You are on page 1of 612





ITlnivcieit^ of




'^i>-^JL:tX^ CLnrvv»








Cl)e l^ineteentft anD Ctoentieti) Centurieis

Masterpieces of German Literature



Ph.D., LL.D., Litt.D.

Professor of the History of German Culture and Curator of the Germanic Museum,

Harvard University

Assistant Editor-in-Chief

Assistant Professor of

German, Harvard University

in (Emrntg VaimntB






The German Publication Societt


Special Writers

Henby Wood,

Ph.D., Professor of German, Johns Jlopkins University:
of Bettina

The Life

von Arnim,

Martin Schutze,

Ph.D., versity of Chicago:

Associate Professor of


Literature, Uni-

Immermann and His Drama


Nollen, Ph.D., President of Lake Forest College:

German Lyric Poetry from 1830

to 1848.

LoEWENBEBG, Ph.D., Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard University: The Life of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel.

Stabr Willard Cutting. Ph.D., Professor
tures, University of Chicago:

Germanic Languages and Litera-

Gutzkow and Young Germany.

Allen Wilson Porterfield,

Ph.D., Instructor in German, Columbia Uni-

Immermann's Miinchhausen.


LoEWENBERG, Ph.D., Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard University: The Philosophy of Law; Introduction to the Philosophy of Art.


Introduction to the Philosophy of History.

Dir P.

Coleman, A.M., Professor

of English Literature, College of the

City of

New York:
of the

The Watchman's Song; The Call Death of Tiberius.

Road; Autumn Days; The




Howard, A.M., Assistant Professor


German, Harvard


The Stirrup-Cup.











Prayer; Songs by the Lake;


Error Chanced; The Old Weather-

Postilion; Erinna to Sappho; Douglas of the Bleeding Heart; The Three Gipsies; Pentecost; The House in the


Heath; Wild Flowers;













Salon Scene.

Grace Isabel Colbron, Translator Sword and Queue.

German Plays and


Paul Bernard Thomas:
The Oberhof.
LiLLiE Winter, A.B.

The Jew's Beech-Tree.

Wallace Smith Murray:
Goethe's Correspondence with a Child.

Florence Leonard:
Mozart's Journey from Vienna to Prague.

Bayabd Taylor The Dead

to the Living.

Kate Freiligrath-Kboekeb:
Sedge Songs; The Trumpet
C. T.
of Gravelotte.


The Emigrants; The Lion's Ride.
J. C.

The Spectre-Caravan.

Georg Wilhelm
The Life


Friedrich Hegel


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

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel.




73 96


The Life

of Bettina

von Arnim.

By Henry Wood
Translated by Wallace Smith

Correspondence with a Child.

Karl Lebrecht Immermeinn


Immermann and His Drama


By Martin



Immermann's Miinchhausen. 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




Anastasius Griin


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




Translated by Charles Wharton Stork Translated by Charles Wharton Stork The Three Gipsies. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork




the Beloved from Afar.



Translated by Charles Wharton Stork


Eduard Morike
Error Chanced. Translated by Charles Wliarton Stork 369 Song for Two in the Night. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.. 370 370 Early Away. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork





CONTENTS — Continued

The Forsaken Maiden.

Weyla's Song. 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

Translated by Charles Wharton Stork Translated by Charles Wharton Stork


372 372 373
373 382













Annette Elizabeth von Droste-Hulshoff.

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
the Tower.

437 438 440


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 The The The

Duration of Love. Translated by M. G., in Chambers' Journal Emigrants. Translated by C. T. Brooks Lion's Ride. Translated by C. T. Brooks Spectre-Caravan. Translated by J. C. Mangan Had I at Mecca's Gate been Nourished. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork

497 498


504 506

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
of the Bleeding Heart.

508 512




Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.. 516

Georg Herwegh
The Stirrup-Cup.
Translated by William G.



Emanuel Geibel
The Watchman's Song. Translated by A. I. du F. 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

522 523


The Four Apocalyptic Riders, By Peter Cornelius Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 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

Frontispiece 2

96 120


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." von Menzel
Anastasius Griin

202 216 218 242 256 308

By Adolph
358 360 362

Nikolaus Lenau Evening on the Shore. By Hans am Ende Eduard Morike. By Weiss Annette von Droste-Hiilshoff 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

370 436 438 498 504 508

Georg Herwegh




By Hader By Ludwig Richter

520 522



or repulsed their unwilling listeners. August 27. in Professor James's words. some of his biographical data are as follows He : Briefly. Harvard University MONGr students of philosophy the mention of Hegel's name arouses at once a definite emotion. the capital of Wiirtemberg. To his followers Hegel is the true of the only true philosophic creed. left a name 'to other times. he distinguished himself as an eminently indusThe certificate trious. but not as a rarely gifted student. however.' " The feelings of attraction to Hegel or repulsion from him do not emanate from his personality. for his private reading and studies carried [11 . to his oppoprophet nents. linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes. which he received upon leaving the University in 1793 speaks of his good character. and the family be- longed to the upper middle class. Assistant in Philosophy. Hegel received his early education at the Latin School and the Gymnasium of his native town.THE LIFE OF GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL By J. At both these institutions. and his meagre knowledge of philosophy. he has. as well as at the University of Tiibingen which he entered in 1788 to study theology. was born at Stuttgart. Unlike Spinoza's. His father was a government official. his meritorious acquaintance with theology and languages. "like Byron's corsair. 1770. his life offers nothing to stir the imagination. Few thinkers indeed have ever so completely fascinated the minds of their have so violently sympathetic readers. as Hegel has. This does not quite represent his equip- ment. Ph. LOEWENBERG.D.

in 1805. illustrate the deep-rooted need of investing either value. He was then called to a professorship of philosophy at Heidelberg. and delighting in. we meet him as an editor of a political journal at two years Bamberg. They the well-known concept of permanence may be said to constitute the most funda- mental distinction in life and in thought. one central thought animating the vast range of his whole philosophic system "which permits of non-technical statement. That there is nothing new under the sun and that we are but ''fair creatures of an hour" in an ever-changing world. he was the recognized dictator of one of the most powerful philosophic schools in the history of thought. conservative. and from 1808 to 1816 as rector of the Gymnasium at Nuremberg.2 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the limits of the regular curriculum. in 1801. It is no easy task to convey an adequate idea of Hegel's philosophy within the limits of a short introduction. There is. Interesting is the application of the difference between permanence and change to extreme types of temperament. permanence or change with a more fundamental And to the value of the one or the other. religion. are equally sad reflections. Soon after. him far beyond After leaving the University he spent seven years as family tutor in Switzerland and in Frankfurt-on-the-Main. we find him as Frivat-Docent. the evanescent. politics. if we consider first and change. In 1818 he was called to Berlin to fill the vacancy left by the death of Fichte. the fluent. From this time on until his death in 1831. We may speak loosely of the "static" and the ''dynamic" temperaments. and life. This thought will be more easily grasped. His academic activiFor the next ties Avere interrupted by the battle of Jena. philosohave always endeavored to give metaphysical expresphers . philosophy. the latter everj^where pointing to. then. the former clinging to everything that is traditional. Religion and poetry have always dwelt upon their tragic meaning. These extreme types. and abiding in art. however. the novel. by no means rare or unreal. as professor at the University of Jena.

Permission Berlin Photographic Co. New York SCHLESINGER GliORG WILlIliLM FRIEDRICH HEGEL ..


— young Hegel approached religious and The dramatic life and death of Jesus. Thereupon he . he discovered that evil. and fears. Through an intense study of these problems." the discrepancies between Christ's teachings and the positive Christian religion. Now the significance of Hegel's philosophy can be grasped only when we bear in — Eleatics can mind was just this profound distinction between the and the changing that Hegel sought to underpermanent stand and to interpret. The vicissitudes of his own inner or outer life he did not analyze. He saw more deeply into the reality of movement and change than any other philosopher bethat it fore or after him. the tragic fate of "the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome. and that these negative elements determine the very meaning and progress of history and religion. A the one which scarcely be imagined both schools claiming a monopoly of reason and truth. sin. while others have insisted upon est something abiding behind a world of flux. the fall of paganism and the triumph of the Christian Church these were the problems over which the young Hegel pondered. 3 Some thinkers have proclaimed change to be the deepmanifestation of reality. both distrusting the senses. Heraclitus was the first one to see in change a deeper significance than in the permanence of the more dramatic opposition than ensued between the Heracliteans and the Eleatics.HEGEL sion. Hegel became interested in various phases of movement and change. He was not Very early in his life. Not his own passions. the historical problems. His temperament was rather that of the objective thinker. and suffering are woven into the very tissue of religious and historical processes. With an humane attitude. hopes. The question whether change or permanence is more essential arose early in Greek philosophy. but those of others invited his curiosity. and each charging the other with illusion. given to introspection. longing. Romanticism and mysticism were foreign to his nature. judging by the recently published writings of his youth.

and ing an organic whole. the tive factor higher developing from the lower. But the process of overcoming is not anything contingent. it operates according to a uniform and universal law. happy harmony —a fool's preestablishedscarcely our ideal of a paradise — is A of foreseen Just as a game is not worth plajdng when its result is predetermined by the great inferiority of the opponent. it may be well to contrast it superficially with the Darwinian theory of transformation. in general. the world would indeed be an inert and irrational affair. all stages constitut- The method which the young Hegel discovered empirically. And this law constitutes Hegel's most cenrational world. This method is. a human passion or a scientific law is. the result of a — process which involves the overcoming of a negative element. nothing else than the — in the constitution of the world. In general. Without such an element to overcome. That any rational sition and worthy activity entails the encounter of oppoand the removal of obstacles is an observation comissues monplace enough. so Hegel holds. Hegel's doctrine is a concept of value. in which the later is superior and organically related to the earlier. And thus his genius came upon a method which revealed to him an orderly unfolding in the world with stages of relative values. tral doctrine —his doctrine of Evolution. In order to bring this doctrine into better relief. is the famous Dialectical Method. Darwin's is not. so life without something negative to overcome loses its zest. What Darwinians mean by evolution is not an unfolding of the past. and which the mature rationalist applied to every sphere of human life and thought. No sufficient criterion is provided by them for evaluating the .4 THE GERMAN CLASSICS was to began a systematic sketch of a philosophy in which a negabe recognized as the positive vehicle in the development of the whole world. a progressive development of a hierarchy of phases. recognition of the necessary presence of a negative factor Everything in the world ^be it a religious cult or a logical category.

in Hegel's sense. for instance. because it represents the preservation of two mutually opposed beings. 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. Only where conflicts are adjusted.HEGEL 5 various stages in the course of an evolutionary process. is there advance. An individual finds himself. in the presence of a wholly new situation that elicits an immediate. that what comes later in the history of the race or of the universe is an advance over what went before that. trouble ensues. As is a consequence. In his ignorance. but in reconciliation. Their very struggle gives birth to a new being which includes them. that the world manifests everywhere a genuine evolution. — ject to an immanent development. he chooses the wrong mode of behavior." the struggling beings of Hegel's universe never end in slaying. Some criterion besides the mere external and accidental "struggle for existence" and ''survival of the fittest" must be fur- — nished to account for a progressive evolution. Unlike the participants in the biological "struggle for existence. by means of one uniform principle. 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 task of Hegel's whole philosophy consists in showing. the world is sub: . pride wounded. only a comprehensive and systematic philosophy can attempt to show. definite reaction. negations removed. in a word. and this being is "higher" in the scale of existence. mo- . Does the phrase "survival of the fittest" say much more than that those who happen to survive are the fittest. oppositions overcome. 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. feelings are hurt. The ordinary process of learning by experience illustrates somewhat Hegel's meaning.

Now in this formal example. Like an Oriental prince. He at war with himself. is based on a dualism which it seeks to overcome. And he finally comes forth from the whole affair enriched and enlightened. we have the person as he meant to be in the presence of the new situation. his creature. This process of falling away from oneself. God everything. And after the wounds begin to heal again. it is for every self-conscious individual a never-ceasing battle with con- motives and antagonistic desires a never-ending of endeavor. and success through the very cycle agency of failure. learns to see the situation in its true light. of facing oneself as an enemy whom one reconciles to and includes in one's larger self. Opposed to this religion of the infinite is the finite religion of Greece. But he soon himself.6 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Embittered and disappointed with he experiences great mental sorrow. It is a was process just like this that develops one's personality. Then. to which any content may be supplied. The reGod is ligions of the Orient emphasize God's infinity. including within himself the negative experience as 'a valuable asset in the advance of his development. failure. tives are misconstrued. he condemns his deed and offers to make amends. A more . he was not what he meant to be. flicting — typical instance of this rhythmic process is view of the evolution of religion. However the self may be defined metaphysically. in genHegel's eral. First. Though God is in heaven and man on earth. Only in contemplating God's omnipotence and his own nothingness can man find solace and peace. he returned to himself richer and wiser. They have led him to a deeper insight into his own motives. man is nothing. Eeligion. is certainly a familiar process. three phases can be distinguished. religion longs to bridge the gulf which separates man and God. is conceived to have despotic sway over man. his wrong reaction engendered a hostile element. the inner struggles experienced commence to assume a positive worth. And finally. unaware of trouble. to a better self-comprehension.

The Christian. worships man Jesus. Viewing the Oriental and the Hellenic restruggle for ligions historically in terms of the biological ' ' The existence. new. nay. The negative character of the world is the very vehicle of its progress. but so that from its ashes it produces the That the power of negativity enters constitutively into the rationality of the world. a higher one. from absorbing and assimilating it. "a funeral pile." . everything expresses at once its Everlasting Yea and its Everlasting No. To say that Christianity is a than that religion of both infinity and finitude means nothing less it contains a contradiction. for Hegel is genuine evolution. are the expression of a free peoafter ple conscious of their freedom. for in Christianity is contained both the principle of Oriental infinity and the element of Hellenic finitude. Life and activity mean the triumph of the positive over the negative. a triumph which tradiction in it." as Hegel says. That evolution demands a union of opposites seems at first paradoxical enough. like the Greek. is just this everything includes a con: everything is both positive and negative. conceived the likeness of man. Aphrodite are they but idealized and glorified Greeks? Can a —what more complete antithesis be imagined! But Christianity becomes possible after this struggle only." the extinction of neither has resulted. renovated.HEGEL Man in Greece stands in the centre of a beautiful is 7 cosmos spirit. and consuming results itself upon it. — Greek opposition. high. And the divinities wor- which not alien to his The gods on shiped. Apollo. And this . Hegel's view. but this man is one with the eternal being of the Because it is the outcome of the Oriental and Orient. is the unity of these two struggling opChristian religion posites in it they are conciliated and preserved. under the form of Zeus. for in a being who is both God and man — a God-man —the gulf between the infinite and finite is bridged. strange as it may sound. fresh life. the Christian religion is. in Hegel's sense. The myth of the Phoenix typifies the life of reason "eternally preparing for itself.

is like an amputated bodily organ. plete 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. moral. is.8 THE GERMAN CLASSICS that the rationality of the world demands negativity in it. severed from its connection with the whole. pressionistic picture of the world's eternal becoming through this process is furnished by the first of Hegel's The book great works. the Phenomenology of Spirit. As the members of the body find only in the body as a whole their raison d'etre. any one religious view. social body. historical epochs. It depicts the necessary unfolding of typical phases of the spiritual life of mankind. literary tendencies. instability is of a necessary and nature. ! Organic Wholeness A hand which is cut off. according to the one eternally fixed princithis unrest and This phrase contains the rationale of the restless flow and the evanescent being of the Hegelian world. any single any mere individual person. It is but from the point of view of the whole that its countless conflicts. all exemplify the same onward movement through a union of opposites. somewhere remarks. and contradictions can be understood. But uniform ple which renders the universe as a whole organic and orderly. religious processes. any particular scientific explanation. any isolated historical event. but reconciled forces. a cross-section of the entire spiritual world. so the manifold expressions of the world are the expressions of one organism. Similarly any part of the world. and An imis an outcome of conflicting. still looks like a hand. social. in a sense. There is eternal and total instability every- where. and exists but it is not a real hand. as Hegel . His comis Hegel's most original contribution to thought. discrepancies. Logical categories. 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 interpre- tations of the world and of the meaning and destiny of life . and artistic institutions. scientific laws.

alone can make claim to real concreteness. in concreteness very opposite.HEGEL 9 are scrutinized as to their adequacy and concreteness. the partial point of view. the superficial. When not challenged. In the immanent unfolding of the Hegelian view is epitomized the onward march and the organic unity of the World. are one-sided therefore more interpret the world in its entirety and complexity. it has few questions to ask. heaven and earth than are dreamt of by common sense. Its Philosophy alone they satisfy — Hegelian philosophy— . Nor are the other views false. is to special needs. its ideal is to harmonize the demands of common sense. For an abstract object is one that does not fully correspond to the rich and manifold reality it is incomplete and one-sided. This view of philosophy. But. the point of view of common sense. Its work-a-day world is not even a faint reflex of the vast and complex universe. Precisely such an object is the world of common sense. seems concrete and natural. for instance. There are more things in is ignorance. upon analysis. Thus the Hegelian vision is an organic process. They form for Hegel the necessary rungs on the ladder which leads up to itself philosophic vision. though in their views more synthetic and concrete. So instead of being concrete. the interests of science. because it deals with the universe in its fulness and variety. seek to is aim and the longing of religion into one coherent whole. Its . Nor is empirical science with its predilection for "facts" better off. it is the common sense view that stands revealed as abstract and barren. is forced to ignore much of the concrete content of even its own realm. own . art from a and religion. It sees but the immediate. including all other interpretations of life and of the world as its necessary phases. Likewise. Every science able to cope with a mere fragmentary aspect of the world and truth. the obvious. the appeal of art. it is. and philosophic speculations appear to it abstract and barren.Spirit his itself. The reaction of common sense to the world is direct and practical. concrete.

and exclude everj^thing but what we have fixed. but form a continuous system of interdependent elements. are not fixed and isolated entities. which it thus includes. Not only is this true. When we conceptualize we cut out and fix. . use. one cannot mention the finite without at the same time referring to the infinite. indeed be said to be Hegel's master-stroke. both being always found in union cept be discovered that is not thus wedded to its contradic- Hegel : — — analysis. but our concepts are discontinuous and fixed. The essence of life is its continuously changing character all * * * . Hegel was This book may well aware. as much as recent exponents of anti-intellectualism. a stubbornly mate.10 THE GERMAN CLASSICS technical formulation of this view is contained in his The Logic. fixed." But are our concepts static. Every concept develops. reveal Take the terms "north" and perpetual oscillation. Concepts we daily such as quality and quantity. appearance and reality. that through "static" concepts we transmute and ' ' As Professor James says: falsify the ''fluent" reality. But it is a north pole only by excluding the south pole from itself tion. Stated dogmatiAs concavity and convexity are cally the meaning is this inseparably connected. upon . No concept is statable or definable withnegative out its opposite one involves the other. matter and force. so to speak. essence and phenomenon. though one is the very opposite of the other as one cannot. ' ' ' ' . implies at once the south pole also it can be distinguished only by contrast with the other. one cannot define cause without explicitly defining effect. The mention of the north pole. A concept means a tliat-and-no-other. when applied. south. for example. 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. live without the so can no conother. but concepts. and discontinuous? What if the very concepts we employ in reasoning should exemplify the universal flow of life? finds that indeed to be the case. One cannot speak of motion without implying rest. cause and effect.

the discrepancy beparts. show this is the task of Hegel's Logic — Each category is itself —to it an organ- ism. follows it through its countless conflicts and contradictions. form one system of interdependent and organically related parts. the result of a process which takes place within its inner constitution. . the same as the historical evolution of life — and vice for Hegel the identity of thought and In the history of philosophy. can here not even be hinted at. inevitably used in describing and explaining our world. The result is that no concept can cannot here be shown. How Hegel proves this of all concepts. And all logical categories. " It is be taken by itself as a that-and-no-other. who set only certain bounds to man's understanding. does present an array of conflicting views thought certainly reality. perpetually accompanied by its ''other" as man is by his shadow. and others still who see in the very shifts and changes of philosophic and scientific opinion the delusion of The history of reason and the illusiveness of reality.HEGEL 11 —by and not merely what the other is not. while each requires its own other for its very definition and expression. It needs the other. There are those who insist that reality is too vast and too deep for man with his limited vision to penetrate others. . 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. again. Hegel begins with an analysis of a concept that most abstractly describes reality. That the logical development of the categories of thought i^ versa — establishes reality. including all the foregoing categories in organic unity. In the history of philosophy. and yet is being itself — — independent of it. ' ' The attempt to isolate any logical category and regard as fixed and stable thus proves futile. the discrepancy be- tween thought and reality has often been emphasized. and finally reaches the highest category which. The situation is paradoxical enough: Each aspect the negative or the positive of anything appears to exclude the other.

the organic process of triumphing over and conquering conflicts and contradictions. Hegel's bold and oft quoted words: "What is rational is real. concerning the limits of dictions and conflicts of But to all the contra- eignty of reason. is Its dialectic insta- Both and reality manifest one nature and one process. The religious processes." To repeat what has been said above. led Hegel to proclaim a new kind of logic. essary processes bility is thought prove Hegel the soverThe conflicts of reason are its own nec- and expressions." pithily express his whole doctrine. and what is real is rational. but has. on the contrary. wills. because it is flesh of its flesh and bone of its bone. e.12 THE GERMAN CLASSICS human reason. nay. Where reality conforms to this process it is rational (that which does not conform to it is not reality at all. for Hegel. as and moral institutions. thought Hence reason with its *' dynamic" categories can comprehend the ''fluent" reality. i. contradiction is the very moving principle of the world. The nature of rationality and the nature of reality are. and deeds are related to one passions. Mutual conflict and contradiction appear as their sole constant factor amid all their variable conditions. The equation of the real and the rational. For Hegel. one and the same spiritual process. and same place contradictory and inconsistent qualor elements. with the assumption that nothing can have at the same time traditional logic. the pulse at the ities . so well characterized by Professor Eoyce as the "logic of passion. mere contingent existence) the logical formula of this process is but an abstract account of what instability that peculiar to all reality. reality is in its essence. or the discovery of one significant process underlying both life and reason. as social as human introduction of contradiction into logical concepts as their sine qua non meant indeed a revolutionary departure from Prior to Hegel. . another.. like an amputated leg. logical reasoning was reasoning in accordance with the law of contradiction. this means that categories are related to one another as historical epochs.

"the truth the whole. processes. since the nature of everything involves the union of dis- crepant elements. and independent view of experience and thought. isolated. is Thus. The World-Spirit Hegel's God — — constitutes. Hence and this is Hegel's crowning thought anything short of the whole universe is inevitably contradictory. then. lives. As the life of man is not the sum of his bodily and mental functions. evolution of the universe self. wills. thinks. Since it is an essential element of every partial." Neither things nor categories. depend upon one another for their meaning. neither sciences nor arts. with fragments or bits of life and experience. contradiction has logically this positive meaning. Terms. as Hegel puts his fundamental idea. and is all in unity. and existence. so must the universe be conceived as omnipresent in each of its parts and expressions.HEGEL of its life. as Hegel conceives it. epochs. the whole man being present in each and all of these. This is the significance of Hegel's conception of the universe as an organism." else. nothing can bear isolation and independence. contradiction has the same sting for Hegel as it has for any one Without losing its nature of ''contradictoriness. one is necessarily led to transcend it and to see the universe in organic whole- — — ness. in religion or in business one is always dealing with error and contradiction. express or exhaust by themselves the whole essence of the universe. But this is just what one does in dealing with the world in art or in science. not their sum. is thus the evolution of The God him- The task of philosophy. The deeper reason why Hegel invests contradiction with a positive value lies in the fact that. is to portray in systematic form the evolution of the World- . expression. 13 Alle Dinge sind an sich selhst widersprechend. institutions. neither histories nor religions. because one is dealing . as he drastically says. it is impossible to take anything in isolation. In brief. The essence of the universe is the life of the totality of all things.

religion. Thus until the history of a thing is known.14 THE GERMAN CLASSICS These ramificaSpirit in all its necessary ramifications. the whole that animates and gives meaning to It is only the in- . partly. mind. The following selections may give some glimpse of their spirit. According to his doctrine. some bare suggestions must suffice to indicate the reason for Hegel's great influence. Hegel has if not wholly. such as logic. philosophy. or in making life conform to one logical formula these and — other problems should arouse an interest in Hegel's writings. philology. tions themselves are conceived as constituting complete wholes. Hegel has given metaphysical expression torical sense. parThe is The isolation of anything results in contradiction. nature. the thing is not understood at all. geology. created the modern historical spirit. In conclusion. Closely connected with the predominance of the historical in Hegel's philosophy is its explicit critique of individualism and particularism. It is the becoming and not the being of the world that constitutes its reality. as even this inadequate sketch has shown. is Reality for him. the individual as individual is for geneses and transformations —in its search everywhere ticular meaningless. And thus in emphasizing the fact that everything has a ''past. but is essentially a process. In Hegel's complete philosophy these is each of these special spheres finds elaborate treatment. society. whether or no he was justified in reading into logic the same kind of development manifested by life. art. so that the universe in its onward — march through represented as a Whole of Wholes ein Kreis von Kreisen." the insight into which alone reveals its significant meaning. — independent and unrelated— an abstraction. history. biology. its proper place and Whether Hegel has well or ill succeeded in the task of exhibiting in each and all of these spheres the one universal movement. and impetus to the awakening modern hisHis idea of evolution also epitomizes the with spirit of the nineteenth century religion. not static.

Reason never spoke with so much self-confidence and authority as it did in Hegel. as embodied particularly in Hegel's theory of the State. and economic theories of is significant his century. constructive. to classify. it is this synthetic and creative and imaginative quality pervading his whole philosophy which has deepened men's insight into history. to compile. has left its impress upon political. religion. nay. and which has wielded its general influence on the philosophic and literary constellation of the nineteenth century. social. inventive. Reason. Reason he himself distinguishes from understanding. is synthetic. But Hegel's rationalism is not of the ordinary shallow kind. its function is to abstract. to define. and art. . The latter is analytical.HEGEL 15 dividual and the particular. on the other hand. This idea of subordinating the individual to universal ends. Apart from Hegel's special use of the term. the very negations and contradictions in it are marks of its inherent rationality. To the clear vision of reason the universe presents no dark or mysterious corners. Not less the glorification of reason of which Hegel's complete philosophy is an expression.

And by this must be understood. which they had before their eyes and whose spirit they shared. events. Original History. M. Eeflective History. In the same way the poet operates upon the material supplied him by his emotions. [161 . but universal history itself. III. New York. category belong Herodotus. They simply transferred what was passing in the world around them to the realm of re-presentative intellect. and George Bell & Sons.. London.. SIBREE. whose descriptions are for the most part limited to deeds. To gain a clear idea. and states of society. Ltd. suggested by the study of its records and proposed to be illustrated by its facts. not a collection of general observations respecting it. Of the first kind. I. an external phenomenon was thus translated into an internal conception. at the outset. Philosophical History. of the nature of our task. the mention of one or two distinTo this guished names will furnish a definite type. II. The various methods may be ranged under three heads: I. HE subject of this course of lectures is the „- w JJP ^^^f^ Philosophical History of the World.GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY* (1837) TRANSLATED BY J. and other historians of the same order.A. |_<fegrman^ . These original his* Permission Macmillan and Co. Thucydides. it seems necessary to begin with an examination of the other methods of treating history. projecting it into an image for the conceptive faculty.

merely as an ingredient. VII —2 . The influences that have formed proper the writer are identical with those which have molded the respect. 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 Vol. He describes scenes in which he himself has been an actor. 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 have attained a mature individuality. unreflected traits. individual shapes of persons and occurrences. ear witness of everything. find statements and narratives of to hand one person cannot be an eye-and. and be excluded from such original history. then. therefore. single. Herodotus. ballad-stories. and therefore belong to nations whose intelligence is but half awakened. on the contrary. It is short periods of time. Legends. Guicciardini. the deeds. or at any rate an interested spectator. be very com- whose historical prestige vanishes as soon as nations prehensive in their range. Here. traditions must they are but dim and hazy forms of historical apprehension.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY torians did. of which he makes his picture. historiographers bind together the fleeting elements of story. The author's spirit and that of the actions he narrates are one and the same. the narratives they leave us cannot. into an object for the conceptive faculty. and the states of society with which they are conversant. But. What events that constitute the matter of his story. they make nse only of such aids as the poet does of that heritage of an already-formed language to which he owes so much. we have to do with people fully conscious of what they were and what they were about. The domain of reality actually seen. may be taken as fair samples of the class in this is their is present and living in their environment material. and treasure them up for immortality in the temple of Mnemosyne. Thucydides. it is 17 other men ready true. change the events. Such original historians.

In the Middle Ages. for example. Xenophon's Retreat of the Ten Thousand is a work equally Caesar's Commentaries are the simple masteroriginal. Pericles that most profoundly accomplished. would seem to make against our statement that a historian of his class presents us no reflected picture. it must yet be maintained that they were not foreign to the char- — — men proclaim acter of the speaker. 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. In the orations in question. and publish the principles of their de- the historian puts into their mouths is no supposititious system of ideas. very centre of the political world. not for — the purposes of erudition merely. If. if we except the bishops. signs and conduct. of History. he has not attained an elevation above it. genuine. What Of these historians whom we must make thoroughly our own. there are fewer than might be imagined. but an uncorrupted transcript of their intellectual and moral habitudes. Herodotus. as in Cassar's case. he belongs to the exalted rank of generals or statesmen. and Thucydides have been already mentioned. Eeflections are none of liis business. the Father. of which we can positively assert that they are not bona fide reports. for he lives in the spirit of his subject. the monks monopolize .18 THE GERMAN CLASSICS observation. piece of a mighty spirit among the ancients these annalists were necessarily great captains and statesmen. namely the Founder. who were placed in the . that persons and people appear in his works in propria * * * Granted that such orations as those of persona. these the maxims adopted by their countrymen and formative of their own character. or lifelike descriptions. noble statesman were elaborated by Thucydides. Such speeches as we find in Thucydides. but with a view to deep and genuine enjoyment. it is the prosecution of his own aims that constitutes the history. they record their views of their political relations and of their moral and spiritual nature.

but whose spirit transcends the present. II. In many cases these are written by men of mark. Frederick the Great in his Hist o ire de mon temps being an illustrious exception. they are even more instructive. life as those elder annalists had been connected with tirely altered. It is the aim of the investigator to gain a view of the entire history of a people. The French ''Memoirs" also fall under this category. Belonging to the class in question. which. though relating to affairs of little note. The workman approaches his task with his own spirit a spirit distinct from that of the element he is to manipulate. and immediately changes all events into historical representations. as are those of Cardinal Retz. they not unfrequently contain such a large amount of anecdotal matter that the ground they occupy is narrow and trivial. Our vivid. second order a strongly marked variety of species may be — distinguished. of a country. This is out of the question for him who from below merely gets a glimpse of the great world through a miserable cranny. we have In richness of matter and fulness of detail as regards strategic appliances and attendant circumstances. It is history whose mode of representation is not really confined by the limits of the time to which it reIn this lates. for only from such a position is it possible to take an extensive view of affairs to see everything. or of the world in short. simple. in fact. trench on a larger historical field.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY this category as naive chroniclers 19 as decidedly who were isolated from active it. In this case the — working up of the historical material is the main point. clear narrations — especially of trans—which might fairly take their placemilitary of actions with those Caesar. In modern times the relations are enculture is essentially comprehensive. The second kind of history we may call the Refiective. — . In Germany such masters are rare. what we call universal history. 1. Yet they are often veritable masterpieces in history. Writers of this order must occupy an elevated position.

This first kind of Reflective history is most nearly akin Among the preceding. us. But it often happens that the individuality of tone wliich 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. as well as those which determine the form of his narrative. instead of writing history. for their distinctness contrasts. the fable of Menenius Agrippa. but their salient points would serve well enough for battles in any period. Such compilations (among which may be mentioned the works of Livy. consuls. their viewpoint being more nearly that of cosmopolitan or national culture. Thus Livy puts into the mouths of the old Roman kings. each labors to invent a purely individual point of view. Among the best of the kind may be included such annalists as ap- proach those of the listening to first-class writers who transcript of events that the reader may give so vivid a well fancy himself contemporaries and eye-witnesses. we are always beating our brains to discover how history ought to be written. if well performed. In the same way he gives us descriptions of battles as if he — had been an actual spectator. Every writer of history proposes to himself an original method. when it has no further aim than to present the annals of a country complete. and generals. even in his treatment of chief . Among us Germans this reflective treatment and the display of ingenuity which it affords assume a manifold variety of phases. Johannes von Miiller's History of Switzto I erland) are. The English and French confess to general principles of historical composition.20 THE GERMAN CLASSICS 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. for example. highly meritorious. such orations as would be delivered by an accomplished advocate of the Livian era. Diodorus Siculus. and which strikingly contrast with the genuine traditions of Roman antiquity witness.

PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 21 points of interest. This takes the occurrence out of the category of the past and makes it virtually pres- — — ent. but the idea which pervades them their deeper import and connection is one. call the and species of Reflective history is what we may pragmatical. The occurrences are. A history which aspires to traverse long periods of time. with the want of connection and the inconsistency that prevail elsewhere. for instance. We much all is prefer more naive and natural than when appearing in the garb of a fictitious and affected archaism. It must foreshorten its pictures by abstractions. must indeed forego the attempt to give individual representations of the past as it actually existed. Johannes von Miiller. — various. a siege no longer maintains its original proportions." 2. but involved in the fact that Thought is. has given a stiff. such reflections are truly and enlivening depends on the writer's own interesting . the most trenchant epitomist. in the endeavor to remain faithful in his portraiture to the times he describes. and quicken the annals of the dead past with the life of today. and this includes not merely the omission of events and deeds. we sometimes have the is whatever A brief announcement * ' : This year war was carried on with the Volsci. as the reward of its labor. are truly and indefeasibly of the present. or to be universal. indeed. expands. battle. indeed. formal. a present rises A second into being for the mind produced by its own activity. a great victory. When Livy. 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. tells us of the war with the Volsci. but is put off with a mere allusion. and abridges his annals in those periods of which Polybius' account has been preserved. Whether. though in their nature decidedly abstract. When we have to deal with the past occupy ourselves with a remote world. after all. pedantic aspect to his history. Pragmatical (didactic) reflections. the narratives we find in old Tschudi.

Each period is involved in such peculiar circumstances. Looked at in this light nothing can be shallower than the oft-repeated appeal to Greek and Roman examples during the French Revolu- tion. THE GERMAN CLASSICS Moral reflections must here be specially noticed the moral teaching expected from history. tissue of their affairs. therefore. nothing is nations and that of our times. and peoples (he formed a special collection of doctrines and reflections. liberal. relations. are wont to be to the teaching emphatically commended which experience offers in history. that its conduct must be regulat-ed by considerations connected with itself. and the complicated another field.22 spirit. statesmen. present quite Rulers. is only a thorough. yet what experience and history teach is this that peoples and governments have never learned — anything from history. 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. He designed to prepare a body of political doctrines for the instruction of princes. their interests. exhibits a condition of things so strictly idiosyncratic. the latter has not infrequently been treated with a direct view to the former. and itself alone. comprehensive view of historical relations (such for instance. in his Universal History as also in his History of Switzerland. Amid the pressure of great events a general principle gives no help. The pallid shades of memory struggle in vain with the life and freedom of the present. 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. . as we find in Montesquieu's to re- L' Esprit des Lois) that can give truth and interest flections of this order. But the destinies of people and states. more diverse than the genius of those Johannes von Miiller. had such moral aims in view. One Reflective history. governments. nations. nor have they acted on principles deduced from it. It . It is useless to revert to similar circumstances in the past.

but profound have not endeavored to procedure pass for substantial history." which reigns supreme in the domain of philology. The third form of Reflective history is the Critical. in point of fact as well as inconsists in the acuteness with which the writer tention. and we may expect that each will insist upon his own spirit as that of the age in question. on the other hand. matters recorded. for historical data subjective fancies are substituted. their judgments have been duly presented in the form of critical treatises. the scantiness of the particulars on their boldness which they are based and the peremptoriness with which they contravene the best established facts of history. This deserves mention as preeminently the mode. display great genius in reanimating bygone times and in bringing the past to bear upon the present condition of things. — Its peculiarity. but the French. Disgusted by such reflective histories. for the most part. it has been the pretext for introducing all the anti-historical monstrosities that a vain imagination could suggest. The last species of Reflective history announces its . Here we have the other method of making the past a living reality. now current in Germany. of treating history. has also taken possession of our historical literature. 3.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 23 supersedes another. readers have often returned with pleasure to narratives adopting no particular point of view which certainly have their value. the so-called higher criticism. Among '^ us. The French have given us much that is and judicious in this class of composition. they offer only material for — We Germans are content with such. We might more properly designate it as a History of History a criticism of historical narratives and an investigation of their truth and history. ing and manipulating them. make a merely critical — 4. although. It is not history itself that is here presented. The materials are patent to every writer each is prone to believe himself capable of arrang. whose merit is measured by that is. extorts from the records something which was not in the credibility.

means nothing but Thought is. as far as they are truly human. undertaking. In the latter case. that the philosophy of history thoughtful consideration of it. Mercury. must be remarked. is the object of our present . It adopts an ab- stract position. To insist upon thought in this connection with history may. its office of guidance. but are the inward guiding soul of the occurrences and actions that occupy a nation's annals. that when Reflective history has advanced to the adoption It of general points of view. The third kind of history is the Philosophical. in truth. the rational and necessitated will of that conductor. the indeed. in our instincts and volitions. It is this that distinguishes us from In sensation. the leader of peoples and of the world and Spirit. a superficial series. whether the connection of the whole is exhibited in its truth and reality. however. is and has been the director of the events of the world's history. To become acquainted with Spirit in this. religion. Such branches of national life stand in close relation to the entire complex of a people's annals. law. these important phenomena (art. appear unsatis- . yet. appear as purely accidental national peculiarities.). sential to humanity. The most general definition that can be given is. No explanation was needed of the two previous classes. cognition. these are found to constitute not a merely external thread. of Law. and intellection. as the History of Art. like the soul-conductor. their nature was self-evident.24 THE GERMAN CLASSICS its fragmentary character on very face. which certainly seems to require an exposition or justification. if the position taken is a true one. of Eeligion). thought is a constant element. or is referred to merely external relations. etc. In our time this form of the history of ideas has been especially developed and made prominent. III. for instance. It is otherwise with the last. and the question of chief importance in relation to our subject is. For. es- the brutes. the Idea is. since it takes general points of view (such. it forms a transition to the Philosophical His- tory of the World.

that by which and in which all reality has its being and subsistence. as well as Infinite Power. 25 In this science it would seem as if thought must be subordinate to what is given. It is there proved by speculative cognition that Reason and this term may here suffice us. and the modes of treat- We ing history and its relation to philosophy. and to con- a priori. to the realities of fact that this is its — in basis and guide while philosophy dwells . is the simple conception of Reason. — — spiritual originates. the region of self-produced ideas. speculation. shall be explained and confuted. —that which sets this material in motion. Approaching history thus prepossessed. speculation might be supposed to treat it as a mere passive material. whether trite or novel. we seem to have in philosophy a process diametrically opposed to that of the historiographer. innumerable special mishowever. and. to force it into conformity with a tyrannous idea. On the other hand. that are current respecting the aims. contradiction. propose to correct the representations. as the phrase is. without investigating the relation sustained by the universe to the Divine Being is substance. since Reason is not so powerless as to be incapable of pro- . This conviction and intuition is a hypothesis in the domain of history as such in that of philosophy it is no hypothesis.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY factory. presents us with a rational process. without reference to actuality. — the one hand. so far from leaving it in its native truth. that the history of the world. 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. therefore. it is the infinite energy of the universe . the interests. and the charge consequently brought against do not. The only thought which philosophy brings with it to the contemplation of history.. life which it as also the Infinite Form On Reason is the substance of the universe viz. This strue it. that Reason is the sovereign of the world. — . its own Infinite Material is that underlying all the natural and .

