and that it must come to light in this way," replied Kapp; "that will be +no little cause for vexation to Mistress Margaret." + +"Oh, dear me, she does not think of that now!" With these words the +Baron arose and left the room to proceed together with Kapp to the +judicial examination of the body. The examination was short--death by +violence evident; the suspected criminal escaped; the evidence against +him very strong indeed, but not sufficient to establish his guilt +without a personal confession; his flight at all events very suspicious. +So the judicial investigation had to be closed without satisfactory +results. + +The Jews in the vicinity had manifested great interest. The widow's +house was never empty of mourners and advisers. Within the memory of man +never had so many Jews been seen together in L. Extremely embittered by +the murder of their co-religionist they had spared neither pains nor +money to trace the criminal. It is even known that one of them, commonly +called "Joel the Usurer," offered one of his customers, who owed him +many hundreds and whom he considered an especially sly fellow, remission +of the entire sum if he could help him to arrest Mergel; for the belief +was general among the Jews that the murderer could not have escaped +without efficient assistance, and was probably still in the vicinity. +When, nevertheless, all this did no good, and the judicial investigation +had been declared closed, a number of the most prominent Israelites +appeared in the castle the next morning to make a business proposition +to the gracious lord. The object was the beech-tree, under which Aaron's +staff had been found and where the murder had probably been committed. +"Do you want to hew it down, now that it is in full leaf?" asked the +Baron. + +"No, gracious Sir, it must remain standing winter and summer, as long as +there is a chip of it left." + +"But then, if I should have the forest cut down, it would injure the +young trees." + +"Well, we do not want it for any ordinary price." They offered two +hundred thalers. The deal was made, and all the foresters were strictly +forbidden to injure the "Jew's Beech" in any way. + +Soon after, about sixty Jews with a Rabbi at their head were seen going +toward the Forest of Brede, all silent, with their eyes cast down. They +stayed in the woods over an hour, and then returned just as seriously +and ceremoniously through the village of B. up to the Zellerfeld, where +they separated and each went his own way. The next morning there was a +Hebrew inscription carved on the oak with an axe:[Hebrew:] + +And where was Frederick? Without doubt, gone, and far enough away to +find it no longer necessary to fear the short arms of such a weak +police force. Soon he was completely forgotten. His Uncle Simon seldom +spoke of him, and then ill. The Jew's wife finally consoled herself and +took another husband. Only poor Margaret remained without consolation. + +About half a year afterward the lord of the estate read in the presence +of the court clerk some letters just received. "Remarkable, remarkable!" +he exclaimed. "Just think, Kapp, perhaps Mergel is innocent of the +murder. The chairman of the court of P. has just written me: 'Le vrai +n'est pas toujours vraisemblable' (Truth does not always bear the marks +of probability). I often find this out in my profession, and now I have +a new proof of it. Do you know that it is possible that your dear trusty +Frederick Mergel killed the Jew no more than you or I? Unfortunately +proofs are lacking, but the probability is great. A member of the +Schlemming band (which, by-the-by, we now have, for the most part, under +lock and key), named Ragged Moses, alleged in the last hearing that he +repented of nothing so much as of murdering one of his co-religionists, +Aaron, whom he had beaten to death in the woods, and had found only six +groschen on him. + +"Unfortunately the examination was interrupted by the noon recess and, +while we were at lunch, the dog of a Jew hanged himself with a garter. +What do you say to that? Aaron is a common name, to be sure," etc. + +"What do you say to that?" repeated the Baron; "and what reason then did +the fool of a fellow have for running away?" + +The court clerk reflected. "Well, perhaps on account of the forest +thefts which we were just then investigating. Isn't it said: 'The wicked +man flees from his own shadow?' Mergel's conscience was dirty enough, +even without this spot." + +With these considerations they let the matter drop. Frederick had gone, +disappeared; and John Nobody--poor, neglected John--with him on the same +day. A long, long time had passed--twenty-eight years, almost half a +lifetime. The Baron was grown very old and gray, and his good-natured +assistant, Kapp, had been long since buried. People, animals, and plants +had arisen, matured, passed away; only Castle B., gray and dignified as +of old, still looked down on the cottages which, like palsied old +people, always seemed about to fall, yet always kept their balance. + +It was Christmas Eve, December 24, 1788. + +The narrow passes were covered with snow, probably about twelve feet +deep, and the penetrating, frosty air froze the window panes in the +heated room. It was almost midnight, and yet faint lights flickered from +the snow mounds everywhere, and in every house the inmates were on their +knees awaiting in prayer the advent of the holy Christmas festival, as +is the custom in Catholic countries, or, at least, as was general in +those times. That night a figure moved slowly down from the heights of +Brede toward the village. The wanderer seemed to be very tired or sick; +he groaned heavily and dragged himself with extreme difficulty through +the snow. + +Half the way down he stopped, leaned on his staff, and gazed fixedly at +the lights. Everything was so quiet, so dead and cold; one could not +have helped thinking of will o' the wisps in cemeteries. At that moment +the clock struck twelve in the tower; as the last stroke died slowly +away, soft singing arose in the nearest house and, spreading from house +to house, ran through the whole village: + + A little babe, a worthy child, + Was born to us today, + Of Mary Virgin undefiled; + We all rejoice and say: + Yea, had the Christ-child ne'er been born, + To lasting woe we'd all been sworn, + For He is our salvation. + O, thou our Jesus Christ adored, + A man in form but yet our Lord, + From Hell grant us Redemption. + +The man on the mountain slope had sunk to his knees and with a trembling +voice made an effort to join in the song; it turned into nothing but +loud sobbing, and large hot drops fell on the snow. The second verse +began; he prayed along silently; then the third and the fourth. The song +was ended and the lights in the houses began to move. Then the man rose +laboriously and slunk slowly down to the village. He panted past several +houses, then stopped in front of one and knocked on the door softly. + +"I wonder what that is!" said a woman's voice inside. "The door is +rattling, and there's no wind blowing!" + +He knocked louder. "For God's sake, let in a half-frozen man, who comes +out of Turkish slavery!" + +There was whispering in the kitchen. "Go to the inn," answered another +voice, "the fifth house from here!" + +"In the name of our merciful God, let me in! I have no money." + +After some delay the door opened. A man came out with a lighted lamp. +"Come right in," he then said; "you won't cut our heads off." In the +kitchen there were, besides the man, a middle-aged woman, an old mother, +and five children. All crowded around the newcomer and scrutinized him +with timid curiosity. A wretched figure! Wry-necked, with his back bent, +his whole body broken and powerless; long hair, white as snow, fell +about his face, which bore the distorted expression of long suffering. +The woman went silently to the hearth and added some fresh fagots. "A +bed we cannot give you," she said, "but I will make a good litter of +straw here; you'll have to make the best of that." + +"God reward you!" answered the stranger; "indeed I am used to worse than +that." + +The man who had returned home was recognized as John Nobody, and he +himself avowed that it was he who had once fled with Frederick Mergel. +The next day the village was full of the adventures of the man who had +so long been forgotten. Everybody wanted to see the man from Turkey, +and they were almost surprised that he should still look like other +people. The young folks, to be sure, did not remember him, but the old +could still recognize his features perfectly, wretchedly disfigured +though he was. + +"John, John, how gray you've grown!" said an old woman; "and where did +you get your wry neck?" + +"From carrying wood and water in slavery," he replied. "And what has +become of Mergel? You ran away together, didn't you?" + +"Yes, indeed; but I do not know where he is; we got separated. If you +think of him, pray for him," he added; "he probably needs it." + +They asked him why Frederick had disappeared, inasmuch as he had not +murdered the Jew. "Not killed him!" said John, and listened intently +when they told him what the lord of the estate had purposely spread +abroad in order to erase the spot from Mergel's name. "So all was in +vain," he said musing, "all in vain--so much suffering!" + +He sighed deeply and asked, on his part, about many things. He was told +that Simon had been dead a long while, but had first fallen into +complete poverty through lawsuits and bad debtors whom he could not sue +because, it was said, the business relations between them had been +questionable. Finally he had been reduced to begging and had died on the +straw in a strange barn. Margaret had lived longer, but in absolute +mental torpor. The people in the village had soon grown tired of helping +her, because she let everything that they gave her go to ruin; for it +is, after all, characteristic of people to abandon the most helpless, +those whom assistance does not relieve for any length of time and who +are and always will be in need of aid. Nevertheless she had not suffered +any actual want; the family of the Baron had cared for her, sent her +meals daily, and even provided medical treatment for her, when her +pitiable condition had developed into complete emaciation. In her house +now lived the son of the former swineherd, who had so admired +Frederick's watch on that unfortunate night. + +"All gone, all dead!" sighed John. + +In the evening, when it had grown dark and the moon was shining, he was +seen limping about the cemetery in the snow; he did not pray over any +one grave, nor did he go very close to any, but he seemed to gaze +fixedly at some of them from a distance. Thus he was found by Forester +Brandes, the son of the murdered forester, whom the Baron had sent to +bring John to the castle. Upon entering the living-room he looked about +him timidly, as though dazed by the light, and then at the Baron who was +sitting in his armchair; he had aged greatly but still had his old +bright eyes, and the little red cap was still on his head, as it had +been twenty-eight years ago; beside him was the Baroness, his wife, also +grown old, very old. + +"Now, John," said the Baron, "do tell me all about your adventures. +But," as he surveyed him through his glasses, "you wasted away terribly +there in Turkey, didn't you?" John began telling how Mergel had called +him away from the hearth at night and said he must go away with him. + +"But why did the foolish fellow ever run away?--I suppose you know that +he was innocent?" + +John looked down. + +"I don't know exactly; I think it was on account of some forest affairs. +Simon had all kinds of dealings, you know; they never told me anything +about it, but I do not believe everything was as it should have been." + +"But what did Frederick tell you?" + +"Nothing but that we must run away, that they were at our heels. So we +ran to Heerse; it was still dark then and we hid behind the big cross in +the churchyard until it grew somewhat lighter, because we were afraid of +the stone-quarries at Bellerfeld; and after we had been sitting a while +we suddenly heard snorting and stamping over us and saw long streaks of +fire in the air directly over the church-tower of Heerse. We jumped up +and ran straight ahead in the name of God as fast as we could, and, when +dawn arose, we were actually on the right road to P." John seemed to +shudder at the remembrance even now, and the Baron thought of his +departed Kapp and his adventures on the slope of Heerse. + +"Remarkable!" he mused; "you were so near each other! But go ahead." + +John now related how they had successfully passed through P. and across +the border, telling how, from that point, they had begged their way +through to Freiburg in Breisgau as itinerant workmen. "I had my +haversack with me, and Frederick a little bundle; so they believed us," +he went on. In Freiburg they had been induced to enlist in the Austrian +army; he had not been wanted, but Frederick had insisted. So he was put +with the commissariat. "We stayed over the winter in Freiburg," he +continued, "and we got along pretty well; I did, too, because Frederick +often advised me and helped me when I did something wrong. In the spring +we had to march to Hungary, and in the fall the war with the Turks broke +out. I can't repeat very much about it because I was taken prisoner in +the very first encounter and from that time was a Turkish slave for +twenty-six years!" + +"God in Heaven, but that is terrible!" exclaimed Frau von S. + +"Bad enough! The Turks consider us Christians no better than dogs; the +worst of it was that my strength left me with the hard work; I grew +older, too, and was still expected to do as in former years." He was +silent for a moment. "Yes," he then said, "it was beyond human strength +and human patience, and I was unable to endure it. From there I got on a +Dutch vessel." + +"But how did you get there?" asked the Baron. + +"They fished me out of the Bosphorus," replied John. The Baron looked at +him in astonishment and raised his finger in warning; but John +continued. "On the vessel I did not fare much better. The scurvy broke +out; whoever was not absolutely helpless was compelled to work beyond +his strength, and the ship's tow ruled as severely as the Turkish whip. +At last," he concluded, "when we arrived in Holland, at Amsterdam, they +let me go free because I was useless, and the merchant to whom the ship +belonged sympathized with me, too, and wanted to make me his porter. +But," he shook his head, "I preferred to beg my way along back here." + +"That was foolish enough!" said the Baron. + +John sighed deeply. "Oh, sir, I had to spend my life among Turks and +heretics; should I not at least go to rest in a Catholic cemetery?" + +The lord of the estate had taken out his purse. "Here, John, now go and +come back soon. You must tell me the whole story more in detail; today +it was a bit confused. I suppose you are still very tired." + +"Very tired," replied John; "and"--he pointed to his forehead--"my +thoughts are at times so curious I cannot exactly tell how things are." + +"I understand," said the baron; "that is an old story. Now, go. +Huelsmeyer will probably put you up for another night; come again +tomorrow." + +Herr von S. felt the deepest sympathy with the poor chap; by the next +day he had decided where to lodge him; he should take his meals in the +castle and his clothing could, of course, be provided for too. "Sir," +said John, "I can still do something; I can make wooden spoons and you +can also send me on errands." + +Herr von S. shook his head sympathetically. "But that wouldn't work so +remarkably well." + +"Oh, yes, sir, if once I get started--I can't move very fast, but I'll +get there somehow, and it won't be as hard as you might think, either." + +"Well," said the Baron, doubtfully, "do you want to try it? Here is a +letter to P. There is no particular hurry." The next day John moved into +his little room in the house of a widow in the village. He carved +spoons, ate at the castle, and did errands for the Baron. On the whole +he was getting along tolerably well; the Baron's family was very kind, +and Herr von S. often conversed with him about Turkey, service in +Austria, and the ocean. "John could tell many things," he said to his +wife, "if he wasn't so downright simple." + +"More melancholic than simple," she replied; "I am always afraid he'll +lose his wits some day." + +"Not a bit of it," answered the Baron; "he's been a simpleton all his +life; simple people never go crazy." Some time after, John stayed away +much longer than usual on an errand. The good Frau von S. was greatly +worried and was already on the point of sending out people, when they +heard him limping up the stairs. + +"You stayed out a long time, John," she said; "I was beginning to think +you had lost your way in the forest of Brede." + +"I went through Fir-tree Hollow." + +"Why, that's a long roundabout way! Why didn't you go through the Brede +Woods?" + +He looked up at her sadly. "People told me the woods were cut down and +there were now so many paths this way and that way that I was afraid I +would not find my way out. I am growing old and shaky," he added slowly. + +"Did you see," Frau von S. said afterwards to her husband, "what a +queer, squinting look there was in his eyes? I tell you, Ernest, there's +a bad ending in store for him!" + +Meanwhile September was approaching. The fields were empty, the leaves +were beginning to fall, and many a hectic person felt the scissors on his +life's thread. John, too, seemed to be suffering under the influence of +the approaching equinox; those who saw him at this time said he looked +particularly disturbed and talked to himself incessantly--something which +he used to do at times, but not very often. At last one evening he did +not come home. It was thought the Baron had sent him somewhere. The +second day he was still not there. On the third his housekeeper grew +anxious. She went to the castle and inquired. "God forbid!" said the +Baron, "I know nothing of him; but, quick!