In entering upon this course of lectures. the eternal. their entire essence and own material which it commits to its own active energy to work up not needing. ject of its it may obtain its support and the objects of is its It supplies its own nourishment and the ob- operations. the conditions of an external material of given means — from which activity. history of the world. in beginning the study of universal history. a desire. at least. It is the infinite truth. it is also the en- own ergizing in the power realizing phenomena of the universe essence — the is developing it not only but also of the spiritual natural. and what I shall have further to say. I may fairly presume. something separate and abstract in the heads of certain human beings. a thirst for acquaintance with it.26 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ideal. is. It is its complex of things. ducing anything but a mere its a mere intention —having place outside reality. and* that in that but this and its honor and said. That this "Idea" or the true. but as a summary view of the whole. not to be regarded as hypothetical. the re- . in fact. of a belief in Reason. not the ambition to amass a mere heap of acquirements. the wish for rational insight. Yet I am not obliged to make such a preliminary demand upon your faith. What I have said thus provisionally. *'Eeason" . the absolutely powerful it that reveals itself in the world. as we have every case as possessing the mind of the learner in the study of science. even in reference to our branch of science. nobody knows where. unconquerable faith that Reason does exist there. "While it is exclusively its own basis of existence and absolute final aim. has been proved in philosophy and is here regarded as demonstrated. If the clear idea of Reason is not already developed in our minds. the existence in those of my hearers who are not acquainted with philosophy. but must show itself in the light of the self-cognizant Idea. It is. that should be presupposed in glory— else is revealed is world nothing the thesis which. this aim. we should at least have the firm. and that the world of intelligence and conscious volition is not abandoned to chance. as finite action does.

It is not intelligence as selfconscious Reason not a spirit as such that is meant. governs the world. 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. endowed with perfect insight and wisdom. or Reason. because I have traversed — an inference from the history of the world that its development has been a rational process. in the phenomena of the world's existence. and consequently in the world's history. One of these points is that passage in history which informs us that the Greek Anaxagoras was the first to enunciate the doctrine that vovs. for example. I will mention only two phases and points of view that concern the generally diffused conviction that Reason has ruling in the world. 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. present itself as the ultimate result of history. that there w^s a Ro- man Epos. but we have to take the latter as it is. 1. because they give us. taught directly by God. and — — . from which the Roman historians derived the * * * early annals of their city. It is.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 27 a result suit of the investigation we are about to pursue which happens to be known to me. a widely current fiction that — — was an original primeval people. We the entire field. This must. It is only — must proceed historically empirically. ruled. but which unfolds this. Understanding in general. or. at the same time. its one nature. that there have been such or such sacerdotal peoples. etc. and for indicating a branch of the subject which will have to be enlarged on in the sequel. to mention a more specific claim. and is still an opportunity for more closely investigating the question that presents the greatest difficulty. as before stated. possessing a thorough knowledge of all natural laws and spiritual there truth. Among other precautions we must take care not to be misled by professed historians who (especially among the Germans.

and. "and hoped I had found a teacher who would show me Nature in harmony with Reathe drunken. A thought of this kind that nature is an embodiment . and it forthwith became the ruling idea in philosophy except in the school of Epicurus. I found that he adduces only external causes. a mere abstraction. unchangeably subordinate to universal laws appears nowise striking or strange to us. The solar system takes place according to un- we must clearl}^ movement of the changeable laws. We are accustomed to such conceptions and find nothing extraordinary in them. but the shortcoming of the propounder in applying it to nature in the concrete. the latter remains. in the whole. 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. who ascribed all events to chance. which may seem trivial to us. — of Reason. — son. But how very much was atmosphere. and the like. that. in each particular phenomenon aim. that he appeared as a sober man among Socrates adopted the doctrine from Anaxagoras. These laws are Eeason. and I have mentioned this extraordinary occurrence partly to show how history teaches that ideas of this kind. water. Nature is not deduced from that principle. ether. as the originator of the thought in question. — Aristotle says of Anaxagoras. on the contrary." Plato makes Socrates say. when." It is evident that the defect which Socrates complains of respecting Anaxagoras' doctrine does not concern the principle itself. the grand object of the I would not have surrendered this hope for a I disappointed. inasmuch as the former as a development of it comprehended — an organization produced by and is not and exhibited . in fact. such a thought makes an epoch in the annals of jiuman intelligence. who would demonstrate its specific universe. having zealously applied myself to the writings of Anaxagoras. such as great deal. have not always been in the world. ''I was delighted with the sentiment.28 THE GERMAN CLASSICS distinguish these from each other. that is.

or displayed in its bearing on the grand the entire course of human history. Reason is thought conditioning itrather a conself with perfect freedom. the genius. which realizes its aim. We have next to notice the rise of this idea that Reason directs the world.. But to explain total — history is to depict the passions of mankind. the nature of philosophical science allowed it To put it in anto attach authority to presuppositions.. it is what is called a belief in a general providence. in this religious aspect. but that a Providence controls it. other shape this appeal is forbidden. not indeed of the abstract truth of the doctrine. if as a general rule. of the religious — not abandoned to chance and external contingent causes. at the very outset. in investigating the aspect of political affairs in the most recent period. I stated above that I would not make a demand on your truth that the world is faith in regard to the principle announced. then. because the science of which we have to treat proposes itself to furnish the proof. For that belief is similarly indefinite. just as made by was the case in reference to the demand Socrates in the case of Anaxagoras' dictum. to call your attention to the important difference between a conception. the absolute rational . viz. but — of its correctness as compared with facts. and is not followed out into definite application. of philosophy. design of the world. 29 I wish. and distinction affects the whole fabric terminate among have other bearings of it there to revert at the close of is one to which we shall our view of universal history.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY from Reason. and its de- This application and concrete development. that a Providence (that of God) presides over the events of the world consorts with the proposition in question for Divine Providence is wisdom. in connection with a further application of it well known to us in the form. a principle. The truth. a truth limited to an abstract form. viz. But a difference tradiction will manifest itself between this belief and our — — principle. Yet I might appeal to your belief in it. endowed with an infinite power. .

to which the belief to itself. the individuals plexity and need. we have do with are peoples. when help has unexpectedly come to an individual in great per. . Pious persons are encouraged to recognize in particular circumstances something more than mere chance. and the providentially determined process which these exhibit constitutes what is generally called the ''plan" of Providence. be satisfied with what we may call this ''peddling" view of Providence. In isolated cases this plan is supposed to be manifest. which it is deemed presumption even to wish to recognize. when merely abstract. 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. had that thought been further expanded. . and we must show phenomena their connection with the general principle above men- of Providence. that belief is not brought to bear upon the details of the process which it conducts. Equally unsatisfactory is the undefined belief in a Providence. We cannot. But these instances of providential design are of a limited kind. to acknowledge the guiding hand of God for instance. Anaxagoras.30 tlie THE GERMAN CLASSICS active powers. and denies the possibility of discerning the plan of Providence. The ignorance of Anaxagoras as to existence how intelligence reveals itself in actual Neither in his consciousness. then. so as to deduce the latter from the former. and the historical which it manifests itself. But in the history of the world. in . nor in that of Greece at large. it was Socrates who took the first step in comprehending the union of the concrete with the universal. On the contrary our earnest endeavor must be directed to the recognition of the ways alluded to limits the means it uses. totalities that are States. He had not attained the power to apply his general principle to the concrete. and concern the accomplishment of nothing more than the desires of the individual in question. was ingenuous. that play their part on the great stage . Yet it is this very plan which is supposed to be concealed from our view. therefore.

. knows all things. but know — — prevalent dogma involves the denial of what is namely. On the other hand. thus afforded us. chiefly that I might not lose the opportunity of mentioning the imputation against philosophy of being shy of noticing religious truths. or rather has ceased to allow it to be a matter of question the doctrine that it is impossible to know God. that it is the Spirit. 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 position. that leads into truth. with the result that He is no longer a concealed or secret existence. penetrates even into the deep things of the Godhead. viz. in this false there said God— the — — ample justification. renders such knowledge — . in the direction of our own fancies. 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. — — of the possibility of a knowledge of God. we have the convenient license of wandering as far as we list. the fact is that in recent times philosophy has been obliged to defend the domain of religion against the attacks of several theological systems. We are freed from the obligation to refer our knowledge to the Divine and True. In direct contravention of what is commanded in holy Scripture as the highest duty that we should not merely love. But in noticing the recognition of the plan of Divine Providence generally. der Geist. or of having occasion to be so. He has given us to understand what He is. And this possibility of knowing Him. In the Christian religion God has revealed Himself that is. I have implicitly touched upon a prominent question of the day. the vanity and egoism which characterize our knowledge find. that of the possince public opinion sibility of knowing God.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 31 tioiied. 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. While the Divine Being is thus placed beyond our knowledge and outside the limit of all human things.

plants. poor. and it can be attained only by recognizing the positive existence. souls or empty heads. The time must eventually come for understanding that rich product of active Eeason which the history of the world offers to us. But if it be allowed that Providence manifests itself in such objects and forms of existehce. Reason. and who regard this knowledge of God as the only valuable possession. is one and the same in the great as in the little and we must not . and that evil has not been able permanently to establish a rival position. why not also in universal history? This is deemed too great a matter to be thus regarded. on the other. and. But divine wisdom. as displayed in animals. e. i. But this conviction involves much . weak to exercise his treating the subject is. wisdom on the Our intellectual striving aims at realizing the grand conviction that what was intended by eternal wisdom is actually accomplished in the domain of existent. but those whose indeed. and isolated occurrences. a Theodicaea a justification of the ways of God which Leibnitz attempted — — metaphysically in his method. On the one hand. e. the ultimate design of the world must be perceived. which has resulted from the revelation of the Divine Being as its original basis. as well as in that of mere Nature. Indeed.32 THE GERMAN CLASSICS God wishes for His children no narrow-hearted spirit is of itself a duty. in this aspect. nowhere is such a harmonizing view more pressingly demanded than in universal history.. and the thinking Spirit reconciled with the fact of the existence of evil. in indefinite abstract that the ill that is found in the world may be comprehended. — categories so i. in the first instance. It was for a while the fashion to profess admiration for the wisdom of God. to be too imagine God scale. the fact that this design has been actually realized in it.. must ultimately advance to the intellectual comprehension of what was presented. but rich in the knowledge of Him. active Our mode of Spirit. in which that negative element is a subordinate and vanquished nullity. That development of the thinking spirit. to feeling and imagination.

" whose sovereignty over the world has been maintained. Two points of consideration suggest themselves: first. — history ^belongs phenomenon to the realm The term "World" includes both physical and psychical nature. With these observations we may proceed to the second point of view that has to be considered in this Introduction. is our substantial Spirit.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY more than 33 the mere belief in a superintending vovs or in ''Providence. is as indefinite a term as "Providence. at the outset that the its realization. far as into the essential destiny of Reason. On the stage universal history crete reality. VII — 3 . purpose of comprehending the general principles w^hich this. Physical nature also plays its part in the world's history. Vol." object. of "spirit." supposing the term to be used by those who are unable to characterize it distinctly. and the course of its development. such a definition Ave get no farther than mere words." "Reason. its form of concrete reality. without . is identical with the question What is the ultimate design of the 2. the import of this design its ab- — stract definition It . embodies) we must displays itself in its most conNotwithstanding this (or rather for the very — Spirit on which we are observing it — premise some abstract characteristics of the nature of Spirit. so as to enable us to decide whether a thing is rational or irrational. we — investigate universal must be observed secondly. An adequate definition of Reason is the first desideratum and whatever boast may be made of strict adherence to it in explaining phenomena. as considered in reference to the world. The inquiry it is world? And the expression implies that that design is destined to be realized. 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. and attention will have to be paid But to the fundamental natural relations thus involved. to show wherein it consists.

on the other hand. the essence of Spirit is freedom. we may affirm that the substance. All will readily — is also assent to the doctrine that Spirit. endowed with freedom but philosophy teaches that . exactly. it would have perished. This selfcontained existence of Spirit is none other than self-con. Spirit uses in order to realize its (3) Lastly. As the essence of Matter is gravity. It seeks its unity. all the qualities of Spirit exist only through freedom that all are but means for attaining freedom . and therefore exhibits itself as self-destructive. but has already found It has not a unity outit. its centre in itself. I am free. Spirit is selfcontained existence (Bei-sich-selbst-seyn). we must perfect State. it exists in and with Matter has its essence out of itself. embodiment consider the shape which the of Spirit assumes the — The nature of Spirit may be understood by a glance (1) at its direct opposite Matter. produce this and this alone. Spirit. . my being is referred to something else which I am not I cannot exist independently of something external. for in unity it exists ideally. side itself. Matter possesses gravity in virtue of its tendency toward a central point. it would be Matter no longer . Now this is freedom. For if I am dependent.34 THE GERMAN CLASSICS have therefore to mention here: We (1) The abstract Spirit. may be defined as that which has itself. so. It is a result of speculative philosophy that freedom is the sole truth of Spirit. If it could attain — this. consisting of parts that exclude one another. It is essentially composite. characteristics of the nature of (2) What means Idea. that all seek and . on the contrary. when my existence depends upon myself. as verging toward its opposite an indivisible point. 'among other properties. It strives after the realization of its Idea. on the contrary.

were the the consciousness that first to attain free. the fact that I knoiv. the inmost region of Spirit. The Greeks. realize itself to own nature. not man as such. In self-consciousness these are merged in one for Spirit knows itself. had slaves. That one is therefore only a despot. . The Orientals have not attained the knowledge that Spirit Man as such is free and because they do not know this. This consciousness arose first in religion. secondly. which is itself only an accident of nature is mere caprice like the former. — — . but. is potentially. and the Romans likewise. They only know that one is free. on the one hand. ferocity brutal recklessness of passion. on this very account. therefore. a rigorous thraldom of our common nature of the Human. knew only that some are free. so do the first traces of Spirit virtually contain the whole of that history. and their whole life and the maintenance of their splendid liberty was implicated with the institution of slavery a fact. moreover. they are not free. The Germanic nations. It involves an appreciation of it to its . that it is the freedom of Spirit which constitutes its essence. but they. what I know. not a free man. and on the other. as also an energy enabling make itself actually what it is poten- 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 tially. which made that liberty. or a mildness and tameness of the desires. — — — — under the influence of Christianity. but to is man 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 applica- . and therefore they were free. the freedom of that one is only caprice. Two things must be distinguished in consciousness first. .PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY sciousness 35 — consciousness of one's own being. According to this abstract definition it And as the germ bears in itself the whole nature of the tree and the taste and form of its fruits. Even Plato and Aristotle did not know this. only an accidental. transient and limited growth. The consciousness of freedom first arose among the Greeks.

only incidentally and anticipatively some other ideas must be first explained. it also shows itself as an essential one in view of the principle — The history of the world is none of freedom generally. between a principle as such and its application that is. than the progress of the consciousness of freedom other — a progress w^hose development. I — must be constantly respected as essential. or. and.36 THE GERMAN CLASSICS tion require a severe and lengthened process of culture. But that this term "freedom" is. and one which itself. That application of the principle to political relations. tutions adopt a rational organization. the thorough molding and interpenetration of the constitution of society by it. its introduction and fulfilment in the actual phenomena of Spirit and life. And in the same way as this distinction has attra'cted attention in view of the Christian principle of self-consciousness freedom. and since this is the in — — . while the physical remains subordinate to it. The destiny of the spiritual world. in the language of speculation. without further qualifi- — . is a process identical with history have already directed attention to the distinction here involved. according to the necessity of its nature. — substantial world. liberty predominate in States or governments and consti. however. 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. The general statement given above of the various grades the consciousness of freedom which we applied in the first instance to the fact that the Eastern nations knew only that owe is free. the Greek and Roman world only that some are free. or recognize freedom as their basis. In proof of this we may note that slavery did not cease immeStill less did diately on the reception of Christianity. ipso facto. the reality of that freedom. 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. This is remarked. it is our business to investigate. This is a point of fundamental importance in our science.

presenting themselves in history to our sensuous vision. translating the language of religion into that of thought. Yet. is: What means does this principle of freedom use for its realization? This is the second point we have to consider. and can. The nature of His will that is His nature itself is what we here call the idea of — — freedom. will nothing other than Himself His own will. This result it is at which the process of the world's history has been continually aiming. therefore. incalculable. we must content ourselves with the term itself without further definition. through the of ages. for the present. but God is the absolutely perfect Being. confusions. anon been final — and the sole efficient principle that pervades them. The question. have been offered. . primarily. an undeveloped idea. self -consciousness) and thereby realizing its existence. which we may next put. essential nature of sity is to be displayed as coming to a consciousness of itself (for it is in its very nature. an indefinite. The question of the means by which freedom de(2) itself to a world conducts us to the phenomenon of velops history itself. their passions. Itself is its o\^m object of — freedom process —which involves absolute neces- In the before us the attainment and the sole aim of Spirit. it ambiguous term. Although freedom is. This is the only aim long lapse that sees itself realized and fulfilled. the means it uses are external and phenomenal. and errors. the only pole of repose amid the ceaseless change of events and conditions. Attention was also directed to the importance of the infinite difference between a principle in the abstract and its realization in the concrete. then. This aim is God's purpose with the world. The first glance at history convinces us that the actions of men proceed from their needs. and the ne plus ultra of attainment. it is liable to an infinity of misunderstandings.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY cation. 37 that. and to become the occasion for all imaginable while what represents is excesses in —has never been more clearly known and felt than modern times. and to which the sacrifices that have ever and laid on the vast altar of the earth.

the ruin that have befallen the most flourishing kingdoms which the mind of man ever created. and impresses us with the belief that such needs. and the extent of that influence is lim- who adopt such Passions. see the ideal of Reason actualized in those aims. since this decay is not the work of mere Nature. and that these natural impulses have a more direct influence over man than the artificial and tedious discipline that tends to order and selfrestraint. and interests are the sole springs of action the efficient agents in this scene of ac- — tivity. on the other hand. private aims. counter-balanced by no consolatory result. most effecited accordingly. Their power lies in the fact that none of the limitatiofis which justice and morthey respect ality would impose on them. but of the human will a moral embitterment a revolt of the good Spirit (if it have a place within us) may well be the result of our reflections. we can scarce avoid being filled with sorrow at this universal taint of corruption. Without rhetorical exaggeration. the vice. but even (rather we might say especially) with good designs and righteous aims. a simply truthful combination of the miseries that have overwhelmed the noblest of nations and polities and the finest exemplars of private virtue forms a picture of most fearful aspect and excites emotions of the profoundest and most hopeless sadness. which allows of no defense or escape but the consideration that tive springs of action. In beholding it we endure a mental torture. When we look at this display of passions and the consequences of their violence. be found aims of a liberal or universal kind benevolence it may be. and within the sphere of their influence but they bear only a trifling proportion to the mass of the human race. law and morality. at the unreason which is associated not only with them. and the satisfaction of selfish desires are. We may perhaps .38 THE GERMAN CLASSICS their characters and talents. and. and behold the evil. passions. perhaps. or noble — patriotism. — — . but such virtues and general views are but insignificant as compared with the world and its doings. Among these may.

the wisdom of States. observing that the successive steps {Moment e) of the analysis to which it will lead us.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 39 what has happened could not be otherwise. and the virtue of individuals have been victimized. —cannot be to which —though already too often repeated . that it is a fatality which no intervention could alter. In short we retreat into the selfishness that stands on the quiet shore and thence enjoys in safety the distant spectacle of "wrecks confusBut even regarding history as the shambles edly hurled. to what final aim. We have all along purposely eschewed "moral reflections" as a method of rising from sult of the the scene of historical specialities to the general principles which they embody. it is not the interest of such sentimentalities really to rise above those depressing emotions. have these enormous sacrifices been offered? — ' ' — From this point the investigation usually proceeds to that which we have made the general commencement of our inquiry. Besides. or to solve the enigmas of Providence which the con- siderations that occasioned their character to find them present. requisite remark we have presented more than once The first make. the question involuntarily arises to what principle. will also evolve the conditions for answering the inquiries suggested by the panorama of sin and suffering that history unfolds. It is essential to a gloomy satisfaction in the empty and We refruitless sublimities of that negative result. we pointed out those phenomena which made up a picture so suggestive of gloomy emotions and thoughtful reflections as the very field which we. for our part. the absolute aim. regard as exhibiting only the means for realizing what we assert to be the essential destiny. in which the happiness of peoples. or which comes to the same thing the true re- — — World's History. And at last we draw back from the intolerable disgust with which these sorrowful reflections threaten us into the more agreeable environment of our individual life the Present formed by our private aims and interests. turn then to the point of view which we have adopted. Starting from this.

A second element must be introduced in order to produce actuality viz. This is the absolute right of personal exIf I to exert . and passion of man. That some conception of mine should be developed into act and in operation . a potentiality. It is only by this activity that that Idea. is the need. actualized. subjective design only. is something merely general and abstract. as well as abstract characteristics generally. in our Aims. principles. but it has not emerged into existence. is my earnest desire I wish to assert ality in connection with it. when we say of an individual that he ** is interested" (in taking part in such or such transacthat is. I wish to be satisfied ecution. realization. for of themThe 'motive power that puts selves they are powerless. of which he takes advantage to promote his own in- — . We intend blame. but not as yet in the sphere of reality. actuation. and justly impute it as a fault. and its motive power is etc. destiny. undeveloped essence which. as — — —however such — true in itself — is not completely real. aim. inclination. Principle Plan of Existence Law is a hidden. seeks only his private advantage. so to speak. or the nature and idea of Spirit. 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. Here a mistake must be avoided. are realized. many of which have no interest for me. — the will — the activity of man in the widest sense. some way or other be my object. them and gives them determinate existence. existence. am by its exit must in istence — to find itself satisfied in its activity and labor. If men are to interest themselves for anything.. have part of their existence involved in it and find their individuality gratified by its attainment. my person- myself for any object. That which exists for itself only is a possibility.40 THE GERMAN CLASSICS to call for it when the occasion seems — is that what we call principle.. instinct. have a place in our thoughts. they must. In repretions) hending this we find fault with him for furthering his personal aims without any regard to a more comprehensive design.

is. the into the object of our investigation second the complex of human passions. to have been awakened. understanding. peculiar to themselves. Among less of opinion. We have . with this view. supposing the impulses of reflection. when people are less than formerly inreliance on others. This is a consideration of special importance in our age. Nothing therefore hapis accomplished. We assert then that nothing has been accomplished without interest on the part of the actors. they devote their activities to a cause on the fluenced by ground of their own understanding. if they are to exert themselves in any direction. that. when. he even sacrifices. they have special needs. the one the warp. jus—they should be able to "enter into advantage. Language faithfully expresses this distinction. concentrating all its desires and powers upon it we may affirm absolutely that nothing great in the world has been accom- — — plished without passion. inasmuch as the whole individuality. The concrete mean and union of the two is liberty. —that 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 convicdecision—leanings tions or— to use a term expressing . and reason. enter the first the Idea. —whether as to goodness.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 41 terest or which. under the conditions of morality in a State. therefore. and if interest be called passion. In these cases people demand. on the contrary. But he who is active in promoting an object is not simply "inter- but interested in that object itself. Two elements. — the other the woof of the vast arras-web of universal history. and interests generally. their independent conviction and opinion. is devoted to an object with every fibre of volition. that the object should commend itself to them. and by authority. ' ' particular units of society instincts. They are ested. nothing cerned seek their own satisfaction in the issue. unless the individuals conpens. profit its it" {dabei sein). to the neglect of all other actual or possible interests and claims. in point of opinion tice.

all things else. self-seeking designs this qualification. what the object of my passion in deciding whether the one or the other is of a true and substantial nature. it has become the very essence of his volition. It is always a question of essential importance what is the purport of my conviction. are sacrificed to them. individual views. will. it — — be realized. I mean here more than human activity as resulting from private nothing with interests. if it is so. 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 is true. But character comprehends all peculiarities whatever.42 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Spirit. For a person is a specific existence not man in general (a term to which no real existence corresponds). The term ''character" likewise expresses this idiosyncrasy of will and intelligence. will inevitably attain actual existence From this comment on the second essential element in the — . 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. the subjective and therefore the formal side of energy. or if you will. "passion. rather. etc. in the first instance. special. Man is re- quired to have no passions. the suitable Passion." understanding thereby the particular bent of character. use the term tical and active phase. spoken of the idea of freedom as the nature of and the absolute goal of history. And there is a similar relation of formality to reality in is (which would — — merely individual conviction. but a particular human being. Passion is regarded as a thing of sinister aspect. therefore. and that other interests in themselves constitute attractive aims). Conversely.. Passion is. is not quite word for what I wish to express. and is not limited to his idiosyncrasy in its pracI shall. individual conscience. or. that the whole energy of will and character — devoted to their attainment. as more or less immoral. and activity leaving the object or aim still undetermined. the way in which a person conducts himself in private relations.

The mere — — social instinct implies a conscious life purpose of security for and property. But that those manifestations of called the subjective side —physical — — — . The epoch when a State attains this harmonious condition marks the period of its bloom. unconis. natural will that which has been craving. The history of the world begins with its general aim the realization of the idea of Spirit only in an implicit form {an sich). But the history of mankind does not begin with a conscious aim of any kind. and when society has been constituted this purpose becomes more comprehensive. as also activities. as nature scious instinct. This vast congeries of volitions. as is the case with the particular circles into which men form themselves of set purpose. interests. and the whole process of history (as al- — — — ready observed) is directed to rendering this unconscious impulse a conscious one.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY historical 43 —glancing at the — that a State well coninstitution of the State in passing embodiment of an aim. its virtue. and much machinery invented. its vigor. when the one finds its gratification and realization in the other a proposition in itself very important. accompanied by appropriate many institutions polipoli- arrangements necessitating long struggles of the understanding before what is really appropriate can be discovered involving. instinct. contentions with private interest and passions and a tedious discipline of the latter in order to bring about the desired harmony. moreover. and sion. And this aim is none other than finding itself coming to itself and contemplating itself in concrete actuality. we infer is stituted and internally powerful when the private interest one with the interest of the State. private interest. most profoundly hidden. spontaneously present themselves at the very commencement. pasopinion and subjective conception. constitute the instruments and means of the World-Spirit for attaining its object. bringing it to consciousness and realizing it. Thus appearing in the form of merely natural existence. But in a its citizens is of common — State tical tical must be adopted. and its prosperity. that a hidden.

as their interest. namely. Philosophy shows that the Idea advances to an infinite that. decried. the universal principle is implicit in them and is realizing itself through them. As the metaphysical connection (i. are.. e. and contemned as mere dreaming and "philosophy. in which it exists for itself. the latent abstract process of Spirit being regarded as necessity. and. "While these limited sentiments unconscious of the purpose they are fulfilling. in which they seek and satisfy their own purposes. however. — — — appear in the sequel in the form of a legitimate inference and our belief that Reason governs the world and will — has consequently governed its history. In relation to this independently universal and substantial existence all else is subordinate. while that which exhibits itself in the conscious will of men. which is formal existence-for-self. belongs to logic. personality. it would be out ject of desire are still of place to analyze it here. and the means for its development. 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 obis — — and interest. 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 the contrasted form of abstract introversion. at the same time. universal form. such antithesis — . formal freedom." But on this point I announced my view at the very outset and asserted our hypothesis which.44 vitality THE GERMAN CLASSICS on the part of individuals and peoples. The question also assumes the form of the union of freedom and necessity. reflection on itself. between the Idea in its free. The chief and cardinal points only shall be mentioned. the connection in the Idea) of these forms of thought. negatived. subservient to it. in every variety of form. The union of universal abstract existence genthat this alone erally with the individual the subjective — — truth belongs to the department of speculation and is treated in this general form in logic. belongs to the domain of freedom.

the Idea. and fancy. metaphysics. The history of the world is not the theatre of happiness. one of whose extremes is the universal essence. it plays its part in the region of mere phenomena. the sphere of its formal reality. This limitation originates all forms of particularity of whatever kind. and as the abstract essence of free volition on the other. the sphere of the reverence paid to God. The realizing activity of which we have spoken is the middle term of the syllogism.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 45 as belongs to Spirit only. Being— a — This is the sphere of particular purposes. the complex of external things objective matter. This ness — the polar-opposite of the Idea in reflection of the mind on itself is individual self-consciousits general form and therefore existing in absolute limitation. and the other. The universal Idea exists thus as the substantial totality of things on the one side. He is happy who finds his condition suited to his special character. taking cognizance In short. is in contrast with the . 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. in effecting which individuals exert themselves on behalf of their individuality —give it full play and objective realization. This polar-opposite is consequently limitation. To comprehend the absolute connection of this antithesis is the profound task of . of speciality only and willing that alone. This pole of the antithesis. This is also the sphere of happiness and its opposite. That activity is the medium by — . for they are periods of is —periods when the antithesis in abeyance. Re— the freedom above described— abstractly flection of harmony self is defined as the formal element of the activity of the absolute Idea. Periods of happiness are blank pages in it. existing for itself. which reposes in the penetralia of Spirit. Absolute Universal special separate existence. and so enjoys himself in that condition. will. particularization for the universal absolute being it is the side of the definite existence.

thus fortifying a position for Right and Order against themselves. etc. and a train of circumstances not directly included in it. as means. On the other hand we have. first instance. which has helped to build the house. They gratify their own interest.46 THE GERMAN CLASSICS is wliich the universal latent principle domain of objectivity. The result is that the wind. but produced by injury on the other's part burns connection is immediately esthat other man's house. the several substances required for the work iron. In itself it consisted in merely bringing a small flame into contact with a small portion of a beam. so far as the house is made fire. Events not involved in — — A . An analogous example is offered in the case of a man who. The connection of events above indicated involves also the fact that. fire to melt the iron. latent in the actions in question. though not present to their consciousness and not included in their design. taken abstractly. from a feeling of revenge perhaps not an unjust one. wood. an additional result is commonly produced by human actions beyond what they aim at and obtain what they immediately recognize and desire. tablished between the deed itself. I will endeavor to translated into the and clear by examples. water to set the wheels in motion in — order to cut the wood. in the a subjective aim and design. in history. is shut out by the house so also are the violence of rains and floods and the destructive powers of fire. — — It is thus that the passions of men are gratified. Thus the elements are made use of in accordance with their nature. and yet are made to cooperate for a product by which proof. but something further is thereby accomplished. The elements are made — use of in working up this material wind to blow the fire. they develop themselves and their aims in accordance with their natural tendencies and build up their operation is limited. make what has been said more vivid The building of a house is. stones. the edifice of human society. The stones and beams obey the law of gravity press downward and so high walls are carried up.

essential considerations of justice.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY that simple act follow of tliemselves. but it is. still less in his intention. however. we may say. which form at the same time a norm for directing aims and . and this with other houses. entail it. The purport of their desires is interwoven with general. and that involves punishment This may not have been present to the mind of the also. the additional consideration that the substance of the act. consequently. Those general considerations. — sphere of universal history. moreover. so that a wide ensues which destroys the goods and chattels of flagration many other persons besides those belonging to the person whom the act of revenge was first directed. good. it calls By this into play. the general principles tent. its substantial conexample I wish only to impress on that. under the conditions of an utter diversity of nature between the two and an The indifference of the one extreme toward the other. reacts upon him with destrucrecoils upon the perpetrator This union of the two extremes the emtive tendency. for mere desire volition in its rough and savage forms falls not within the scene and — . 47 The part of the beam connected with its remote portions. the act itself. you the consideration further may in a simple act. This lay neither haps in the deed intrinsically nor in the design of the man who committed it. — — bodiment 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. The example before us involves. which was set afire is the beam itself is united with the woodwork of the house congenerally. In the design of the doer it was only revenge executed against against an individual in the destruction of his property. etc. before them are limited and aims which the agents set special but it must be remarked that the agents themselves — . pereven costs not a few men their lives. at first sight. a crime. duty. perpetrator. are intelligent thinking beings. but his deed itself. But the action has a further general bearing. something be implicated than lies in the intention and consciousness of the agent.

yet at least of equality with the . acknowledged duties. honorable course of conduct is. or that particular thing is is . 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. 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. what a just. for such an abstrac"good for its own sake. as regards action. and rights. at any rate. he knows. private relations. What special course of or not. good the ordinary contingencies of private life. on the whole.48 actions. Each individual has his position. advantageous yes. In this sphere are presented those momentous collisions between existing. This principle is an — — essential phase in the development of the creating Idea. As to ordinary. and those contingencies which are adverse to this fixed system. Caesar. or. of Truth striving and urging toward (consciousness of) itself. tion as THE GERMAN CLASSICS have a determinate purport. These contingencies even indispensable and necessary. Historical men world-famous individuals are those in — whose aims such a general principle lies. the assertion that the right and good the regarding — it is difficult to it choose of an as the mark exalted morality to find difficulties and raise scruples on that score ^may be set down to an evil or perverse will. laws. is determined. themselves of a perplexwhich seeks to evade duties not — m ing nature. but must have decided for themselves whether this a good. by the laws and customs of a State and here no great difficulty is presented. which assail and even destroy its foundations and existence." has no place in living If men are to act they must not only intend the reality. in danger of losing a position — —not perhaps at that time of superiority. It is quite otherwise with the comprehensive relations with which history has to do. however. Good. and whose tenor may nevertheless seem good on the large scale.

who appear to draw the impulse of their life from themselves.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY others 49 —belongs essentially to this category. however. was contending for the maintenance of his position. and safety and. sanctioned by the existing order. and he thus became though leaving the constitution the autocrat of the State. it still hidden beneath the suron the outer world as on a shell. who had an insight therefore. regular course of things. his private gain merely. They may be called inasmuch as they have derived their purposes and heroes. whose own particular aims involve those large issues which are the will of the World-Spirit. 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. —from that inner Spirit. not from the calm. But. political men. his victory secured for him the conquest of that entire Empire. VII —4 . impinging bursts which in pieces. at the same time an independently necessary feature in the history of Rome and of the world. then. Such individuals had no consciousness of the general Idea they were unfolding. What form of the secured for him the execution of a design. honor. It was not. but from a concealed fount one which has not attained to phenomenal. and of succumbthe point of becoming his and the power conferred by an appearance of justice. cluded the sovereignty over the provinces of the Roman Empire. they were practical. while prosecuting their aims on the contrary. since the power of his opponents inCeesar . they were thinking men. Such are all great historical men. present exis- tence face. at the same time. but an unconscious first instance — — impulse that occasioned the accomplishment of that for which the time was ripe. which in the — — was of negative import the autocracy of Rome was. . These —who were at the same time pursuing their own — personal aims had on their side the form of the constituenemies enemies tion. — their vocation. Vol. because it is another kernel than that belonged to the shell in question. which. They are men. ing to those who were at the head of who were just on the State.

vexed at what called happiness. therefore. like Caesar. to depreciate and to find some flaw in it. their whole life was labor and trouble . and to expend their energy in promoting it. whose vocation it was to be the agents of the World-Spirit. we shall find it to have been no happy one. was they who best from whom others learned. for it understood affairs. They die early. directly sequent step in progress. for their species next in order. Whatever prudent designs and counsels they might have learned from others would be the more limited and inconsistent features in their career. — world —the — — therefore. is it great and transcendent. They attained no calm enjoyment. — . like Napoleon. their words are the best of that time. When their object is attained they fall off like empty husks from the kernel. follow these soul-leaders for they feel the irresistible power of their own inner Spirit thus embodied.50 THE GERMAN CLASSICS what was ripe for deinto the requirements of the time velopment. and which was already formed in the womb of time. striving. Their fellows. their deeds. If we go on to cast a look at the fate of these world-his. their policy. but in a state of unconsciousness which the great men in question aroused. World-historical men the heroes of an epoch must. they are murdered. the necessary. or at least Spirit which had taken this fresh step in history is the inmost soul of all individuals. It was theirs to know this nascent principle. therefore. like Alexander. their whole nature was naught else but their master-passion. and apacquiesced in. Great men have formed purposes to satisfy themselves. Thus in modern times it has . transported to St. to make this their aim. Helena. proved. not others. so to speak. This was the very truth for their age. This fearful consolation that historical men have not enjoyed what is — and of which only private life (and this be passed under various external circumstances) is may capable this consolation those may draw from history who stand in need of it and it is craved by envy. be recognized as its clear-sighted ones. For that torical persons. which their world was to take.

some morbid craving. which. The free man. because he has not such passions a proof of which lies in the fact that he dOes not conquer Asia. This mode — of considering them also excludes the so-called ''psychological" view. These psychologists are particularly fond of contemplating those — peculiarities of great historical figures which appertain to them as private persons. Alexander of Macedon partly subdued Greece. of Julius Caesar. and the proof that these were the impelling motives is that he did what resulted in fame. They are great men. we may observe.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 51 been demonstrated ad nauseam that princes are generally unhappy on their thrones. that their authors appear to have done everything under the impulse some passion. the pedagogue. while he enjoys life himself. is a better man than they. serving the purpose of envy most effectually. It is in the light of those tute the interest common elements which constiand therefore the passions of individuals that these historical men are to be regarded. mean or grand. is not envious. a mere intention. on account of these passions and cravings. and. but gladly recognizes what is great and exalted. but. He is alleged to have acted from a craving for fame. or vanquish Darius and Porus. but whatever met the case and fell in with the needs of the age. that they were instigated by such passions. and then Asia. he has . because they willed and accomplislied somethinggreat not a mere fancy. to bring them under such a subjective aspect. to have been imof moral men. for conquest. contrives so to refer all actions to the heart. therefore he was possessed by a morbid craving for conquest. he sustains relations to friends and acquaintances. Man must eat and drink. and rejoices that it exists. lets others enjoy it too. in consideration of which the possession of a throne is tolerated. What pedagogue has not demonstrated of Alexander the Great. and were consequently immoral men? From this the conclusion immediately follows that he. and men acquiesce in the fact that not themselves but the personages in question are its occupants.

may have its sinister side. or. — Homeric one but views and vituperations remain absolutely without result in the world. A world-famous individual is not so unwise as to indulge a variety of wishes to divide his regards. while that which develops its existence through such — . But so mighty a form must trample down many innocent flowers and crush to pieces many an object in its path. etc. even sacred interests. the morality of such exquisite discerners The Thersites of Homer who abuses the kings is a standing figure for all times. knows that he prefers champagne. rather. they are brought down by these their attendants to a level with. ''No man is " a hero to his valet-de-chambre. It is not the general idea that is implicated in opposition and combat. But our satisfaction at the fate of Thersitism also. and from its negation. untouched and uninjured.52 THE GERMAN CLASSICS passing impulses and ebullitions of temper. and the undying worm that gnaws him is the tormenting consideration that his excellent a solid — cudgel he . inconsiderately conduct which is deserving of moral repre- — hension. but because the latter is — — . It remains in the background. of. Blows that is. He is devoted to the one aim. This may be called the cunning of reason that it sets the passions to work for itself. for The from it is from the like. special and determinate. Particularity contends with and some loss is involved in the issue. is a well-known proverb I have added and Goethe repeated it ten years later "but not because the former is no hero. is the thorn which he has to carry in his flesh. beating with does not get in every age. assists him to bed. his egotism. and that is exposed to danger. It is even possible that such men may treat other great. a few degrees below the level of spirits. special interest of passion is thus inseparable the active development of a general principle. its that the universal results. a valet. regardless of all else. Historical personages waited upon in historical literature by such psychological valets come poorly off. as in the his envy." He takes off the hero's boots.