--call the forester and his +son William! If the poor cripple," he added, in agitation, "has fallen +even into a dry pit, he cannot get out again. Who knows if he may not +even have broken one of his distorted limbs! Take the dogs along," he +called to the foresters on their way, "and, first of all, search in the +quarries; look among the stone-quarries," he called out louder. + +The foresters returned home after a few hours; no trace had been found. +Herr von S. was restless. "When I think of such a man, forced to lie +like a stone and unable to help himself, I--but he may still be alive; a +man can surely hold out three days without food." He set out himself; +inquiry was made at every house, horns were blown everywhere, alarms +were sent out, and dogs set on the trail--in vain! A child had seen him +sitting at the edge of the forest of Brede, carving a spoon. "But he cut +it right in two," said the little girl. That had happened two days +before. In the afternoon there was another clue. Again a child had seen +him on the other side of the woods, where he had been sitting in the +shrubbery, with his face resting on his knees as though he were asleep. +That was only the day before. It seemed he had kept rambling about the +forest of Brede. + +"If only that damned shrubbery weren't so dense! Not a soul can get +through it," said the Baron. The dogs were driven to the place where the +woods had just been cut down; the searching-party blew their horns and +hallooed, but finally returned home, dissatisfied, when they had +convinced themselves that the animals had made a thorough search of the +whole forest. "Don't give up! Don't give up!" begged Frau von S. "It's +better to take a few steps in vain than to leave anything undone." The +Baron was almost as worried as she; his restlessness even drove him to +John's room, although he was sure not to find him there. He had the room +of the lost man opened. Here stood his bed still in disorder as he had +left it; there hung his good coat which the Baroness had had made for +him out of the Baron's old hunting-suit; on the table lay a bowl, six +new wooden spoons, and a box. Herr von S. opened the box; five groschen +lay in it, neatly wrapped in paper, and four silver vest-buttons. The +Baron examined them with interest. "A remembrance from Mergel," he +muttered, and stepped out, for he felt quite oppressed in the musty, +close room. The search was continued until they had convinced themselves +that John was no longer in the vicinity--at least, not alive. + +So, then, he had disappeared for the second time! Would they ever find +him again--perhaps some time, after many years, find his bones in a dry +pit? There was little hope of seeing him again alive, or, at all events, +certainly not after another twenty-eight years. + +One morning two weeks later young Brandes was passing through the forest +of Brede, on his way from inspecting his preserve. The day was unusually +warm for that time of the year; the air quivered; not a bird was +singing; only the ravens croaked monotonously in the branches and opened +their beaks to the air. Brandes was very tired. He took off his cap, +heated through by the sun; and then he put it on again; but one way was +as unbearable as another, and working his way through the knee-high +underbrush was very laborious. Round about there was not a single tree +save the "Jew's beech"; for that he made, therefore, with all his might, +and stretched himself on the shady moss under it, tired to death. The +coolness penetrated to his limbs so soothingly that he closed his eyes. + +"Foul mushrooms!" he muttered, half asleep. There is, you must know, in +that region a species of very juicy mushrooms which live only a few days +and then shrivel up and emit an insufferable odor. Brandes thought he +smelt some of these unpleasant neighbors; he looked around him several +times, but did not feel like getting up; meanwhile his dog leaped about, +scratched at the trunk of the beech, and barked at the tree. "What have +you there, Bello? A cat?" muttered Brandes. He half opened his lids and +the Hebrew inscription met his eye, much distorted but still quite +legible. He shut his eyes again; the dog kept on barking and finally put +his cold nose against his master's face. + +"Let me alone! What's the matter with you, anyway?" Brandes was lying on +his back, looking up; suddenly he jumped up with a bound and sprang into +the thicket like one possessed. + +Pale as death he reached the castle; a man was hanging in the "Jew's +Beech-tree"; he had seen his limbs suspended directly above his face. +"And you did not cut him down, you fool?" cried the Baron. + +"Sir," gasped Brandes, "if Your Honor had been there you would have +realized that the man is no longer alive. At first I thought it was the +mushrooms!" Nevertheless Herr von S. urged the greatest haste, and went +out there himself. + +They had arrived beneath the beech. "I see nothing," said Herr von S. +"You must step over there, right here on this spot!" Yes, it was true; +the Baron recognized his own old shoes. "God, it is John! Prop up the +ladder!--so--now down--gently, gently! Don't let him fall! Good heaven, +the worms are at him already! But loose the knot anyway, and his +necktie!" A broad scar was visible; the Baron drew back. "Good God!" he +said; he bent over the body again, examined the scar with great care, +and in his intense agitation was silent for some time. Then he turned to +the foresters. "It is not right that the innocent should suffer for the +guilty; just tell everybody this man here"--he pointed to the dead +body--"was Frederick Mergel." + +The body was buried in the potter's field. + +As far as all main events are concerned, this actually happened during +the month of September in the year 1789. + +The Hebrew inscription on the tree read: "When thou comest near this +spot, thou wilt suffer what thou didst to me." + + * * * * * + + + +FERDINAND FREILIGRATH + + + THE DURATION OF LOVE[39] (1831) + + Oh! love while Love is left to thee; + Oh! love while Love is yet thine own; + The hour will come when bitterly + Thou'lt mourn by silent graves, alone! + + And let thy breast with kindness glow, + And gentle thoughts within thee move, + While yet a heart, through weal and woe, + Beats to thine own in faithful love. + + And who to thee his heart doth bare, + Take heed thou fondly cherish him; + And gladden thou his every hour, + And not an hour with sorrow dim! + + And guard thy lips and keep them still; + Too soon escapes an angry word. + "O God! I did not mean it ill!" + But yet he sorrowed as he heard. + + Oh! love while Love is left to thee; + Oh! love while Love is yet thine own; + The hour will come when bitterly + Thou'lt mourn by silent graves, alone. + + Unheard, unheeded then, alas! + Kneeling, thou'lt hide thy streaming eyes + Amid the long, damp, churchyard grass, + Where, cold and low, thy loved one lies, + + And murmur: "Oh, look down on me, + Mourning my causeless anger still; + Forgive my hasty word to thee-- + O God! I did not mean it ill!" + + He hears not now thy voice to bless, + In vain thine arms are flung to heaven! + And, hushed the loved lip's fond caress, + It answers not: "I _have_ forgiven!" + + He _did_ forgive--long, long ago! + But many a burning tear he shed + O'er thine unkindness--softly now! + He slumbers with the silent dead. + + Oh! love while Love is left to thee; + Oh! love while Love is yet thine own; + The hour will come when bitterly + Thou'lt mourn by silent graves--alone! + + * * * * * + + THE EMIGRANTS[40] (1832) + + I cannot take my eyes away + From you, ye busy, bustling band, + Your little all to see you lay + Each in the waiting