and are. For it is phenomenal being that is so treated. But though we might tolerate the idea that individuals. there one aspect of human individuality which we should hesitate to regard in that subordinate light. and that.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY ' 53 impulsion pays the penalty and suffers loss. a portion is of no value. though exhibited as the merely formal side of their existence was spoken of as having an infinite right to be consulted. But merely natural things even the commonest lifeless objects used as — — means. The first idea that presents itself in speak- — ing of means is that of something external to the object. sustain the bare external rela- mere means to the great ideal aim. but exists in those individuals as inherently eternal is come under and divine — I mean morality. of too trifling value as compared with is. Even when speaking of the realization of the great ideal aim by means of individuals. The Idea pays the penalty of determinate existence and of corruptibility. as a general rule. for that very reason. make it the occasion of satisfying personal desires whose purport is diverse from that aim. but from the passions of in. dividuals. the general individuals are sacrificed and abandoned. The particular for the most part. religion. Human tion of beings. must be of such a kind as adapts them to their purpose. in the very act of realizing it. but they share in that ideal aim itself. as the world of living beings generally is. and the gratification of them. not from itself. they must possess something in common with it. since it is absolutely no subordinate element. individuals the category of means to an ulterior end. of this. ethics. and. another is positive and real. least of all. and their happiness given up to the empire of chance. their views and judgments. even in relation to the highest. whose individual life is essentially subordinate to that of — . to which it belongs. the subjective element in them their inter- — est and that of their cravings and impulses. Not only do they. yet having no share in the object itself. objects of their own existence not formally merely. are thus sacrificed. their desires.

on the contrary. and not only concerning this or that particular matter. that the good and pious often. we must not fall into the Litany of Lamentations. The term prosperity is used in a variety of meanings riches. but of good. outward honor. It would. imputation not only of evil. that he is the subto will either good or evil . are objects of existence to themselves. man in virtue of the Divine that in him— the quality that only the category of is mere means is is was designated its activity and at the outset as Reason. morality. while the evil-disposed and wicked prosper. religion. And we proof of the assertion that religion. are responsible for the depravation and enfeeblement of morals and religion. and all that happens ah extra. and the like. but also the good and The brute alone evil attaching to his individual freedom.. In contemplating the fate which virtue.54 THE GERMAN CLASSICS is man and properly nsed np as an instrument. as regards the intrinsic import of the aim in question. sive explanation freedom itself —as extensive —to preclude or as the analysis of moral obviate all the misunder- standings which the statement that what is called innocence imports the entire unconsciousness of evil is wont to oc- — casion. to the extent of their freedom. ethics. an object of existence in himself That to say. —without entering at — present on the And here we must remark that-individuals. or for the most part. Men. — — ject of moral imputation. 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 in one word. To this order belongs that in them which we would exclude from —morality. But in speaking of something which in and for itself constitutes an — aim of existence. in view of power of self-determination. and so are essentially elevated above all alien necessity and chance. have their foundation and source in that principle. however. that so-called well or ill faring of these or . etc. fare ill in the world. demand an extenis simply innocent. was called freeaffirm dom. even piety experience in history. morality. which.

ethics. involve the execution and ratification of good. nay. that they do not find the present adapted to the realization of aims which they hold to be right and just more especially. moral. righteous purposes. or with greater assurance. These ideals which. The pretensions thus contended for as legitimate in the name of that which has been stated as the ultimate aim of Reason. in days gone by. as before remarked. but of open To estidemands insisted upon and the very dogmatic opinions asserted must be examined. With more for individuals — justice than happiness it is —or a demanded of the fortunate environment grand aim of the world's existence that it should foster. morals. in our time though displays of passion are not wanting it exhibits. ideals of political constitutent. At no time so much as in our own. in modern times. In this case it is not private interest nor passion that desires gratification. is now more common than the complaint that the ideals which imagination sets up are not realized. partly a predominance of the struggle of notions assuming the authority of principles. that these glorious dreams are destroyed by cold actuality. Nothing.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTOEY 55 those isolated individuals cannot be regarded as an essential element in the rational order of the universe. not merely of discontent. founder on the rocks of hard reality may be in the first instance . in the voyage of life. the demand in question assumes a lofty bearing and readily adopts a position. If. liberty. with their idea of things as they ought to be. mate such a feeling and such views aright. justice. on which they somewhat pride themselves). the general principles and notions been advanced. is — tions. What makes men morally discontented (a discon- by the way. and. have such revolt against the actual condition of the world. history seems to present itself as a struggle of passions. they contrast unfavorably things as they are. pass accordingly for absolute aims — — — to the same extent as religion. but reason. equipped with this title. partly that of passions and interests essentially subjective but under the mask of such higher sanctions.

just as universal law is not designed for the units of the mass. might be This subjective fault-finding which. — only keeps in view the individual and its deficiency. in particular aspects of the grand phenomenon. with strong emotion. in States. It is easier to discover a deficiency in individuals. youth is always discontented. The tolerance of age is the result of the ripeness of a judgment which. and with the deeply melancholy conviction that they could not be realized. than — import and value. without taking notice of Reason pervading the whole is easy. For in this merely negative fault-finding a proud position is taken one which overlooks the object without having entered into it. criticized. Poets ideal of Reason as. more deeply taught by the grave experience of life. is satisfied even with what is inferior. to see their real — — . has been led to perceive the substantial. — — — . But by the term ''Ideal" we also understand the of the good. but. find their interests thrust decidedly into the background. without having comprehended its positive aspect. since here chance and speciality have received authority from the Idea to exercise their monstrous power. For the fancies do not properly belong to this category. however. and inasmuch as it asserts an excellent intention with regard to the good of the whole. and in Providence. therefore. and seems to result from a kindly heart. which the individual in his isolation indulges cannot be the model for universal reality. These as such may. imagining himself the highest and wisest. that the Universal Reason does realize itself. empirically regarded that admits of degrees of better and worse. in fact. it feels authorized to give itself airs and assume great consequence. then. of the true. Age generally makes men more tolerant. In affirming. for Schiller have painted such ideals touchingly and instance. we have indeed nothing to do wrth the individual. solid worth of the object in The insight. to which in contradistincquestion. much. on the contrary. not merely as the result of indifference.56 THE GERMAN CLASSICS only subjective and belong to the idiosyncrasy of the inSuch dividual.

the carrying . — this simple region of the claims of subjective freedom. This Good. that the — ought to be that the truly good. ethical. they are therefore perishable and exposed to decay and corruption. the real side of the divine idea. and moral purposes and states of society generally. for only that which has been developed as the result of it possesses bona fide real- out of His plan. for instance that of a morality of a limited sphere shepherd or a peasant. worthof this divine Idea less existence. and therefore truly and really although they may not manifest themselves in it in extenso and are not . This plan philosophy strives to comprehend. the applied to fully developed relations. in the full extent of their Idea. the . world the actual working of His government. — — The religion.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY tion to those ideals is is is. Philosophy wishes to discover the substantial purport. and to justify the so much despised reality of things for . of life. utterly vanishes. That which does not accord with it is — — events are an incoherent concourse of fortuitous circumstances. but a vital this Reaprinciple capable of realizing itself. as it —philosopliy to lead us. in its intensive concentration and limitation to a few perfectly simple relations of life has the same worth as the religion and moralinfinite worth ity of extensive knowledge and of an existence rich in the compass of its relations and actions. but that the forms they assume may be of a limited order. and ruin of religious. But as to what concerns the perversion. these are infinite and eternal. corruption. is God. son. it must be affirmed that. God governs the in its most concrete form. is negative. This inner focus. and consequently may belong to the domain of mere nature and be subject to the sway of chance. 57 real world versal divine Reason. the history of the world. Reason is the comprehension of the divine work. the uniis not a mere abstraction. Before the pure light which is no mere Ideal the phantom of a world whose ity. Religion and morality in the same way as inherently universal essences have the peculiarity of being present in the individual soul. in their essence.

in the first instance. this must be regarded as settled. as a general truth. home resolution. and the chief bearings of this seeming difficulty in reference to the absolute aim of Spirit have been briefly considered. These observations may suffice in reference to the means which the World-Spirit use's for realizing its Idea. substantial being. subjectivity generally. concretely. to (3) is The third point to be analyzed is. special claims. that whatever in the world possesses claims as above noble and glorious has nevertheless a higher existence The claim of the World-Spirit rises above all it. Here the relation of mere means an end disappears. 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. Stated simply and abstractly. in carrying — What We limited aim. human human knowledge and . But the subject becomes more complicated and difficult when we regard individuals not merely in their aspect of activity. the abstract — — cessity inseparable from the realization of the idea of freedom itself. sphere of conscience that which comprises the responsiremains unbility and moral value of the individual touched 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 ne- — and action. Thus the question would arise Ideal of Reason is wrought out? the material in which the to : The primary answer would be: Personality desires. spoken of means. What have is the form it assumes in the realm of reality? out of a subjective. But. but a basis. therefore: the object to be realized by these means that is.58 THE GERMAN CLASSICS of volition. we have also to take into consideration the element of a material either already present or which has What is be procured. but. this mediation involves the activity of personal existences in whom Reason is present as their absolute. In itself. but more still obscure and unknown to them.

. the mutual constraint of all. in which it moves in the region of essential being and has the essential itself as the object of This essential being is the union of the subits existence. passion. the rational will. it is the moral w^hole. for its benefit. in his thus limited his freedom. as if this were a means provided as if the individual. Idea is the inner spring of action the State is the actually existing. believing in. nor of today. realized moral life. but . Sophocles in his Antigone in this sub- says. with that of the individual and this The individual living in this unity has a is "morality. and willing that which is common to the whole. and can gratify its desires only within the limits of this dependence.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY volition as its material element istence. they have an infinite existence. For it is the unity of the uni. Rather. which finds its exercise in the sphere of particular and limited we affirm. the positive reality Freedom of a low and limited order is mere caprice. where it constitutes a great world-historical passion." The laws of morality are not accidental. 59 Reason attains positive exhave considered subjective volition where it has an object which is the truth and essence of reality viz. the jective with State. And this must not be understood as if the sub- We — jective will of the social unit attained its gratification and enjojTuent through that common will. government. but on the condition of his recognizing. "The divine commands are not of yesterday. that which effects ''practical" realization. are law. But the subjective will has also a substantial life. is that which sets men in The activity. and no one could say whence they came. no. morality. versal. moral life stantiality and possesses a value that consists alone. As a subjective will. and these and completion of freedom. might secure a small space of liberty for each. alone. in relations to other individuals. desires. occupied with limited passions. essential will." . which is that form of reality in which the individual has and enjoys his freedom. Subjective volition. it is dependent. order that this universal limitation. a reality.

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. thereWhen the State or our country constitutes a fore. State . and in its universal and rational arrangements. that should have a manifest existence and maintain its posiIt is the absolute interest of Eeason that this moral whole should exist. that all the worth which possesses all he possesses only through the State. when the subjective will of man submits to laws. that it possesses ob- — jthe human being — jective conscious immediate existence for him. For truth is the unity . and herein lies the justification and merit of heroes who have founded States. and we are free in recognizing it as law stance of our own being. i. for it must be understood that the State is the real- ization of freedom. therefore. Reason. Only that will which obeys law is free for it obeys itself it is independent and. For the morality (Sittlich- .60 THE GERMAN CLASSICS are the essentially rational.. We have in it. the contradiction between liberty and necessity vanishes. — community of existence. in its laws. of the universal to be and subjective will. The State is the Divine Idea as it exists on earth. and that It must further be understood it exists for its own sake. jective tical will and following it as the subThe objective and the subare then reconciled and present one iden- homogeneous whole. For law is the objectivity of Spirit. Thus only is he fully thus only is he a partaker of morality. 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. is objectively present to him. however rude these may have been. In the history of the world. only those peoples can come under our notice which form a it tion. of the absolute final aim. free. volition in its true form. — . and the universal is found in the State. The rational has necessary existence. of a just and moral social and political life. e. For spiritual reality his spiritual reality consists in this. that his own essence. as being the reality and substance of things.

. When man is spoken of as ''free by nature. the rather the peculiarity of the modern time. merely animal. were the attempt seriously made. We will mention only a few of them. as it were from inlatter is but if I reflect on the object of my activity I must have the consciousness that my will has been called into substantial right. In this sense a "state stinct . that he is so according to the idea of humanity. The development in extenso of the idea of the State belongs to the philosophy of jurisprudence. which pass for established truths and have become fixed prejudices. to which nevertheless he is irresistibly impelled.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY tive kind." the mode of his existence as well as his destiny is implied his merely natural and primary condition is intended. a "secexercise. but it must be observed that in the theories of our time various errors are current respecting it. — — — — ' * . An Athenian citizen did what was required of him. 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. namely. to . for the first nature of man is his primary. he must limit this natural freedom. 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. This assumption of nature" is is not raised to the dignity of the historical fact it would indeed be difficult." as it has been justly called." But the view in question imports more than this. but that in society. . in the State. while the true antique morality is based on the principle of abiding by one's duty (to the State at large). That man is free by nature is quite correct in one sense. giving prominence to such as have a reference to the object of our history. But morality is duty ond nature. existence. in 61 keit) of the State is not of that ethical {moralische) reflec- which one's own conviction bears sway. assumed in which mankind at large is in the possession of its natural rights with the unconstrained exercise and enjoyment of its freedom.

of init first human deeds and feelings. must be sought out and won. and which must. Freedom as. restrain freedom. — — . but which it fathers . abstracted from its essential objects and aims thus a constraint put upon impulse. its raTo the ideal of tional and ideal form can be obtained. an idea which it cannot avoid originating. in actual ex- perience. on the other hand. to use That assumption the common phrase. This kind of constraint is part of the instrumentality by which only the consciousness of freedom and the desire for its attainment. separating itself from the merely sensuous and developing itself in opposition thereto. subjective sense. find such a state of nature to be. in a more advanced stage of culture. universal existences. however rude and simple their conditions. Examples of a savage state of life can be pointed out. — — passion pertaining to the particular individual as such . be introduced into and incorporated with the originally sensuous will. answers exactly to the idea of a merely natural condition. freedom. and that by an incalculable medial discipline of the intellectual and moral powers. . and that contrarily to its natural inclination. ' ' ' ' upon What we real existence without sufl&cient historical justification. desire. The perpetually recurring misapprehension of freedom consists in regarding that term only in its formal. of the premeditated self-will of caprice and passion. The state of nature is. therefore. they involve social arrangements which.62 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ' point out any such condition as actually existing or as having ever occurred. in its true that is. but they are marked by brutal passions and deeds of violence while. of untamed natural impulses. which are discovered only by the activity of thought. is one of those nebulous images which theory produces. but it is a limitation of the mere brute emotions and rude instincts. predominantly that of injustice and violence. the ideal of that which is original and natural does not exist as original and natural rather . as also. Limitation is certainly pro- duced by society and the State. and aims. objects. in and for themselves. law and morality are indispensably requisite and they are.

in which the units. as exclusively that condition of things in which the legal element is The patriarchal condition is combined with a due recognition of the moral and emo- tional parts of our nature. look upon such limitation as the indispensable proviso of emancipation. and in this mutual self-renunciation each regains the life that had been virtually transferred to the other gains. he lives out of self. We must notice a second view. love. The patriarchal condition is one of transition. where the union. contravening the principle of the development of moral relations into a legal form. and in which justice. and. or. We should. in fact. the other's existence and his own. succeeded by that of the State as its second phase. We must first examine the ethical principle of the Fam- may be reckoned as virtually a single person. as in the case of the parents. its members have either mutually surrendered their since individual personality and consequently their legal position toward one another. has already ceased to be simply a bond of love and confidence and has become one of plighted service. as united with these. regarded. in a relation of mutual love. therefore. family has already advanced to the position of a race of people. as involved with that other. either in reference to the entire race of man or to some branches of it. with the rest of their particular interests and desires. Society and the State are the very conditions in which freedom is realized. The ultimate interests connected — . They live. ily. in the care of children who are primarily in that merely natural condition already mentioned.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 63 a limitation of caprice and self-will is regarded as a fettering of freedom. which develops the primary form of conscious morality. on the contrary. in a unity which of feeling. therefore. have not yet attained such an independent personality. confidence. truly influences the intercourse of the social The basis of the patriarchal condition is the family relation. the one individual has the consciousness of himself in the consciousness of another. and faith in one another.

that no law can be valid without the approval of all. The head of the patof independent personality. of the family relation should be respected in the highpiety est 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. riarchal clan relations is A If the family in its general is also its priest. the majority there- — . bring with them that sound basis of a political edifice the capacity of feeling one with a whole. the separation of religion from it has also not yet taken place. as much as the — object for the the Pe- — spirit of a people in the State.. i. in the case of the family. not ad- The vancing beyond the limits of the merely natural. all agreeing in its arrangements. of the children. a consciousness. not limited to individual personality and interest.64 THE GERMAN CLASSICS with the necessities and external concerns of life. as well as the development that has to take place within their circle. and outside of these limits the — members of the community must enter upon the position review of the patriarchal condition. The spirit of the family nates form one substantial being. and so much the less since the piety of the hearth is itself a profoundly subjective state of feeling. But this unity is. But the . freedom is asserted to consist in the individuals of a State. constitute a common members of the family. would lead us to give special attention to the theocratical constitution. it is evident that only the subjective aspect is regarded. We have considered two aspects of freedom the objective and the subjective. in extenso. essentially one of feeling. It is attempted to obviate this difiiculty by the decision that the minority must yield to the majority. The natural inference from this principle is. in uniting to form a State. if. and a will. therefore. but embracing the common interests of the members generally. not yet separated from civic society and the State. — expansion of the family to a patriarchal unity carries us beyond the ties of blood-relationship the simply natural elements of that basis. e. and morality in both cases consists in a feeling.

and know what justice is for each popular faction may represent itself as the people. viz. in that case. and for performing the arithmetical operations of reckoning and comparing the number of votes for the different propositions. If. a contrivance for calling the members of the State together. and thereby deciding upon them. J. for instance. VII —5 . At the Polish Diet each individual member had to give his consent before any political step could be taken. first. to deself in individual will cide concerning them. but long ago J. having even its generic existence in its citizens but it is an actuality. The only arrangement found necessary would be. The State is an abstraction. it is a dan- gerous and false prejudice that the people alone have reason and insight. and its simply generic existence must embody it. with a view to the execution of their plans. that nothing should be done by or for the State to which all the members of the body politic have not given their sanction. Besides. even the people in a democracy resolve on a war. there would no longer be freedom. for the will of the minority would cease to be respected. and this kind of freedom it was that ruined the State. Yet obedience seems inconsistVOL. If the principle of regard for the individual will is we have. for taking the votes. and. that the abstraction — the State only — attains by It is a constitution life and reality. no constitution.. a general must head the army. ment and and activity. . and to give orders to other citizens. recognized as the only basis of political liberty.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 65 fore bears sway. secondly. but this involves the distinction between those who command and those who obey. a centre having no will of its own. The want of governadministration in general is felt. Rousseau remarked that. this political necessitates the selection and separation from the rest of those who have to take the helm in political affairs. and the question as to w^hat constitutes the State is one of advanced science and not of popular decision. but which should take into consideration what appeared to be the necessities of the State. properly speaking.

organization. It is. aristocracy. In such a collision. as the . it being not intended thereby that the particular category under review should be exhausted as a form. the abstract the constitution should be at least so framed that the citizens may obey as little as possible and the on without — smallest modicum . viz. this gives occasion. and democracy. even in its most important bearings. 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. for the remark that monarchy itself must be further divided into despotism and monarchy proper. The primary consideration is. and political constitutions in the abstract — have been rightly divided into monarchy. or mechanism of the power of the State can its object be most surely attained? This object is: is What the best constitution —that is. that of freedom. by the will of many or of all the citizens. the distinction between the governing and the governed. and inconsistent forms. should be decided and resolved on by the people. may indeed be variously understood. for instance. that in all the divisions to which the leading idea gives rise.. however. or kind in its concrete development. this seems only a compulsory external to and even contravening freedom in limitation. requires. order. only the generic character is to be made prominent. and those who command appear to do the very opposite of that which the fundamental idea of the State. unstable. then. because affairs could not go it. urged that though the distinction between commanding and obey- ing is absolutely necessary. of the superiors of free volition be left to the commands that the substance of that for which sub- necessary. and indeed.66 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ent with liberty. the concerning question by what arrangement. however. though it is supposed to be thereby provided that the State should be pos- ordination is sessed of vigor and strength as a reality an individual unity.

but of the Persian grandees. under the given circumstances and the present moral condition of the people. 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. only they see that such a constitution. In the present day. Such aims have suggested the so-called ideals of constitutions. after their undertaking had succeeded and there was no scion of the royal family living as to — when what constitution they should introduce into Persia. or of the governing body. determined by nothing else but reflection. Of this artless fashion was that deliberation not indeed of the Persian people. as a particular branch of the subject. The inquiry into the best constitution is fre- quently treated as if not only the theory were an affair of subjective independent conviction. and in these ideals . could be the result of a resolve adopted in this theoretical manner. in theory Even many who occupy elevated official positions under monarchical constitutions. the concrete details of political organization are not at all considered.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 67 calm enjoyment of life on part of the citizens. or as superior to others. the monarchical constitution. entertained conception of freedom. Ideals of the education of princes (Fenelon). while men are what they are. so far from being opposed to this idea are actually its supporters. the constitution of a country and not represented as so entirely dependent on free choice. but as if the introduction of a constitution recognized as the best. and Herodotus gives an equally naive account of this deliberation. or as universal happiness. though the best. has resulted in the republic being very generally regarded people is and deliberate — —as the only just and true political constitution. and. being even regarded as the most advantageous. we must be satisfied with less freedom. — who had conspired to overthrow the pseudo-Smerdis and the Magi. In this view also the necessity of a . The fundamental. and that. cannot be realized under all circumstances. but abstractly and therefore imperfectly. as if the form of a constitution were a matter of free choice.

and the general will is the essential bond of This unity of the general and the particpolitical union. it is not the isolated will of individuals that prevails individual pretensions are — — . of which you cannot select a supremely important one. with its conceptions. The of a State involves imperious lordship on the one origin individuality. manifesting itself as a State. comprising all the embodies. not grasping it in its completeness. though not in of form. But even obedience lordly power. at least. Even in barbarous states this is the case. ab extra. of neighbors. the same not taking a concrete view of a point people and a State. its art. one spirit. or. thoughts and culture generally —not to expatiate upon the additional influences A State is an individual totality. and its philosophy.68 THE GERMAN CLASSICS particular constitution is made to depend on the condition of the people as though the latter were non-essential and This representation is founded on the distincwhich the reflective understanding makes between an idea and the corresponding reality. instinctive submission on the other. The abstract yet necessitated process in the devel- ular opment of truly independent states is as follows: They . and the fear inspired by a ruler in itself implies some degree of voluntary connection. tion — — that the constitution adopted by a people makes one sub- stance. any particular side. although such as its political constitution. with its religion. but the form of the entire intellectual moral and forces it — a fact which gives the highest sanction to the constitution in question and establishes its absolute necessity. of its place in the world. We shall have to show. and deliberate and decide respecting it in that isolated form. with its place pre-appointed in the process hand. accidental. This reflection holding to an abstract and consequently untrue idea. and w^hich subsequently undergoes further development within itself. Not only is that constitution most intimately connected with and dependent on those other spiritual forces. of climate. further on. is the Idea itself. relinquished. or which is virtually. is only a step in the development of the grand whole.

and yet. we have the subjection of these separate in- which can be absolutely none other than one outside of which those spheres have an terests to a single power. This process is that the form of government assigned to a particular stage of development must present itself. form an it organic whole. viz. the political condition of a people. and that in their — — separate and several workings they are absolutely merged by which the totality. w^ork together for one object and are held together by i. e. that change in the aspect of history indissolubly attaches itself and the successive phases of the idea maniit as distinct political principles. the individuate unity. it is therefore no matter of choice. and there- fest themselves in fore do not present a generally applicable political basis. attain their appropriate and special perfection. Were it otherwise the differences of similar constitutions . The State is thus the embodiment of rational freedom. but are present in an appropriate reality. realizing and recognizing itself in an objective form. of royalty. The constitutions under which world-historical peoples have reached their culmination. whether of patriarchal or military origin. in this independent condition. is produced. are peculiar to them. therefore. in that agency The State tation of is human . therefore. the monarchical.. For its objectivity consists in this that its successive stages are not merely ideal. the setting free of the successive elements of the Idea. particularity and individuality assert themselves in the form of aristocracy and democracy. lastly. It is to the State. In the constitution the primary necessitated to the end —a Two phases main feature of interest is the self-development of the rational. so that the several powers in the State manifest themselves as separate. and of which it is the result.. the soul.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 69 begin with regal power. must be distinguished and a secondary. but is the form adapted to the spirit of the people. the Idea of Spirit in the external manifeswill and its freedom. in the next phase. that is. but one independent position.

In this case the relais. that since our States are so large. nothing. but in regard to political constitution it is quite otherwise. otherwise —that the ancient philosophy it is the basis of the modern that development of the same structure. can be learned." 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. Abstract definitions and dogmas respecting just government importing that intelligence and virtue ought to bear sway are. but nothing is so absurd as to look to Greeks. common to both. and of devotion to it on the part of peoples. or Orientals. descriptions of popular liberty. in its original tion is that of a continuous form.70 THE GERMAN CLASSICS in a peculiar method of expanding and that generic basis. In our times. sentative constitution is — that which we connect the idea of The so-called repreform of government with a free constitution. that for legislative purposes generally the people should be represented by deputies. too. and there are so many of ''the many. for the most recent principle of a constitution for the principle of our own times. this is general acceptation only with this modification. In art. its . whose foundation-stone. the Greek itself. and roof have remained what they were. it so happens that. for models for the political arrangements of our time. and this . Romans. of paternal government. From the East may be derived beautiful pictures of a patriarchal condition. whereas they really originate developing in diversity of principle. here the ancient and the modern have not their essential principle in common. In science and art it is quite is so decidedly inevitably contained in the latter and constitutes its basis. 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. furnishes us the best models. walls. From the comparison therefore would consist only of the political institutions of the ancient world-historical peoples. so to speak. from Greeks and Romans. indeed.

the idea of freedom : as the absolute and final aim izing it. 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. we find that subjective knowledge and will is thought. The subjective will is a merely formal determination a carte blanche not including what it is that is willed. on the one hand. involving at the same time the pure and simple Idea of Reason and. having itself alone as its object. Besides. i. Of this Gothic-cathedral architecture the ancients knew nothing. versity in this antithesis. self-consciousness. it must be remarked that they are intimately connected. But by the very act of thoughtful cognition and volition. actually existing in the world. At an two earlier stage of the discussion we established the elemental considerations First. secondly. 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. has not subpoint will and caprice for its principle.PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 71 notion has become a rooted prejudice. I will . is The great that freedom. we consider subjectivity. Spirit. For although we make this distinction in two aspects for our consideration. but the recognijective tion of the universal will. what we have called Subject. and activity. an ill-intentioned ruse designed to insinuate that the people are the totality of the State. and that the process by which freedom is realized is the free development of its successive stages. recognized the Idea in the definite form of freedom. conscious of and willing itself. We have. the means for realthe subjective side of knowledge and will. . its life. then recognized the movement. and consequently as the objective unity of these two elements. with e. We State as the moral whole and the reality of freedom. and that their connection is involved in the idea of each when examined separately.. likewise. If. on the other hand. On this theory peoBut there is a perple and government are separated. in its ideal conception.

. that which is divine and spiritual generally. a form of worship (cultus) is a result of reflection. the soul appears in the form of feeling. of Spirit has only this object the becoming conactivity life — scious of this union. This is Of consequently the highest. his individual feelings. forms of position. The religious concentrahis will. renounces its individual interest. and wisest place. therefore. not. and this gives us the in question philosophy. and the subjective side the perthat conceives and wills it. the Spirit of God. of science. freest. indeed. which is therefore the basis and —the — —of centre of the other concrete elements of the of a people All the art. of religion. in this consciousness of the Self-Existent Being. and. the objective and subjective in the human spirit is art this advances farther into the realm of the actual and sensuous In its noblest walk it is occupied with representing. Among the union religion occupies the highest rising above the limitations of tem- —becomes conscious of the Absolute Spirit. — By sacrifice man expresses his renunciation of his property. as in religion and of intuition. The second form of the union of . of law. observe. but certainly the Form of God. as in art — of the thinking faculty. and.. presenting it to the imaginative and intuitive But the true is the object not only of concepfaculty. . this conscious In poral and Spirit secular existence it — of its own freedom. Its office is to render visible than religion.72 THE GERMAN CLASSICS substance of absolute Reason. it lays this aside in devotion a state of mind in which it refuses to occupy itself any longer with the limited and particular. e. in its secondary aims. it neverthetion of less passes also into reflection. —but also the divine. i. tion and feeling. third form of the union — 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 objective existence sonality of this union is the State. of morals. an essential union between the ob- the universal object —the We jective side Idea.

and in so far as it knows. It is the absolute purpose of reason that freedom should be realized. Only as present in consciousness. on knowledge and activity. The State is the march of God through the world. [73] . in return. purpose. and its rethinks and flected existence on the self-consciousness of the individual. substantial will. or particular institution one must rather consider the Idea only.d. The individual. The State is the spirit. Harvard University The State idea and aim of the state is HE State the realization of the ethical idea. has his substantial freedom in the State. and thus in the realm of . It is the ethical spirit as revealed. knowing itself as an existing object. self-conIt is the will which scious. as the essence. w^hich lives in the world and there realizes itself consciously. by itBecause it is more easy to find defects than to grasp self. the positive meaning. existence of the State rests on custom. and product of his activity. and carries out what The unreit knows. one readily falls into the mistake of emphasizing so much the particular nature of the State as to overlook its inner organic essence. The idea of the State should not connote any particular State. (1832) Friedrich Hegel loewenberg. The State is no w^ork of art. this actual God. The true State is the ethical w^hole and the realization of his freedom. while in nature it is actual only as its own other or as dormant spirit. its ground is the power of reason realizing itself as will. ph. is it the State. It exists in the world. Assistant in Philosophy. flected knows itself.THE PHILOSOPHY OF LAW By Georg Wilhelm translated by j.

In the ancient States the subjective purpose was absolutely one with the will of the State. In modern times. and the cripple. But patriotism is essentially the sentiment of regarding. they easily persuade themselves is that they possess the heroic kind of patriotism. life. in the ordinary circumstances and ways of life. everything depends upon the unity of the universal and the particular. in order to . called patriotism the assurance in truth and the will which has become a custom resting is simply the result of the institutions subsisting in the — — State. It upon this consciousness. But the ugliest man. caprice. the weal of the community as the substantial basis and the final end. The ancients had none of these in the modern sense. since the State is nothing but the organization of the concept of freedom. The State is the sole condition of the attainment of the particular end Political and good. that the disposition to heroic effort is founded.74 THE GERMAN CLASSICS and error. While in Asiatic despotisms the individual had no inner self and no self -justification. 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. and it through the State alone that they attain truth and reali- zation. in the modern world man demands to be honored for the sake of his subjective individuality. and this affirmative which alone is here in question. disposition. The determinations of is the individual will are given by the State objectivity. we demand an individual it is opinion. the invalid. The affirmative. are still living human beings. persists in spite of defects. on the contrary. Under patriotism one frequently understands a mere willingness to perform extraordinary acts and sacrifices. In the State. the criminal. an individual will and conscience. institutions in which reason is actually present. accident. the final thing for them was the will of the State. Evil behavior toward it may disfigure it on many sides. But as people are often rather magnanimous than just. present in the ordinary course of life and under all circumstances.

and the like suffice to ex- press the nature of the State it must be comprehended as an organism. but custom makes invisible that upon existence rests does not occur to any one. that it could be otherpasses through wise. These different sides are the different powers of the State with their functions and activities. It is the nature of an organism that all its parts must constitute a certain unity. viction of the necessary stability of the State in which alone the real cause. but they cling to particular interests the particular interests can be realized. by means of which the universal is constantly and necessarily The State is producing itself. if one part asserts its independence the other parts must go to destruction. just as the State in turn maintains itself through the constitution. and its reality consists in the interest of the whole being realized in particular ends. it this is frequently the suthe State coheres. tive function. and we do not reflect that it is the result of the activity of special .PHILOSOPHY OF LAW 75 save themselves the trouble of having the truly patriotic sentiment. It is through force — is possessed by an organism or the development of the idea into its differences. people indeed poswhich our whole sess. it is thus and. being presupposed in its own producalways actively present. — opinion that all. No predicates. principles. or to excuse the lack of it. This or- ganism is the political constitution. but what alone perficial holds it together is the fundamental sense of order. must be distinguished from what people truly will. What they at bottom will is and deThe conlight in the vain contemplation of improvements. the fable of the stomach and the other organs may be applied to it. The State is real. Actuality . as appearance. which institutions. . If these two things fall asunder. if both different sides become independent of each other. when he safely the streets at night. then the unity which the constitution produces is no longer operative. It eternally springs from the State. The habit of safety has become a second nature. Political sentiment.

were it to frame as religion does. True What is real is internally necessary. and it reality is necessity. and consider that. so the church. but that does not advance the problem much. It is an important fact that we. so is the State superior to the physical life.76 is THE GERMAN CLASSICS always the unity of universality and particularity. it has therefore a determinate and self-conscious course. degenerates into a tyrannical religion. of God in nature. The State knows thus what it wills. but it has no reality. A bad State is one which merely exists. In so far as this unity is absent. in modern times. and the differentiation of the universal into particular ends. the sphere of religion. though it may exist. if it is difficult to comprehend nature. The State is the world which the spirit has made for itself. essentially. These particular ends seem independent. world of nature spirit is is Just as superior to nature. if it acts as a State and im- commands poses punislmient. have attained definite insight into the State in general and are much engaged in discussing and making constitutions. which is cut off. Just as the State. consciousness and thought. We must therefore adore the State as the manifestation of the divine on earth. In the State one must want nothing which is not an expression of rationality. One often speaks of the wisdom but one must not believe that the physical higher than the world of spirit. A hand. irrespective of the feelings accompanying their performance. its is in the inner life. A sick body also exists. but it has no true reality. would endanger the right of the inner life. essential difference between the State consists in that the commands and religion of the State have the form of legal duty. necessary to treat a rational matter in the light of reason. on the other hand. it is infinitely harder to grasp the essence of the State. To knows The it under the form of thought. no thing is real. though they are borne and sustained by the whole only. still looks like a hand and exists. the complete State belongs. in order to learn its essential nature and It is .

or force. thought. yet on closer examination reveals itself as meaningless. then to make a constitution means only to change it. it must take place It is absolutely essential that the consti- though having a temporal origin. and therefore as divine. but must produce war. But if the question does presuppose an already existing constitution. that any modification in constitutionally. however. It (the principle of constitution) is rather to be conceived as absolutely perpetual and rational. at once.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW to 77 know that the obvious does not always constitute the es- sential. it must decide for itself. for it presupposes the existence of no constiHow tution. The presupposition of a constitution implies. we must not fall into the enormous error of supposing each power to have an abstract. speak of the different functions of the powers of the State. Who make the constitution? however. for with a disorganized mob the concept of the State has nothing to do. THE CONSTITUTIOIsr The constitution is rational. by its own efforts or by those of others. in so far as the State defines and differentiates its functions according to the nature of its concept. whether by goodness. . it is clear that two independent things could never constitute a unity. in the French Revolution. should not be regarded as made. Thus. and above and beyond the sphere of what is made. tution. and the result would be destruction of the When we whole or restoration of unity by force. shall This question seems intelligible. at another time the executive had usurped the legislative power. substantial. whether a mass of individuals is to come by a constitution. at one time the legislative power had swallowed up the executive. Were the powers to be in abstract independence. but only a mere mass of atomic individuals. since the powers are rather to be differentiated as elements in the conception of the State. independent existence.

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. 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. From — this point of view one can hardly raise the idle question as to which form is the better. The nation must feel that its constitution embodis rational. as the nation's spirit. the idea and the consciousness of what A in so far as it is developed in a people. is the law perall its affairs. and the conscious- individuals. In it lies both its subjective freedom and the reality of the constitution. therefore. it is the tions. Every nation. its ethical code. Since spirit is real only in what and since the meating ness of its it knows itself to be. permeate all situaconstitution is not a thing just made. The need and the longing for a better constitution may often indeed be present in individuals. the in- — wardness of Socrates originated necessarily it took time before it in his day. To think of giving a people a constitution a priori. is merely created by the subjects of the State. has the constitution which is appropriate to it and belongs to it. work of centuries. The State must.78 THE GERMAN CLASSICS 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. therefore. State. monarchy or democracy. . but that is quite different from ies its right its status. the constitution of a people chiefly depends upon the kind and the character of its self-consciousness. but has no meaning or value. in its constitution. The principle of morality. otherwise the constitution may exist externally. but could pass into general self -conscious- ness. and the whole multitude being permeated with such an idea that comes much later. No constitution.

but as a self -developed and truly organic totality in such a people ' * ' ' — sovereignty is the personality of the whole. empty caprice. But despotism means a state of lawlessness. leges. on the contrary. of the people. By this it is not meant that monarch can act arbitrarily. is whether that of the law. Sovereignty. or rather inmonarch or people {ochlocracy). stead of the law. — . in which the particular will as such. is the point than which there is nothing higher. in truth. He is bound. the common misconception takes it to be mere force. which. The is commonly and crudely understood by without its monarch and without that whole organipeople zation necessarily and directly connected with him is a formless mass. and the like. the constitution is stable. which is no longer a State. constitutes the element of ideality of particular spheres and functions under lawful and constitutional conditions. not conceived in a lawless and unorganized condition. by is when to it the concrete content of the deliberations of his council. a hieroglyph of reason. he has often nothing more do than to sign his name but this name is important. externality. which has come to prevail in modern times. and. That the State is the self -determining and the completely sovereign will. Everything referring merely to utility. belongs to a confused idea of what the people. The sovereignty taken in this opposition. the final decision being necessarily referred to it —that ing this the easy to comprehend. and this is represented in reality by the person of the monarch. conceived in opposition to the sovereignty residing in the monarch. stands for the common view of democracy. must be excluded from its philosophic treatment. The State must be regarded as a great architectonic edifice. The idea of the sovereignty of the people. manifesting itself in reality. The difiiculty lies in grasp"I will" as a person. In a people. and synonymous with despotism.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW THE POWER OF THE PRINCE Because sovereignty contains in ideal is 79 all special privi- quite natural.

The Greeks. from oracles. but in that case the State is not yet fully developed. its fortunes are thus made to depend upon chance. and To . In the perfect organization of the State the important thing is only the finality of formal decision and the stability against passion. stitution of the monarch." Monarchs do not excel yet millions permit in bodily strength or intellect. It is therefore absurd to assume the rationality of the inIt is often he may The presupposition. entrails of sacrificial animals. Unfortunately this modern characteristic is regarded as merely external and arbitrary.80 It THE GERMAN CLASSICS may be said that an organic State has already existed democracy of Athens. Nature they considered as a power which in this wise made known and gave expression to what was good for the people. the monarch is a particular being who is of no concern. since be ill-educated or unworthy to stand at the helm of the State. themselves to be ruled by them. maintained against the monarch that. and from the flight of birds. Self-consciousness had at that time not yet attained to the abstraction of subjectivity. his function of administering the final decision. or else is ill constructed. " i. it in the beautiful had not yet come to the realization that an *'I will" must be pronounced by man himself concerning the decisions of the State. In a well-ordered monarchy the law alone has objective power to which the monarch has but to affix the subjective "I will. derived nomena. howthe final decision from entirely external pheever. however. that the fortunes of the State depend upon the particular character of the monarch is false. and must therefore have its peculiar place in the great edifice of the State. Situations may indeed arise in which his particularity alone asserts itself. This "I will" constitutes the great difference between the ancient and the modern world. One must not therefore demand objective qualification of the mon* he has but to say yes and to put the dot upon the The crown shall be of such a nature that the particular character of its bearer is of no significance. Beyond arch ' ' * ' ' .

PHILOSOPHY OF LAW 81 say that the people permit themselves to be governed contrary to their interests. Authoritative power resides only in the . for by and in spirit what has been done can be made un-done. Out of the sovereignty of the monarch flows the prerogative of pardoning criminals. THE EXECUTIVE The main point upon which the function of the government depends is the division of labor. For some time past the main effort has been spent in organizing from above. but does not abolish right. yet it is highly important that it should become organic. Eight remains. precisely because it is capricious and volun- organic state of the particular spheres. 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 State cannot count on service which VOL. the lower and bulky part of the whole being left more or less unorganized. Only to the sovereignty bethe spiritual power to undo what has been done and longs to cancel the crime by forgiving and forgetting. for people are not so stupid. and the pardoned is a criminal as he was before the pardon. for only thus is it a power and a force otherwise it is but a heap or mass of scattered atoms. The act of mercy does not mean This remission of punishment may be effected in religion. aims. in opposition to their apparent consciousness. is capricious and administration of justice by knights-errant. It is their need. VII — 6 . which. The difficulty lies in harmonizing the superior and the inferior functions. it has its place only in majesty and is due only to its arbitrary decision. and intentions is preposterous. . that no crime has been committed. Pardon is the remission of punishment. it is the inner power of the idea. urges them to this situation and retains them therein. voluntary (the for instance). But in so far as remission occurs in the world.

character. in it only. Thus the administration of justice. for a particular office. therefore. however. and the knowledge of legal procedure under an involved formalism. who. belong to the particular nature of the individual. skill. THE GERMAN CLASSICS Such service presupposes acting according to subjective opinion. Public service demands the sacrifice of independent selfsatisfaction and the giving up of the pursuit of private ends. owing to the fact that the knowledge of the law was hidden under a learned and foreign language. to which the State officials belong. be neither sold nor be- queathed. had at one time been perverted into an instrument of gain and despotism. however. are not entitled to carry on the business of the State through natural fitness. from assuming the exclusive position of an aristocracy and making education and intelligence the means for caprice and despotism. and the unity of the universal particular interests which constitutes the concept inner stability of the State. An office in the State can. whose object is the proper interest of all individuals. he must be specially educated and trained. The efficiency of the State depends upon individuals. resides the consciousness of the State and the most conspicuous cultivation the middle class constitutes therefore the . but according to their objective qualification. without genuine duty and right. This middle class is prevented by the institutions of sovereignty from above and the rights of corporation from below.82 tary. 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. and also tlie possibility of neglect and of the realization of private ends. In the middle class. Ability. lies Herein and the and the 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. but grants the right of finding these in dutiful service. .

Being presupposed. 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. the emperor was formerly judge. In this way and after a lapse of time a constitution attains a character quite different from what it had before. This function is itself a part of the constitution and thus presupposes it. the constitution lies. But the constitution not only is. in so far as they have a universal content. for example. outside the direct province of the legislature. but has not the form of an alteration. THE LEGISLATUKE The legislature is concerned with the interpretation of the laws and with the internal affairs of the State. Finally. to that degree. In the legislative power as a whole are operative both the monarchical element and the executive. Thus. This progress is an alteration which is imperceptible. stands as yet on no high level. the constitution receives its development also. its essence is also to become that is.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW ground 83 pillar of the State in regard to uprightness and inThe State in which there is no middle class telligence. belongs the final decision. and went about the empire administering justice. the latter as advisory element possesses concrete knowledge. hence it must not be created for purposes of legislation. in . Through the merely apparent advance of civilization it has become practically necessary that the emperor should gradually yield his judicial function to others. To the former . but in the forward development of the laws and the progressive character of the universal affairs of government. perspective over the whole in all its ramifications. it progresses with the — advance of civilization. The constitution must alone be the firm ground on which the legislature stands. and acquaintance with the objective principles and wants of the power of the State.

it is in question. as this term signifies a special part of the citizens. are.84 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the legislature the different classes or estates are also acThese classes or estates represent in the legislature tive. explain.. in so far point. not one party in opposition to another. are obviously meant to be more obvious that the definite expression excluded. to know what the absolute will. nay. the people itself. best understand what would promote the common weal. Belief in the necessity of The government is this hostile relation is a sad mistake. and. the constitution. the public consciousness. and that is obviously not a possession of the people. what is know what more difficult. reason. wills. The attitude of the government toward the classes must not be essentially a hostile one. in general. 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. yet ''all" should not be used when something quite indefinite is *'all. When . the empirical totality of the views and thought of the many." children. the case is just the reverse. and the classes. the element of subjective formal freedom. and that they have indubitably the good will to promote it." Though one may reply that. so that both are engaged in wresting something from each other. it wills.' The expression ''The Many" {ol ttoXXoI) characterizes the empirical totality more correctly than the customary word *'A11. which the classes are supposed to have for the common good. viz. is the fruit of deep knowledge and insight. As for the first The people. etc. that it would be a vain task to mention. The prevalent idea concerning the necessity and utility of an assembly of estates amounts to the assumption that the people's deputies.. current among the public so unspeakably many distorted and false notions and phrases There about the people. under this women. As for the especially good will. stands precisely for the part that does not To know what one wills. and correct them.

are indeed a collection. for which the classes vote. the people assert themselves. but are consented to for the best interests of those consenting. indulgence for his people. abstract atomic view prevails neither in the family nor in civic society. There exists a current notion to the effect that. In no other country are taxes so heavy as they are in England. . whenever they act. when they become organically related to the State. in both of which the individual appears only as a member of a universal. This function. is in essence an organization of members. and his rage organic relation is is always felt by those surrounding him. however. it must appear in the form of in- that representatives are chosen for the or that every individual exercises a vote. a of health. organized into its particular spheres. and terrible. In despotic countries. and these members are dividuals —either themselves spheres in it no element shall show itself as an unorganized mass. are not to be looked upon as gifts. therefore. The many. as individuals. which in a constitutional State are increased through the very consciousness of the people. in despotic States the despot shows. whom one chooses to call the people. mark 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.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW the State is 85 in such a situation it is a misfortune and not Furthermore. but the masses. When this the masses is lacking. as a destructive force directed against the organization. where there are only princes and people. and the member of the State is a member . obtain their interests in a lawful and orderly way. but only as a multitude. the taxes. The State. Moreover. the people of a despotic State pay light taxes. the self-expression of always violent. The concrete State is the whole. since the private class is raised in the legislature to a participation in the universal cause. a formless mass. irrational. savage. whose movement and action would be elemental.

to know and respect the routine. but of one of the essential spheres of society and of its large interests. in his cooperate capacity. and thus develops the capacity of judging more rationally concerning them. furthermore. talents. be neutralized. matter of great advantage to have among the dele- gates representatives of every special branch of society. and those who have the right to vote will not do so.86 THE GERMAN CLASSICS of such a particular class. individuals thoroughly — familiar with their branch and belonging to it. in fact. Through the first opinion condition and the notion of the State and publicity of the assembly of classes public acquires true thoughts and an insight into the its affairs. it learns. Of the elections by many separate individuals it may be observed that there is necessarily an indifference. In the notion of a loose and indefinite election this important matter accident. that the interest itself is another. can the individual first find a real It is a including even the universal class. Only in this objective determination can the individual find recognition in the State. since one vote is of such slight importance. of a single party. etc. of a special interest. such as trade. actually present in the representative. however. virtues. rather. as member of the the like. especially in large States. about using one*'s vote. has the same right to be represented as every other. an organic and rational meaning only if they are not representatives of mere inis left to dividuals. of course. Representa- no longer means substitution of one person by but it means. The election becomes the business of a few. It remains. open to him to rise through his skill to any class for which he can qualify himself. then. which should. no matter how much one may extol the tion thus privilege of voting. Only community and and vital place in the universal. every branch. While publicity stimulates these tal- . and skill of the authorities and officers of the State. To view the delegates as representatives has. manufacture. of the mere multitude. Hence this institution turns into the opposite of what it stands for.

. the eternal substan- and the result of the whole constitution. therefore. legislation. and what happens in a great assembly. Public opinion contains. But at all times public opinion has been a great power. but rather through insight and reasons. It is is one of the greatest oppor- a widespread popular notion that everybody already knows what is good for the State. Here.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW 87 ents in their further development and incites their honorable display. talents. in the assembly. To be sure. when the principle of subjective freedom has such importance and significance. where one feat of eloquence wrecks another. and it is shown that what one imagines at home with his wife and friends is one thing. little through use and custom. which have to serve as examples. Nevertheless. are developed virtues. Only through the publication of every one of their proceedings are the chambers related to the larger public opinion. the true content. and the universal tial principles of justice. publicity is one of the best means of instruction in the interests of the State generally. prevails no longer through force. effective in the State must be so in an organic actually fashion. is quite a different thing. In the constitution this is the case. and it is particularh^ so in our time. it is also an antidote for the pride of individuals and of the multitude. 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. and that it is this com- mon knowledge which finds expression in the assembly. PUBLIC OPINION Public opinion is the unorganized way in which what a That which is people wants and thinks is promulgated. skill. and tunities for their education. for ministers must possess large resources of wit and eloquence to resist the attacks which are hurled against them. What shall now prevail. the ministers may find these assemblies onerous.

is difficult to decide difficult. its false knowledge and incorrect judgment. and defended. attacked. No matter with what passion an opinion is invested. and the recognized wants of the State. this is no criterion of its real essence. But when this inner character is formucondition in general. in spite of prepossessions. yet this insight can- not be obtained from public opinion itself. Da ist sie respektabel. And least of all could public opinion be nothing serious at all. partly for the purpose of actual reasoning about events. It is therefore not to be in subjective opinion when regarded as merely a difference it is asserted on the one hand — *'Vox populi. which is a fundamental ethical principle winding its way through everything. relations." . for a substantial principle can only be apprehended apart from public opinion and by a consideration of its own nature. there appears also the whole character of accidental opinion. Which one is in earnest." Both sides co-exist in public opinion.88 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The form underlying public opinion sound common sense. * made to see that its seriousness is Or in Goethe : "Zuschlagen kann die Masse. and on the other (in Ariosto.indeed. this alone is its truly earnest aspect. if one confines oneself other side — to the direct expression of public opinion. with its ignorance and perversity. is lated in the shape of general propositions. But as the sub- stantial principle is the inner character of public opinion. neither one nor the truly in earnest. Drteilen gelingt ihr miserabel.. is less error are so directly united in Since truth and endit. no matter with what earnestness a view is asserted. partly for their own sake. vox dei". institutions. for instance) — * **Che'l Volgare ignorante ogn' un riprenda E parli piu di quel che meno intenda.

And he who does not understand how to despise public opinion. to be espoused by it. Since public opinion possesses within itself no standard of discrimination. and then brings it to completion he acts . is directly controlled by the police and State laws and regulations. to be despised for its concrete consciousness and expression. to be esteemed for its essential fundamental principle. The great man of his time is he w^ho expresses the will and the meaning of that time. according to the inner spirit and essence of his time. and to be made one of it is the first formal condition of its prepossessions. substantial basis. in- dependence of any great and rational enterprise (in actuality as well as in science). much Public opinion deserves. no capacity to rise to a recognition of the substantial. the essence. all is false In public opinion the truth in it is and true. pressed one's opinion. events. to be esteemed as as to be despised. more or less dimly. will never accomplish anything great. Anything great and rational is eventually sure to please public opinion. which only shines. The indirect guarantee lies in . as it makes itself heard here and there. therefore. through its concrete expression. and the definite character of but it deceives itself about the way in which it this. which he realizes. people will not permit itself to be deceived concerning its its spirit. though inferior to it in vivacity) the gratification of that prickling impulse to express and to have ex. FREEDOM OF THE PRESS The freedom of public utterance (of which the press is one means. but to discover the business of the great man. knows and according to which it judges of its acts. etc.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW 89 it A great mind has publicly raised the question whether The answer is that a is permissible to deceive a people. which partly hinder and partly punish its excesses. having advantage over speech in its more extended reach.

and for the — words. if the utterance of the press is treated as an offensive deed. Consequently. and accidental in human opinion. Such expressions are partly responsible for consequences of which. a thought. The definition of the freedom of the press as freedom to say and write what one pleases. conceals a perfectly definite meaning. a mere saying. with its infinite variof content and expression. The laws are not only indefinite. the stability of the govern- ment. by the skill and subtlety of its expressions. trivial. represents what is most ety transient. because they are mine and my mental property.. impunity is expected for opinions and words. in the same breath. one is never sure how far they are It is this indefiniteness of the content contained in the utterances and really follow from them. yond the direct incitation to theft. Such views belong as freedom to do what one pleases. the free expression and use of that . to the uneducated crudity and superfiviz. and insignificant. Thus the extreme subjectivity of the wrong. but the press can. and also on the publicity given to the assemblies of the classes. since they are not actually expressed. injury. one may retort that it is not a deed at all. Another security is offered by the indifference and contempt with which insipid and malicious words are. quickly met. is parallel to the one of freedom in general. causes the decision and sentence to be equally subjective.. because they are. or criticise the judgment of the court as wholly arbitrary. in a measure. Furthermore. evade them. because they are merely subjective. but only an opinion. and form of the press which prevents the laws governing it from assuming that precision which one demands of laws. revolt. and this again is mainly based on the rationality of the constitution. lies the art of cultivating the expression which in itself seems general and indefinite enough. Beciality of naive thinking. The press. but which. as a rule. particular. and crime committed by the press.90 its THE GERMAN CLASSICS innocTiousness. etc. and. murder. great respect and esteem is demanded for these opinions and words for the opinions.

PHILOSOPHY OF LAW property. though punishable by law. which forms a circle for such activity. is necessary. where whole. ture is . This necessity is at first wont to appear under the form of a force of nature. and to a condemnation which reflects upon ground. In entering upon opposition to the superior talents and virtues. 91 yet the basic principle remains that injury to the honor of individuals generally. as accidental. the peculiar and dangerous effect of these acts for the individuals. in gen- There is an ethical element in war. in the State. libel. Like the public. In the ethical order. its officers and officials. if thrown upon a heap of gunpowder. narobbed of its force. upon acts of injustice. abuse. and. defiance of the etc. ill. is. to an ethical law. on the many such acts. such as property and life. person of the prince. by which impotence feels oppressed. and the nemesis. The transient and negatransient. and the necessity is exalted to a work of freedom. the community. MEANING OF WAR It must not be reor as mej-ely an external calamity which is accidentally based upon the passions of despotic individuals or nations. may come under a certain kind of nemesis which internal impotence is forced to bring about. has a much more dangerous result than if thrown on the mere upon the nature vanishes and leaves no trace. contemptuous caricaturing of the government. a good it itself. it comes to a realization of its inferiority and to a consciousness of its own nothingness. however. especially the And laws. But. by treating it with contempt. The recognition of the finite.. just as a spark. However. even when bad and odious. are all offenses and crimes of different grades. rendered ineffectual. for all things finite are mortal and eral. it is confined to a harmless malicious joy. incitement to revolt. garded as an absolute upon what ought not to be. and the State depends of the soil on which they are committed.

manage to hold on to his possessions. and that touching at least. Only in the unity of a body is health. strife win peace at home as a result of war indeed causes insecurity in property. and yet every one. thinks that he. and. where the organs become stiff. every sphere is hedged in and grows immobile. may be touched by his own words. and at last all men stagnate. Thus Kant proposed an alliance of princes. so war protects the people from the corruption which an everlast- of the nations ing peace would bring upon illustrate it. and ber of States numin individuality negation is essentially contained. which should settle the controversies of States. their particular nature becoming more and more hardened and ossified.92 THE GERMAN CLASSICS tive nature of all things is transformed in the State into an expression of the ethical will. however. but this real insecurity is only a necessary commotion. often painted by edify- ing speech as a state in which the vanity of temporal things is demonstrated. vanity. as the winds which sweep over the ocean prevent the decay that would result from its perpetual calm. In peace. now becomes an element whereby the ideal character of the particular receives its right and reality. and the Holy Alliance probably aspired to be an institution of this kind. civic life becomes more extended. Not only do nations issue forth invigorated from their wars. From the pulpits much is preached concerning the insecurity. but may this confederation. and show its earnest activity. must create an opposition and so beget an enemy. there is death. War. History shows phases which how successful wars have checked internal un- rest and have strengthened the entire stability of the State. War and though he instability of temporal things. constitute themselves into a family. in the form of Hussars with glistening sabres. The State. Eternal peace is often demanded as an ideal toward which mankind should move. is individual. Let the insecurity finally come. will . but those nations torn A by internal abroad. War has the deep meaning that by it the ethical health And is preserved and their finite aims uprooted. as an individuality.

all this now . and its duty is to realize the ideality contained in it. again. adventurers in the search of their fanciful objects. The principle of the modern world the power of thought and of the universal has — — given to bravery a higher form. but those of the members of a whole. Not personal valor. Rob- bers and murderers in the pursuit of crime. personal valor appears as impersonal. and speech is silenced before the grave repetitions of history. but against a hostile whole. but this is only negative only a positive char- To acter —an aim and content—gives meaning to bravery. There are different kinds of bravery. The courage of the animal. since hostility is directed. so the State is no real individuality unless . emy with In spite of this. and do not fear death. or the robber. the higher form causes the expression of bravery to appear more mechanical. The military class is the class of universality. it is not a chance invention that has brought about the change of the mere personal form of bravery into the more abstract. so that the individual counts but as one among many.. the chivalrous bravery. . This principle it is which has caused the invention of the gun. it. are not yet the true forms of it. not against separate individuals. but the important aspect of self-subordination to the universal cause. etc. The brave deeds are not the deeds of any particular person. INTEENATIONAL KELATIONS Just as the individual is not a real person unless related to other persons. the bravery which arises from a sense of honor.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW edification 93 which foresaw curses. lies in risk one's life is indeed something more than mere fear of death. The defense of the State is its privilege. also possess courage. In civilized nations true bravery consists in the readiness to give oneself wholly to the service of the State. which consists in self-sacrifice. turns upon the enwars will break out whenever necessity demands them but the seeds spring up anew. And.

The relation of one particular State to another presents. and no judge is higher judge exists to adjust their differences. 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. When the particular wills of the State can come to no agreement their controversy can be decided only by war. or as a violation of respect and honor. on the largest possible scale. Hence its internal affairs cannot be a matthis recognition ter of indifference to them. as a strong individuality. ''The French Republic requires recognition as little as the sun needs to be recognized. has experienced an protracted internal rest. and shall respect their independence. must remain indefinite. virtues. but demands as a guarantee that it shall recognize those States which recognize it. On the other hand. which already carries with it the ' ' When guarantee of recognition. is. and more especially its princely power.94 THE GERMAN CLASSICS related to other States. the most shifting play of in- dividual passions. And if a unduly State. But the relation among States fluctuates. therefore. Napoleon. and field The nations of Europe form a family according to the universal principle of their legislation. . said. power. without needing to be expressed. in order to find an occasion for intense activity. The the universal and absolute Spirit alone — the World-Spirit. What offense shall be regarded as a breach of a treaty. from the point of view of its foreign relations. not interfere with the internal affairs of another State. his words suggest nothing but the strength of existence. aims. The legitimate power of a State. A State shall. it will naturally be more inclined to irritability. it is essential that it be recognized by others. The State may identify its infinitude and honor with every one of its single aspects. interests. a wholly internal affair. and their civilization. their ethical code. before the peace of Campoformio. talents. for a complete State.

95 It is a play in and mere external chance. pronouncing its judgment and its judgment is the highest upon the finite nations of the world's his- — — tory. for the history of the world justice. Each nation as an many existing individuality is guided by its particular principles. is the world's court of . Out . national spirits are limited. the independence of the State.PHILOSOPHY OF LAW injustice. of this dialectic rises the universal Spirit. vice. the unlimited World-Spirit. 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. which even the ethical whole. The principles which control the is exposed to accident.

and beautiful human beings. the ''Philosophy of Fine Arts. Spirit only is the true essence and content of the world. merely relative position to nature. beautiful animals. ph. so that whatever is beautiful is truly beautiful it partakes of this higher In this sense natural beauty produced by appears only as a reflection of the beauty that belongs only when essence and is it. a beautiful sky. for ''higher" is a very To say which states the difference between them as quantitative and external. loewenberg. more precisely.INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART (1820-21) By Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel translated by j. is to say very little. ^ speaking of beautiful color. how far beauty may be predicated of such objects. we must begin by maintaining that artistic beauty is higher than the beauty of nature. beautiful flowers. For the beauty of art is beauty born and born again of the spirit. But quite aside from the question.d. or how far natural beauty may be placed side by side with artistic beauty." or. Assistant in Philosophy. And as spirit and its products stand higher than nature and its phenomena. by so much the — — beauty that resides in art nature. a beautiful river. is superior to the beauty of that spirit and artistic beauty stand higher than natural beauty. Harvard University THE MEANING OF AKT HE appropriate expression for our subject is the "Philosophy of Art. which we wish not to discuss here. The "higher" quality of spirit and of artistic beauty does not at all stand in a indefinite expression. [961 ." By this expression we wish to exclude the beauty of naIn common life we are in the habit of ture.

< .

i .

and to frivolity and idleness on the other. as the reconcilor of all these elements constantly warring with one another. all the affairs of life. by making art serve two masters. Yet. 97 it is an imperfect and incomplete expression of the spiritual substance. though acknowledging art to be a luxury. art belongs to the relaxation and leisure of the mind. on the whole. Confining ourselves to artistic beauty. again. like a kindly genius. softening the gravity and the bursider certain difficulties. And though the creations of art cannot be said to be directly disadvantageous to the serious purposes of life. But it must be said that. on the one hand. 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. nay. and joyously adorn all its inner and outer phases. art itself appears to fall outside the real aims of life. on occasion actually further them by holding evil at bay. There are others. where it can accomplish nothing positive. art and beauty pervade. we must first conThe first that suggests itself is the whether art is at all worthy of a philosophic treatquestion ment. driving evil away by occupying its place. Instead of being an end in itself. such a life demand its exertion. and. Very serious aims have been ascribed to art. VII — 7 . between in- and duty. den of actual existence. from the crude adornment of the savages to the splendor of the temple with its marvelous wealth of decoration. At view renders art a superfluity. art is degraded into a means of clination appealing to higher aims. furnishing pleasure for idle moments.PHILOSOPHY OF ART to spirit . while the substantial interests of rate. though the any tender and emotional influence which is wrought upon the mind by occupation with art is not thought necessarily detrimental. although art wins its way everywhere with its pleasing forms. Art has been recommended as a mediator between reason and sensuousness. it is not rendered thereby more worthy of a philosophic treatment. Vol. who. To be sure. because effeminate.

but is determined by outer objects and circumstances. It fulfils its highest task when it has joined the same sphere with religion and philosophy and has become a certain mode . As for the worthiness of art to be philosophically con. Art is not genuine art until it has thus liberated itself. and truth can be produced by truth alone and not by deception and semblance. science can emancipate itself from such service and can rise in free independence to the pursuit of truth. On the whole. and is thus not self-sufficient. in which the realization of its own aims is its proper function. now and then. attained by art its success is rather limited. achieving its results by means of deception and semblance. for beauty is appearance. lending grace to the external conditions of life. its form is its life and one must admit that a true and real purpose should not . Granting that art can be subordinated to serious aims and that the results which it thus produces will be significant. Even if a good end is thus. still the means used by art is deception. is a relation which it has in common with thought. On the other hand. Art thus employed is indeed not an independent or free. and even then deception cannot be recommended as a worthy means. in the hands of the servile understanding is used for finite ends and accidental means. it is indeed true that art can be used as a casual amusement. For science. it is conceived to serve both grave and light interests. decorating our surroundings. too.98 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Art considered as means offers another difficulty which springs from its form. furnishing enjoyment and pleasure. That art might serve other purposes and still retain its pleasuregiving function. it sidered. be achieved through deception. but rather a subservient art. for the means should be adequate to the dignity of the end. 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 does not correspond with their nature. and giving prominence to other objects through ornamentation.

to the senses. Fine Art often constitutes the key. and transient. Appearance is essential to reality truth could not be.PHILOSOPHY OF ART 99 of bringing to consciousness and expression the divine meaning of things. and the most universal truths of the spirit. and with many their nations it is wisdom and the only key. consists in its ability to represent in sensuous form even the highest ideas. it must be admitted that such criticism would not be without justice. mon first reconciling medium between what is merely external. between nature with its finite reality and the infinite freedom of philosophic reason. but it always appears to immediate consciousness and to present experience as an alien beyond. the deepest interests of mankind. This character art has in com- with religion and philosophy. Into works of art the nations have wrought their most profound ideas and aspirations. as well as with the inner world of sensations and feelings. and to It is the height of a supra-sensuous world into feeling. bringing them thus nearer to the character of natural phenomena. but merely the particular kind of appearance . in our empirical work-a- . however. Therefore not appearance in general can be objected to. Art's peculiar feature. sensuous. above sensuous and finite experience. which thought reaches. did it not shine through appearance. through which art seeks to portray truth. Concerning the unworthiness of art because of its character as appearance and deception. and the world of pure thought. to an understanding of religion. To these two worlds we are wont. 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. if appearance could be said to be equivalent to falsehood and thus to something that ought not to be. Through the powder of philosophic thinking we are able to soar above what is merely here. 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 .

and by the capriciousness of conditions. but it appears in the form of a chaos of contingencies. as the sensuous is alleged to be concrete in contrast to everything spiritual and intellectual. and the universal element in nature and in spirit is precisely what art accentuates and makes This essence of reality appears also in the common outer and inner world. etc. Art frees the true meaning of appearances from the show and deception of this bad and transient world. sense perception. distorted by the immediateness of visible. in the realm of . and its form is sensuous both sides art has to reconcile into a united whole. characters. THE CONTENT AND IDEAL OF AKT The content of art is spiritual. and invests it with a higher reality. in fact. By this is not meant that it must be concrete. The second requirement demands of the content of art that it shall be no abstraction. must be worthy of artistic representation. which art is to represent. posed to its inherent nature. Only beyond the immediacy of sense and of external objects is genuine reality to be found. to attribute the value of actuality. since a content not capable of artistic treatment is made to take on an artistic form. events. reality. the products of art have a higher reality and a more genuine being than the things of ordinary life. For everything that is genuinely true. it is just the whole sphere of the empirical inner and outer world that is not the world of true reality.100 THE GERMAN CLASSICS day life. Thus. and a matter prosaic in itself is forced into a form quite op. in contrast to art. Truly real is but the fundamental essence and the underlying substance of nature and of spirit. born of the spirit. which is supposed to be lacking such reality and truth. But. The first requirement is that the content. far removed from being mere appearances. indeed it may be called a mere show and a cruel deception in a far stricter sense than in the case of art. and truth. otherwise we obtain only a bad unity.

for example. representation. Art does not seize upon this or that form either because it simply finds it can find no other. — — which its perfectly adequate to represent the spiritual in concreteness. and. as a person. of all for plastic art. If a true and therefore concrete content is to have its adequate sensuous form and shape. the view should therefore be abandoned is that an existing object from the external world is accidentally chosen by art to express a spiritual idea. cannot manifest itself in a particular and sensuous unified form. which at the same time is One. as Spirit. The nature of concreteness belonging to both the content and the representation of art. has. a particular and and subjective character. represented theirs. completely concrete. of God . nevertheless. can furnish no content for art. this sensuous form must this being the third requirement also be something individual.PHILOSOPHY OF ART thought as well as in the domain of nature. as a subWhat he is as ject. we express thereby nothing but a lifeless abstraction of an understanding devoid of reason. art demands the same concreteness because a mere abstract idea. and therefore concrete. real. even sensuous. is precisely the point in which both can coincide and correspond to each other. or an abstract universal. Hence. that God is simply One. Here the essence spirit is the reconciled unity of universality and particusuch unity alone being concrete. And this is the reason or because it . Such a God. yes. By saying. as a content larity. as indeed he is not conceived in his concrete truth. not been able to represent their God. appears to the religious consciousness as a Trinity of persons. and one. The natural shape of the human body. more precisely still. the Supreme Being as such. but the concrete spiritual content itself carries with it the element of external. in order to be true must be concrete in this sense. is a sensuous concrete object. For in Christianity God is conceived in his truth. least Thus the Jews and the Turks have who is still more abin the positive manner in which the Christians have stract. for example. in spite of universality. is 101 concrete.

but concrete. is thought. How far a definite content can be adequately treated by art and how far it needs. but he is pure spiritually. artistic birds shines unseen. according to its nature. the Greek gods are compared with God as conceived in accordance with Christian notions. no more enjoyed. is a distinction which we see at once if. for example. bears the impress of an essentially spiritual content. which. addresses itself to the inner eye. A higher mode than representation through a sensuous form. out having been admired in the wilds of southern forests and these forests. But the task of art is to rect contemplation in sensuous form. and not the outer natural shape through which he can be represented but imperfectly and not in the whole depth of his essence. His sphere of existence is therefore essentially inner knowledge. For this reason alone are content and shape harmoniously wrought. the outward shape whereby the content is ren- dered visible and imaginable aims at an existence only in our heart and mind. Although the sensuous form in which art clothes its content is not accidental. and can be known only as spirit and in spirit. closely related to the natural human form. an appeal to the heart and to the mind. perish and waste.102 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS why a sensuous concrete object. The Christian God is also a concrete personality. fumes. and their song dies away unheard the torch-thistle which blossoms only for a night withers with. but it is essentially a question. must not be one-sided. yet it is not the highest form whereby the spiritually concrete may be grasped. The Greek god is not abstract but and variegated plumage of the its only origin. The work of art is not so unconsciously self-immersed. a higher and more spiritual form. represent a spiritual idea to diand not in the form of . an address to the responsive soul. True and rational thinking. with the most odorous and fragrant per. The mere sensuously concrete external nature as such has not this purpose for The . groves of the most beautiful and luxuriant vegetation. though in a relative sense abstract.

defectiveness of form has also its root in defectiveness of content. the Chinese. even such correct representation will be defective. according to the standard of its own nature. Indians. Thus. skill with which and copied. and were not able to arrive at genuine beauty. Such a view. Judged by the standard of ideal beauty. the more profound is the inner truth of their content and thought. which depends upon the . Egyptians. The requirement of the conformity of spiritual idea and sensuous form might at first be interpreted as meaning that any idea whatever would suffice. but conscious alteration. The more form works of art are.PHILOSOPHY OF ART 103 thought or of pure spirituality. because their their representations of the gods. in their artistic objects. and artistic ac- the misrepresentation and distortion of natural objects are not unintentional technical inexpertness and incapacity. And it is not art. of adequate representation. the content and conception of their works of perfect in were as yet vague and obscure. to formlessness. would confound the ideal of art with mere correctness. The value and dignity of such representation lies in the correspondence and unity of the two sides. so long as the concrete form represented this idea and no other. For any content whatever is capable. for instance. 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. and their idols. for. 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. however. but yet it does not for that reason lay claim to artistic beauty in the ideal sense. The artistic ideal is not to be thus understood. adhered a vague and inarticulate form. of the spiritual content and its sensuous embodiment. or to mythological ideas. which consists in the expression of any meaning in its appropriate form. merely a question of the greater or lesser the objects of external nature are studied in certain stages of artistic consciousness tivity''.

In the highest art alone are the idea and its representation in perfect congruity.104 content that is THE GERMAN CLASSICS it. In the second place. demanded thus speak of imperfect art. by We may in consciousness. To this uni- versal evolution there corresponds a development of the phases of art. As indefinite. SYMBOLIC AKT We Art begins when the spiritual idea. form The higher truth of art consists. man. The development is. is itself a genuine content. in its sphere. a spiritual and universal one. its abstractness and one-sidedness thus render its shape defeedefinite . in the spiritual having attained a sensuous form adequate to its essence. These constitute — — the particular arts. in fact. and because the content. before it wins the true meaning of its series of stages absolute essence. For the Spirit. And this also furnishes the principle of division for the philosophy 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. then. determines definite modes of artistic expression and a totality of necessary distinctions within the sphere of art. this universal development of art. and God finds artistic representation. and is. it is indeed defective. which that embodies. embodying itself in sensuous form. is made the content of artistic forms. in so far as a gradual series of definite conceptions of the universe of nature. have now to consider three definite relations of the spiritual idea to its sensuous expression. may be quite perfect both technically in other respects. which. being itself still inand obscure and ill-comprehended. When compared with the highest and idea and ideal of art. it does not yet have that individuality which the artistic ideal demands. has to develop through a which constitute its very life. because the sensuous form of the idea is in itself own proper the adequate form. in the first place.

does violence to them. and must be interpreted as if the spiritual idea were actually present in them. distorts and disfigures them into grotesque shapes. it seems unable to free itself. The spiritual idea revels in them. For here it is the spiritual idea which is more or less vague and non-plastic. This form we may.PHILOSOPHY OF ART 105 The first form of art is therefore tive and whimsical. It is indeed true that natural objects possess an aspect which makes them capable of representing a universal meaning. with this foreign matter the artistic creation begins. but is still engaged in striving and struggling after it. call the symbolic form of art in such form the abstract idea assumes a shape in natural sensuous matter which is foreign to it. in general. They thus receive the vocation of expressing it. from which. but in symbolic art a complete correspondence is not yet possible. and splendor of such forms to raise the natural phenomena to the spiritual level. The objects of external nature are reproduced unchanged. In it the correspondence is . is conceived unsatis- . It then exaggerates these natural phenomena and shapes them into the huge and the boundless. hugeness. seeks itself in their unrest and disproportion. seethes and ferments in them. and endeavors by the diversity. for example. however. a lion is meant to stand for strength. as it were. as when. having no other reality to express its essence. but finds them inadequate to it. the universal substance of all things. rather a mere search after plasticity than a capacity of true representation. but at the same time the meaning of the spiritual idea is attached to them. expatiates in all these natural shapes. This abstract relation brings also to consciousness the foreignness of the spiritual idea to natural phenomena. The incongruity of the two elements to each other makes the relation of the spiritual idea to objective reality a negaThe spiritual as a wholly inner element and as tive one. And the spiritual idea. confined to an abstract quality. while the objects of nature have a thoroughly definite form. The spiritual idea has not yet found its adequate form.

or forces all of its world-view. the first form of art symbolic art with its endless quest. grotesque. therefore. it is this inner meaning which is glorified far and above every worldly content. classical type of art. . It is classical art. in it This double aspect disappears in the we find the free and adequate embodiment of the spiritual idea in the form most suitable to it. CLASSICAL AET In the second form of art. the incongruity between the spiritual idea and the sensuous form remains insuperable. its inner struggle. and in its sublimity it triumplis over the abundance of unsuitable forms. then. Thus can never be completely molded into the exmeaning pression. to assume the expression This art becomes therefore bizarre. in general. from the the illusory — its sphinx-like mystery. which first affords the creation and contemplation of the completed ideal. and. because the spiritual meaning which it seeks to convey enters into consciousness in but an abstract and vague manner. which we wish to designate as the classical. the character of the primitive artistic pantheism of the Orient. and thus the congruity between meaning and form must always remain defective and therefore abstract. notwithstanding all the aspiration and effort. and its sublimity. the double defect of symbolic art is removed. This is. These elements constitute. and without taste. but at the same time recognized as inadequate to their own inner meaning. realizing it as a real fact in the world. which either invests even the lowest objects with absolute significance. or it represents the infinite substance in its abstract freedom turning away with disdain phenomena with violence and perishing mass of appearances. and with it meaning and expression are in perfect accord. The sjnnbolic form is imperfect. In this conception of sublimity the natural objects and the human shapes are accepted and left unaltered.106 fied THE GERMAN CLASSICS with all externality.

which constitutes the aim of a representation. consists in its content being itself a concrete idea. 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. to advance to the human shape as the only sensu- ous phenomenon appropriate to the mind. and given it natural plastic existence in accordance with free individual spirituality. a concrete spiritual idea. The migration of souls is. — — — . . For a worthy object of such a Nature must be consulted as to whether she concontent. for only in its body can mind appear in an adequately sensuous fashion. its fundamental principles that life has necessarily. To be sure. an abstract notion.PHILOSOPHY OF AET 107 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. flower. personification and anthropomorphism have frequently been decried as a degradation of the spiritual but art. The human body as portrayed by classical art is not represented in its mere physical existence. as such. on the contrary. in so far as its task is to bring before direct contemplation the spiritual in sensuous form. in this respect. and. as spiritual and individual. etc. furthermore. landscape. scene. would. 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.. for only the spiritual is a truly essential content. if the conformity of meaning and expression is to be com- . and. through the conformity of content and form. clothes itself when revealed as a temporal phenomenon. The peculiarity of classical art. in its evolution. is the human form. But if the form must be thus purified in order to express the appropriate content. The form in which the idea. every picture of a countenance. must advance to such anthropomorphism. tains anything to which a spiritual attribute really belongs. and physiology should make it one of . be at once classical.