boatman's hand. + + Ye men, that from your necks set down + Your heavy baskets on the earth, + Of bread, from German corn baked brown, + By German wives, on German hearth. + + And you, with braided tresses neat, + Black Forest maidens, slim and brown, + How careful, on the sloop's green seat, + You set your pails and pitchers down. + +[Illustration: J.P. HASENCLEVER FERDINAND FREILIGRATH] + + Ah! oft have home's cool shady tanks + Those pails and pitchers filled for you; + By far Missouri's silent banks + Shall these the scenes of home renew-- + + The stone-rimmed fount, in village street, + Where oft ye stooped to chat and draw-- + The hearth, and each familiar seat-- + The pictured tiles your childhood saw. + + Soon, in the far and wooded West + Shall log-house walls therewith be graced; + Soon, many a tired, tawny guest + Shall sweet refreshment from them taste. + + From them shall drink the Cherokee, + Faint with the hot and dusty chase; + No more from German vintage, ye + Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace. + + Oh say, why seek ye other lands? + The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn; + Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands; + In Spessart rings the Alp-herd's horn. + + Ah, in strange forests you will yearn + For the green mountains of your home; + To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn; + In spirit o'er her vine-hills roam. + + How will the form of days grown pale + In golden dreams float softly by, + Like some old legendary tale, + Before fond memory's moistened eye! + The boatman calls--go hence in peace! + God bless you, wife and child, and sire! + Bless all your fields with rich increase, + And crown each faithful heart's desire! + + * * * * * + + THE LION'S RIDE [41] (1834) + + King of deserts reigns the lion; will he through his realm go riding, + Down to the lagoon he paces, in the tall sedge there lies hiding. + Where gazelles and camelopards drink, he crouches by the shore; + Ominous, above the monster, moans the quivering sycamore. + + When, at dusk, the ruddy hearth-fires in the Hottentot kraals are + glowing, + And the motley, changeful signals on the Table Mountain growing + Dim and distant--when the Caffre sweeps along the lone karroo-- + When in the bush the antelope slumbers, and beside the stream the gnu-- + + Lo! majestically stalking, yonder comes the tall giraffe, + Hot with thirst, the gloomy waters of the dull lagoon to quaff; + O'er the naked waste behold her, with parched tongue, all panting + hasten-- + Now she sucks the cool draught, kneeling, from the stagnant, slimy basin. + + Hark, a rustling in the sedges! with a roar, the lion springs + On her back now. What a race-horse! Say, in proudest stalls of kings, + Saw one ever richer housings than the courser's motley hide, + On whose back the tawny monarch of the beasts tonight will ride? + + Fixed his teeth are in the muscles of the nape, with greedy strain; + Round the giant courser's withers waves the rider's yellow mane. + With a hollow cry of anguish, leaps and flies the tortured steed; + See her, how with skin of leopard she combines the camel's speed! + + See, with lightly beating footsteps, how she scours the moonlit plains! + From their sockets start the eyeballs; from the torn and bleeding veins, + Fast the thick, black drops come trickling, o'er the brown and dappled + neck, + And the flying beast's heart-beatings audible the stillness make. + + Like the cloud, that, guiding Israel through the land of Yemen, shone, + Like a spirit of the desert, like a phantom, pale and wan, + O'er the desert's sandy ocean, like a waterspout at sea, + Whirls a yellow, cloudy column, tracking them where'er they flee. + + On their track the vulture follows, flapping, croaking, through the air, + And the terrible hyena, plunderer of tombs, is there; + Follows them the stealthy panther--Cape-town's folds have known him well; + Them their monarch's dreadful pathway, blood and sweat full plainly tell. + + On his living throne, they, quaking, see their ruler sitting there, + With sharp claw the painted cushion of his seat they see him tear. + Restless the giraffe must bear him on, till strength and life-blood fail + her; + Mastered by such daring rider, rearing, plunging, naught avail her. + + To the desert's verge she staggers--sinks--one groan--and all is o'er. + Now the steed shall feast the rider, dead, and smeared with dust and + gore. + Far across, o'er Madagascar, faintly now the morning breaks; + Thus the king of beasts his journey nightly through his empire makes. + + * * * * * + +THE SPECTRE-CARAVAN[42] (1835) + + 'Twas at midnight, in the Desert, where we rested on the ground; + There my Bedouins were sleeping, and their steeds were stretched around; + In the farness lay the moonlight on the mountains of the Nile, + And the camel-bones that strewed the sands for many an arid mile. + + With my saddle for a pillow did I prop my weary head, + And my caftan-cloth unfolded o'er my limbs was lightly spread, + While beside me, both as Captain and as watchman of my band, + Lay my Bazra sword and pistols twain a-shimmering on the sand. + + And the stillness was unbroken, save at moments by a cry + From some stray belated vulture sailing blackly down the sky, + Or the snortings of a sleeping steed at waters fancy-seen, + Or the hurried warlike mutterings of some dreaming Bedouin. + + When, behold!--a sudden sandquake--and atween the earth and moon + Rose a mighty Host of Shadows, as from out some dim lagoon; + Then our coursers gasped with terror, and a thrill shook every man, + And the cry was "_Allah Akbar_!--'tis the Spectre-Caravan!" + + On they came, their hueless faces toward Mecca evermore; + On they came, long files of camels, and of women whom they bore; + Guides and merchants, youthful maidens, bearing pitchers like Rebecca, + And behind them troops of horsemen, dashing, hurrying on to Mecca! + + More and more! the phantom-pageant overshadowed all the Plains, + Yea, the ghastly camel-bones arose, and grew to camel-trains; + And the whirling column-clouds of sand to forms in dusky garbs, + Here, afoot as Hadjee pilgrims--there, as warriors on their barbs! + + Whence we knew the Night was come when all whom Death had sought and + found, + Long ago amid the sands whereon their bones yet bleach around, + Rise by legions from the darkness of their prisons low and lone, + And in dim procession march to kiss the Kaaba's Holy Stone. + + More and more! the last in order have not passed across the plain, + Ere the first with slackened bridle fast are flying back again. + From Cape Verde's palmy summits, even to Bab-el-Mandeb's sands, + They have sped ere yet my charger, wildly rearing, breaks his bands! + + Courage! hold the plunging horses; each man to his charger's head! + Tremble not as timid sheep-flocks tremble at the lion's tread. + Fear not, though yon waving mantles fan you as they hasten on; + Call on _Allah_! and the pageant, ere you look again, is gone! + + Patience! till the morning breezes wave again your turban's plume; + Morning air and rosy dawning are their heralds to the tomb. + Once again to dust shall daylight doom these Wand'rers of the night; + See, it dawns!--A joyous welcome neigh our horses to the light! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: DUSK ON THE DEAD SEA EUGEN BRACHT] + + HAD I AT MECCA'S GATE BEEN NOURISHED[43] (1836) + + Had I at Mecca's gate been nourished, + Or dwelt on Yemen's glowing sand, + Or from my youth in Sinai flourished, + A sword were now within this hand. + + Then would I ride across the mountains + Until to Jethro's land I came, + And rest my flock beside the fountains + Where once the bush broke forth in flame. + + And ever with the evening's coolness + My kindred to the tent would throng, + When verses with impassioned fulness + Would stream from me in glowing song. + + The treasure of my lips would dower + A mighty tribe, a mighty land, + And as with a magician's power + I'd rule, a monarch, 'mid the sand. + + My list'ners are a nomad nation, + To whom the desert's voice is dear; + Who dread the simoon's devastation + And fall before his wrath in fear. + + All day they gallop, never idle-- + Save by the spring--till set of sun; + They dash with loosely swaying bridle + From Aden unto Lebanon. + + At night upon the earth reclining + They watch amid their sleeping herds, + And read the scroll of heaven, shining + With golden-lettered mystic words. + + They often hear strange voices mutter + From Sinai's earthquake-shattered, height, + While desert phantoms rise and flutter + In wreaths of smoke before their sight. + + See!