This content if familiar ideas may is .108 THE GERMAN CLASSICS must be per- plete. the defects are those of art itself. to wit. 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 confine- ment of the bodily form as its only appropriate existence. eternal . The classical form of art attained. though on a higher level. the highest degree of perfection . This limitation has its root in the general attempt of art to represent in sensuous concrete form the infinite and universal Spirit. EOMANTIC ART itual idea The romantic form of art destroys the unity of the spirand its sensuous form. But in such a fusion of the spiritual and sensuous aspects Spirit cannot be portrayed accord- ing to its true essence. 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. and goes back. without projecting into another sphere beyond the physical and sensuous representation. because it has won a content which goes beyond the classical form of art and its mode of expression. due to the limitation of its sphere. This latter point brings to light the defect of classical art. and not as simply absolute and but the absolute and eternal Spirit must be able to reveal and express itself in a manner far more spiritual. the romantic form of art. tlie content wliich is the spiritual idea fectly capable of being expressed through the bodily form of man. romantic art dissolves the inseparable unity which — — coincides with what Christianity declares to be be recalled the ideal of the classical type. namely. which demands its dissolution and its transition to a third and higher form. as human mind. indeed. which symbolic art left unreconciled. which the sensuous process of art was capable of realizing and. The result is that Spirit is characterized as a particular form of mind. to the difference and opposition of the two. Now. if it shows any defects.

in distinction to tlie Greek belief in gods which constitutes the essential and appropriate subject for classical art. a unity because it is merely implied and inwiediate. for example. thereimplies the unity of the power and and confined. the true mold for the reality of this content is no longer the sensuous. but this kinship and unity. are not reflected upon or raised into definite knowledge. And it is thus that man breaks through the boundary of his — — merely immediate and unconscious existence. does not rest satisfied with the potential and the unconscious as the animal does. the bodily shape of his essence is individual man. and raises them as. so that. The Greek god is the object of naive contemplation and sensuous imagination. for instance. the infinite difference which. in depicting God as Spirit not as particularized individual mind. just because he knows himself to be animal. but. but self-consciousness and internal contemplation. which. The concrete content of Hellenic art human and divine nature. but becomes conscious of them.PHILOSOPHY OF ART 109 true of God as Spirit. the process of digestion into self-conscious science. can characterize himself as mind or spirit. Man is an animal. even in his animal functions. The elevation of what is unconscious and implied into self-conscious knowledge brings about an enormous difference it is . his shape is. immediate existence of the spiritual. he ceases in virtue of such knowledge to be animal. To man the Greek god appears as a being and a power with whom he may feel a kinship and unity. just permits of a representation in an immediately visible and sensuous mold. which underlies the classical form of art and which it has rendered capable of complete plastic embodiment. the bodily frame of man. reflects upon them. the circle of his higher stage is the hnoivledge of this unconscious unity. The fore. and. through such selfknowledge only. but as absolute and universal Spirit retires from the — — . For this reason Christianity. If in the manner just described the unity of the human and divine nature is raised from an immediate to a conscious unity. separates man from the animal.

is not dependent upon sensuous representation it is now exempt from such immediate existence. The new content. of character. romantic art becomes art which transcends itself. as spiritual feeling. The inner life thus triumphs over the outer world indeed. On the other hand. in a sense. and the sensuous externality of form assumes again. and not the bodily form. Briefly stated. which completely fuses w^ith its object. concrete. not work for sensuous perception. or as its reflection. however. whose ca- it is. the material and mold of its content. longs for freedom within itself and seeks and finds reconciliation only within the inner recesses of the spirit. finite mind and will. it must seek embodiment. sphere and artistic form. like every other. The external side of things is surrendered to accident and committed to the excesses of the imagination. spiritual idea itself. This inner world is the content of romantic art. won by this unity. an insignificant and transient character.110 THE GERMAN CLASSICS sensuousness of imagination into the sphere of inner being. assume likewise the character they had in symbolic art. or of incident and plot. as it did in symbolic art. and makes this. In conformity with such a content. carrying on this process of self-transcendence within its . the peculiarity and caprice of the individual. capable of realization only by spiritual knowledge. eye. and as such an inner life. at the most subjective inner shrine. the essence of romantic art consists in the artistic object being the free. action. In this way. and thus the unity of the human and divine nature is a conscious unity. chooses to distort price the objects of the outer world into a bizarre and grotesque now mirrors existence as now . The subjective. but must aim at the inner mood. But the spiritual has now retired from the outer mode into itself. the feeling. so triumphs over it that the outer artistic own — world itself is made to proclaim its victory. through which the sensuous appearance sinks into worthlessness. art can. which is revealed in its spirituality to the inner. at the heart. which. needs an external mode of expression. and not the outer. the romantic type of art.

since it can seek and attain its true reality and exfeeling. the ideal as the true idea of beauty. classical. THE PAKTICULAK AKTS But. and antagonism of spiritual idea and sensuous form. but with this essenIn the romantic realm. tial difference. reappear in the romantic type. but in its own expression and in every incident and accident of life. feeling preserves or regains its healing power of re. And we fundamental principle by which the several particular arts may be arranged and defined that is. Hence. conciliation. and romantic forms of art. incongruity. as in classical art. This. They consist in the aspiration after. now reveals itself in its perfection within mind and idea that It is by virtue of the higher perfection of the shuns any adequate union with an external form. for the external form no longer possesses a meaning and significance. the indifference. It finds its artistic reflection.PHILOSOPHY OF ART 111 medley. there inhere in the idea of beauty different modifications which art translates into sensuous forms. now. grief. renders them independent and separate means of finds its definite character in realizing different artistic functions. species of art contain in themselves the same essential difwe have found in the three general types External objectivity. Feeling is now everything. in every misfortune. the find a — ferences which of art. which stand for the three relations of the spiritual idea to its expression in the realm of art. not in the world of external things and their forms. to whose defectiveness was due the defective forms of symbolic art. as far as each type some one definite external . into which these are molded by means of a sensuous and particular types material. in general terms. and the attainment and transcendence of. the characteristics of symbolic art. it pression best within itself. is the character of the symbolic. the spiritual idea. and even crime. moreover. on its own account and for it own sake.

and wild beasts. Its task consists in so shaping external inorganic nature that it becomes homogeneous with mind. But in such material and in such forms the ideal as concrete spirituality cannot be realized. the general types of art corre- material whose realization. The material of architecture is matter itself in its immediate externality as a heavy mass subject to mechanical laws. though externally. the thunder-storm. therefore. against rain. is architecture. as something external which it has not penetrated or with which it has but a remote and abstract relation. as an artistic outer world. but are merely arranged and ordered in accordance with the abstract rules of the understanding. as it were. Hence the fundamental type of archiis the symbolical form of art. It is these particular arts which give adequate and artistic external being to the general types. according to their fundamental principle. as a defense against the threatening of the wind. A . mode to the several particular arts. It raises an inclosure around those gathered together. for the adequate realization of the God. the reality which is represented in them remains. and reveals the will to gather together. AECHITECTUEE The first of the particular arts with which. and its forms remain the forms of inorganic nature. we have to begin.112 THE GERMAN CLASSICS of portrayal determines its adequate Furthermore. and seeking to extricate it from the chaos of finitude and the abortiveness of chance. toiling and wrestling in his service with external nature. yet in accordance with the artistic form. and builds him his temple as the place for inner con- templation and for reflection upon the eternal objects of the spirit. frames his external surroundings. the rules of symmetry. so that they (the particular arts) belong each of them specifically to one of the spond general types of art. By this means tecture it levels a space for the God. meaning such as this. alien to the spiritual idea. For it is architecture that paves the way.

has impressed upon it the seal of mind. and as both sides are so merged into each other that neither predominates. which architecture can no more than hint at. the higher phase of art. just as. VII — 8 . it the limit of architecture lies precisely in this. Inasmuch as in it the inner spiritual element. the sensuous realm itself can command no expression which could not be that of the spiritual sphere.PHILOSOPHY OF AKT the art of architecture its 113 is able to mold into its material and forms with more or less success. no spiritual content can strikes the inert mass. and the temple of the God. and thus whatever spirit must point to as something other SCULPTUKE Architecture. which arrests for our vision the spirit in its bodily frame. In fact. stands ready. Indeed. that refers to the spiritual as an internal essence in contrast it For with the external forms of and soul are possessed than itself. This is the task of sculpture. and in an attiIt is sculpture VOL. in immediate unity with it. has given it symmetric order. more concrete or more abmore deeply rooted within its inner being or more dim and superficial. conversely. sculpture has the classical form of art as its fundamental type. and a form no longer but infinite and spiritual. and molds its adequate bodily shape. The lightning-flash of individuality permeates it. however. has purified the inorganic external world. Into this temple now enters the God himself. concentrates merely symmetrical. and inclines towards sculpture. the house of his community. it may even advance so far as to endeavor to create for such meaning an adequate artistic expression with its material and forms. according as the determinate nature of the content which it seeks to embody is more more trivial. attain perfect plasticity in sculpture which is incapable of being adequately presented to perception in bodily form. completely abides with the sensuous form and its external matter. but in such significant or stract. its art. an attempt it has already overstepped the bounds of its own sphere.

lives. as an alternation between the unity within himself and his realization in subjective knowledge and individual consciousness. nor as indifferent to color.. The community is the spiritual. either according to its mechanical quality alone. but in ideal forms of the human shape. etc. Such an element is the form taken in The spirit which sculpture repreits abstract spatiality. In this last respect sculpture should be credited with having first revealed the inner and spiritual essence in its eternal repose and essenTo such repose and unity with itself tial self-possession. nor does its external form admit of the portrayal of such a manifold play. but essentially ideal. to the abstraction of space in the totality of its dimensions. and in the whole of the spatial dimensions. external sensuous matter is here not wrought.114 THE GERMAN CLASSICS . And now God comes to assume the aspect which makes him truly spiritual. as in sculpture breaks . THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE KOMANTIC AETS After architecture has built the temple and the hand of sculpture has placed inside it the statue of the God. but it holds to this one side only. As a hither-and-thither. it is the animating subjectivity and inner life. corresponds only that external element which itself persists in unity and repose. by tude of peace and repose and the form in turn is animated Therefore the the content of spiritual individuality. nor in forms peculiar to inorganic nature. element in this sensuous realm. not variously broken up in the play of contingencies and passions. 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. sents is that which is solid in itself. and the subjective mode of expressing these. then this sensuously visible his house the self-reflecting God faces in the spacious halls of community. as heavy mass. individualization. The solid unity which the God possesses up into the plurality of inner individual whose unity is not sensuous.

deeds. and finally by the sound as the mere indication of inner intuitions and ideas. then. in which he is represented by Here he is exalted into spirituality. will. these new arts in which form and content are raised to an ideal level borrow their type from the romantic form of art. into greater intimacy than was possible in the case of architecture and sculpture. the wide range of human feeling. and his manifestation to others. They form. and thus as different forms of realizing the spiritual content of art by means of these media we obtain painting. music. his being. because the romantic type the is most concrete in itself. of chiefly reveals itself in this stage is not the serene repose God in himself. as well as from the naive imprisonment in a bodily shape. is due wholly to the subjective side. and. however. and and resignation. subjectivity. This intimate unity. But since what sculpture. events. therefore. whose mode of expression they are most eminently fitted to voice. the sensuous element must differentiate and show itself adequate to the expression of subjective feeling. Such different media are furnished by color.PHILOSOPHY OF ART well as in uals. . In accordance with this content. they correspond most effectively to the spiritual content of art. by the musical sound. the symbolic spirit of architecture and the classical ideal of sculpture behind. In his tlie lie is 115 — genuinely Spirit the is common and unified life of the many individ- Spirit in his community. a totality of arts. and knowledge. in general. community God released from the abstractness of a mysterious self-identity. and poetry. For this reason the higher content of art is now this spirituality in its absolute form. the objects of artistic representation are now the most varied subjective expressions of life activity for their own sake. but rather his appearance. however. Leaving. and the union between spiritual meaning and sensuous expression develops. as human passions. The sensuous media employed in these arts being individualized and in their essence recognized as ideal.

This visibility as a subjective and ideal attribute. in so far as it is individualized. the content also gains in varied particularization. On the other hand. The whole range of particular existence. visibility trasts itself with darkness and in combination with it becomes color. nor. Its tion. by confining itself to a like sculpture. advances to a deeper subjectivity and greater specification. and thus painting frees art from the sensuous completeness in space peculiar to material things only. which is akin to sculpture. can here appear. idea. it The material which media employed in architecture and sculpand colored. if only some allusion to a spiritual element makes it akin to thought and feeling. whatever it is able to frame into a deed. can obtain a place in this art. The idealization of the . MUSIC The second art on still in which the romantic form finds realiza- a higher level than in painting. in the particular kinds of color. Whatever can find room in the human heart. all this variety of material can constitute the many-colored content of painting. not the simple light which conpainting. viz. like architecture. sure. and purpose. for the sensuous expression of that content is visibility as such. specified as color. even and organic plasticity. as in as such.. but they are not. is music. the three though in concentrated plane surface. though still sensuous. but the visibility which appertains to painting has its differences on a more ideal level.116 THE GERMAN CLASSICS PAINTING The first art in this totality. For even finite nature. in its particular scenes and aspects. requires neither. from the highest aspirations of the mind down to the most isolated objects of nature. material. the To be ture are also visible dimensions of sensuous space. is uses for its content and painting. the abstract mechanical form of mass which we find in heavy matter. as emotion.

idealization of matter. exempts the ideal from its abbility. an abstract quantitative relation.PHILOSOPHY OF ART 117 sensuous. medium of which poetry avails itself. Within itself music has. tral point Thus as sculpture constitutes the cen- between architecture and the arts of romantic subjectivity. . by itself. Its character- istic peculiarity lies in the power with which it subjugates mind and to its ideas the sensuous element from which music and painting began to set art free. so music forms the centre of the romantic arts. POETRY For the third and art. In music the indifferent extension of space whose appearance painting admits and consciously imitates is concentrated and idealized into a single point. whose abstract visibility is transformed into audiSound. is in no longer a feeling of the tone itself. — sorption in matter. as it were. like architecture. and represents the point of transition between abstract spatial sensuousness. meaningless. the one external it . moreover. music brings about by negating space. is a sign is. This earliest animation and inspiration of matter furmedium for the inner and intimate life of the as yet on an indefinite level it is through the tones spirit. but as temporal ideality. and the abstract spirituality of poetry. but is a sign which This sign. 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. which belongs to painting. of music that the heart pours out its whole scale of feelnishes the . But in the form of a motion and tremor of the material body within itself. most mantic form of to the we must spiritual expression of the rolook to poetry. this single point becomes a concrete and active process within the Such an incipient ideality of matter which no longer appears under the spatial form. For sound. is sound the sensuous acknowledged as ideal. ings and passions.

By this the tone becomes the word. yet sound itself is reduced to a symbol without value or meaning. The negative means function point to which music had advanced now reveals itself in poetry as the completely concrete point. is now relegated to a mere suggestion of mind. its highest phase. poetry runs through them all. is the universal art of the spirit which has attained inner freedom. for in poetry the mind determines this content on its own account and for the sake of its ideas. and poetry. which spontaneously unites the infinite space of its ideas with the time-element of sound. is.118 THE GERMAN CLASSICS indefinite feeling of an idea which has become concrete. Poetry. and while it employs sound to express them. and which does not depend for its realization upon external sensuous matter. for the audible. But this sensuous element which. 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. then. the classical. is the organic totality of the several arts the external art of architecture. and not merely of and of its nuances and grades. divorced from the content of consciousness. an articulate voice. the objective art of sculp: and the subjective arts of painting. but expatiates only in the inner space and inner time of the ideas and feelings. music. Thus the genuine mode of poetic representation is the inner perception and the poetic imagination itself. then. From this point of view sound may just as well be considered a mere letter. was still in immediate union with inner feelings and moods. and develops itself independently in each. . But just in this. and ture. whose it is to indicate thoughts and ideas. in poetry. as the spirit or the self-consciousness of the individual. the symbolic. in music. like the visible. SUMMAKY Such. The higher principle from which these are derived we have found in the types of art. And since all types of art share in this mode.

the history of the world will require its evolution of countless ages. because its characteristic element is the esthetic imagination. 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 expres- sions of its meaning. tion in sculpture. attains its most complete realizaself -complete. whose architect and builder is the self-developing spirit of beauty. on the other hand. Out of the external realization of this idea arises the wide Pantheon of art. for the completion of which. Thus what the particular arts realize in individual artistic creations are. according to the philosophic conception. The romantic type of art. wMch form the universal phases of the idea of beauty itself. in which and is not yet reduced. The classical form of art. Poetry. however. however. Thus symbolic art finds its most adequate reality it is and most perfect application in architecture. simply the universal types of the self-unfolding idea of beauty. so to speak. finally. music. is in conformity with all types of the beautiful and extends over them all. . and poetry as its essential and adequate modes of expression. and imagination is necessary for every product of art. seizes upon painting. to the inorganic medium for another art.PHILOSOPHY OF APT 119 the romantic. to whatever type it may belong.

Vol. No. Ph. It must remain a tribute to the ideal enthusiasm of the movement that.D. indeed. flotsam of a great poet's life |HE 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. Professor of German." In one respect. as a The Dial. and soon felt herself ^^ * in a position to state that Goethe's Correspondence with a Child is as popular here as in Germany. 1. and in America as well." Margaret Fuller was preparing in Boston to translate Bettina's Gilnderode. Johns Hopkins University ten years succeeding the publication of Goethe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde (1835) coincided in point of time with the awakening in England. II. the wife of Varnhagen. where the publication of her later politico-sociological works. among the first German w^orks to receive a permanent welcome and become domiciled in American literary circles. in persistentlj'' associating her with Eahel. of an intense if not yet profound interest in German Literature. Bettina's vogue in America remained for the rest of her lifetime more secure than in her own country. through Thomas Carlyle. 1 120 J . ''whose unrestrained effusions far exceed the bounds authorized by "Madame von Arnim" English decorum. was followed by a temporary eclipse of her popularity. and where also her fate. Dies Buch gehort dem Konig (1843) and Gesprdche mit Ddmonen (1852). At a time when the Foreign Quarterly to Review in England (1838) was not persuade vainly endeavoring to undertake the translation of her work.THE LIFE OF BETTINA VON ARNIM By Henry Wood. was that strange and glittering mass.



inspired. the distance sep- mother of arating us from the Countess of Ben Jonson's attitude in his Epitaph on Pembroke is no longer very great: ''Sid- ney's sister. since 1811. 1881. though in her proper name as well as to her firstborn son. had tar- nisbed her own fame. the American public had already discovered in her a rare personality the recipient and custodian of Frau Rat's fondest memories of For these things dence seem to have cared but — Goethe's childhood. Pembroke's mother. Funck (1836). "$ It is. the tribute of admiration forced from the childless woman fresh from the Berlin salons." tion. successive editions of Grimm's Fairy Tales had been dedicated.* American readers of the Corresponlittle.BETTINA VON ARNIM foil 121 for Rahel's brilliant but transitory glitter. lyrical nature. Bettina has remained a near relative of a higher order. p. she had become the centre of a distinguished and devoted circle in the Mark Brandenburg and in the Prussian capital. Herman Grimm. nevertheless. Brief wechsel. and Otto Berdrow. from whom she had received treasured confidences as to the influence exerted by Goethe's verse upon his mind and art. She suggests far rather an electrical. t This is Rahel 's expression. 3 Aug. at times the haunting Muse of Germany's greatest poet and. by the spectacle of Bettina romping with her children in the nursery. and it is internote that this best of American critics at once a comparison between Bettina and Karoline von *Cf. s. as Arnim 's wife and as the their rarely endowed children. 2d Edi1902. the youthful friend of Beethoven. Z. the ''mythological nurse-maid. 338 seq." that Bettina may be described. Achim von Arnim. the wife of the most chivalrous of German poets. "For her circle %Qit. Fanny Tarnow (1835). XVII: of relatives and friends in the descending line. While German critics were deliberating as to what grouping of characteristics could best express Bettina as a type. estimate of Bettina was esting to instituted The spokesman of this literary Margaret Fuller." f to whom. not through the aid of Ben Jonson's line. . "fair and wise and good as she. If we add to these characteristics the circumstance that.

cause of the — effect which we call Nature?" On ways the part of both Goethe and Bettina. the multiplied traits. hovering from object to object. living freshly alike in new man earth as well as the flower which springs from it. yet unwearied in experiment is not this the pervasive vital force. How different is her description of Bettina ! ''Bettina.122 THE GERMAN CLASSICS made it Giinderode. From this steep cliff [Goethe] upon which my love has risked the climb. though not specific. in of. the soft aerial grace. ''Farewell. Bettina wrote: dost both dazzle and intimidate me. loving the and breath of the damp hushed into silence by the highest. But to stand for appears to have escaped notice that Margaret Fuller. was characteristic: ''What can one once put ' *' it. yet astonished at the fulfilment of each prophecy. restless. which a divine artificer. there is no possible path down again. confirmation of the point of view here suggested. the every form of silvery spiritual clearness of an angel's lyre. . 1. has. the soft dignity of each look and gesture." On the 13th of August. the soul delicately appareled.* The subtle harmonies. in which the former was Nature and the latter for Art. 97) supplies interesting. is treading with his feet. there was ala recognition of such a natural force operating in her. never tree. sobbing with the hopelessness of an infant. in presenting her example of the artistic type. glorious one. drawing tides of vital energy from all. drawing from life its eternal meaning these are all linea- — ments of the Countess of Pembroke type. * James Freeman Clarke 's estimate of Margaret Fuller and her influence (Memoirs. bounding over the fences of society as well as over the fences of the field. thou who 1807. That is not to be thought Goethe's reply." this as in other cases. I should simply break my neck. As Giinderode Bettina seems like clay. given us a picture of herself. intoxicated with the apprehension of each new mystery. with no express intention. prophetic. flying and singing like a bird. clinging to love. preparing to fashion it into something rare. fearless. and these characteristics Margaret Fuller herself shared.

as seen through the communications of his mother to her. as a friendship in which his mother. I must listen to the end of my days." To this humility succeeded the self-deception of the so-called later Diary. Werke. . Under date of March 22. with its eternally budding shoots. Hence. But thou [Goethe] hast sung me a cradle song. s. she reproached herself for ever having left him ''the tree of whose fame. though not its charm. and let thee have thy way. Achim von Arnim and Clemens Brentano. her inadequacy and her presumption in claiming for herself the role of a better Ottilie were both painfully apparent.BETTINA VON ARNIM 123 say or give to thee. Frau Rat. which — Alas for the false world. Bettina relates that Goethe. 29. and he intended making use of them for his Autobiography. also Keinhold Steig. had been committed to my care. that is to say. The impetuous young confidante was already transmitting to Goethe chapters from the history of his childhood. as soon as Bettina risked independent judgments on his crea(1809)." In this passage-at-arms. 231-238. lulls me into a dream on the fate of my days. which separated us. ''It was sung at my cradle. away from my master!" Margaret FulBut how sharp is the lerf called Goethe "my parent.* But. 379. had called her his Muse. and led me. 1894. Cf. on learning of his death. Bd. as in the case of the Elective Affinities Her attitude toward the adored object was a combination of meekness and pretension. Weimarer Ausgabe. Goethe acknowledged Bettina 's faithfulness and complete credibility for these details. 1832. Goethe was intent on keeping the relationship within its first limitations." * In his Aristeia der Mutter. ss. is concentrated. tions. Stuttgart. was included as a necessary third party. the whole of the Correspondence. wtiich thou hast not after thy own fashion already appropriated! There is nothing left for me but to keep still. on the other hand. poor blind child. at their last interview in the early days. that I must love a star that should always remain apart. the latter predominating as time w^ent on. These had given the poet the purest pleasure. and to that song. t Translator 's Preface to Eckermann 's Conversations with Goethe.

like a mountain avalanche. lo! a sibyl stands before us!" Behind all Bettina 's mobility there is a force of individuality. accompanied by birth-pangs for her. Bettina. were fond of repeating the insinuation of Fanny Tarnow (1835). In her fond. they are destined to soar aloft as heavenly poems. and Bettina had nothing of the vacuous odalisque in her composition. From the letter of September 17th it is plain that Bettina indulged. G. and reproached herself for having plunged. necessary to Goethe's fame. Savigny tried in vain to temper the violence of her en- thusiasm for the insurgent Tyrolese. in a hundred ways.. at once identified herself with ''Oreas" in the sonnet. in all seriousness. which had been inspired. in which Goethe's songs are sown. by his friendship with Minna Herzlieb. in a sense. while one in . into the broad. her heart seems to her the fruitful furrow. von Loper has well said of her composite traits: "The tender radiance of first youth hovers over her descriptions but. mystical interpretation of the sonnets. in 1807. full current of the poet's life. Goethe's attitude toward the "Child" was far removed from that of poet-pasha. the fanciful notion that her inspiration was. we find him already. if we reach out to grasp the kobold. is beholding. inclosing in a letter to his mother the text of Sonnet I. 40): women. She closes with a partial application to herself of the "Blessed art thou among Biblical text (Luke 1. of her flaming patrio- . that the poet prized Goethe's But* Bettina only her capacity for idolizing him.124 THE GERMAN CLASSICS contrast between her tone of reverent affection and the umbrageous jealousy of Bettina! And Goethe? relation to While the poet safeguarded his fatherly Bettina. and. left to draw her own conclusions. up to the break in 1811. as irresistible and as recurrent as Her brother Clemens and her brother-in-law the tides. in the first instance. particularly among the literary school called Young Germany. ' ' detractors. Bettina suddenly changes into a mischievous elf. and out of which. the earth-womb.


I .

" Words like these Bettina was continually listening for from her poet-idol. passions. of her scorn for the then fashionable neutrality and moderation in the expression of political opinion. was distilled into longing to share in the unending life of Goethe's poesy. on. Emerson wrote in the privacy of his Journal: "I have no friend whom I more wish to be immortal than she. .* thoughts. shutting out "all to Goethe. You cannot hear the voices saying: 'Where is the enemy? On. flee with me across the Alps to the Tyrolese. Steig. the gifts that were denied at her cradle seem to have been more than made up to her. your melancholy caprices. She was by nature and choice the advocate of the oppressed.BETTINA VON ARNIM 125 tism. Bettina herself stated (Briefwechsel. Of Margaret Fuller. Bettina was born in the year 1788. who is. but would always have at hand for recourse. and the Fatherland!' " Even Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. for God. of her hatred of philistinism in every form. Internal evidence is at hand to support this view. for a rifle? With your figure. ac- cording to Bettina. JFrom another passage we learn that this was three years * . Achim von Arnim and Clemens Brentano (1894). but she heard instead only the disillusioning echo of her own enthusiasms. The aristocratic elegant Rumohr was obliged to put up with the following from her: ''Why are you not willing to exchange your boredom. ' ' The end of poets' friendships with literary women is not always marked by an anticlimax. Possessing neither stability of mind nor any consistent roundness of character. Her ardent and aspiring soul. she was incapable of rendering herself necessary In her case. slender as a birch. all According to the investigations of E. An influence I cannot spare. all delights" else. you could leap over abysses and spring from rock to rock. merely a supine hero. whenever and wherever met with. There will we whet our swords and forget thy rabble of comedians and as for all thy darling mistresses. however. they must lack thee awhile. the Kaiser. but you are lazy and infected with the disease of neutrality. 538) that she was sixteen when her enthusiasm for Goethe first manifested itself as an elemental force. fails to elude her electric grasp: "Come.

had immortality conferred upon her through the verses of two great poets. has in his verses anticipated her pose and her tone of Naxos agitated expectancy: "Is [he] come? how near is [he]? How far yet fi'om this friendly place? How many When These armes steps shall I [him] from me? embrace? I'll spread." The "Child" of the first letters of the Correspondence was. Bettina. It Bettina 's fancies. than Bettina in the Correspondence. as Goethe said she was wont to do. including the Encyclopaedia Britannica (1911) still cling to 1785. enters the society of the great heroines and speaks to posterity. XIX. weigh taken the scales with her when she closed the Correspondence. like Ariadne. and Beethoven. f. but English publications. Ariadne on the island of lives not more truly in Ovid's poetical Epistles. Tasso's description of the permanent of the true lover: "Brama assai. It is accordingly not in the Elegiacs of Ovid. as it were. for she has. hope little and nothing demand). through which she symbolized her relation to Goethe. poco spera e nulla state realize. but it is only just to say of her Letters. which only at (his) sight shall close. who was as fond as Bettina of the figure of the flower and the sun." Attending. A graceful English songwriter of the Elizabethan period. a belated child of the Renaissance. as the starry flower that the sun's noone-tide knowes. is difficult to his verses Light Conceits of Lovers. before her first meeting with the poet in 1807. just nineteen. She has rather taken it for herself. that we may discern Bettina 's gesture of immortal repose as a metamorphosed heroine. But Bettina has not. that they Campion termed a whole.) reveals the same preoccupation with Goethe. accordingly. . in anticipating every gift. She is a type of the inspired lyrical nature. the old date. She died in the year 1859. as chiede" (Desire much. "in the heyday between childhood and maidenhood. though not herself of heroic mold. Herman Grimm's account of Bettina 's interests at threescore {Brief wechsel. Thomas Campion. German authorities have accepted 1788 as Bettina 's birth-year.126 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Through the possession of this quality. flowing as a counter-stream to Lethe. Shakespeare.

and would speak broken German with the postilions as though I were a Frenchman. for she has a splendid figure and the fit was perfect. I made the whole trip on the driver's box. military lines in male attire. We passed through a forest of huge pines and firs all covered with pine and soon [127] . and when we came to a cross-road he didn't know which way to turn. At first we had beautiful weather. I would unharness the horses and help hitch up the fresh ones. 1807. The coachman had driven us off the road through a forest. My brother-in-law laughed at me and said I looked like a Savoyard boy and could be of great service to them. but up now to write you all about our I wrote you that we passed through the trip. Whenever we arrived at a station. whereas all my clothes were too loose and too long and looked as if I had bought them at a shall get fair. Just before we reached the city gate my brother-in-law made us get out. with a fox-skin cap on my head and the brush hanging down my back. SAR I Frau Rat: have been lying in bed for some time. just as though spring wore coming. because he wanted to see how becoming the clothes were. Lulu looked very well in them. I was afraid we might get lost and then arrive in Weimar too late.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH A CHILD (1835) ^^ By Bettina von Arnim translated by wallace smith murray Letters to Goethe's Mothee May 11. Although it was only the beginning of the four weeks' trip. but soon it turned very cold and wintry. I climbed up the highest rag saw where the main road lay.

and pretends that she 's afraid of you and that a note from me would serve as a talisman and give her courage. and finally said. Sophie La Roche's granddaughter wishes to see you. until at last he broke the silence. I believe. and soon I knew no more. but I can't seem to remember when and where I have seen you. Sophie's sister. dear brother. I nevertheless have to do what she wants and I shall be astonished if W.130 THE GERMAN CLASSICS regular chocolate porridge in the streets and I had to have myself carried over the worst bogs. solemnly serious. There we sat. Goethe caught me up With ! this note I sallied forth. quickly to his heart. 1807. not to your son. Here's a copy of it: "Bettina Brentano. ''Now I know that you dream of me. Maximilian's daughter. Although I am pretty certain that she is merely making sport of me." I jested with him and said. I stretched out my hands toward him. 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. the fountain —how — . I had never seen Wieland. "Poor child. did I frighten you?" those were the first words through which his voice thrilled my heart. you don't have the same experience. "You have doubtless read in the . **You certainly are a dear familiar angel. but I pretended to be an old acquaintance." And then the door opened and there he stood. and he will be." said the modest walls. He led me into his room and placed me on the — sofa opposite him. and yet it is all so inviting! *'Do not fear. He thought and thought. and he will not claim to be more than you." April 23. The house lies opposite deafening the waters sounded in my I ascended the simple staircase in the wall stand ears plaster statues which impose silence at any rate I couldn't utter a sound in this sacred hallway. ''he will come. Everything is cheery and yet solemn! The greatest simplicity prevails in the rooms. with his eyes fixed upon me. both mute. In this way I came to Wieland.

" A long pause—I. Bettina." I said." "No. you know how impossible it is for me to sit up in such well-bred fashion. is it possible for any one to forget herself thus? Suddenly I said. When I awoke a new life began for me." and jumped up. that only through him the world is opened to me where the sun shines * * man and day becomes distinct from night. I hadn't slept for so long years had passed in longing for him and I fell asleep on his breast. has a conscience. "make " and with yourself comfortable . and therefore I'm far too impatient to pore over the papers. oh. Then he would draw him and wrap me in his cloak. it exhorts him to Yes. He drew me on Everything was his knee quiet." "Oh. ''I do not read the papers. "Well. so quiet. "I can't stay here on this sofa any longer. May. Oh. that I flew into his arms. and me to his heart. that I might warm." "Why. glued in such anxiety to the odious sofa. and that in my glance my me would be revealed to him. Surely he would not bid me depart. I could grow soul close to . 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. I thought everything that goes on in Weimar interests you.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE 131 paper that we suffered a great bereavement a few days ago in the death of the Duchess Amalia. and then all vanished." said pressed he. I shall never comprehend. Passion is the only key to the w^orld and through it the spirit learns to know and feel everything. * 1807. I wish I were a poor beggar girl and might sit at his door-step." "You are a kind child. The things I do not learn through this love. fear nothing and to leave no demand of the heart unsatisfied. mother. I'll — — not write you more this time. nothing interests me but you alone. and take a morsel of bread from him.

1808. 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 though the thieves could not be traced it was broken ladder inside. mother. for didn't I possess everything for which I had longed for years? Oh. and how gently he soothes and affirms what surges forth in wild disorder from an overflowing heart. and when he saw that they were full of tears he pressed my eyelids down and said. I shall never cease thanking you for bearing this friend. where else could I have found him? Now don't laugh at me. By the fortress wall that surrounded the large garden there was a watch-tower with a — house close by had been broken into. "Quiet. that is best for both of us!" Yes. The whole world would be mirrored in his face. * * * Thus a part of the winter passed. Speak with your eyes I understand it all". and I should have no need of learn* * * ing anything more. Then he placed his fingers on my lips and *' said. wandering on and on in his home.132 THE GERMAN CLASSICS remain. quiet was instantly suffused I — through my whole being. When met him so unexpectedly again last year. I was so beside myself and wanted to speak. and if you had not borne him what would have become of him? That is a question you cannot answer. and thus the years and life itself would go by. I was in a very happy frame of mind others might call it exaltation. dear mother. but it was natural to me. 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 meet* * * know how he ing and his joyous astonishment. but remember that I loved him before I knew the least thing about him. A . Now I know him and I smiles and the tone of his voice how calm it is and yet so full of love and his exclamations how they from the depths of his heart like the tones come swelling — . — of a melody. but simply could not compose myself. quiet. October.

if I could simply be with him now!" I thought. but it is victorious in the end and relieved of its anguish. where the Elector Philip and Elizabeth peeped laughingly out of the window. but now at night I was so afraid of them that I jumped There I seized the ladder and quickly into the tower. but the fresh air I scented lured me to the top. Often enough in the daytime I had observed this marble couple leaning far out of the window arm in arm. 1807. I was conscious only of being alone and nothing was closer to me at that moment than my solitude. burden of the body most as it is about to cast it off. I can impart nothing else to thee than that which goes on in my heart! "Oh. I stopped and considered that the thieves might really be up there to and that they might attack me and hurl me from the tower. * * * itself. May 25. not knowing whether to climb up or down. what I was unable helped myself up. There I hung. climbed out of the window. What feelings came over me when I suddenly. all else had to vanish before this blessing. I threw a cloak about my shoulders. after I had lain in bed awhile and Meline was asleep. In the night. alone and safe. feels the Letters * * * to Goethe. which was rotten and lacked many rungs. do in the daytime I accomplished at night with anxiously throbbing heart. striving to free ! . with the great host of stars above me Thus it is after death the soul. When I was almost at the top. Ah. as though they wanted to survey their lands. heaven knows how. surveyed the landscape spread out beneath me and stood there. the thought left me no peace. and walked by the old Marburg castle. I had examined it by day and seen that it would be impossible for a strong man to climb up this very high ladder. "the sunlight of my joy would beam on him with radiance as glowing as when his . but slid down again after I had gone up a short distance. I tried it. by snow and moonlight.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE 133 believed they were concealed in the tower.

I cannot resist telling thee what I have dreamed of thee at night as if thou wert in the world for no other * — purpose. how splendid! My mind a sky of purple. Now I seek thee. 1807. lord and master. Oh. and the day shall often be closed by such an evening as this. involuntarily thy gaze is fixed upon me as I describe magic circles with airy — . fruitful nourishment to the budding germs within my .134 THE GERMAN CLASSICS eye meets mine in friendly greeting. Now I step out before thee with shoes of gold and my silvery arms hanging down carelessly and wait." This I promise that whatever goes on in my soul. my words the warm dew of love my soul must issue like an unveiled bride from her chamber and confess Oh. It is always as though I were to dance before thee in ethereal garments. all that is untouched by the outer world. Then thou raisest thy head. Often I have had the same dream and I have pondered much why my soul should always commune with thee under the same conditions. accompany it on its way. ' ' : — breast! hard. Goethe My longing. and banks of balsam-breathing fields. blooming like paradise. shall be secretly and faithfully revealed to him who takes such loving interest in me and whose all-embracing power assures abundant. Oh. its growth is a hot-plant between rocks. Thus am I thus I was until today and this fountain of my heart. in the future I will see thee often and long by day. The crowd surrounds me. are melodies seeka song to cling to May I cling to thee ? Then shall ing these melodies ascend high enough to accompany thy Without faith the lot of the soul is slow and meagre — like that of — ! ! * * * songs! June * * 20. and thou sittest opposite me calm and serene as if thou didst not observe me and wert busy with other things. my feelings. suddenly finds its way to the light. always without an outlet. I have a feeling that I shall accomplish all.

The vineyards were still partially covered with snow. yet my ardent love for thee permeated my being. I was * * * . I feel thee reigning in my heart . 1808. 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.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE tread. yes. Then thou sighest and gazest at me in rapture. * March 15. Thy eye leaves ! All that thou scarcely divinest I reveal to thee in the dance. for spring will be here then. when when nature is good and kind like so distinctly! * * * All * * the air caresses. 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. and thou art astonished at the wisdom concealed in it. when it is beautiful without. I shall write thee from every mountain I am always so much nearer thee when I am outside the city walls. in 135 my me no more. I can not take wing to them. Waking from these dreams I return to mankind as from a distant land. I sometimes seem to feel thee then with every breath I take. When in a few weeks I go into the Rhine country. In thy arms I shall pass over it. then I feel thee to * the same —I do not distinguish between them. for with thee I am at home.nd — — even though there were thousands of existences yet to come. thee. I was sitting on a broken window-bar and freezing. thou must follow me and I experience the triumph of success movements. and I glide to earth again and sink into thy embrace. and thou wilt bear me until the end wilt thou not? x\. and I take no other men seem me as one and interest in the great universal sea of human events. The stream of life bears thee. 1808. 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 thou me.

rather sigh in silent darkness than be led by thy muse ! * A mountain range between the Neekar and Main rivers. yet I climbed still higher because it occurred to me too venturesome for thy sake thus thou often inspirest me with daring. awakens me. All Frankfurt is dead. for I cannot bear the blinding sunbeams No. the wicks in the street lamps are on the point of expiring. and I ask myself. and search for a way through the old garrets.136 THE GERMAN CLASSICS . it pleases thee to see me at thy feet in deep shame and confusion. And besides. and the old rusty weather-vanes cry out to me. And canst thou believe it? all this is thou! — — — May. the wide halls of our house. yet the crown is too heavy and her little head staggers under the burden. the evil — hour of spirits. Midnight. run through off heaven from me. and I look with cunning for a prank to play. Thus does the poor shepherd-maiden fare. for I should have grappled with them had I thought of thy honor. 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. even though her heart be proud to love him. she is intoxicated with the honor and the homage which her beloved pays her. but it's true. I suspect there are ghosts behind the rafters. I shall be careful never to complain again or to pray for fine weather. trembling for fear of falling. It was fortunate that * the wild wolves from the Odenwald did not appear. It seems foolish. It seems to me then as if I must give vent to all my pent-up tears. then look down upon me now. on whose head the king places a crown. Then I seek the steps to the little turret. and. Oh. but I do not heed them. I look out through the small window at the wide heavens and am not at all cold. when I am at last on top. and I lie at the window in the cold winter wind. If 1808. . 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 I leave my chamber. and the next day I am so cheerful and feel new-born.

July 7.0. glorified. I wanted to call for help. I shouldn't have found a boat to cross in. Who am not numbered I then. As often as I awoke I called thee to me and always said in my heart Goethe ' ' : be with me. beI. so I turned over on the other side. I was astonished and should have been afraid. confused and crowned that breaks my heart. is like this flame of life nourished by reflections of the unattainable. I saw it sinking deeper and deeper till it reached the bottom. spreading out its net to I have of thee and me catch the vision of its banks of paradise. anyway. Let it then win nothing more from reality than this illusion. Am sides. but the stars wouldn't let me these hundreds of thousands and / together on that * * * . . Ah. do not gaze on me so long remove the . The nights aren't so very long now. and may not be afraid. July 18. said ''good night" to the stars and was soon fast asleep. Now and then I was awakened by flitting breezes. — night." Then I where deepest between black rocky cliffs the ring thou gavest slipped off. to myself. that I should be afraid? with them? I didn't dare descend and. even now setting its diamond foot on the meadow at Ingelheim and reaching over the house to Mount St. 1808. that I that I was it is floating dreamed along the reedy banks of the Rhine. Yesterday evening I went up the Rochus mountain alone and wrote thee thus far then I dreamed a little. it will give to me the peculiar spirit and the character expres* * * ! sive of my own it is self.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE into 137 the brilliant daylight. the rainbow. and when I came to myself I thought the sun was just going down. just as the reflection does to the river * * * in which mirrored. but me . and then I thought of thee. 1808. but it was the rising moon. — crown and press me to thy heart! Teach me to forget in thee that thou returnest me. John is just like the blissful illusion The Rhine.

am often compelled to say things I do not undersee. Goethe colors before thee! It is for love of thee that I wish to think. stand but only The spirit also has senses. I do not know how I come by this knowledge which is not the fruit of my own meditation. dear us. the cheeks glow from our thoughts and cold chills come over Yes. senses could not endure the wild thyme. rejoicing that the ring was still on my finger. or only feel. There is warmth in the spirit. friend.138 THE GERMAN CLASSICS then I awoke in the radiance of the morning. that I struggle with the inexpressible. I look about me for the author of this opinion and then conclude that it is all created from the fire of love. could they imagine why I was there? Thou camest toward me through and soft haze. the whispering forest. so there are thoughts which the spirit also perceives with only one of these senses. as though the . we feel it. betwixt fear and joy. Thou lookest ! ! upon me and then in spirit I and thy gaze draws thoughts from me. Just as there is much that we only hear. Ah. in counsel with the stars. and let no dangers beset our love after this beautiful night when. often I only feel it. I feel my soul implanted here in this nocturnal trembling! Future thoughts are — blossoming here. these cold dew-pearls that weigh down Oh. so strong I fell asleep it was so beautiful And the great boundless host all blossoms and fragrance of stars and the flickering silver moon that danced near Then — was the fragrance — of ! and far upon the stream. enveloped in a when thou wert quite near me my tired it. which fan our inspiration into new flame. interpret my dream for me! Anticipate fate. Often I only see what I am thinking. prophet. it hasgrass and herbs. this morning when I awoke it seemed to me as though I had experienced great things. from these the spirit grows It will unfold its gayest tens to blossom for thee. and when I hear it I experience a shock. I thought of thy future! * * * No one knows where I was and. even if they — did. or only see. the intense stillness of nature in which one hears all that stirs ah.

The last day before our Rhine trip I did not know what to do with them. pure striving for the divine. 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. I firmly believe that thy spirit is fixed upon me as upon so many enigmas of nature.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE 139 pledges of my heart had wings and soared over hill and dale into the pure. * * * I have the Rochusberg. it makes me happy that my life is gradually developing through thee. Yes. serene. and since then it has rained incessantly. which I could not lock because it was being used I thought the boat might sink and I drown and then these letters. For that reason. dearest. Goethe. one after the other of which has reposed close to my heart. The whole house full of guests. also. Oh. radiant ether. a feeling often warns me that I must avoid this or that for love of thee. since we had only one portmanteau between us. . This is my pledge Freedom from all ties. and not even a little corner where I could enjoy solitude and write thee! As long as I have anything to tell thee. because I should deny it in thy presence. We were on the road five days. In fact. — . and for that reason I do not want to seem what I am not. and I did not want to leave them in my little room. would fall into strange hands. and — : that I will have faith only in that spirit which reveals the * * * beautiful and prophesies eternal bliss. I did not want to take them along. no conditions nothing but appropriate motion. 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. thy letters are so dear to me that tied them up in a silk kerchief embroidered From with bright flowers and golden ornaments. No vow.

over mountains and . what a shock it would have been if I had not found them again! My heart stands still at the I in the very thought of it! August 24. and before the spot planted a thistle which I had pulled up carefully by the roots together with the earth about them. whose shadow sailed along beside it. upon the illuminated Rhine. like the sun. cast a dazzling light upon the woody meadow of Ingelheim along which it was moving. thou dost ripen me with ever increasing fire and ever increasing purity. The last time I was up here on the mountain found a spot. Bernard nuns who were driven from their convent and are now living there). Beneath the confession-chair still standing Rochus chapel. but I changed my mind afterwards. and gradually wrapped itself in a thin cloud of mist as in a veil. 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. was midnight. The ship. 1808. 1809. If thy imagination is supple enough to accompany me into all the recesses of ruined walls. 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. What could have turned my senses more fervently to God. On the journey I was often worried about them. I placed the letters in it. in which I'm also in the habit of keeping my writings. * * * It always lays hold of our heartstrings.140 THE GERMAN CLASSICS first I At wanted to leave them with the nuns in Vollratz (they are St. like a monster. wrapped in their silken covering. It is true: Thy radiance pierces me as the sun pours into the crystal of the grape and. The moon appeared behind the meadow. Whenever we contemplate nature in calm meditation. the moon rose dim. it February 23. mild and modest.

''Such a faithful my child is given me as a reward." Dost thou understand? And thou must thine kiss me. it will be alone and Come in " Thou wilt find it on a cool. all is still. that no other heart gives a throb for thee. 'tis a treasure. 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. sit on the blue stool by the green three flights to beg my Goethe — does table opposite me. Good night. and must say. Thou call to thee ' ' ! I shall lead thee still farther cham- still- art not a stranger. up room . to climb up here. I should like to be assured that at this moment no soul besides mine is thinking of thee. still higher. All will be ! peace and order. good night until tomorrow! Everything is quiet and all in the house are asleep dreaming of the things they desire when awake. as amends. I tlien I shall 141 venture farther and introduce thee heart. its arms ! drop helpless by its side.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE chasms. but I alone am awake with thee. for much ! This child is dear to me. Outside. quiet couch. for that is ! what ! my imagination bestows on into the Step softly ber of my heart — here we are in the vestibule —utter ness — no Humboldt— no architect—no barking dog. go up and knock. and in eyes. And while all are asleep I am in order to press thy knee to my breast and thou ? the world need not know that thou lovest me — ! — . and a friendly light will greet thee. on the street. suffering heart! What can reason accomplish here? It knows everything better and yet can not help. merely want still to gaze at thee thy imagination follow me? —and. to the recesses of my I thee. therefore. a precious jewel that I do not wish to lose. —then thou must discover the most constant love draw me lovingly into thy arms. and that I alone in the wide world am sitting at thy feet. my heart * * * awake beating with full strokes.

it will be over the wreaths which I have laid on thy threshold. Good Goethe I am all alone it has taken Dear Goethe me out of myself again and up to thee. . ''Be quiet. since I could not embrace thee. 1809. November 9. . Ottilie. of protestations. Oh. in a dream? To me ! ! . Beautiful butterflies balance themselves on the flowers I have planted about his cradle.'^ Then I awoke. then. Is there nothing. I must nurse this love between us like a new-born babe. I know thee and understand all. golden fables adorn his dreams. should thy foot stumble. and thy ring. I have been standing at the window awhile and watching the tumult in the heavens. be thou * * * my happiness This is in my dreams ! Munich. is obsessed with a passion for the latter 's fosterdaughter. vow: I will gather flowers for thee my and bright garlands shall adorn thy entrance. I jest and play with him. I pressed it more firmly against the same spot. the husband of Charlotte. and shouldst thou dream. That made me sad and then thou didst press my hand tenderly to my bosom and didst say. in which Edward. The moon is shining from afar over the mountains and winter clouds drive by in droves. and I will gladly give up the activities of day if I can be with thee and speak with thee at night. While I look after each moment of the present. the power of blessing emanates from * * * thee that transcends all reason and all the universe. which results in the death of the two lovers. 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* where a ravenous tiger devours — * The reference is to the Elective Affinities of Goethe. it is the everything.142 THE GERMAN CLASSICS October 23. had left its imprint on my bosom. 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. 1809. But thou dost master it without effort by the splendid harmony of thy spirit with thee there is no need of tender outbursts. and employ all my cunning to gain his favor. which I had pressed to myself in my sleep.

My love is adroit you can rely thoroughly on its instinct. when I crept into bed from fear. and consequently they neither experience nor bestow any happiness that springs from that higher emotion or might be fully realized through it. and she would separate these seedlings because she cannot believe in innocence. divination. and ! . will make no * * * misstep. I was ashamed that I had chattered so arrogantly. lost in contemplation of thee as I do every evening. yes. Whatever may fall to my lot. November 29. hourly. Naturally it can live only in a noble element just as it feels at home only in a lofty mind. I this cruel riddle. 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. which she inoculates with the monstrous sin of what a fatal precaution prejudice Let me tell you: No one seems to comprehend ideal love they all believe in sensual love. I had written thus far yesterday.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE the delicate image of spiritual love. I cannot comprehend 143 do not understand why they all make themselves unhappy and why they all serve a malicious demon with a thorny sceptre. and perhaps all is not as I mean it. — . and poetry. 1809. . who strews incense before him daily. let it be through this ideal love that tears down all barriers to new worlds of art. 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* * Ottilie in Elective Affinities. but I could not succeed yesterday in falling asleep at thy feet. Here thy Mignon occurs to me how she dances blindfolded between eggs. it will also dance on blindly. ! ! . why Charlotte.

thy servants. the sun that shines into thy room. above all. no matter how much I turn it one way or the other. to the test. do not tear them up. thou art beautiful because thou feelest thyself loved! — . through thorns and mosses. and reserved. 1810. February 29. But now it torments me to think of thee substituting living one my who remains with diary for Ottilie's. 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. and honestly acknowledge all my sins first. First: I tell thee too often that I love thee. Forgive me also for sending thee do not forget wrote on the Rhine and diary. have spread out before thee my I my childhood years and shown thee how our mutual affinity drove me on like a rivulet hastening on over crags and rocks. mighty stream. it does not please me particularly. so absolutely. yet I know nothing else. the playmates of thy youth. but when he says thou wast serious. for my love is becoming to thee. thy gardener that lays out the asparagus-beds at thy command. Do not burn my letters. be it as it may. for it might give thee pain so firmly. and finally those in which I I will confess to thee — actually rejoice. till thou. am I joined to thee. then I : am delighted ! . then those which weigh most heavily on me. and. But do not show them to any one keep them concealed like a secret beauty. THE GERMAN CLASSICS put it me my love. cool.144 "Well. didst engulf me. that's all there is. those for which thou art partly responsible and which thou too must expiate with me. and loving the thee more than the one who has departed from thee. Yes. and. Secondly: I am jealous of all thy friends. I begrudge thee all pleasure because I am not Thirdly When any one has seen thee and speaks of thy along. gaiety and charm.

nobody is anything to me. when some one does not understand. I awaken out of another world and presume to supply the explanation. bench. VII — 10 . Fifthly especially those that praise thee. nor can I bear to read them aloud I must be alone with me and thee.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE 145 Fourthly: I neglect every one for thy sake. I am afraid to be near In church I look for a seat on the beggars' strangers. completely myself in thoughts. and it need not be praise at that. To be touched makes me angry. and so I cannot stand it long in society at dances. No. if any one praises me. the finer the people. Then. Only a few simple persons can I allow to speak of thee. I breathe the whom — Seventhly: When I have to listen to any one reading aloud in company. 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. ill. I can tell thee. spiritually as well as physically. and I cannot bear to hear anything good said of thee. I sit in a corner and secretly hold my ears shut or. the stronger my aversion. could I but dance alone in the open where the breath of strangers would not touch me. he displeased me. Above all. . I cannot bear to hear anything read from thy works. and by no means a proof of a generous heart. at the first word that comes along. and then. Sixthly: I have a deep resentment in my soul that it is not thee with whom I live under the same roof and with same air. they may even make fun of thee a little. lose Vol. and unhappy. I have a great inclination to despise everybody. it is a sign of a wretched character that withers on one side when it would blossom on the other. I am fond of dancing. and what the rest consider madness is all reasonable enough to me and consistent with an inner knowledge that I cannot impart. because they are the most neutral. an unmerciful roguishness comes over me when I can throw off the chains of slavery for a brief . That is jealousy of thee and me. and I don 't care anything about their love indeed. : spell.

All he can teach thee thee I To about it is pure magic. May he reach his highest ideal. the uncreated. He himself said to me. who is at his sacred work before sunrise and scarcely looks about him before sunset. every combination of sounds is a phase of a higher existence. 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. 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. and I wonder whether we can ever catch up with him! I doubt it. "Whenever I open my eyes I cannot but sigh. Thou wilt probably be able to feel intuitively could what I am trying to say. would intercourse with the outside world profit this man. 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. 1810. this spirit? From whom could we expect anything replace Who equivalent to it? All human activity passes to and fro before him like clockwork. he alone creates freely from What his inmost self the undreamed of. who forgets bodily nourishment. It is the wine which inspires new creations.146 THE GERMAN CLASSICS I Beethoven of whom I have forgotten the world and thee. and for this reason Beethoven feels that he is the founder of a new sensuous basis in the spiritual life. everyday life. and this magic Beethoven employs in his music. for then he will surely leave in our hands the key to a divine knowledge which will bring us one step nearer true bliss It is want Vienna. and that it is true. May 28. I may not be qualified to judge. and in whom ! may confess that I believe in a divine magic which is the element of spiritual nature. but I know that God is nearer to me in my art . and who is borne in his flight by the stream of inspiration past the shores of superficial. and I am the Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for men and intoxicates * * * j j^^ve no friend and must ever their spirit! be alone. to speak now.

for he to whom it makes itself intelligible will be freed from all misery with which others are burdened. but also through their rhythm. but they are not arpeople tistic natures. ' ' it. Nor have I any fears for my music it can meet no evil fate." Yesterday I went for a walk with him through a beau. Dry not. He was seated at the piano and was quite amiable. so I had to look him up alone. I have always recognized Him and understood Him. and I commune with him without fear. for I had been told that he was exceedingly reticent and avoided conversation with any one. — ' ' garden at Schonbrunn that was in full blossom." Then he sang one of thy songs that he had composed lately. I was astonished. all and the fragrance was overpowerBeethoven stopped in the burning sun and said. Then he sang. He inquired whether I did not wish to hear a song that he had just composed." All this Beethoven said to me the first time I saw him. one in the city. and the third on the bastion. He has three dwellings in which he alternately conceals himself one in the country. ''I'll sing and was delighted at my ready applause. enraptured. so that the plaintiveness reacted upon the listener. I entered unannounced and mentioned my name. and I am incited and moved to compose by his language. Then inspiration I must let the melody . in fact.GOETHE'S CORBESPONDENCE 147 than to others. Besides. which is built up as if by the aid of spirits into a sublime structiful the hothouses were open ture that bears within it from the focus of my the mystery of harmonies. not alone through their content. in a shrill . they were afraid to introduce me to him. "Goethe's poems exercise a great power over me. artists are fiery they do not weep. ''Knowest thou it ' ' the land?" **It is beautiful. and I was penetrated with a feeling of reverence when he expressed himself to me with such friendly candor. in the third story of which I found him. " — and piercing isn't voice. very beautiful!" he cried. Most again are stirred by something good. since I must have seemed very unimportant to him. ing. Tears of Eternal Love.

Rhythm of the spirit is necessary to comprehend music in its essence. At such moments one feels that something eternal.148 THE GERMAN CLASSICS stream forth in every direction. 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. music imparts cal . I triumph over the musical idea and that. Then he will agree with me that music is the sole incorporeal entrance into a higher world of knowledge which. is a symphony! Yes. to my hearers. what a moment before seemed to me to have been exhausted. soon I seize it with renewed ardor I can no longer separate myself from it. presentiments. I feel an eternal hunger to begin anew. ''Speak to Goethe of me. in the final moment. and. yet with the last stroke of the drum with which I have driven home my own enjoyment. to be sure. infinite. see it escaping me a second time and disappearing in a host of varying emotions. but which he. inspirations of divine science. can never embrace. and although I always have the feeling of success in my compositions. like a child. lies in all things spiritual. my musical conviction. I should like to discuss this with Goethe I wonder whether he would understand me Melody is the sensuous life of poetry. on the other hand. you see. and tell him to hear my symphonies. and does not this sensation incite one in turn to new creations 1 Then the spirit longs to expand to boundless universality where everything together forms a channel for the feelings that spring from the simple musi. . ! thought and that otherwise would die away unnoted. I pursue it. music is truly the mediator between the spiritual and the sensuous world. Although the spirits live upon . — . This is harmony this is expressed in my symphonies the blending of manifold forms rolls on to the goal in a single channel. and what the spirit experiences of the sensuous in it is the embodiment of spiritual knowledge. but with impetuous rapture I must reproduce it in all modulations. something that can never be wholly comprehended. passionately overtake it again. embraces man.

this so that is it will pour ciple of art. it is concerned with man only insomuch as it bears witness to divine mediation in him. which sets up an at- tainable goal for human capacities. just as every art does every genuine invention indicates moral progress. ''We do not know whence our knowledge comes. moist. to express itself. so do thousands hold communion with music and yet do not possess its revelation. the firmly inclosed seed requires the warm. and through its expression it returns to its divine source. from God. for just as thousands marry for love and yet love is never once re- with the vealed to them. For music also has as its foundation the sublime tokens of the moral sense. and the need that philosophy feels of basing everything on an ultimate principle is in turn relieved by music. thinks.GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE music as 149 man lives upon air. mightier than the artist himself. although they all pursue the trade of love. *'But few ever attain this understanding. ''Music gives the spirit its relation to harmony. Thus art always represents divinity. way every genuine creation of art is independent. To be dissolved by its surrender to the divine. Although the spirit is not master of what it creates through the mediation of music. one's spirit by means of these forth the revelations of music —laws. tutes religion. it is a very different matter to spirit. it and the human relationship to art constiWhatever we acquire through art comes is a divine inspiration. to curb and guide . But the more the soul draws comprehend it its sensuous nourishment from it. yet it experiences ecstasy in this creation. the riper the spirit becomes for a happy mutual understanding. To subject oneself to its inscrutable laws. electric soil to sprout. which quietly'exercises its the isolating prinrevelation that is the — mastery over the delirium of unbridled forces and thus imparts the greatest efficacy to the imagination. invents. A . In this which the soul lives. to think. Music is the electric soil in Philosophy is a precipitation of its electric spirit.

Everything electric stimulates the spirit to fluent. precipitous. no king. reflects a precious jewel. and had been married a year. thus every thought in music is most intimately and inseparably related to the totality of harmony. as this same Beetook to a He me I sat back in a ! thoven is. when was revealed to me. There he stood. so firmly resolved. even when isolated. * * * of an electrical nature. every mis- conception. illumined only by the ray of my enthusiasm. unlighted hall. Goethe No emperor. how. which is unity. when everything is comprehended that the can prove its full worth." I myself am grand rehearsal with full orchestra. still senses the totality of relationship in the spirit. thousand colors. anticipating every error. and everything was set into the most rational activity by the superb pres- ence of his spirit will spirit. I gained control over my own thy spirit spirit in order the more perfectly to embrace and love thine? And why should I riot become dizzy with ecstasy? to tell thee of me Is the prospect of a fall so fearful after all? Just as the touched by a single ray of light. every breath obeyed his will. I should be omniscient. and box all alone in the large. In this connection she remarked that thou It is only . so also thy beauty. bygone days. will be enriched a thousandfold. and saw this mighty spirit wield his authority. She was eighteen years old at the time. is so conscious of his power. Oh. so conscious that all power radiates from him. who only now in the garden was searching for the source of his inspiration. and so thou wilt underSomething stand when I tell thee that the bed in which thy mother brought thee into the world had blue checkered hangings.150 THE GERMAN CLASSICS thought. One might well prophesy that such a reappear in a later reincarnation as ruler of ! the universe November Dost thou want 4. If I understood him as I feel him. 1810. musical creation. his gestures and features expressing the perfection of his creation.

" Then I shall first again. Thy grandfather. thou didst arrive quite black and with no signs of life. Thy grandmother stood behind the bed. pride. She gave thee her breast but thou couldst not be induced to take ' ' nourishment. thy dreams." thee of thy grandparents. always applied good as well as bad fortune to the welfare ' ' ' ' ! ' ' of the city. "Well. ''we soon noticed that he was wiser than all of us when he wouldn't take nourishment from me. etc." 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. since thou hadst received thy mother's youth into the bargain. and thy mother was in great pain. Thou didst ponder the matter for three days before thou didst decide to come into the world. and when thou Frau Rat. Angry that necessity had driven thee from thy nature-abode and because of the bungling of the nurse. where'er thou .GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE 151 woTildst remain forever young and that thy heart would never grow old. he lives!" "Frau These words always thrilled me . where did we leave off?" and then I shall tell art is nature too. 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. ''Since he drank from her with such appetite and comfort and we discovered that I had no milk. one of the most honored citizens of Frankfurt and at that time syndic. love. and I have no desire to call up the second motnent. Amen. and so a nurse was procured for thee. he lives didst open thine eyes she cried out. and so thy difficult birth resulted in an ac' ' Even in his cradle coucher being appointed for the poor. thy beauty. "Where'er thou art are love and goodness. quite despairing of thy life. Now I shall wait till thou writest me on with thy story." she said. said thy mother. "Pray go ask. Rat. since it will drive me away from the first. They laid thee in a so-called butcher's tray and bathed thee in wine. he was a blessing to mankind.

at a moment of life through which and after which a higher existence begins. enduring the tremendous fall in voluptuous rapture. To give perfect expression to thee would probably be the most powerful seal of my love. . it would prove my affinity to thee. It would be an enigma solved. thy enjoyment of her beauty. thou toy in disguise with thy beloved could I help. like unto a long restrained mountain torrent which at last penetrates to the light. who hast taken my free will from me. and the tears of my longing have fallen on its frost-kissed fruits for thy sake I have kissed the young grass. through and through whenever thy mother uttered them Of thy birth we may well say The sword that threatens danger Hangs often by a thread. being a creation of divine nature. me ? For thi/ I thought and felt and firmly believed that it was caressing of nature. Extract from a letter written in 1822. 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 ! . thou creator. her surrender to thee. indeed. But the blessing of eternity On us one gracious glance may shed.152 THE GERMAN CLASSICS : in exultant tones. Thou destroyer. ten years after the breach in their relations. that loosened these blossoms from their trembling boughs and sent them Bettina. for I wanted to feel thee in the sacred sphere of thy enjoyments. gently whirling into my lap. who hast produced within me the sensation of awakening. after I had divined thy secret. for thy sake I have listened intently when the butterfly and the bee swarmed about me. for thy sake offered my open bosom to the dew. — . that it was her yearning. Oh. 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.

was a very severe and domineering man his moth. united in one patrier. in its remoteness from actuality. During his first year there. offered distraction from his disappointment. in 1813. Schoolboys and bearded men. to which the people responded with unprecedented unanimity and enthusiasm. and the King of Prussia issued a proclamation calling the nation to arms. but was told. ' ' ' ' otic purpose." Immermann's sensitive and responsive nature thrilled with the general impulse. An epoch began which in its enthusiasm.D. After passing through the regular course of preparatory education in a Gymnasium. Karl's imaginative and over-indulgent.IMMERMANN AND Associate Professor of HIS DRAMA "MERLIN" By Martin Schutze. not to interHe submitted. who held a good position in the Civil Service. merchants and soldiers. the force and richness of its inspiration. During this time he fell ill of typhoid fever. and its overwhelming impetus deserved. into the study of the literature of the Romantiplunged cists. its title The Spring ' ' : of Nations. Ph. 1796. peremptorily. the University of Halle. childhood and early youth were uneventful. he entered. The regular army was everywhere supplemented by volunteer organizations. University of Chicago rARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN was born in Magdeburg. which. Germany rose up to throw off the yoke of Napoleon. His father. in April. its idealism. and he asked his father to let him join the army. German Literature. and rupt the first year of his studies. from which he did not fully recover [153] . laborers and professional men. more than any other in modern history.

This spirit had received its political direction principally through the genius of the Baron von Stein. This spirit. having retired as an officer however. Schiller. an active passion. the Prussian statesman. At the end of the war. self-discipline. 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. It was unavoidable that this spirit produced among the . Following the example of Frederick the Great. and devotion to a great unselfish ideal. His leading idea. the second campaign. pride of race. Niebuhr. and moderation. characterized by a strongly democratic desire for national unity. seeing permanent progress only in order. He was. in order to develop self-confidence. These ideas became a national ideal. He joined. which was shared by such men as Scharnhorst. transcendentalism of Kant's philosophy and Schleiermacher's theology. he tried to foster the simple virtues of the common man. however. in the subjective idealism of the Romantic school in the nationalism of Klopstock. Elba. Herder.154 until the THE GERMAN CLASSICS campaign had victoriously ended in the battle of from Leipzig. opposed to radicalism. in which he took part in two battles. and in the self-reliant . he returned to Halle to finish his study of the law. He believed that the politiGermany must rest on the soundness of the common people. after Napoleon's escape of the reserves. rather than on the pretensions of the ariscal unity of tocracy whose corruption he held responsible for the decadence of the nation. and Fichte. and others. was that the principal task of the time was to arouse the whole nation to independent political thinking and activity. He found a new spirit dominant among the students. Gneisenau. whose aim was the restoration of German national unity. under the pressure and stress of the Napoleonic usurpation and in the heat and fervor of war and victory. and impatience with external and conventional restraints. courage.



Immermann became the mouthpiece of the conservatives among the students. This move resulted in the dissolution of the accused fraternity and in governmental hostility to all fraternities. History has reversed his judgment. traditionally unaccustomed to patience with restraints. Immermann acted undoubtedly from sincere motives. After completing his studies he received a government — appointment in the provincial capital of Westphalia. who to a considerable extent sympathized with the radicals. a tasteless archaism in dress. and speech. The petty things were too near to his eye and obscured the greater things which were further removed. An extreme and tyrannical nativism. and especially among the university students. and brought the hatred and contempt of the radicals on Immermann. Muenster. an intolerant and aggressive democratic propaganda offended and bullied the more conservative. but he failed to see the new. manner. This spirit spread particularly through the agencies of the student fraternities called "Burschenschaften.KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN 155 younger men. Here. He thought he upheld a higher principle of morality by applying the principles of von Stein to a new situation. 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." When the university authorities. the "Teutonia. larger morality imbedded in much confusion. in this conservative old town." and the athletic associations. many excesses." advocated and fostered by Jahn. Immermann addressed a complaint to the King. began one of the most extraordinary relations between man and . absurdities and follies. and he went so far as to publish some pamphlets denouncing specific acts of violence of the lead- ing radical fraternity. neglected to act. the ''Turners. a score of years later to the greater and enduring core of the aspirations of the modern age.

genuine. Elisa. wife of the famous old eral commander of volunteers. He asked Elisa to marry him. Immermann wrote a number of dramas. The sculptor Schadow. I always felt as if a splendid comet had appeared on the horizon. less than a year before Immermann 's death. the conflict of which was suggested by his own. the dramatists von Uechtritz and Michael Beer. She refused. brother of Meyerbeer. Immermann fell in love with Countess Elisa von Luetzow-Ahlef eldt. and Elisa struggled along against the tyranny of the affinity that drew them together. enduring joy in this love. a dashing soldier but a man of uninteresting Immermann mentality. but never as if the dear warm God's sun had risen. The play which made him known beyond his immediate circle. the founder of the art school there. the erratic and unfortunate dramatist. in which her husband. were among his friends. pledging themselves not to enter other relations. Elisa left his house in sorrow and bitterness. Brigadier-Gen- von Luetzow. an extremely gifted and spirited woman. and later in Duesseldorf. in 1839: "I loved the countess deeply and purely when I was kindled by her flame. . During three years he was manager of the Duesseldorf theatre. Immermann was appointed a judge in Magdeburg. They joined their lives. highly romantic. but no quiet gladness. was Cardenio und Celinde. There were delights. but offered to live with him in free companionship. had formed a circle of interesting people. when he married a young girl of nineteen. He tried to assist Grabbe." His life with Elisa in Duesseldorf was rich in friends and works. But she took such a strange position toward me that I never could have a pure. They remained together until 1839. He had intimate relations with Mendelssohn during the years of the latter 's stay in Duesseldorf. in which the passion and strife within him found varied expression. played a very subordinate part. Elisa was finally divorced from Luetzow.156 THE GERMAN CLASSICS in woman modern German literary history. Immermann characterized his relation to her thus in a letter to his fiancee.

and his two novels. 1840. are full of life and reality. Tirol. Merlin. a trilogy setting forth the destruction of the reforms begun by Peter the Great. believed that the health and future of society. aside from its im- portance in the history of the value of its own. a drama of the Hohenstauf en .KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN trying 157 many valuable and idealistic experiments. The other figures. In Die Epigonen. and Miinchhausen. Kaiser Friedrich 11. in spite of his unremitting endeavor. individualistic yot severely moral and patriotic. the rugged. 1832. he has drawn one of the most living characters in early modern German fiction. following Baron von Stein. Immermann tried a young man and a picture But he was to present the development of his period. Immermann. to of the principal social forces of too imitative in following his great subjective preoccupations. 1836. much confused by comprehend and Only two of his to state clearly the substance of the works have enduring value. who has inherited the sword of Charles the Great. a satiric version of an heroic Tom Thumb. one of the long list of representatives of the species of novels which began with Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. He lacked the fundamental and organic unity of great natures. and too matter. inflexibly honorable old farmer. 1830. which deals with the lives and types of the small freehold farmers. model. failed to attain literary or moral greatness. Die Epigonen. 1838-9. In the main character of the story. Tulifaentchen. . proud. Oberhof" (The Upper Farm). an enduring Immermann. 1827. too. He died his works are Das Trauer spiel in 1826. endangered by the corrupt and dissipated nobility. German novel. Alexis. rested on the sturdy. The story has. self-reliant. August 25. his mystical and the part of Miinchhausen called "Der tragedy Merlin. treating of the tragic story of Andreas Hof er . small peasant. He had more qualities of paind than most of his important contempora- . The most important of the comic heroic epic. 1832.

yet his realizations of them were awkward and meagre. and idealistic. as in his antagonism against the radical students in Halle. are always large. as on some of his He was perhaps qualities w^hich prevented achievement. He had a richer contact with social forces than Heine. dwindle to petty details of actuality. he constantly had to substitute the strained labor of one faculty for the spontaneous production of another. he labored at the sym- Romanticism. his humor wooden. The dominant bent of his mind was toward the immediate actualities. yet he lacked the incisive and controlled critical sense of the latter.158 ries. preeminently a man of prose. Predominantly rationalistic. but they always. a certain aftertaste of a worthy philistinism. comprehensive. He had much greater intellectual force than Platen. even in his most important work. the most considerable representative of the literary ^'Epi- . He mistook the responsive excitement produced by the ideas and visions of others for authentic inspiration. much more one-sided than he. Yet Grillparzer. always overcame his endeavor to grasp the more remote realities of a larger vision. The purposes of his literary works. and the immobility of obvious and established conventional judgments for an extraordinary soundness and incisiveness of fundamental analysis. possessed the true Romantic-mystic quality. THE GERMAN CLASSICS but in not one of these qualities did he attain to the degree which assures distinction. and this bolistic vision of * ' ' ' bent in the end. Having no one faculty to a distinguished degree. as he himself once said. Merlin. His significance for the present age does not so much rest on his objective achievement. he endeavored all his life to be a great poet. whereas Immermann had to elaborate his sjnubolism with the patchwork of careful. There was in him. like the beginning and purpose of his intimacy with Elisa. the vivacity of a sociable and conversational gift for the creative force of genius. In his Merlin he treated a conflict which was fundamentally similar to that of Grillparzer's Lihussa. allegoric analysis. his imagery derived.

cosmic in history his and own times. and the disconcerting refractions of vision. which characterized his contemporaries.KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN ' ' 159 gones intervening between the esthetic-individualistic hu- manism of the eighteenth. He was a victim of the manifold division of impulses. and the economic-cooperative humanism of the nineteenth century." the non-moral. him no force of physical creation. acknowledging the power of the mighty spirit and bewailing her fate in one of the finest passages in the play. more fully perhaps than any of his contemporaries. Immermann tried to embody the dominant moral and intellectual tendencies. . Titurel. MERLIN" : A MYTH principal dramatic agencies in Merlin are Satan. insolent art. Klingsor. represented the peculiar border-tji^e of literary personality which is both compounded and torn asunder by all the principal conflicting forces of a period of historic transition. and heroic voice !" The pride of life in him and in Lucifer. Niniana. Candida is briefly introduced. the demiurgos. but a princely character. "wrath of heroes. It the fact that he united in himself the principal factors which made up the complexion of his age. to an extraordiis in nary degree. and Merlin. the ill-related patchwork of impressions. Candida. is aroused against the narrow asceticism of orthodox Christianity. Satan decides to imitate the Lord of Christianity. expressing the Young-Germany "0 ! : ! naked bodies. as he saw The them is to Satan. faith of He demands. He. that he has his strongest claim upon the sympathetic and studious interest of the modern age. who personifies the creative fire. embodied in the wan and feeble Titurel. a son who is to save the world from the sterility of asceticism. the theological devil. by begetting upon a virgin. King Artus and his Round Table. In them. ''Lord of Necessity. irresistible.

too exhaustive. disappeared in . are among the ever. He represents the nature-philosophy of Komanticism and especially of Schelling. Immermann indisliked it. in his moments of despair. He was. and Merlin expose the emptiness of this philosophy. the wills and the spirits of men. than an active." He is worshipped by the dwarfs because he has opened the mysteries of inanimate nature. Christ. while beings. if they are bad drama and poetry. anHis symbol is the circled serpent. nought but stale mediocrity while we are shaken from shell to core by the breath of the times. Klingsor. The passages in which Klingsor himself. the personifications of the naive impulses of nature. while interesting. combining the supernatural creative powers of his father with the tenderness and sympathy of his mother. a lover of men the tensely worship of nature drained and exhausted the sympathies. Merlin thus is opposed to his father as well as to Titurel and his dull of humanity captive. it makes dwarfs happy. best philosophic statements of the play. force. is somewhat less fundamental. and the pagan gods and demi-gods. as he said. a philosophy so vast and unsubstantial He that all values of conduct and all incentives to action its featureless abyss. the emboditagonist. They are. ment of permanence within the changing world of actuality.160 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS Merlin is born. But he realizes that his wisdom. and narrow ''guild" who keep the true He is both anti-Satan and spirit anti- next comes into conflict with the third fundamental The latter is really only a variant of Satan and. His purpose is to reconcile the true principles of primitive Christianity with the natural impulses of life. being more a philosophic and literary. Klingsor says of the "nature book": "It asserts: all is vain. howBut they are good philosophy. is essentially is inadequate for human The teaching of Merlin the humanism of . and he com- — mands the spirits of classical life represented by Antinous.

appointing Merlin their guide. voicing the sentiments of Romantic aristocratism. undoubtedly suggested by . though reconduct of the nobility. irresponsible. into one comprehensive and rational faith of humanity. true. He now loses his superhuman power. The end of the play is unsatisfactory. Later." Merlin retorts ''You describe yourself. who perish of their own spiritual vacuity. however. and the tell "You tion in your prophet is complete." : but a ladder for your own elevation. to state his all own purpose of combining that is great. He can no longer lead Artus and his it. and pay in false coin only him that offers them : He then continues. sweetly flattering. and becomes subject to the limitations of earth. She makes him tell her a fated word.. not me. In order to maintain yourself strong and whole you have to find men weak and only partial beings. beautiful. the firmament. and you must absolutely reject the thing called humility. after promising not to repeat She thoughtlessly repeats it. mann satirized and exposed in Munchhausen. and noble." etc. are nothing false gifts. Keep on bravely lying. essentially the same nobility fined. The people like to be told of their majesty. in lines 1637 ff. The hero's Vol. lashing the transcendent of the Romantic conception of man in the universe egotism ''To you the earth. Men have a deep sense of truth. accuses him: the mob: Be your own Savior. human. he proceeds. court.. VII sur- render to the lust of the — 11 flesh. succumbs to the silly Niniana. i. the power of absolute spiritual integrity. seek inspiraown work.KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN the moderate liberalism of ers. Merlin tries to teach his faith to King Artus and his who embody the frivolous. in what are probably the finest and richest passages in the work. like a common man. whom von Stein accused of injuring the nation and Immercircle. 161 Baron von Stein and his followKlingsor. the ocean. They de- cide to seek salvation in the primitive idealism of India.e. Merlin. the personification of wanton desire.

which. which was to treat of the salvation of Merlin. but an abstract antagonism of general historic principles.162 THE GERMAN CLASSICS is Goethe's Faust and consistent in Goethe's poem. . as that of Faust. to the conflict of this play. but he never carried his purpose beyond a few slight introductory passages. should have been solved without the inter- ference of the mere creature weaknesses of the hero and the mere creature sympathies of the reader. not being foreign is human. Immermann planned to untie the knot in a second part.

a novel portraying the social and political conditions in Germany from'1815 to 1830. continuing. a second ap- peared in 1841." his duties as a judge and incessant activity as a writer along other lines forced the idea into the background until 1830. Tulifdntchen. the year of his satirical epic. which confirst in 1821. By Allen Wilson German. and in 1837 he began systematic work on Miinchhausen. Ph. a third in 1854. the reading of Die Epigonen is necessary to a complete understanding of Miinchhausen. the immature hero of the former. The last part of the entire work was published in 1839. intermittently. his delineation of the civic and intellectual status of Germany of his own time. having occupied. In 1835 he finished Die tains the embryonic idea of this '* Epigonen. in which the theme again received attention. and devices In so far as the just appreciation of a literary production dependent upon a study of its genesis. from a different point of view and in a different mood. The Princes of Syracuse. Hermann. ranging from the popular ''Re- clam" known is to critical editions with all the helps to modern scholarship. the history in Conscientious performance of arabesques. and since 1857 there have been many of all kinds. bequeath a number of characteristics to the title-hero latter .D. The first edition was exhausted one year after publication.IMMERMANN'S Instructor in " MUNCHHAUSEN " Porterfield. Columbia University MMERMANN thought of writing a new Munclihausen year of his satirical comedy. for through these two works runs a strong thread of unbroken development. and is his associates of the but where the earlier work [163] predominantly sarcas- . eighteen of his twenty years of literary productivity. and his associates.