--through yon fissure deep and dim there + The demon's forehead glows amain, + For as with me so 'tis with him there-- + In the skull's cavern seethes the brain. + + Oh, land of tents and arrows flying! + Oh, desert people brave and wise! + Thou Arab on thy steed relying,-- + A poem in fantastic guise! + + Here in the dark I roam so blindly-- + How cunning is the North, and cold! + Oh, for the East, the warm and kindly, + To sing and ride, a Bedouin bold! + + * * * * * + + WILD FLOWERS[44] (1840) + + Alone I strode where the broad Rhine flowed, + The hedge with roses was covered, + And wondrous rare through all the air + The scent of the vineyards hovered. + The cornflowers blue, the poppies too, + Waved in the wheat so proudly! + From a cliff near-by the joyous cry + Of a falcon echoed loudly. + + Then I thought ere long of the old love song: + Ah, would that I were a falcon! + With its melody as a falcon free, + And daring, too, as a falcon. + As I sang, thought I: Toward the sun I'll fly, + The very tune shall upbear me + To her window small with a bolt in the wall, + Where I'll beat till she shall hear me. + + Where the rose is brave, and curtains wave, + And ships by the bank are lying, + Two brown eyes dream o'er the lazy stream-- + Oh, thither would I be flying! + + With talons long and strange wild song + I'd perch me at her feet then, + Or bold I'd spread my wings o'er her head, + And gladly we should greet then. + + Though I gaily sang and gaily sprang, + No pinions had I to aid me; + I took my path through the corn in wrath-- + So restless my love had made me. + Then branch and tree all ruthlessly + I stripped, nor ceased from my ranting + Till with hands all torn and heart forlorn + I sank down, weary and panting. + + While I heard the sound from all around + Of frolicking lads and lasses, + Alone for hours I gathered flowers + And bound them together with grasses. + O crude bouquet, O rude bouquet!-- + Though many a girl despise it, + Yet come there may the happy day + When thou, my love, shalt prize it. + + In fitting place it well might grace + An honest farmer's dwelling + These cornflowers mild and poppies wild, + With others past my telling; + The osier fine, the blossoming vine, + The meadow-sweetening clover-- + All vagrant stuff, and like enough + To him, thy vagrant lover. + + His dark eye beams, his visage gleams, + His clenched hand--how it trembles! + His fierce blood burns, his mad heart yearns, + His brow the storm resembles. + + He breathes oppressed, with laboring breast-- + His weeds and he rejected! + His flowers, oh, see!--shall they and he + Lie here at thy door neglected? + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: DEATH ON THE BARRICADE ALFRED RETHEL] + + THE DEAD TO THE LIVING[45] (July, 1848) + + The bullet in the marble breast, the gash upon the brow, + You raised us on the bloody planks with wild and wrathful vow! + High in the air you lifted us, that every writhe of pain + Might be an endless curse to _him_, at whose word we were slain; + That he might see us in the gloom, or in the daylight's shine, + Whether he turns his Bible's leaf, or quaffs his foaming wine; + That the dread memory on his soul should evermore be burned, + A wasting and destroying flame within its gloom inurned; + That every mouth with pain convulsed, and every gory wound, + Be round him in the terror-hour, when his last bell shall sound; + That every sob above us heard smite shuddering on his ear; + That each pale hand be clenched to strike, despite his dying fear-- + Whether his sinking head still wear its mockery of a crown, + Or he should lay it, bound, dethroned, on bloody scaffold down! + + Thus, with the bullet in the breast, the gash upon the brow, + You laid us at the altar's foot, with deep and solemn vow! + "Come down!" ye cried--he trembling came--even to our bloody bed; + "Uncover!" and 'twas tamely done!--(like a mean puppet led, + Sank he whose life had been a farce, with fear unwonted shaken). + Meanwhile his army fled the field, which, dying, we had taken! + Loudly in "_Jesus, thou my trust_!" the anthem'd voices peal; + Why did the victor-crowds forget the sterner trust of steel? + + That morning followed on the night when we together fell, + And when ye made our burial, there was triumph in the knell! + Though crushed behind the barricades, and scarred in every limb, + The pride of conscious Victory lay on our foreheads grim! + We thought: the price is dearly paid, but the treasures _must_ be true, + And rested calmly in the graves we swore to fill for you! + + Alas! for you--we were deceived! Four moons have scarcely run, + Since cowardly you've forfeited what we so bravely won! + Squandered and cast to every wind the gain our death had brought! + Aye, all, we know--each word and deed our spirit-ears have caught! + Like waves came thundering every sound of wrong the country through: + The foolish war with Denmark! Poland betrayed anew! + The vengeance of Vendean men in many a province stern! + The calling back of banished troops! The Prince's base return! + Wherever barricades were built, the lock on press and tongue! + On the free right of all debate, the daily-practised wrong! + The groaning clang of prison-doors in North and South afar! + For all who plead the People's right, Oppression's ancient bar! + The bond with Russia's Cossacks! The slander fierce and loud, + Alas! that has become your share, instead of laurels proud-- + Ye who have borne the hardest brunt, that Freedom might advance, + Victorious in defeat and death--June-warriors of France! + Yes, wrong and treason everywhere, the Elbe and Rhine beside, + And beat, oh German men! your hearts, with calm and sluggish tide? + _No war within your apron's folds_? Out with it, fierce and bold! + The second, final war with all who Freedom would withhold! + Shout: "The Republic!" till it drowns the chiming minster bells, + Whose sound this swindle of your rights by crafty Austria tells! + + In vain! 'Tis time your faltering hands should disentomb us yet, + And lift us on the planks, begirt with many a bayonet; + Not to the palace-court, as then, that _he_ may near us stand-- + No; to the tent, the market-place, and through the wakening land! + Out through the broad land bear us--the dead Insurgents sent, + To join, upon our ghastly biers, the German Parliament. + Oh solemn sight! there we should lie, the grave-earth on each brow, + And faces sunken in decay--the proper Regents now! + There we should lie and say to you: "Ere we could waste away, + Your Freedom-gift, ye archons brave, is rotting in decay! + The Corn is housed which burst the sod, when the March sun on us shone, + But before all other harvests was Freedom's March-seed mown! + Chance poppies, which the sickle spared, among the stubbles stand; + Oh, would that Wrath, the crimson Wrath, thus blossomed in the land!" + And yet, it _does_ remain; it springs behind the reaper's track; + Too much had been already gained, too much been stolen back; + Too much of scorn, too much of shame, heaped daily on your head-- + Wrath and Revenge _must_ still be left, believe it, from the Dead! + It _does_ remain, and it awakes--it shall and must awake! + The Revolution, half complete, yet wholly forth will break. + It waits the hour to rise in power, like an up-rolling storm, + With lifted arms and streaming hair--a wild and mighty form! + It grasps the rusted gun once more, and swings the battered blade, + While the red banners flap the air from every barricade! + Those banners lead the German Guards--the armies of the Free-- + Till Princes fly their blazing thrones and hasten towards the sea! + The boding eagles leave the land--the lion's claws are shorn-- + The sovereign People, roused and bold, await the Future's morn! + Now, till the wakening hour shall strike, we keep our scorn and wrath + For you, ye Living! who have dared to falter on your path! + Up, and prepare--_keep watch in arms!_ Oh, make the German sod, + Above our stiffened forms, all free, and blest by Freedom's God; + That this one bitter thought no more disturb us in our graves: + "_They once were free--they fell--and now, forever they are Slaves!_" + + * * * * * + +HURRAH, GERMANIA![46] (July 25, 1870) + + Hurrah! thou lady proud and fair, + Hurrah! Germania mine! + What fire is in thine eye, as there + Thou bendest o'er the Rhine! + How in July's full blaze dost thou + Flash forth thy sword, and go, + With heart elate and knitted brow, + To strike the invader low! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + No thought hadst thou, so calm and light, + Of war or battle plain, + But on thy broad fields, waving bright, + Didst mow the golden grain, + With clashing sickles, wreaths of corn, + Thy sheaves didst garner in, + When, hark! across the Rhine War's horn + Breaks through the merry din! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + Down sickle then and wreath of wheat + Amidst the corn were cast, + And, starting fiercely to thy feet, + Thy heart beat loud and fast; + Then with a shout I heard thee call: + "Well, since you will, you may! + Up, up, my children, one and all, + On to the Rhine! Away!" + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + From port to port the summons flew, + Rang o'er our German wave; + The Oder on her harness drew, + The Elbe girt on her glaive; + Neckar and Weser swell the tide, + Main flashes to the sun, + Old feuds, old hates are dash'd aside, + All German men are one! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + Suabian and Prussian, hand in hand, + North, South, one host, one vow! + "What is the German's Fatherland?" + Who asks that question now? + One soul, one arm, one close-knit frame, + One will are we today; + Hurrah, Germania! thou proud dame, + Oh, glorious time, hurrah! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + Germania now, let come what may, + Will stand unshook through all; + + This is our country's festal day; + Now woe betide thee, Gaul! + Woe worth the hour a robber thrust + Thy sword into thy hand! + A curse upon him that we must + Unsheathe our German brand! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + For home and hearth, for wife and child, + For all loved things that we + Are bound to keep all undefiled + From foreign ruffianry! + For German right, for German speech, + For German household ways, + For German homesteads, all and each, + Strike home through battle's blaze! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah! Germania! + + Up, Germans, up, with God! The die + Clicks loud--we wait the throw! + Oh, who may think without a sigh + What blood is doom'd to flow? + Yet, look thou up, with fearless heart! + Thou must, thou shalt prevail! + Great, glorious, free as ne'er thou wert, + All hail, Germania, hail! + Hurrah! Victoria! + Hurrah! Germania! + + * * * * * + + THE TRUMPET OF GRAVELOTTE[47] (Aug. 16, 1870) + + Death and Destruction they belched forth in vain, + We grimly defied their thunder; + Two columns of foot and batteries twain, + We rode and cleft them asunder. + + With brandished sabres, with reins all slack, + Raised standards, and low-couched lances, + Thus we Uhlans and Cuirassiers wildly drove back, + And hotly repelled their advances. + + But the ride was a ride of death and of blood; + With our thrusts we forced them to sever; + But of two whole regiments, lusty and good, + Out of two men, one rose never. + + With breast shot through, with brow gaping wide, + They lay pale and cold in the valley, + Snatched away in their youth, in their manhood's pride-- + Now, Trumpeter, sound to the rally! + + And he took the trumpet, whose angry thrill + Urged us on to the glorious battle, + And he blew a blast--but all silent and still + Was the trump, save a dull hoarse rattle, + + Save a voiceless wail, save a cry of woe, + That burst forth in fitful throbbing-- + A bullet had pierced its metal through, + For the Dead the wounded was sobbing! + + For the faithful, the brave, for our brethren all, + For the Watch on the Rhine, true-hearted! + Oh, the sound cut into our inmost soul!-- + It brokenly wailed the Departed! + + And now fell the night, and we galloped past, + Watch-fires were flaring and flying, + Our chargers snorted, the rain poured fast-- + And we thought of the Dead and the Dying! + + * * * * * + +MORITZ GRAF VON STRACHWITZ + + + DOUGLAS OF THE BLEEDING HEART[48] (1842) + + Earl Douglas, don thy helm so bright, + And buckle thy sword with speed, + Bind on thy sharpest spurs to-night + And saddle thy swiftest steed! + + "The death watch ticks in the hall of Scone, + All Scotland hears its warning, + King Robert in pains of death does groan, + He'll never see the morning." + + For nigh on forty miles they sped + And spoke of words not four, + And horse and spur with blood were red + When they came to the palace door. + + King Robert lay at the north tower's turn; + With death he'd begun to battle: + "I hear the sword of Bannockburn + On the stairway clatter and rattle. + + "Ha! Welcome in God's name, gallant lord! + My end cometh presently, + And thou shalt harken my latest word + And write down my will for me: + + "'Twas on the day of Bannockburn, + When Scotland's star rose high, + 'Twas on the day of Bannockburn + That a vow to God vowed I; + + "I vowed that, should He defend my right + And give me the victory there, + With a thousand lances I'd go to fight + For His holy sepulchre. + + "I'm perjured, for still my heart doth stand, + 'Twas broken with care and strife; + The man who would rule o'er the Scottish land + May scarce lead a pilgrim's life. + + "But thou, when my voice has sunk to rest, + When grief and glory depart, + Shalt straightway cut from out my breast + My battle-o'erwearied heart. + + "Then thou shalt wrap the samite red + And lock it in yellow gold, + And when o'er my bier the mass is said, + Let the flag of the cross be unrolled. + + "Take a thousand steeds at thy command + And a thousand knights also, + And carry my heart to the Savior's land + That peace my soul may know." + + * * * * * + + "Make ready, gallants, for the start, + Let plume from helmet sway! + The Douglas bears the Bruce's heart, + And who shall bar his way? + + "Now cut the ropes, ye seamen brave + And hoist the sail so free! + The king must to his dark, dark grave, + And we to the dark-blue sea." + + Then into the east they sailed away + Full ninety days and nine, + And at the dawn of the hundredth day + They landed in Palestine. + + Across the yellow desert they wound + As a shining river might flow, + The sun it pierced through their helmets' round + Like an arrow shot from a bow. + + The desert was still, there breathed no gust, + All limply the flags were streaming, + When up to the sky rose a cloud of dust + Whence lightning of spears was gleaming. + + The desert was thronged, the din grew loud, + The dust was on every side. + And thick as rain from each bursting cloud + Did the spear-armed Saracens ride. + + Ten thousand lances glittered to right, + Ten thousand sparkled to left, + "Allah il Allah!" they shouted to right, + "Il Allah!" they echoed to left. + + The Douglas drew his bridle rein, + And still stood earl and knight; + "By the cross on which our Lord was slain + 'Twill be a deadly fight!" + + A noble chain his neck embraced + In golden windings three. + The locket to his lips he placed + And kissed it fervently: + + "Since thou hast ever gone before, + O heart, by night and day, + E'en so today do thou once more + Precede me in the fray. + + "And now may God this boon bestow, + As I to thee have been true, + That I may strike a Christian blow + Against this heathen crew." + + He threw his shield o'er his left side, + Bound on his helm so proud, + And as to battle he did ride, + He rose and called aloud: + + "Who brings this locket back to me + Be his the day's renown!" + Then 'mid the paynims mightily + He hurled the king's heart down. + + Each made the cross with his left thumb, + The right hand held the lance, + No fear had they though fiends had come + To check their bold advance. + + A sudden crash, a headlong flight, + And mad death raging around-- + But when the sun sank in the sea's blue light + From the desert there came no sound. + + For the pride of the east was there laid low + In the sweep of the death-strewed plain, + And the sand so red in the afterglow + Would never be white again. + + Of all the heathen, by God's good grace + Not one had escaped that harm, + Short patience have men of the Scottish race + And ever a long sword-arm! + + But where had been the fellest strife, + There lay in the moonlight clear + The good Earl Douglas, reft of life + By a hellish heathen spear. + + All cleft and rent was the mail he wore, + And finished his mortal smart. + Yet under his shield he clasped once more + King Robert Bruce's heart. + + * * * * * + +GEORG HERWEGH + + + THE STIRRUP-CUP[49] (1840) + + The anxious night is gone at last, + Silent and mute we gallop past + And ride to our destiny. + How keen the morning breezes blow! + Hostess, one glass more ere we go, + We go to die! + + Thou soft young grass, why now so green? + Soon like the rose shall be thy sheen, + My blood thee red shall dye. + The first quick sip with sword in hand + I drink, a toast to our native land, + For our native land to die. + + Now for the next, the time is short, + The next to Freedom, the queen we court,-- + The fiery cup drain dry! + These dregs--to whom shall we dedicate? + To thee, Imperial German State, + For the German State to die! + + My sweetheart!