Eduard Gans' liberalism. Baron of Miinchhausen (17201797). It takes its name from Hieronymus Karl Friedrich. a faithful representative of the narrow-minded and preju- . having in the meantime gone through a complete inner transformation. a novel which. the one negative and satirical. According to Immermann's own statement. though ers. Prince of Piickler-Muskau (1785-1871). therefore. and satirizes many of the whimsicalities of Herman Lud^vig Heinrich. As in Die Epigonen. This is. he began Munchhausen without a shimmer of an idea as to how he would finish it. Young Germany's reaction. Sterne's Tristram Shandy among others. Immermann's contemporary and friend. And it flagellates again and again such bizarre literary and intellectual phenomena of the time as Raupach's Hohenstaufen dramas. and with pleasure. that. tellectual. even the Indian studies of the Schlegels and Alexander von Humboldt's substantial scholarship. the later one is humorous. and optimistic. The impoverished Baron Schnuck-Puckelig-Erbsenscheucher. its Its references are obscure. THE GERMAN CLASSICS and pessimistic. struse. but he finished it.164 tic. inIt would seem. mature view. Menzel's calumniations. its satire ab- humor vague. to write a commentary to it. Gorres' mysticism. And odd indeed is the situation in the negative part. so that. in a way that surprised even himself and greatly pleased his readWe have here. consequently. Milnchhausen resembles the diffusive works of similar title by Easpe (1785) and Biirger (1787). in view of its bright outlook. not the case. the scene is laid in Westphalia. written as a whole. Even Ferdinand Freiligrath. political. declined. on the ground of lack of familiarity with the allusions. the larger part of the work is a sealed book. for the general reader. Bettina's pretensions. the other positive and human. however. and sympathetic treatment. frequently. Immermann's greatest epic in prose was destined to be read in its entirety. falls naturally into two parts. Starting from a long line of models.

assuring this gullible old soul that hereby his fortunes can be retrieved and his appoint- ment as Privy Councilor can be realized. his inthrough which Immermann satirizes the first. Their sole companion is the daft school-teacher. falls to the ground with a crash and a roar — a catastrophe which reminds one of Poe's Fall of the of House The Usher — and the Baron and Agesel are restored it to their senses. the average reader is not sufficiently acquainted . which. Emerentia has in the meantime fallen in love with Karl Buttervogel. not from life. Immermann. then tire. who. as a result of the Baron's ravings. with caution. delight at His presence enlivens. whom she erroneously looks upon as a Prince in disguise. violently removes Buttervogel from the castle. terminable stories. At the prospect of so humble a son-in-law. Emerentia. though pleased. But one day Miinchhausen. The Baron. sentimental daughter. omnivorous reader that he was. wrote this part of his book. enters into the proposition But Miinchhausen. And even granting artistic that he carried out his plan with a reasonable degree of cleverness. To maintain his influence. the Sancho Panza of the he story.MUNCHHAUSEN 165 diced nobility. from too much study of phonetics. comes to the castle. With these occupants and no more. chief trouble with this fantastic story is that lacks measure and objective plausibility. Karl Buttervogel. imagines that is a direct descendant of the Spartan King Agesilaus. accompanied by his servant. Schnick-SchnackSchnurr. the major part of his never gigantic mind. having lost. finds himself in an embarrassing dilemma from which he disentangles himself by mysteriously disappearing and never again coming to light. the castle resembles a harmless home for the insane. he suggests to the old Baron the establishment of a stock company for the selling of compressed air. the Baron becomes frantic. then be- come intolerable. tendencies of the time. unable to execute his scheme. the prince of liars and chief of swindlers. but from other books. lives with his prudish. in the dilapidated castle. Agesel.

is a character of real humanitarian in the best sense.166 THE GERMAN CLASSICS with Kerner and Platen and their long line of queer contemporaries to see the point. who finds himself today of Westphalia. the daughter of Miinchhausen and Emerentia. who had lost interest in life and faith in men made over by while tutoring a young Swedish Count. vary in size from seventy-five to three hundred and seventy-five octavo pages. . his help generous. Here again we meet with three leading characters the very honest and reliable Hof schulze. the owner of the Upper Farm. the Sexton is droll without knowing it. and who was his new work among the solid middle class is sound. It is needless to state that Immermann never wrote a work mth such a title. the connecting link between roman. for such dualistic patriotism was not unknown at the time the Collector follows his vocation with inspiring avidity. fifth. tic and realistic Germany. his ideals are Prussian mood. his charm wisdom . Jochem. so he skips over this part of the work and turns at once to Der Oberhof. 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. seventh and eighth books. and each of the Hof schulze 's servants has something about him that separates him from his confederates even though he be nameless. the Suabian Count disguised as a hunter. The editions. There are no supernumeraries among the in a in a . But this by no means exhausts the list of pleasing personalities." in whom are personified and glorified the best — ' * traditions of Westphalia Lisbeth. 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. is the incarnation of fidelity. Oswald's servant. a thoroughly good fellow. and Oswald. French and tomorrow characters. The best arrangement is that which includes the second. The good Deacon. of which there are many. is instructive at least. the old Captain.

sion to learn that Lisbeth act over. and that night he dreams again of his beautiful predecessor in the Hofschulze 's corner room. corresponds with his friends in wanders over the fields and occasionally shoots at Suabia. however. for whom Lisbeth had been a bridesmaid. He is on the point of going up to her when her very charm holds him back. a business which frequently brought her to the Upper Farm. then. is on the point of leaving the Farm imme- . His room must have been with the occupied before his arrival by a beautiful girl. however. One of her duties was to collect taxes. and by the time it And has healed their love has become perfect. Oswald. Instead of finding him. slight. where she was always sure of a kind reception. so that. the girl of his dreams.MUNCHHAUSEN 167 By reason of her common sense and energy. ' ' ' ' While waiting at the Farm for Jochem to find Miinchhausen. immediately after the wedding of the Hofschulze 's daughter. while wandering through the woods. too. With the Deacon's official cease and real ones begin. Lisbeth had for some time kept the old Baron's head above water. And one day. while wandering again through the pathless woods. and before the same altar at which the ceremony had just been performed. His duties are nominal. Oswald agrees to recompense the Hofschulze for his hospitality by keeping the wild deer away from the grain fields. he catches sight of a lovely girl looking into the calyx of a wonderful forest flower. the good Deacon pronounces the blessing upon the newly betrothed pair. and he dreams of her at night. he exchanges views men of the Farm. imaginary troubles Oswald. for in it he finds a tidy hood and kerchief that betray the charms of their wearer. some game without ever hitting. grieved beyond expresis the daughter of Miinchhausen and Emerentia. and here the love story begins. came to the Farm one day to settle an affair of honor with Miinchhausen. he shoots at a roe but hits Lisbeth. The wound is. he meets Lisbeth.

for example. simply because it relates in terse and direct language a series of incidents in the lives of very possible and very real human beings. The reading of this unassuming ''village story. Immermann's lifelong attempts at the studied poetizations of traditional. he wrote an unpretentious love story taken from the life of simple people whom he met on his daily walks. the secret tribunal. 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. But when. the doctor is not even certain that the wedding is hygienically wise. and they have since been well-nigh forgotten. for Oswald has not always revered Westphalian traditions. warms the heart and stirs the springs of living fancy. aristocratic. the Hofschulze does not take kindly to the idea of their marriage. Lisbetli.168 THE GERMAN CLASSICS diately and Lisbeth forever." the first of its kind in German literature. . one year before his death. and the good Deacon makes Oswald and Lisbeth man and wife. is in complete despair when told that he is a real Count. as he should have done. having thought all the time that her lover was a plain hunter. 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. But love dispels all fears and doubts. high-flown themes brought him but scant recognition even in his day.

and then [ITH the sleeves of Ms shirt rolled made the wheel fast by putting stones under it. sharp eyes to blink. pounded it with the so that the sparks flew in all directions. lifted out the red-hot piece of iron. but not long enough to cause his bright. laid down a hammer and a pair of tongs so as to have them ready to grasp. and which was now crackling merrily. After he had again looked into the fire for a few moments. clapped glowing piece of iron down on the broken place in the tire. ened around a small anvil which was standing beside it. as the iron A few very piece its still soft and pliable. hammered and welded it fast with two heavy blows. laid it on the anvil. carefully turned the rim around until the place where the tire was broken was on top. and powerful blows gave the inserted sharp The Justice kicked away the finishing touch. which was easily the still hammer done. and then drove the nails into their places. put the nails down in the bottom of the rack-wagon. he quickly thrust the tongs into it. the wheel of which he was about to repair.KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN THE OBERHOF Chapter I (1839) TRANSLATED BY PAUL BERNARD THOMAS THE JUSTICE OF THE ESTATE 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 He straightlogs. tested the points of some large wheelnails which he drew forth from the breast-pocket of a leather apron he had tied around him. was [169] .

doors. a work-bench. having taken off his leather apron. the one a horse-dealer. or if luck favors him makes new ones himI believe that he could be an expert joiner. saws. had been watching the work of the robust old man.170 THE GERMAN CLASSICS made its stones with which he had wagon by tongue in order to test the the wheel fast. flew. called out. or hanging. the horse-dealer. from their mud-holes. under a little shed which stood between the house and the barn. "It must be true!" one of them. before the rattling vehicle. and a couple of pigs jumped up. and in which there were standing. and said: *'He is a fool who gives to the blacksmith what he can ! ' ' earn himself!" picked up the anvil as if it were a feather. so that the hens. poured the water into the fire to extinguish it. the other a tax-collector or receiver. Judge The Justice washed his hands and face in a pail of water which was standing beside the anvil. boxes. *'You would have made an excellent blacksmith. seized the mended tire." said the Justice. . and caralong with the hammer and tongs. who had over- heard the latter remark and who. as well as a quantity of wood and boards of many kinds. and whatever other tools pertain to the carpenter's or joiner's trade. with loud cries. and put together a first-class cabinet. thresholds. who were sitting at a table beneath the large linden in front of the house and imbibing their drink. geese and ducks. and cases in the house." "You are wrong there. While the old man was still busying himself under the shed. and in spite of its weight hauled it without exertion diagonally across the yard. chisels. He hands all the posts. Two men. the horse-dealer said to the receiver: *' Would you believe it that he also repairs with his own ried it. grunting. which had been quietly sunning themselves. now emerged from the shed in a smock-frock of white linen and sat down at the table with the two men. if he self? wanted to.

OS ' 'f^ij 1)1' D .


I once allowed my conceit to deceive me into thinking that I could put together. a more than because I had handled plane and chisel and T-square more or less doing carpenter's work. but now when it came to the joining and gluing together. and. and looked first longingly toward the stable. the sides were warped and wouldn't come tofirst-class cabinet. "Twenty-six is my price. "Do I get the brown mare for it? God knows. struck a light for his pipe. the sight of which caused the receiver's eyes to sparkle. bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a thump.THE OBERHOF 171 A maid brought a glass to him also. was too large. the lid in front small for the openings. so that its contents rattled and jingled. while the old Justice did not even look at them. still and the drawers too see the contraption. gether. untied the strings. as you call it. The horse-dealer cleared his throat. he continued: *'To make a post or a door or a threshold. blew a dense cloud of smoke into the receiver's face. and said: ''Still this sultry weather!" Thereupon he unbuckled his ieather money-pouch from his body. and then thoughtfully down at the ground. money!" cried the horse-dealer. Then he spat once more. and counted out twenty bright gold pieces. after drinking the health of his guests. You can it stand on the to guard me from future temptaFor it always does a man good to have a reminder sill of his weakness constantly before his eyes." At this moment a loud neigh was heard from the stable across the yard. I measured and marked and squared off the wood and had everything fitted down to the inch. threw it down on the table with a bang. so that you won't suffer any is "Here the ' ' ! loss!" replied the Justice cold-bloodedly. spat. I let tion. Yes. she's not worth a penny more "Then keep your money. all you need is a pair of sound eyes and a steady hand. everything was all wrong. as I have already said. wiped his brow with his sleeve. but a cabinet-maker has to have that. removed the varnished hat from his head. and not a farthing less ! .

you see. and only corn. has been paid with . Marx. then both parties remain beautifully calm and safe talk so sensibly. The seller. thought "As I have already said. Mr." replied the Justice. both parties always derive much benefit from a transaction involving no overcharge. So an angel with a trumpet might come down from heaven. then. "For many hundreds of years corn. and you ought to realize by this time that dickering and beating down don't work with me. consists of ** business demanding and charge my own brother! charging in the world. Meanwhile. It alone suffers a loss from it. it is their wish to free themselves from the burden of storing up corn. whereas money worth so much today and so much tomorrow. in order to put an end to the argument. but he wouldn't get the bay mare for less than twenty-six!" "But." "Inasmuch as you vert into cash all the corn due from the farms in this region. I ask for a thing what it is worth to me. better of my proposal. on the other as often. and never overcharge. in the eagerness and ardor of bidding. Kindly do me the favor. and for that very reason will be more profitable. It has always been my experience that. to sign this new cash-contract. which I have brought is me for that purpose. for corn is corn. Where there is absolutely no talk of his abatement." "By no means !" answered the Justice vehemently. provoked. business will come to an end. hand. because I never take back what I say. I presume. just wastes his money. And besides that." broke in the receiver. you have. often lets his wares go for a lower price than that which he had quietly offering." "On the contrary. "business will then take much less time. one's nature gets hot. and the buyer. doesn't it? I'd overWhen there is no more over- made up mind to charge. the government wants to con- from loss. when an overcharge is made." exclaimed the horse-dealer.172 THE GERMAN CLASSICS You've known me a good many years. and it results in nobody's knowing exactly what he is doing or saying.

just as the monastery has done. the devil himself cannot bring him around. "There is a stubborn fellow for you!" cried the horsedealer. He put his varnished hat back on his head again with an air of vexation. and after all. Does cash grow in my fields? No! Corn grows in them! Where. Afterwards it was said that the tablets with the hens and eggs and bushels and pecks of grain interfered with devotion. In those days everything was fixed. you know!" cried the ' ' stand by the old ways of doing things. if you get right down to it. "Those were good times when the tablets with the lists of imposts and taxes of the peasantry used to hang in the church. worst of it is that the fellow rears the best horses in this ' We must always ' region. 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 !" ! . With that he went into the house. his own pasture around him. headstrong sort of people it is that lives hereabouts. are you going to get the cash?" "You're not going receiver. said the Justice solemnly." obstinate. For that reason they cling so tenaciously to all their old foolish ways and notions. when he could no longer see his business friend. There they all live together. each one lives on his own property. which have everywhere else fallen into disuse. "If he once makes up his mind not to do someThe thing. But here. his own field. "I have just recently come "An from Saxony and I notice the contrast. and for that reason they have to be courteous and obliging and tractable toward one another. as there are nowadays all too often. and the receiver's office will have to content itself with that.THE OBERHOF 173 over from the Oberhof to the monastery. * ' to be cheated. then." said the receiver. and has his own wood. and they were done away with. as if there were nothing else in the world. lets them go cheap enough. and there were never any disagreements.

And in addition to that the old codger will give her six thousand thalers in cash! Just glance about you. and may God punish me if anything more than the horses' heads showed up above the tops. their attorney and everything they all follow his example in every matter and he bows to no one. I flax. didn't you. "there are a lot more estates like this around here they call them Oberhof s. is that he is so rich. I thought I should be drowned. A year ago a prince passed through here the way the old fellow took off his hat to him. *'It is a wonder to me that yon have put it through with the other peasants around "The reason here without him. When you come out on the other side of that oak wood. when a peasant acquires too much property. tablecloths and napkins and sheets and shirts and every possible kind of stuff are piled up to the ceiling in there. yarn. it looked as if he wanted to say: 'You are one. really. And if they do not surpass many a nobleman's. I am another." remarked the horse-dealer. The Justice appeared again at the door. tell you! I happened to pass the linen closet. and six more. 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. And the good-for-nothing fellow has always been economical and industrious.' To expect to get twenty-six pistoles for the mare! But that is the unfortunate part of it. for he . Mr.174 THE GERMAN CLASSICS for that. . is their general. she'll get a . how he worked away merely to save the expense of paying the blacksmith a few farthings? Now his daughter is marrying another rich fellow. you'll have to say that much for him! You saw. The day before yesterday I drove my team through the rye and wheat. "Oh!" cried the horse-dealer. with an air of unconcern." ''Where did he get it all?" asked the receiver. Receiver. clock through his fields rate order all the way! ! And everything arranged in first- dowry. The land has been held intact for generations. you walk for half an hour by the . my name isn't Marx.

we will uments in his pocket. sat down at the table. the horse over to him. grumbling since there is no other way out of it. who one moment displayed something akin to hurry in his movements and the next the greatest deliberation. The horse- dealer raised a loud objection to this. '^One " He felt for the legal docpay us up regularly. slowly and carefully wiped off his spectacles. and began carefully to weigh the gold pieces. '*It — ! . The old peasant smiled ironically and said: "I knew . Two or three of them he rejected as being too light. for you are trying to find one for thirty pistoles for the cavalry lieutenant in Unna. deliberately wrapped the money in a piece of paper and went with the horse-dealer to the stable. little raised. ''But in the end if you don't come around and always grieves one to sell a creature which one has Now behave well. The Justice. giving the animal a hearty slap on her round." The old man. the horse-dealer's own and the brown mare which he had just bought. said : can't accomplish anything with a clod-hopper like that. the business was completed the seller weight. holding the scales in his hands. depending upon the business with which he happened to be occupied. glossy haunches. and my little roan fills the bill as if she had been made to order. realized by their crackling that they were still there. without looking up. and left the yard. I went into the house only to fetch the gold-scales. Mr. Marx." he said." the twenty-six. fastened them on his nose. The receiver did not wait for them to return. only listened in cold-blooded other replaced them with pieces having Finally. said. the Justice. but the Justice. and a farm-hand who was leading behind him two horses.THE OBERHOF ' ' 175 There are the other. in order to deliver silence. giving the latter a farewell pat. until the full . and could see in advance that you would have bethought yourself in the meantime. Out of the stable came the horse-dealer. but who can do otherwise ? brownie " he added. right well that you would buy the horse.

my little miss I" . The Justice. approached his charming guest . fresh as they may be in reality. heavy spurs. "Aren't we grieving too 1 Come up to the granary we '11 measure the — oats. The Justice remained standing with the laborer. his high leather boots. varnished hat. until the two horses had passed out of sight through the orchard.176 THE GERMAN CLASSICS In the meantime the horse-dealer had mounted. he looked like a highwayman." Chapter II ADVICE AND SYMPATHY As he turned around toward the house with the laborer. This beautiful girl was the blond Lisbeth. who had passed the night at the Oberhof. however. and his whip. and beside them sat a young girl. his yellow breeches over his lean thighs. he saw that the place under the linden had already been The latter. as beautiful as a picture. but the mare several times bent her neck around and emitted a doleful neigh. did you sleep all right. Then the man said: ''The animal is grieving. He never once glanced back at the farm-house." ''Why shouldn't she?" replied the Justice. very dissimilar appearance. his short riding-jacket under the broadbrimmed. had a reoccupied by new guests. his arms set akimbo. his large. leading the brown mare by a halter. I shall not venture to describe her beauty it would only result in telling of her red cheeks and blue eyes. With his gaunt figure. without paying any attention to his longhaired neighbors in blouses. For three or four peasants. his nearest neighbors. without saying good-by. and these things. as if complaining because her good days were now over. were sitting there. have become somewhat stale when put down in black and white. He rode away curs- ing and swearing. and said: "Well.

"Nothing. he said: * * That ' ' is all.THE OBERHOF ** 177 ''Splendidly!" replied Lisbeth. the one with "It's nothing serious. I have called to get your advice. VII — 12 ." ' ' ! Oho that it is And I notice exclaimed the Justice." answered the young girl. the bandaged finger. And. And hook me like a fish. "See. and so it to me now without any more foolish nonsense. you have my best wishes for a nice lover!" The peasants laughed. Judge. What's the matter with your finger ?^you have it bandaged." inquired the old man. she cried out joyfully: "And do you know my motto? It runs: You doubtless know that when an unmarried As far as God on lily fair And raven young bestows his care. my little miss. the needle pricked my finger and it bled a little. said the young girl. he who seeks my hand Must have four horses to his carriage Before I'll give myself in marriage. is it?" worth talking about." answered Lisbeth. "Nothing Yesterday evening when I was helping your daughter with her sewing. Thus far runs my land. give ' ' ' ' * ' ' ' Vol. a And. but the blond Lisbeth did not allow herself to be disconcerted. make an end of your frivolous talk. blushing. and in doing it pricks engaged her ring-finger. The report of a gun rang out nearby. smirking. ' * ! girl helps an one to sew her bridal linen. And shoot me like a roe. but the Justice would not algrasping her hand. therefore." broke in the Justice- And he must catch me like a mouse. She wanted to change the subject. it means that she herself is to become engaged in the same year? Well. low himself to be diverted . it's coming true!" Now. the ring-finger too That augurs something good.

a third knew nothing about the matter. had been turned away empty-handed from one door after another." ''Oho. One claimed to have paid up long ago. If they are base enough to refuse to do their duty and to meet their obligations. and. halfaloud. Squire!" said one of the peasants to him. a fourth had pretended that he couldn't hear well. another said that he had only recently come into the farm. When is the secret court to be held?" "Be still. 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 fosterfather. But any one who thinks that these futile efforts had plunged her into grief is mistaken. end of her said : ''As far as the others are concerned. ready to talk and listen. for you can never get anything out of a peasant by a lawsuit. a cheerful smile. then simply strike out the names of the scamps.178 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The Justice settled liimself in an attitude of dignity. tree-warden!" interrupted the old man with earnestness. We still have means of accomplishing that. "You talk as if you always carried the rope around with you in your coat-sleeve. he down his . But as against those who live in our precinct. for nothing greatly disturbed her and she related the story of her irksome wanderings with pay . I will help you to secure your rights. they do not live with us and I have no authority over them. when she had reached the list. like a little bird flying about in the winter in search of food and not finding a single grain of corn. into trouble ' ' ! "Sneering remarks like that might get yon cast The man addressed was disconcerted. and so forth and so forth so that the poor girl. of the The Justice wrote down on the table with chalk several names mentioned. Then she told the Justice how they had refused to their debts and what their excuses had been.

Lisbetli thanked the old man for his offer of help. Schmitz. a man in respectable but covered with dust from his gray gaiters to his attire. and had thus made herself ready to leave. visored cap. and he had the servant bring the fatigued man the best there was in the wine- The peasants politely moved closer together to make room for the new arrival. 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 . expressed her thanks for the hospitality shown her. perhaps. eh?" said the old peasant very cordially. They insisted upon his cellar. he begged her to make her arrangements such that on her return she could stay for the wedding and a day thereafter. which led across the Priests' Meadow. the peasants broached the subject which had brought them to the Justice. He hoped that he would be able to give her by that time definite assurance in regard to the rents. or. in this locality. ''Good day! How A ''Ah. well pedestrian. known are you?" called out a voice. if the idea were carried out. and inquired about the roads and paths to the other peasants whose names she still had left on her writing-tablet. . When the young disappeared behind girl's slender and graceful form the last walnut-trees at the farther had end of the orchard. Oberhof. to deprive them of a few strips of their land over which it was necessary to lay the new road. green. although the project would redound to the advantage of all the sur- rounding peasantry. Mr. so we see you too. Against this loss. past the three mills and over the Holle Hills.THE OBERHOF 179 eyes and made no reply. When she had put on her straw hat. threatened. The Justice pointed out to her the shortest way to the nearest farm. even to give her the money itself to take home with her. taken her staff. had entered through the gate and approached the table. which was to establish a connection with the main highway. once more. The building of a new road. unnoticed at first by the conversers.

But I had to stop over a while at your place on the way. smiling. in order not to lose any of his treasures. had. It not only brings forth corn and vegetables constantly and untiringly an alert searcher may secure a harvest of antiquities from it — no matter how much other people have scratched and dug for them. and lie lowered himself into a chair with great care and deliberation. which were used for the same purpose." are you bringing with you?" asked the Justice. and this time I got as far as the border of the Sieg valley. Mr. ''There is a rich blessing hidden in the dear earth. He sipped. for I "What The am certainly tired. Collector tapped gently and affectionately on all the . Not only did his coat-pockets. "Judging from appearances. and had acquired from its contents the shape and semblance of a watermelon. bulge but also his breast and side pockets. and the outlines of his form resembled a conglomeration of bundles tied together. with manifest relish. fairly good. Justice. protruded in a manifold variety of swellfull of all sorts of crammed ings and eminences. in spite of the summer heat. jects. ''Been doing good business. gradually acquired its natural color and form again. Even the inside of his cap had been obliged to serve for the storing of several smaller articles. which were round." *'0h. square and oblong obout from his body in an astonishing manner.180 sitting THE GERMAN CLASSICS down. one might think so. in order to rest myself a bit. Schmitz?" inquired the Justice. I am on my way back now and intend to go on as far as the city today. which stuck out all the more sharply as the Collector. for ing. the man was loaded down like an express-wagon. and his elderly countenance. so as not to break what he was carryAnd this procedure was indeed very necessary. buttoned his coat tightly together. So I have once more taken my little trip through the country. bloated and reddened with heat and fatigue." replied the Collector. all the time. the good wine that was put before him.

and ''Oh. And I also have here with me a perfectly of bronze I had no other place to put it. because the antiquities were so carefully packed The peasants displayed some and put away with such ingenious use of every bit of space that it would be difficult. "They have all been on the wrong track Clostermeier. in a northerly direction. three idols and a pair of valuable lamps. it will probably not look amiss. to get the entire load back in again. In the meanwhile the Collector told in detail all about the . that Varus withdrew in the di- and in accordance with that theory the battle is supposed to have taken place between the sources of the Lippe and . if it were once taken out. Schmid. some heathen rings beautiful things all covered with green tear-bottles. and the latter went into the house. a pair of thunderbolts. rust of curiosities. but old Schmitz declared himself unable to satisfy it. anyway. The Justice said something into the servant's ear. Well." curiosity to see a few of the articles." He struck the nape of his neck with the back of his hand — —ash-urns. well.THE OBERHOF swellings said: 181 and protuberances of his various pockets. places where he had come across the various acquisitions then he moved his chair nearer to his host and said confidentially : by important discovery —I have now really found the actual place where Hertrip ''But what is far the most of this mann defeated Varus!" "You don't mean it?" replied the Justice. and whatever the names of the other people may be who have written about it " cried the Collector ardently. some very nice things — all sorts A battle-axe. preserved piece so I tied it fast here on my back under my coat. once it is all cleaned up and and continued ' ' : — given its proper place. pushing his cap back and forth. — ! "They have always thought rection of Aliso ever — the exact situation of which no man has discovered— well.

petrified among the minerals there. six years after the battle of Teutoburg Wood. Paderborn. behold! we came across bones to my heart's content. and Sigambri. Lippspring. when he directed his last expeditions against Hermann. That is what I have always thought. whither the road leads diagonally across Sauerland. wrong. the day is beginning to break." said the Justice. Close by the Ruhr I found the bronze and bought the three 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. No the battle middle Rhine. near the region of the Ruhr. ''Here below everything was occupied and blocked up by the Cheruwas much farther south. and God knows where else!" The Justice said: "I think that Varus had to try with all his might to reach the Rhine. and in that length of time you can march a good distance. Justice!" cried the Collector. not far from Arnsberg." "Bones do not ordinarily preserve themselves for a thou- sand years and more. had them excavate a little. I went out there with a few peasants." forth a large bone from his shirt and held . and his mind was bent on reaching the sci. and that he could have done only by gaining the open country. Catti. Ha! I exclaimed. near Detmold. said the collector angrily. 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. shaking his head doubtfully." "Wrong. And I have therefore discovered the right battlefield. and now I have discovered the most unmistakable evidence of it. he had no egress anywhere. Varus had to push his way through the mountains. "I'll have to put an evidence * ' They have become ' ' of my theory in your hand—here He drew is one I have brought with me. and.182 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the Ems. The battle is said to have lasted three days. So that is the place where Germanicus had the remnants of the Roman legions buried idols.

THE OBERHOF it 183 before his opponent's eyes. by profession. The Collector indignantly put the discredited antiquity back into its place and uttered a few violent imprecations. If it had not been for Hermann 'the liberator. For the Collector had formerly been. For it was a common thing for them. Finally. marched into this region w^ith another army. as you have often told me. a sworn and matriculated Imperial Notary. not the battlefield Schmitz ! of Teutoburg*. " which the old peasant knew the most effective way to It seemed as if a quarrel might ensue between the reply. But in spite of these controversies they always remained good friends. "Now. 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 . who. even begrudged himself bread. For if the other Roman general. replied: ''A cow's bone. whenever they got together." ''You don't know anything about it!" exclaimed the Collector. then the whole battle had but — little significance. what do you call that!" he asked triumphantly. Mr. although I still persist in my belief that Her- mann defeated Varus somewhere around this neighborhood. The Collector. after a great deal of fruitless argument on both sides.' you would not be oc- cupying these extensive premises now. the Justice said: *'I won't wrangle with you over in return for it the battlefield. two men. The peasants stared at the bone in amazement. marked off by your . he helped along his host's business by doing all kinds of writing for him. after he had examined it. As a matter of fact it doesn't make any particular difference to me where it happened the question is one for the scholars. in order to follow up his hobbies. but as a matter of fact the appearances were of no significance. You discovered a carrion-pit. six years afterwards. "The present existence and position of Germany rests entirely upon the battle won by Hermann. to disagree about this and to similar matters. The Justice.

But you people simply live along from one day to the next. . Mr. when very one of the Archbishop 's cavalrymen crawled into the bushes here and left it. you'll get your punishment for that this very day!" The servant came out of the door. gripping it firmly and carefully by the handles with both hands. although nothing further may be said about it." likely "The fist devil take table. on the you!" cried the Justice. ure it gives me to sit down of a winter evening and read the chronicles and histories. 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 Ober- hof located and established the Freemen's Tribunal. Schmitz. He was carrying a terra-cotta jug with a rather large circumference and a strange." The old man uttered these words with an expression on his features and a gesture which had something sublime in them. and you yourself know that 1 treat the sword of Carolus Magnus (the old man pronounced the second syllable long). and have no use for history and an' ' tiquity. and it isn't five hundred years old! It comes down perhaps from the time of the feud of Soest. pounding his Then he mumbled softly to himself: "Just wait. "I have examined the old toasting-iron no less than a hundred ' times. and consequent" ' ' ly ''The sword of Charles the Great!" exclaimed the Collector scornfully. ''Friend. which has now for a thousand years and more been in the possession of the Oberhof. as I do the apple of my eye. exotic appearance.' And even today the sword still performs and fulfils its office." God knows what pleasreplied the old peasant proudly.184 THE GERMAN CLASSICS hedges and stakes. "And I say and maintain that all that is sheer nonsense!" exclaimed the Collector with emphasis. "Oho. you do me great injustice there.

I found the old jug in the ditch a week ago when we were digging out gravel. In this way he formed the motionless centre-figure of the group. the Collector said in a dejected tone that to err was human. 185 view of it ' ' it. therekeep the jug after all. and the antiquarian holding on to the lower end. without turning his eyes away from it. and that he had decided." replied the peasant coldly. besought its owner with all kinds of lively arguments to turn the longed-for wine-jug over to him. Finally he stammered: "Can't we strike a bargain for it?" ''No. fore. who. tuted the excited lateral and secondary figures. because he himself would take pleasure in seeing the old things arranged in order on the shelves of the collection around the room. but the men smashed it all to pieces with their picks. listening to the business with open mouths." The Collector looked at the large. Finally the Justice said that he had been of a mind to give the jug to which he had previously discovered. but that the constant athis guest along with several other pieces tacks made by the Collector against the sword of Carolus Magnus had annoyed him." started to carry the amphora back into the house. by the Collector. and. after a pause. Thereupon. well-preserved vessel with moist eyes. "I'll keep the pot for He motioned to the servant. maintained an attitude of unshakable composure. He was prevented from doing so. of which the peasants. to . however.THE OBERHOF **01i!" cried the Collector. But it was all in vain the Justice. in the face of the most urgent entreaties. that medieval weapons could not always be distinguished with certainty as to their age. What when he had obtained a closer a splendid large amphora Where did ! come from!" The Justice replied with an air of indifference: ''Oh. There was a lot more stuff around there. inasmuch as you are here. the servant tugging the jug with both handles toward the house. I wanted you to see it. consti. and the latter myself. This jug was the only thing they spared.

Old Schmitz. before the feud of Soest. ran it through the handles. and suspended the large wine-jug over his shoulders.186 that lie THE GERMAN CLASSICS liimself was less of an expert in these than in Eoman relics. Evidently he was striving to subdue the exhortations of a desire which was seducFinally. got the upper hand suddenly demanding pen and paper. wherein he should formally recognize the sword kept in the Oberhof as the actual sword of Charles the Great. passion. then he folded the paper several times and put it into his pocket. namely. a direct statement to the effect that he. The Justice said that he would deliver the jug to him in the city on the following day. fingers about the spot where he had concealed the bone from the battlefield of Teutoburg. the Col- . now and then casting furtive glances at the amphora. however. by writing out on the spot a signed statement. recognized and declared the sword in the Oberhof as one formerly belonging to the Emperor. On hearing this a severe conflict ensued in the Collector's mind between liis quarian longing. and that there were after all many things about the sword which seemed to indicate a more remote age. and there was only one to . he made out in hot haste. This document the Justice had signed by the two peasants as witnesses. But what collector could ever get along. he had a string brought to him. as is always the way. without the actual possession of a piece of property acquired at so high a price? Our Collector resolutely declined to submit to any delay. Charles the Great. after frequent examinations of it. Whereupon the Justice replied that general statements of that kind were of no use him he wanted to have the dispute and doubt regarding his sword settled once and for all. ing him into signing an untruthful statement. After that. on the other hand. made a quick grab for the amphora w^hich he had pur. even for a minute. way for the Collector to gain possession of the old jug. He pouted antiquarian conscience and his antihis lips and tapped with his chased at the expense of his better judgment.

his swelled-up. Chaptee III THE OBEEHOF ''Westphalia formerly consisted of individual estates. opinions were exchanged. which. was sure sorts of matters to make his first appearance in the company with fuller hands and a choicer animal. marriages performed. The beginning. Several such estates constituted a Bauerschaft (peasant community). each one of which had its own free possessor. bore the name of the oldest estate. and then went with the servant to the granary to measure out oats for the people who had come horses. of the summer was the usual time for this event. deaths made known. protruding coat-tails. and here from time to time children. had handled everything undertaken. who. Disagreements were unavoid- . ceasing work for a few days. Then all the were discussed. and perhaps a calf or lamb as well. as a rule. made a remarkable spectacle as he walked away. and with the amphora bobbing back and forth at his left side. or else the end. as the succeeding head of his father's estate. dealing with all the to him in the course of an hour. 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 then every estate-owner brought along with him for the feast some of the fruits which he himself had raised. The Justice. first took the successfully newly-acquired document of recognition to the room where he kept the sword of Charles the Great.THE OBERHOF 187 lector having first been invited to the wedding. and then the son. and the latter with his bulging angularities. and departed. The peasants wished their adviser a good morning. promised to bear his advice in mind. grandchildren and house-inmates. the two men parted in the best of humor. each one to his own farmstead. came together and feasted.

the feast. the name whereby the people designated the Main Estate or the Oberhof of the peasant community. have not enThe oldest estate. any of the estate-owners had about some matter. . and its owner as the head or chief of the rest. and precisely this gradual progress led to those simple and uniform . Peasant Conferences. After all the eatables had been devoured. because all the estate-owners of a peasant community came together to confer with one another. and the tree set aside for the occasion had been burned up. and came to be a living and If during the previous year continuing authority regarding all the happenings of their peasant community. with the approval of the rest. related the events of the occasion to the waiting members of his household. tirely disappeared. came to an end. the Court Estate.188 THE GEKMAN CLASSICS able on these days of joy. Each one returned home. both of them brought fordisagreed ward their grievances before the next gathering. put an end to the quarrel. and both were satisfied with whatever decision their fellows deemed right and just. Thus in a general way we account for the origin of the first association and the first judicial arrangement of the called Westphalian Estates or peasant communities. and the Peasant Conferences and Peasant Tribunals were called Court Conferences and Court Tribunals and the latter. even at the present day. such an estate was called Court Estate. already by tacit agreement combined in a union. because here the conflicting claims of the men. stepped in and. were either settled or rejected. These gatherings were called Conferences. Inasmuch as the Peasant Conferences or Peasant Tribunals were held at the oldest and most aristocratic estate. 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. as the head of the oldest estate. and also Peasant Tribunals. or the gathering. was by way of distinction simply the Estate. and in the event of one. the father.



" This passage from Kindlinger's Contributions to the Historic of the Diocese of MUnster conducts us to the scene of our story. whose right of existence is not acknowledged by the powers of the present. to be sure. There is something remarkable about the first traditions of a tribe. Nature once more awakens special qualities in a person. which we find among the ancient inhabitants of Westphalia. It throws a light on our hero. that the years of a people are as centuries. and the person most worthy of credit is a horse-dealer. furthermore. these thousand-year-old memories and between the boundaries and ditches which are. a figure like our Justice. and the people as a whole have just as long a memory as the individual persons. or Oberhofs. in converting the obstinate inhabitants. there may grow up amid And so if. but which. the Justice. who calls special attention to the comfortable circumstances of a peasant with whom he . as also to the similarity of culture. and. If the praise of a friend is always very ambiguous. may temporarily restore a condition which disappeared long ago. still recognizable. it is no longer a matter of wonder to us that. Let us look around in the Oberhof itself. by means of fire and sword. then surely one may trust the envy of an enemy. in the regions where the events of our story took place. to be sure. He was the owner of one of the largest and wealthiest of the Main Estates. manners and customs. who are wont to retain faithfully to extreme old age the impressions of early childhood. and among its own kind. we still here and there come across much that points back to the time when the great Emperor of the Franks succeeded. in the place where once the Supreme Justice and the heir of the region lived.THE OBERHOF 189 arrangements. have now fused together to a small number. which still exist in those regions. but which for its own self. after all. When now we consider that an individual human life may last as long as ninety years.

the Justice's last fields lay on a gentle slope. — woods and meadows. at the point where it passes over into hilly wood- land. time when the rye was in blossom. From the foot of the hills the fields ran down in beauti- It was. and. being visible from afar. The house. and well-kept oak grove. The nearest neighbor peasant community lived a quarter of an hour away estate. thus. . was equally refreshing to human beings. around which were spread out all the possessions w^hich a large country household had need of in the from the fields. 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 the plate is never empty. at the same time. on the other hand. deep road ran between dikes of earth diagonally across the fields. which had two stories. at the point where the grain ceased. estate lay entirely alone on the border of the fertile .190 THE GERMAN CLASSICS could not agree in a matter of business. indeed. branched off into paths at several places A into a vigorous number of hogs and led. however. one could not say. warm summer fields. as a wafted aloft on the rose from the spikelets and was breezes. To be sure. under which a were comfortably imbedded in the soil. all in compact uninterrupted continuity. as the horse-dealer Marx did. affording it protection against the east and north winds. was roofed on both sides. indicated. and the walls of which were of panel-work painted white and yellow. which supplied the Justice with wood. extended to within a few paces of the farmhouse and inclosed it on two sides. the shade of which. about the ful order across the plain. plain. and a mile away were the mountains. more definitely than stones and stakes can do. Single rows of high-trunked ashes and knotty elms. that the surroundings reminded one of a count's estate. inclosed a part of the corn- thank-offering of the soil. This grove. its exhalation. planted on either side of the old boundary ditches. the limits of the inheritance. moreover.

on the contrary. Directly opposite the house one looked through a lattice effect of we shall learn gate into the orchard. Their breeding. even when his circumstances permit him to cultivate some of nature's luxuries. but not on the wall side. carried on with great industry. Large lindens stood before the front door. widely respected Justice. the time of which I speak it was approaching eleven o'clock in the forenoon. in which the Justice had room and fodder for his horses. surrounded by barns and stables. save the rustling of . But if one climbed the highest hill on the border of his land. as we have already seen. tables and lettuce. it did not produce an impression of poverty. in the plastered walls of which the keenest eye could not detect a faulty spot. as far as the eye could For on the other side of the garden lay see. one could see from there the towers of three of the oldest cities in "Westphalia. Of the inside more anon. vege- Here and there. and there too. but. was one of the most lucrative sources of income the estate enjoyed. in between. seats were placed. dwelt the old. rather increased the general comfort which the house imparted. suffice it to say for the present that on the other side of the house there was a large yard. was green. wanted to keep an eye on his household. Everything beyond the orchard.THE OBERHOF 191 only with straw. little beds of red roses and fire-lilies were thriving. where strong and healthy fruit-trees spread their leafy branches out over the fresh grass. there were very few. surrounded by full barns. one of them. the extensive meadows of the Oberhof. even when he was resting. contained a pond in which well-fed carp swam about in shoals. but. as the latter was always kept in the very best condition. Of the latter. full lofts and stables. moreover. These verdant meadows were also surrounded by hedges and ditches. On this rich estate. The whole vast estate was so quiet At that scarcely any noise was audible. For the Justice. however. for a true peasant devotes his ground only to necessary things.

and the workmen use every spare minute for sleep. The younger man gave some money and papers to the older. for the approaching days toil and sweat. like dogs. which lay there beside several others ner. as nimbly as a stag. Chapter IV WHEREIN THE HUNTER SENDS HIS COMPANION OUT AFTER A PERSON BY THE NAME OF SCHRIMBS OR PEPPEL. Jochem. All the other dwellers on the estate were lying asleep for it was just before the harvest-time. they both sat down on a large stone. clad in a green hunter's jacket. the other. and said ''Go now. in order to pre. so that we can get hold of this confounded Schrimbs or Peppel who has been in the shade of a : . pointed out to him the direction in which he was to continue his way. in a measure. AND COMES HIMSELF TO THE OBERHOF From the hills which bordered the Justice's fields there different appearance came forth two men of one. when peasants have the least to do. who flung each sack across his shoulders and trudged slowly over to the stable with it. The Justice was measuring out oats to his servant. like that of a worn-out hunting-dog lagging behind the master to whom he is still ever faithful.192 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the leaves in the tree-tops. For in general. while the older maintained a somewhat slower gait. After they had emerged into an open space at the foot of the hills. was a strikingly handsome youth. can. mighty linden. The with a little cap on his curly head and a light Liege gun on his arm. sleep at all hours of the day and night. The daughter was counting up her dowry of linen and wool. country people. was an elderly man with a frank and sincere man- The younger strode on ahead. dressed in more quiet colors. of pare themselves. and age. if they wish to. and be discreet. and a maid was working in the kitchen.

down toward the region where. lifted his hat and went off. on the other hand. "There was one more thing I wanted to ask and beg of you. let me know. for we are no longer in dear Suabia." "I'll be discreet all right. He turned around and saw that his old companion was hurrying after him. for the last tracks of this Schrimbs or Peppel are headed that way. ''I'll make such cities sly and secret inquiries in all the villages and about a man who signs his pel. until you receive further news from me." replied the latter. my Jochem. said the young man. He handed over to the other his hunting-bag. He had taken perhaps a hundred steps when he heard somebody running behind him and panting. The young man. that it would have to be the devil's name Schrimbs or Pepown fault if I don't succeed in locating the wretch. Jochem." said the young man." the latter cried. "Now that you are alone and left to yourself. ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ! necessary. following a side-path at the right. you will have a mishap _ Vol. went directly down toward the Oberhof. but out among the Saxons and Franks. of course. one could see towering up one of the steeples mentioned in the foregoing chapter. get rid of your gun. Faith. VII 13 ." Very ' ' and now. which was stuffed full. and as soon as you discover him." replied old Jochem. they have long talked about Suabian stupidities! They shall see that a Suabian can be a sly bird too when it is ' ' well. for you certainly won't hit anything and." "And keep always to the right. "Always to the right. standing up and giving the old man a cordial parting handshake. and which up to now he had been carrying." The miserable fellows exclaimed old Jochem. in the distance.THE OBEEHOF 193 inventing sucli monstrous lies. be very cautious and thoughtful all the time in the way you handle the matter. In the meanwhile you lie low here incognito. sure as death.