--But there's no more wine-- + The bullets whistle, the lance heads shine-- + To her the glass where the fragments lie! + Up! Like a whirlwind into the fray! + O horseman's joy, at the break of day, + At the break of day to die! + +[Illustration: GEORG HERWEGH] + + * * * * * + +EMANUEL GEIBEL + + + THE WATCHMAN'S SONG[50] (1840) + + Wake--awake! The cry rings out; + From the high watch-tower comes the shout. + Awake, imperial German land-- + Ye by distant Danube dwelling, + And where the infant Rhine is swelling, + And where the bleak dunes pile their sand! + For hearth and home keep watch, + Sword from its scabbard snatch; + Every hour + For bitter fight + Prepare aright-- + The day of combat is in sight! + + Hear in the East the ominous cry + That tells a greedy foe draws nigh-- + The vulture, thirsting for the strife. + Hear in the west the serpent's hiss + Whose siren-fangs are set for this, + To poison all your virtuous life. + Near is the vulture's swoop; + The serpent coils to stoop + For the stroke; + Then watch and pray + Until the day-- + Your swords be sharpened for the fray! + + Pure in life, in faith as strong, + Let no man do your courage wrong; + Be one, what time the trump shall sound. + + Cleanse your souls by fervent prayer, + That so the Lord may find them fair + When He shall make His questioning round, + The Cross be still your pride, + Your banner and your guide + In the battle! + Who in the field + Their fealty yield + To God, victorious weapons wield. + + Look Thou down from heaven above, + Thou Whom the angels praise and love-- + Be gracious to our German land! + Speak from the clouds with thunder-voice; + Princes and people of Thy choice, + Unite them with a mighty hand. + Be Thou our fortress-tower, + Bring us through danger's hour. + Hallelujah! + Thine is today + And shall alway + Kingdom, and power, and glory stay! + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: E. HADER EMANUEL GEIBEL] + + THE CALL OF THE ROAD[51] (1841) + + Sweet May it is come, and the trees are in bloom-- + Who wills may sit listless with sorrow at home! + As the clouds go a-roving up there in the sky, + So away for a life of adventure am I! + + Kind father, dear mother, God be with you now! + Who knows what my fortune is waiting to show? + There is many a road that I never have gone, + There is many a wine that I never have known. + + Then up with the sun, and away where it leads, + High over the mountains and down through the meads! + The brooks they are singing, the trees hear the call; + My heart's like a lark and sings out with them all. + + And at night, when I come to a cozy old nest, + "Mine host, now a bottle--and make it your best! + And you, merry fiddler, tune up for a song, + A song of my sweetheart--I'll help it along!" + + If I come to no inn, then my slumber I'll snatch + 'Neath the kindly blue sky, with the stars to keep watch. + The trees with their rustling will lull me to sleep; + Dawn's kisses will wake me, and up I shall leap. + + Then ho! for the road, and the life that I love, + And God's pure air to cool your hot brow as you rove. + The heart sings for joy in the sun's merry beams-- + All, wherefore so lovely, wide world of my dreams? + + * * * * * + + AUTUMN DAYS[52] (1845) + + Sunny days of the autumn, + Days that shall make me whole, + When a balm for wounds that were bleeding + Drops silently on the soul! + + Now seem the hours to be brooding + In still, beneficent rest, + And with a quieter motion + Heaves now the laboring breast. + + To rest from the world's endeavor, + To build on the soul's deep base-- + That is my only craving, + In the stillness of love to gaze. + + O'er the hills, through the dales I wander, + Where the shy sweet streamlets call, + Following each clear sunbeam, + Whether scorching or kind it fall. + + There where the leaves are turning, + I harken with reverent ear; + All that is growing or dying, + Fading or blooming, I hear. + + Blissful I learn my lesson-- + How through the world's wide sweep + Matter and spirit together + Their concord eternal keep. + + What blows in the rustling forest, + Takes life from the sun and rain, + Is a symbol of truth immortal + To the soul that can read it plain. + + Each tiniest plant that blossoms + With the perfume of its birth + Holds in its cup the secret + Of the whole mysterious earth. + + It looks down from the cliffs in silence, + Speaks in the waves' long swell-- + But all its wonderful meaning + The poet alone can tell. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: LUDWIG RICHTER JOURNEYING] + + THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS[53] (1856?) + + On Cape Misenum shone a palace fair + Among the laurels by the summer sea; + Long colonnades, and wondrous artistry, + And all that should a gorgeous feast prepare. + Oft saw it scenes of midnight revelry + Where moved soft boys, their brows with ivy crowned, + And silver-footed damsels, capering round, + The thyrsus swung; with merry shouts of glee + And rippling laughter, and the lyre's soft tone, + It rang till fell the dew, and night was gone. + + Tonight, how still! But here and there is traced + A lighted window; in the shadowy space + About the doors, slaves throng with awestruck face. + Litters draw nigh, and men spring out in haste; + And as each comes, a question runs its round + Through all the quivering circle of the spies + "What says the leech? How goes it?" Hush--no sound! + The end is near--the fierce old tiger dies! + Up there on purple cushion, in the light + Of flickering lamps, pale Cæsar waits for morn; + His sallow face, by hideous ulcers torn, + Looks ghastlier than was e'er its wont tonight; + Hollow the eyes; the fire of fell disease + And burning fever runs through every limb; + None but the aged leech abides with him, + And Macro, trusted bearer of the keys. + + And now, with stifled cry, by fears oppressed, + The sick man feebly throws his coverings off + "Let me, O Greek, a cooling potion quaff! + Ice--ice! Vesuvius burns within my breast. + Gods! how it flames! Yet in my anguished brain + The torturing thoughts burn fiercer far, and worse ... + A thousand times their tireless strength I curse, + Yet cannot find refreshment. 'Tis in vain + I cry for Lethe; where the frankincense + Sends up its smoke, from all the ancient wars + The victims lift their faces, seamed with scars, + In grim reproachful gaze to call me hence. + Germanicus--Sejanus--Drusus rise ... + Who brought you hither? Has the grave no bars? + Ah, 'tis past bearing, how with corpse-cold eyes + Ye suck the life-blood from me pitilessly! + I know I slew you--but it had to be. + Was it my fault ye threw the losing dice? + Away! Alas--when ends my misery?" + + The grave physician held the cup; he drank + Its cooling at a draught, then feebly sank + Among the pillows, still with wandering eye + About the chamber, from his forehead dank + Wiping the dews: "They're gone? No more they try + To fright me? Ah, perchance 'twas but the mist ... + Yet often have they come, by night--in what dread guise + None knows but I ... Come, sit thee near me ... hist! + And let me tell of dim old memories. + + "I too was young once, trusted in my star, + Had faith in men; but all the glamour of youth + Vanished too soon--and, piercing to the truth, + I found some evil each fair show to mar. + No thing I saw so high and free from blame + But worms were at its heart; each noble deed + Revealed self-seeking as its primal seed. + Love, honor, virtue--each was but a name! + Naught marked us off, vile creatures of the dust, + From ravening brutes, save on the smiling face + A honeyed falseness--in the heart so base + A craven weakness and a fiercer lust. + Where was a friend had not his friend betrayed + A brother guiltless of a brother's death, + A wife that hid no poisoned sting beneath + A fond embrace? Of one clay all were made! + Thus I became as they. Since only fear + Could tame that crew, I bade its form draw near. + It was a war I waged; I found a joy + Undreamed-of in their death-cries, and in blood + Full ankle-deep I waded--victor stood, + To find at last that horror too could cloy! + Now, grimly bearing what I may not mend, + Remorseless, unconsoled, I wait the end." + + His dull voice sank to silence. Moaning low, + He met new pains: cold sweat stood on his brow. + In fearsome change his face the watchers saw + Grow like some hideous mask; till Macro came + Nearer the throne-like couch, and spoke a name + "Shall I thy nephew call--Caligula? + Thy sickness waxes--" + + Hissed the prince in scorn: + "My curse upon thee, viper! What to thee + Is Caius? Still I live! And he was born + To ape the others--lies, greed, roguery, + And aught but manhood. If he had, 'twere vain; + No hero now Rome's downfall may restrain. + If gods there were, upon this ruined soil + No god could bring forth fruit; but that weak lad! + Nay, nay, not him--the spirits stern and sad + That dog my steps and mock at all my coil, + The Furies of the abyss that drive me mad, + Them--them and chaos--leave I of my toil + The heritage. For them the sceptre!" + + So + Up leaped he as he was, dire agony + Twisting his features, from the window high + Tore back the curtain, cast with frenzied throw + The wand of empire far into the night-- + Then, senseless, crumbled. + + In the court below + A soldier stood at guard--a man of might, + Fair-haired and long of limb. Straight to his feet + It rolled, the rounded ivory, and upsprang + From off the polished marble with a clang + + That seemed to say 'twas minded him to greet. + He took it up, unknowing what it meant; + And soon his thoughts pursued their former bent. + Of far-off, sombre German woods he dreamed; + He saw the waving tree-tops of the north, + He saw the comrades to their tryst go forth. + Each word true as their own sharp weapons seemed, + As much for friendship as for war their worth. + Then thought he of his wife; he saw her sit + In all the glory of her golden hair + Before their hut, whirling the spindle there + Send forth her thoughts across the leagues to flit + And reach him here. In that same woodland shrine + A merry boy was carving his first spear, + His blue eyes flashing boldly in scorn of fear, + As though he said--"A sword--the world is mine!" + Then swift he saw another vision come + Unbidden, hide the pictures of his home, + Press on his soul with irresistible might-- + How once, far in the East, he stood to guard + The cross where hung a Man with visage marred-- + And at His death the sun was plunged in night. + Long since, that day had faded in the West; + Yet could he ne'er the Sufferer's look forget-- + The deep abyss of infinite sorrow, and yet + The fulness of all blessing it expressed. + Now (what could this portend?) to his old home + He saw that cross a conquering symbol come; + And lo, the assembled tribes of all his race + Innumerable moved, and o'er their host + On all their banners, as their proudest boast, + The same Man's image, a glory round His face ... + + Sudden he started; from the halls above + Came harsh, quick shouts--the lord of the world was dead! + Awe struck the soldier stared where dawn hung red, + And saw the Future's mighty curtain move. + + * * * * * + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Permission Macmillan and Co., New York, and George Bell & +Sons, Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 2: Or in Goethe: + + "Zuschlagen kann die Masse, + Da ist sie respektabel; + Urteilen gelingt ihr miserabel."] + +[Footnote 3: _The Dial_, Vol. II, No. 1.] + +[Footnote 4: Cf. _Fanny Tarnow_ (1835), Z. Funck (1836), and _Otto +Berdrow_, 2d Edition, 1902, p. 338 seq.] + +[Footnote 5: This is Rahel's expression, the tribute of admiration +forced from the childless woman fresh from the Berlin salons, by the +spectacle of Bettina romping with her children in the nursery.] + +[Footnote 6: Cf. Herman Grimm, _Briefwechsel_, 3 Aug. 1881, s. XVII: +"For her circle of relatives and friends in the descending line, Bettina +has remained a near relative of a higher order."] + +[Footnote 7: James Freeman Clarke's estimate of Margaret Fuller and her +influence (_Memoirs_, I, 97) supplies interesting, though not specific +confirmation of the point of view here suggested.] + +[Footnote 8: In his _Aristeia der Mutter_. Werke, Weimarer Ausgabe, Bd. +29, ss. 231-238, Goethe acknowledged Bettina's faithfulness and complete +credibility for these details. Cf. also Reinhold Steig, _Achim von Arnim +and Clemens Brentano_, Stuttgart, 1894, s. 379.] + +[Footnote 9: Translator's Preface to _Eckermann's Conversations with +Goethe_.] + +[Footnote 10: According to the investigations of R. Steig, _Achim von +Arnim and Clemens Brentano_ (1894), Bettina was born in the year 1788. +Internal evidence is at hand to support this view. Bettina herself +stated (_Briefwechsel_, 538) that she was sixteen when her enthusiasm +for Goethe first manifested itself as an elemental force. From another +passage we learn that this was three years before her first meeting with +the poet in 1807, "in the heyday between childhood and maidenhood." The +"Child" of the first letters of the Correspondence was, accordingly, +just nineteen. German authorities have accepted 1788 as Bettina's +birth-year, but English publications, including the Encyclopædia +Britannica (1911) still cling to 1785, the old date. Herman Grimm's +account of Bettina's interests at threescore (_Briefwechsel_, XIX, f.) +reveals the same preoccupation with Goethe, Shakespeare, and Beethoven. +She died in the year 1859.] + +[Footnote 11: A mountain range between the Neckar and Main rivers.] + +[Footnote 12: The reference is to the _Elective Affinities_ of Goethe, +in which Edward, the husband of Charlotte, is obsessed with a passion +for the latter's foster-daughter, Ottilie, which results in the death of +the two lovers.] + +[Footnote 13: Ottilie in _Elective Affinities_.] + +[Footnote 14: From _Spaziergaenge eines Wiener Poeten_. Translator: +Sarah T. Barrows.] + +[Footnote 15: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 16: Translator: Kate Freiligrath Kroeker. (From _A Century of +German Lyrics_.)] + +[Footnote 17: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 18: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 19: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 20: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 21: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 22: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 23: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 24: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 25: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 26: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 27: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 28: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 29: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 30: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 31: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 32: _Invocation to Calliope_, Bk. III, Ode IV.] + +[Footnote 33: The friend and patron of Haydn, to whose support and +interest we owe many works of art.] + +[Footnote 34: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 35: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 36: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 37: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 38: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 39: Translator: M.G. in _Chambers' Journal_. Permission +Bernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig.] + +[Footnote 40: Translator: C.T. Brooks. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, +Leipzig.] + +[Footnote 41: Translator: J.C. Mangan. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, +Leipzig.] + +[Footnote 42: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 43: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 44: Translator: Bayard Taylor. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, +Leipzig.] + +[Footnote 45: _Pall Mall Gazette_, London. Permission Bernhard +Tauchnitz, Leipzig.] + +[Footnote 46: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission Bernhard +Tauchnitz, Leipzig.] + +[Footnote 47: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 48: Translator: William G. Howard.] + +[Footnote 49: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.] + +[Footnote 50: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.] + +[Footnote 51: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman] + +[Footnote 52: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.] + +[Footnote 53: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.] + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics of The Nineteenth +and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VII., by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12351 *** |