194 THE GERMAN CLASSICS you ' ' again." With that he tossed the gun over his shoulder and walked in the direction of the Justice's oak grove. and said: It will be difficult to get the charge out. he went back reassured. without a gun. thrust the * ' ' ' grove to the house. it is damnable to be always firing at things and never hitting them. Just before he got there a drove of heath fowl started up from a narrow strip of borderland. his daughter. sitting at dinner in a high and spacious hall which took up the entire centre of the house. it would surely cost no self-restraint to refrain from shooting. along the path which had been pointed out to him. The hunter gazed after them in astonishment and said: "This time I thought I couldn't have helped hitting something. The young man stood still. and yet it can 't stay in. as you almost did not long ago when the hare and came very near killing the child. and the birds flew away uninjured. and in a resonant. ramrod into the barrel. truly. Both barrels went off with a roar. and. from now on I shall certainly restrain With that he continued his way through the oak myself. without bidding his companion a second good-by." The old man begged him for the gun. crying: ''Here's my chance to get rid of the shot forthwith!" and took aim. ''That is very true. and that his method of procedure would then lose all its merit. inasmuch as the first one still held good." said the young man. In exultation the young man snatched the gun from his shoulder. . Well. rested the gun on the ground." replied the old man. The Justice scrutinized him with care. but the young man refused to give it up. flapping their wings and screaming loudly. I'll put restraint on myself. the Justice. no matter how hard it may be to do it. When he entered the door he saw. saying that. euphonious voice he gave them a friendly greeting. his farm-hands and maids. *'But. fired at *'Yes. and not a single shot shall fly out of these barrels as long as you are away from me.

the Hunter. without once turning her eyes from the hand- some Hunter. ''For money. combined with the sight of the tidy meal before him and his own hunger. kept absolutely silent and looked only at the dishes out of which they spooned their food into their mouths. the big beans. a knife. a fork and a spoon. no!" replied the Justice.THE OBERHOF . The midday heat. but went on eating without paying any attention to him. managed to find out from the Justice that no man by the name of Schrimbs or Peppel was known anywhere around in that vicinity. helped her father to get the meaning. whereupon he gave the correct information. The farm-hands and maids. not at all bad. just as bright as the plate. the eggs and sausages. and discovered that the food of the country. which constituted the meal. laid upon the table. . for peasants do not like to speak while they are eating. on the contrary." He had a tin plate. and then only by a path which was difficult to find. was. but he finally succeeded in making out that the city was not to be reached in less than two long hours. 195 the daughter with astonishment as for the men and maids. and pressed his guest to sit down. ''but for love the gentleman may have dinner and supper and a place to rest as long as he wants it. which was everywhere decried as Boeotian. At first the Justice did not understand his strange-sounding language. as clear and bright as a mirror. The Hunter approached the master of the estate and inquired about the distance to the nearest city and the way to get there. they did not look at him at all. on his part. on inquiry. Very little talking was done by the hosts. 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. able to understand the reply. Only after three repetitions was the Hunter. who sat apart from the seats of honor at the other end of the long table. but the daughter. The latter fell upon the well-cooked ham. Howsoever. with all the appetite of youth.

fat man the ant. and had wiped up to the Justice. The Hunter. ' ' After each one had been remembered in this way. whereupon the Jus- addressed to each one a proverbial phrase or a biblical passage. and proneness to " to the Go to fight sheds blood second." cried the Hunter. bold-looking customer: *'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. consider her ways and be wise " to the third. some looking unconcerned. "One can accomplish a great deal with a person when . when she heard her motto. But when a man has such a motto to ponder over. said the Jus"When they come together here again tonight. which afterwards break out in the form of wantonness. tice finished eating. Thus to the first man. : ." and to the second he said: "Nothing's ever locked so tight but it will some ' ' . they stepped other. and said Master. lies. and meanwhile the time has elapsed without any evil thoughts having entered his mind. and they get a lot of bad notions in their heads. them something to think about. "You are a true philosopher and priest. each tice. and deception. the people are liable to all sorts of things. one of them will tell me what he or she has been thinking relative to the motto. others The second girl blushed a deep crimson embarrassed. The first maid received the motto ''If you have cattle. who was gradually learning to understand the local dialect. he will not rest until he has extracted the moral from it. they all went off to their work. thou sluggard. however. black-eyed. ' ' : day come to light. a slow. a small.196 THE GERMAN CLASSICS tliey After had * ' : their mouths. he said: ''Proneness to dispute lights a fire. one after the my motto ' ' . in doing it. a red-haired fellow. keep it. Most of the work in the country is ' ' To ' ' give think of such a kind that. and if they bring you profit. listened to this lesson with astonishment. take care of them. and after it was over he asked what the purpose of it was. whose amazement was increasing with every ' ' minute.

Inasmuch as he wore his heart on his tongue. Those are the times when peasants have the least to do. He spent several hours in this inspection. since everything he saw attracted him. The rural stillness. In return he offered to assist in anything that might be of use to his host. and the meadow. he went forthwith to the Justice. like that little one of gold. and at first shook his head persistently then. during planting and harvest. because they have no time for wickedness. the yard. who got up and looked around in the house. all made a most pleasant impression. In summer. the orchard. the green of the meadows. It is a key which. he nodded . the prosperity which beamed upon him from the whole estate. and expressed his wish. granted him his request." said the Justice But morality sticks in short sayings better thoughtfully. and." ''You have. But it isn't necessary then anyway. they are assigned from Walpurgis Night until dog days.THE OBERHOF ' ' 197 one brings morality home to him. than in long speeches and sermons. on the other hand. regular sections in your teaching?" asked the Hunter. 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." With that he left the young man. My people keep straight much longer since I hit upon the morality idea. ''In winter. finally growing friendly. "the mottoes usually begin after threshing and last until sowing. To be sure it does not work all the year round. opens by magic seven locks.time all thinking ceases. who was in the oak grove marking a pair of trees for felling. approvingly. each one different from the rest." replied the Justice. 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. then. He assigned to the Hunter a corner room on the . however. Beauty is an excellent dowry.

The reason is. before he promised him quarwhether he was a lover of hunting. The creatures have already in past years eaten up and trampled down enough of my crops. This was in reality the case. to be sure. Chapter V THE HUNTER HIRES OUT AS POACHER He ters. which were causing a great deal of injury to his corn fields. but he regularly missed his aim in his eighteenth year he had killed a sparrow. and in his twenty-fourth a cat. in his twentieth a crow. especially those . as far back as he could remember. For the Justice did not lilce to have even beauty favored without an equivalent return. he concealed the fact that. and a cat. he had always had a passion amounting to real madness for deer- shooting. to promise to fulfil a very peculiar condition. that the young count over . and from the other out over the meadows and corn fields." said the old peasant. in place of paying for his room and board. a crow. ''Yonder in the mountains. The guest had. *'the noblemen have their great hunting-ranges. asked the young man. as his green suit. with the exception of a sparrow. And that was all. but this is the first year that it has become serious. to indicate. in saying which. After the Justice had received his guest's affirmative answer. he came out with his proposition. which was. from one side of which one could see across the oak grove toward the hills and mountains. no creature of God had ever fallen victim to his powder and lead. lying on the slope at the foot of the hills. gun and hunting-bag seemed The latter re- plied that. to be sure. namely. He could not live without firing a few times a day at something. that the Hunter should every day lie out in the fields a few hours and keep off the wild animals.198 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Tipper floor of the house.

I myself do not understand the business. Still laughing. and the whites of his eyes became bloodshot. and I don't like my men because it gives them an easy under the pretext of lying in wait. one might have taken fright at the sight of the old man. the blood in his cheeks turned deep crimson. '^That is just why I want you to do it. there is nothing more unreasonable than the so-called hunting privileges. the laugh on his face suddenly changing into an expression of the most fervent anger. we'll call that payment for your room and board." "What? I a poacher? I a game thief I" cried the man. but suddenly broke off and passed over to other indifferent matters. so that his stags and roes come out of the forest like sheep and completely ruin the product of mj^ toil and sweat. But what kind of a crime is it anyway to protect you are caught. But any one who thinks that the conversation between . "You are right. The veins in his brow swelled up. Your coming now is. to become dischance. and he laughed so loudly and heartily that the Justice could not help joining in. Consequently the beasts have now and then orderly. Flies get caught in a cobweb. father. it of your own property against monsters that eat it up and ruin it?" he cried. sin of violating the game laws of the local nobility in the interest of your estate.THE OBEKHOF there is 199 an ardent hunter and has enlarged his stock of game. although by so doing " I shall really be upon myself the He was going to add something more." said the Hun"For that reason I will take ter. therefore. very opportune. in order to pacify him. the latter ran his hand over the fine cloth of which his guest's clothing was made. worked enough havoc to make a man's heart ache. "because with you there will be no particular danger even if to turn it over to You will know how to get yourself out better than one of these poor farm laborers." he said. and if for these two weeks before harvest you will keep the creatures out of my corn for me. but wasps flit straight through them.

200 this THE GERMAN CLASSICS Westphalian justice and the Suabian hunter ran as smoothly as my pen has written it down. In front of my window stand rustling oak-trees. Inasmuch as both were men of full-weight. it was frequently necessary for them to repeat several times before a barely sufficient understanding came about between them. Chapter VI THE HUNTER WRITES TO HIS FRIEND Now I may not possibly tell write about things that are pleasant. pleasant or unclean about this. or. absolutely nothing unentrance-hall. for the cows do stand right in the house on both sides of the large actually There is. ut . whence the sounds broke forth in a wonderful sonor-'' ous gravity and fulness and a buzzing sibilancy. furthermore he brought all his sounds up out of his gullet. Now and then they were even compelled to resort to making signs with their fingers. Among people indeed literally the case. between which I see here and there a and cattle is was grove of oaks and a lone farmstead. on the other hand. is mistaken. the divine gift which distinguishes us from beasts was located between his front teeth and his lips. however. But through these strange husks the young man and the old one soon learned to like each other. I canyou how happy I am here in the solitude of this hill-girt Westphalian plain. long meadows and waving cornfields. In the Hunter. out of his throat. For here it is as it in the time of Tacitus: "Colunt discreti ac diversi. if you will. and beyond them I look out on long. where I have been quartered for a week among people and cattle. on the contrary it rather helps to increase the impression of patriarchal house-management. sterling stuff they could not fail to understand each other's inmost nature. On the contrary. For in all his life the Justice had never heard ch pronounced after s.

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. blue eyes like a straw roof. hence the earth-born. even though they may no longer close together into leafy crowns. rugged body. tough and enduring character of the people here. old-time.THE OBERHOF fons. he is a genuine. complete and My host is . ut campus. as yet unbent by age. free his ancestors colts. for it consists solely of billowy risings and fallings of the . however. you see. reason and obstinacy. has reference only to the ownership of his prop- placuit. that this is the custom around here everywhere. . but he carries a strong. a splendid old fellow. name of the owner sinks in that of the property. The region is not at all what one would call beautiful. I believe that this is the only place where people of this kind are still to be found. and his white. from which fresh shoots have ever sprouted up again. and pours and libations at the peasant in the full sense of the word. who erects a monument of unhewn stones to the god of and oil upon it. and the lord of it is just as much a king in his small domain as a real king on a throne. He is called Justice. My Justice is a man of some sixty-odd years perhaps. In his reddish-yellow face is deposited the solar heat of the fifty harvests he has gathered in. large. combined with the absence of large cities. rears his same time judges and rules his people with unlimited authority. although he certainly has another name too for that name. For the most part only the estate has a name erty. He reminds me of a patriarch. but not to destroy their roots. bristly eyebrows hang out over his glistening. has perpetuated the original character of Germania. his large nose stands out on his face like a tower. cuts his corn. —the I hear." Consequently even a a small State in itself. I have never come across a more compact mixture of venerability and cunning. ut single 201 nemus farm like this is rounded off. here where precisely this living apart and this stubbornness peculiar to the ancient Saxons.

but after a time conducted me. to serve the tilth of human hands even down to the smallest detail after all makes me like them very much. as tall as a man. the Fehme used to hatch out its sumably. But just this absence of pretension. have even become poetic what do you say to that. an expression of friendliness passed over his face. 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. praised the place to my Justice. secluded and secret. behind it. and only in the distance does one see the mountains. around which. the branches of three old lindens spread out. The there is me lonesome.202 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ground. like a dutiful stewardess.the Justice 's cornfields. to be sure. to a . and I have enjoyed many a pleasant hour in my solitary rambles. It is called The Marvels of the Spessart. I spend a great deal of time up there not always. the latter look more like a dark hillslope than a beautifully outlined mountain-range. which terminate there. in a circle. 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. grown over with weeds and blackberry bushes. Behind me rustles the forest. Perhaps the fact has something to do with it that my heart can once more swing out its pendulum undisturbed. sentences there in the darkness of the night. in sentimental contemplation of nature it is my usual evening watchpost. ** Freemen's Tribunal. without having wise people — tinkering and twisting at the clock-works. I think you will like it. What I like best is to sit up on the hill in a quiet spot between. directly opposite the field. In I ' ' — ' ' : front of a large depression in the ground." PreThey call the place the in days of yore. When I spot is infinitely now that the corn — . especially is grown up. He made no reply. without any inducement on my part. Over the largest of these. lie a lot of large stones. furthermore. from which I shoot the stags and roes out of the Justice's corn.



then. monotonous way. it ' * : for a thousand and full strength more years in the Oberhof. to steal over his young master. For nowadays time is so regulated and so enmeshes us that nobody. To be sure. There he opened an iron-bound trunk. preserved curiosity. no matter how free and independent he may be. from your Not-Telemachus. Mentor. Still no word came from old Jochem. although a fleeting glance convinced me that the broad- sword could scarcely be more than a few hundred years But he showed me too a formal attestation concernold." Without adding any further explanations. Well. he clapped the cover down again. I shall stay here among the peasants until old Jochem sends me news of Schrimbs or Peppel. and still in and power. and said with great solemnity is the sword of Charles the Great. and a mild anxiety gradually began. I hope. 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. after a while.THE OBERHOF 203 room on the upper floor of the house. rusty sword which was That is a great lying in it. showed me an old. made out for him by ing an obliging provincial scholar. I wouldn't for anything have shaken his belief in this sacred relic. regarding either himself or the escaped adventurer. Chapter VII HOW THE HUNTER LIVES AT THE OBERHOF Several days passed at the Oberhof in the usual quiet. the genuineness of the weapon. in the course of my eighty-mile journey I have cooled down a little. can long endure an existence which . you shall soon hear more.

began to look with astonishment upon these futile eif orts. since every day people dropped in farm to solicit his help or advice. On these occasions Hunter noticed that the Justice. Just then the be Justice. never did anything gratis. in the truest sense of the word. and friends he was ready to do anything. and at the same time a two-horse wagon drew up opposite by the oak grove. stepped out of the door. even were it only an errand in a neighboring peasant community. In front by the horses stood a peasant with the whip. . to be sure. too. A dress. his arm resting on the neck of one of the animals. But the old man was occupied the attract him greater part of the time with matters pertaining to his household. missed no matter what he aimed at. wagon was a man in he was sitting among several baskets. relatives. or some at the the other small service of this kind. in some of which fowls seemed to be little behind him sat a woman in bourgeois fluttering. and then he had. In the black robes. dressed in his Sunday clothes. Beside him was a maid. also holding a basket. It was a fortunate thing for our Hunso that the old Every day something was man. who fired at. the Hunter associated with the Justice. As much as he could. but they had always to do something for him in return. At noon on the following day the Hunter heard a noise under his window. rigidly in her lap. otherwise the professional gunners up on the ''Open Tribunal" would probably have caught him sooner or later. covered with a snow- who was holding another basket . For neighbors. a great many things to discuss with outsiders. he looked out and saw that a number of men were standing in front of the house. ter that the nearest estate-owner happened at that time to away on a trip with his family and servants. but regularly invariably hit his mark.204 THE GERMAN CLASSICS does not offer him some occupation or social relation to fall back on. and the man's originality continued to just as strongly as it had done on the first day of their acquaintance. apparently a clergyman .

THE OBEKHOF wliite napkin. Inside. placed himself in front of the Justice. reverently helped him to alight. of the entrance-hall. and finally the Justice. By custom o]d from domain. the peasant and the maid. then the peasant. in order to ascertain the significance of this scene. The hens. walked with dignity from the wagon to the house. crossed the threshold to it. At the head marched the clergyman^ behind him the Sexton. lifted his hat. which the Hunter could not overhear. In the meantime the woman with the basket had also stepped down and taken a position beside the Sexton. Afterwards he approached the wagon. including the Justice. then the Sexton's wife. the house-maid too. The Sexton's wife. and the best room. While listening to this little recitation the Justice had respectfully removed his hat. whose thoughtful gait and solemn face made it at once unmistakably evident that he was a sexton. when the procession of strangers. and behind the two chief persons. as if for a procession. the eggs. So tell us then without delay If you are all prepared to pay. sat the daughter she was spinning as if she meant to turn out an entire skein of yarn that very day. A man in a wide brown overcoat. about various matters. also dressed up Sunday best. 205 under her arm. She looked very red and did not glance up from her work. bowed to the clergyman. Who've come to get what this is their due. the cheeses twain. The Hunter. in her . went downstairs and observed that the entrance-hall was sprinkled with white sand. adjacent decorated with green branches. and then stood off at one side with him and held a conversation. each one . and recited the following verses : Before your gate you now may see The Sexton and the Dominie. then the maid. He entered the room and was just about to obtain his information from her.

a youngish man took his hat and cane from him. thereupon they left the room and went into the entrance-hall. ''this is **But. after they had formed a refreshing drink. who had not yet glanced up from her spinning-wheel. even redmissible. however. The young Hunter. but he. likewise. and had likewise remembered her with a handshake and an expression of good will. When is the wedding to be I " if it is perthe bride. a former academic now left the room for a moment." no place nor time for a talk. unnoticed by the others. with joyful astonishment. stood before him in reverential posture. Miss! When the bride-to-be makes her : wheel go so industriously beforehand. For in the clergyman he recognized. The clergyman. continued to discuss the affairs of the community with the Justice. a conversation which. he added to the first words of greeting." replied der than before.206 THE GERMAN CLASSICS marching alone. addressed her with a friendly greeting. also parlatter —the was still — took of the refreshing beverage. at once recognized the other and was no less acquaintance. who. and handed him. and said ** Quite right. had been watching the scene from a corner of the room. The clergyman started and passed his hand across his eyes. but he felt that it would be rude to break in upon the conversation between the strangers and the inmates of the house. with his hat in his hand all the time. by way of welcome. would have liked to greet the clergyman before now. The clergyman approached the daughter. who. if possible. your reverence. her sweetheart may hope and expect to have full chests and boxes afterwards. and the Hunter went over to the Pastor and greeted him by name. Come along with me afterwards when I drive away from the farm then we can have happy — . circle around the bride. turning. a The others. The Justice to see him. She humbly kissed the clergyman's hand "A week from Thursday. had yet an air of diplomatic ceremony. in spite of the rusticity of the scene.

butter. We cannot take any notice of each other. a bottle of wine. which had been laid for only two himself. as did likewise. and you too. strange as they may seem. In the other room he found the Sexton. ''Only the Diaconus and the Colonus eat here you sit at the table with the Sexton outside. sat down. must conform to the ritual. The same eatables . his wife. But I should like — ' ' ' ' ' ' to know * ' " whispered the clergyman. and the bride looked at him from one side in amazement. all standing around a table which had been laid there. a short distance away from him. opposite." The Hunter went into another room. The peasant too had left the horses and come into the room. and. When everything was steaming on the table. All this was put on the table at the same time. nevertheless. *'Do I not eat here too?" inquired the Hunter. "Nay.THE OBERHOF 207 a chat together. the arrival of their fourth companion. in a passive sort of way. always have. bread. The Justice and his daughter themselves brought in the food and laid it on the table. There were chicken soup. Above all things don 't laugh at anything that you see that would offend the good people extremely. after saying grace. I am a public character here and stand under the constraint of a most imperious ceremonial. their venerable side. He retreated from the Hunter just as from a stranger. a dish of French beans and a long sausage." Have no fear. roast pork and plums. which the Justice was just then ! ' ' re-entering. as it seemed. These old established customs. in addition. the Justice politely invited the clergyman to seat and the latter. the peasant. replied the Hunter. after ob- — serving to his surprise that the Justice and his daughter themselves attended to the serving of this first and most aristocratic table. Everything afterwards glancing toward the door. God forbid!" answered the Justice. persons. which had been set in this room. and the maid. and impatiently awaiting. and cheese.

smirking solemnly." The maids. who had already cleared off the table. while his wife was not a great way behind him. As for the Hunter. with the Sexton at the head of the table. : baskets down in front of them. recited aloud the following verses : The birds that fly. The latter did not for a moment forget his solemn dignity. After the expectation which the faces of the three expressed had lasted for several minutes. The Sexton sat down on a chair in the middle of the room. Are gifts divine Lord bless the meal! t>^ — Thereupon the company sat down. while the two women. pork. keeping his eyes on the dishes. took seats on either side of him. which she put down close beside her.208 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS were steaming on this table. Chicken soup. except that the butter and cheese were missing and beer took the place of the wine. The Pastor's maid. nor his wife her basket. we will receive our legitimate dues and the good-will accompanying them. During the meal. putting the newly-opened tions that . She put it first The . the two maids re-entered. then went out. on the other hand. not a word was spoken. if it please God. which was piled up on the dishes in veritable mountains. in which some hens were anxiously clucking and flapping their wings. accompanied by their master. For man's behoof God made them all. the beasts that crawl. was holding aloft a roomy basket of wickerwork. Here again it was the maid who showed herself to be most modest. plums and veal. said to the two maids who had waited on the table ''Now. beans. The Sexton stepped with dignity to the head seat and. the Justice. After the meal was over the Sexton. The Sexton gravely devoured pormight be called enormous. he confined his attention almost entirely to looking on for the day's ceremonies were not to his liking. his wife and the maid. had unassumingly set hers aside.

' ' After this proceeding the Sexton stood up and said : to the Justice Justice. six it is all right. and now comes the good. the two is it. five. which more than a hundred years ago was united under one hand with the Oberhof. three score eggs and six round cheeses." Thereupon the second maid counted out from a large piece of cloth into a basket in front of the Pastor's maid. After was done.THE OBERHOF down in front of the : 209 into it Sexton. roundish or angular shape. This alleged second cheese was due from the Baumann estate. the Sexton said is : '*So then the Pastor provided for. who tested the freshness of each egg by shaking and smelling it. Is the Sexton's office to be the loser on that account? II should not be so is "Where the He said Baumann : went ! Nevertheless. and contested now for a hundred years. estate? It was split up and to pieces in the times of disturbance. not without the — Sexton's carefully counting them this all over after her. four." replied the Justice. Later on. and rejected two. about the second cheese which the has the right to expect from the farm?" You yourself know. three. How Sexton * ' still ' ' were again divided." Vol. who glanced and counted "One. and divided itself into several pensive sections of a square. In accordance with which the legitimate dues of the Oberhof to both Pastor and Sexton are paid. and now comes the Sexton. Sexton. two." Thereupon thirteen eggs and a single cheese were put into the basket in front of his wife. VII— 14 . 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. I hereby receive and accept one cheese. that the right to the second cheese has never been recognized by the Oberhof.will. expressly reserving each and every right in the matter of the second cheese due from the Oberhof.

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. he sat down with ''I am it beside the Sexton. With that the entire ceremony was concluded. The cheeses too without defect.210 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The latter consisted of freshly-baked rolls. and when a cup was brought for the Hunter too. a stranger here. and recited the following third effusion : I find the six hens all correct. ''and do not entirely understand the customs which I have been witnessing today. who had stepped up to the threshold of the room. six of which were laid in the Pastor's basket and two in the Sexton's. And so the Lord preserve your farm From famine." replied the Sexton with great seriousness. The Sexton 's wife and the maid carried ths baskets out and packed them in the wagon. In the meanwhile the Sexton was drinking his coffee with relish. but have always been paid without objection. where she washed them before the eyes of the latter. fire. and part of the Pastor's and Sexton's . into the entrance-hall. but not the rolls. They represent merely goodwill. After that the Justice made a deep bow as a sign of thanks. sir. And all the dues were promptly paid. The Sexton came closer to the Justice. The eggs delivered are freshly laid. and other harm! He is beloved of God and man Who pays his debts as best he can. who drew a small coin out of a piece of paper and gave it to her. eggs and cheeses are concerned. Will you. At the same time the Hunter saw a maid carrying some dishes and plates out of the room in which the clergyman had eaten. After she had finished this washing she approached the clergyman." said the young man. "Three peasant communities are affiliated with the diaconate or head pastorate in the city.

oats and rye fall due. Here. unrestrained by the ceremonial of the Ober- . and the clergyman. another so much. which are collected every from the various farms. hurried after it with hasty steps. this short summer trip. as has been done every year since time immemorial. we come then with two carts. w^ho had modestly stood back during the preparations for departure." The Sexton was then called away. shortly after Advent. On the summer trip the hens. corn." ''And where do you go from here?" asked the Hunter. Pastor. one farm paying so much. only pro Diaconatu. and then a long winter trip. now. when the wagon had advanced a short disHe found the tance. and this Oberhof is the last munity farm in this community where the customary dues are collected. and the cart rolled heavily along behind him. we make annually two trips or rounds. namely. The procession now went rocking off between corn fields and high hedges along another road than the one it had come by. however. who were now standing before with the Mm same air of friendly reverence that they had shown for him during all the other proceedings of the day. was taking leave of the Justice and his daughter. for the horses were hitched to the cart. the Sexton now sat in among the baskets with a feather pillow propped against his stomach for protection. the hens. namely. eggs and cheeses come due. because one would not hold all the sacks. with cordial handshakes and good wishes. is payable. went on foot in front of the horses. with the whip in his hand. barley. is the last of the three. In addition to the two women. In order to do this collectyear ing. The Hunter. In the winter. The first item. who had also remained behind his accumulation of property. The peasant." answered the Sexton. the Sexton having to content himself with eggs and cheese only. Thus twice a year we go the rounds of the three communities.THE OBERHOF income 211 is derived from these dues. waiting for him in a pleasant spot under some trees. "This com''Straight home.

who was not a native of these parts." How could it be otherwise 1 cried the Hunter. In pursuance of this policy I have so far got along very well.212 hof. As for the proceedings which you have witnessed today. my entire relation with the people would be broken if I manifested any squeamishness about participating in the old custom. was ashamed of these regular trips and refused downright to have anything to do with them. they embraced laughing : and the Pastor said. which must have who daily bread in order to exist. something you never expected to discover in your former acquaintance. I was these most simple and material gifts. and. and of the faithful supply her earthly needs in the humble conviction that its by so doing they will gain something of high and eternal value. who used to conduct his young Swedish Count so neatly about on the slippery ''I'll wager this is — ground of science and elegant life in the big city. AVhat was the result? He got himself into serious difficulties with these rural parishes. on the other. which even had an influence on the decadence of school and church affairs. far from damaging my prestige. it was absolutely necessary for me to go through with them in person. and I ' ' ' ' ' ' confess to you that during the entire ceremony. when I received my appointment. that I would adapt myself in all things to the customs of the place. and the appearance of dependency which these trips give me. in your acceptance of it. THE GERMAN CLASSICS each other. Somehow I saw on the one hand. in spite of the comical atmosphere which your Sexton spread over really touched and the feeling never once left me. I must ence. a figure who must remind you of the Reverend Lopez in Fletcher's Spanish Curate. rather enhances and secures it. Hence on neither the one side nor the other does a . in the reverence with which they were bestowed. My predecessor in office. the most pious and unpretending symbol of the church. He had finall}^ to petition for his transfer- immediately made up my mind.

but rather on both sides there is a deep feeling of the most perfect mutuality. hausted and surfeited tourists. 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. since another person would perhaps have made fun of the whole business. For that can now own up to it I was at first not at all to have you appear so unexpectedly as a witness pleased reason of those scenes. which was carried on alternately by both the Hunter and the Pastor. learned to ." A long conversation resulted from this remark. tangible form. "that you so regard it. so he stepped up to one of the highest hedges to . — ! Chapter VIII THE STRANGE FLOWER AND THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL The sun was still high in the heavens." "I am glad. I might say. The Hunter felt no particular inclination to return to the Oberhof so early in the day.THE OBERHOF 213 sense of servitude arise. "I now that a mad freak brought me here to these woods rejoice and fields. After that they separated and went off in opposite directions." —I — "God forbid that I should this make fun of anything that I country!" replied the Hunter. in fact. nothing here to attract exabroad. 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. as they walked slowly along behind the cart. for otherwise I should probably never have have seen in know the region for it has very little reputation and there is." said the Pastor. pressing the Hunter's hand.

of his through which he thought he could probably make way and get back to his quarters before late in the damp green of a meadow bordered by bushes. climbed down between the cliffs. round leaves rose a long. tucked up his sleeves. he leaned back and closed his eyes in sweet reveries. which ran a narrow slippery path. His foot trod the fresh. Intoxicated by the magic of Nature. ing vivid green. When he opened them again the scene had changed. — — . was kneeling by the flower. he glanced aside into the open. slender stalk which bore large cups of an indescribably beautiful red. and put his arm in the water. a most beautiful flower was growing. evening. prepared by the putrefactive powers of Nature. over flowing. She glorious sight. as from a crater. He walked across. and inside of it the rotted wood had formed a deposit of brown earth. under which a stream of clear water was Not far away appeared some small rocks. The Hunter refreshed his eye in this charming sight. There his eyes were fascinated by a Some old tree stumps had rotted in the and their black forms protruded from the surroundgrass. her straw hat hung over her arm. whose seed some chance who knows what? had deposited here in this little garden-bed. a short distance obtain a general view of the region. Above a crown of soft. gleaming white which ran out to the edge of the petals in tiny light-green veins. gently embracing its stalk as if it were her sweetheart's neck. Deep down in the cups of the flower was a spot of soft. half kneeling. dark. but an exotic.214 THE GERMAN CLASSICS rising. From there he saw away. rock-begirt spot. A beautiful girl in simple attire. One of them was entirely hollowed out. Out of this earth and out of the stump. the bushy summits of a group hills. it sent a pleasant thrill through him and cooled his hot blood. Thus. and gazing into its red calyx with the sweetest look of joyful surprise. It was evidently not a native flower. and which a friendly summer sun had caused to grow and blossom. half sitting in the damp.



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 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.
stretched out his

**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 mys-

terious shyness shackled his feet.

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. pretty girl, who happened along

He had

He grasped

his fore-


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
letter which he fomid there from his friend to happen. 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


city, once a mighty member of the Hanseatic League, had seen its great days of defensive The deep moat w^as still extant, although now fighting. devoted to trees and vegetables. His vehicle, after it had passed under the dark Gothic gate, moved along someit

evident that the

what 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 reHe entered a cheerful and cosy household, ceive him. animated by a sprightly, pretty wife and a which was 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


girl is a most charming Cinderella, and I that she may find the Prince who will fall in only hope love with her little shoe."



Benjamin Vautibb


Chapter IX


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

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


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 resthis stay,

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 plenlessly

rustling, the large red disk of the rising over the eastern horizon, and the reflection of the sun, which had already sunk in the west,

were nodding and


moon 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




I'll fire

"Today," he said, *'I will see whether fate can be bent. only when something comes within three paces of the muzzle, and then if I should miss it, there would needs
' '

be magic in


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 com fields. In the tree-tops above him the turtle-doves were cooing now and then a faint note, and through the branches

Freemen 's Tribunal the wild by the 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 do^vn 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. FinShrewdly ally a slender roe stepped out of the forest. 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,
* ' ' '


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 col-

lapsed. It the woods.


was the beautiful girl of the flower scene in He had hit her instead of the roe! She was one hand over the region between her shoulder holding 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 Give me your arm." this accident. He had supported her only a few steps down the hill when she collapsed and said

"It won't do
the way.

—the pain



too severe

—I might

faint on


must wait here

in this place until


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



him and said



for the baron




it is



that T have collected



must prepare our-

selves," 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. 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.


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 he fell at her feet, kissed the hem of her dress, Tribunal," 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


to do



to help.

his bag on 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 in-

He now

up a seat for her by laying
his handkerchief

the stone,


vited 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 irreRound about them the silent solitude of night pressibly.

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

Soon afterwards footsteps w^ere heard comthe hill; the men were bringing a sedan chair with ing up cushions. The Hunter gently lifted the wounded girl into
the Oberhof.

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.




a clear morning in August there were so many cookburning at the Oberhof that it seemed as if they ing 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.



these cooking-places jacks or roast-

on which frying-pans were resting, no small size were hanging, although none of them could compare in capacity with the one which
or on which
erected, kettles of

had been

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, besides a corresponding number of hens.


five pigs,

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 boarSs, in the orchard among
the flower-beds, having already completed a similar construction in the entrance-hall. The fat, slow one was dec-

orating with green birch twigs the gates of the house, the



walls of the entrance-liall^ and the doors of the two
in which the Pastor

Sexton had once eaten.


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 entrancehall 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

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.


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
festive attire

Great, putting on his best finery. The chief factor in the 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

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.


the Justice was ready he slowly descended the In the entrance-hall he surveyed the preparations


the kettles, the pots, the green twigs, the ribboned his cattle. He seemed to be satisfied

and gilded horns of

with everything, for several times he nodded his head apHe walked through the entrance-hall to the provingly. then toward the side of the oak grove, looked at the yard,

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

A maid

him a special pleasure. 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 doorway 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, andevery 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



The merchant who provides their adornsilver tinsel. ment merely rents the crown, and after the wedding-day takes it back. Thus it wanders from one bride's head to

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

She straightened herself up, supher friends, and the two broad, gold bands which ported by 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
tinsel glittered gailj^

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 reof

quired 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

But even 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
announced the approach of the bridal carriage.
this sign that the decisive

moment was

at hand, the

Vol. VII

— 15

at all

tlie people, who, like models of old usages, 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-thePrettier" 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
' '

— —


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


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 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



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 w^hite lily and a rose, freshly cut, were emit;

ting a sweet perfume.


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 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.

" she said to him he should keep them. The Hunter accepted the "sure shot. while they were waiting for the doctor. who. examined the wound. having found out that there was no danger. which the surgeon's clumsy hand caused to be more painful than was necessary. for human nature. Lisbeth. although her face. In the orchard he found the Justice. gangrene would inevitably have resulted from the wound. He removed made a very grave the cloth from her shoulders. The Justice bethought himself. which was deathly pale. even in the night. he added. she had undergone bravely. he had. as up on the Open Tribunal. and had now and then met a friendly return-glance. charge had merely grazed Lisbeth only two shot had penetrated her flesh. In these arms Lisbeth had rested with her pain. They were "sure shot. had been very calm. she had scarcely uttered a complaint. He went out into the open. It was impossible for him to leave the Oberhof now. and went home with the proud feeling that if he had not been summoned so promptly and had not so cheerfully done his duty. The surgeon extracted them. — and they would bring him luck. recommended rest and cold water. He asked the old man to furnish him with quarters for a longer stay. demanded that much. and gently withdrew his beautiful victim's head from his encircling arms to let her sleep. to await the recovery of the poor wounded girl.228 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Thus. With sorrowful eyes he had gazed fixedly into her face. the morning had already dawned when he finally arrived with his meagre outfit of instruments. Even the operation. which she directed up to him as if to comfort him. and these not very deeply." wrapped them in a piece of paper. She asked for that she the shot and presented them jokingly to the Hunter. but knew of no room to accommodate the Hunter. betrayed the fact was suffering pain." ever since entering the room in the Oberhof. bandaged the wound. had gone on about his business as if nothing had happened. the young Suabian's . and face. ' ' . he said. Luckily.

and to it the old man now conducted his young guest. adding. although the Justice did not invite him. and there was nothing but a board and a chest to sit on. At that time it was empty. that he would probably not like it up there. and told him. for the Justice had previously invited her to the wedding. and although the bare and depressing room received its small amount of light only through a hole in the roof. This event was postponed a few days because the dowry would not be ready at the time appointed. with a frown of annoyance which became her very well. finally occurred to the Justice that there was a corner in cried only a corner in the corn-loft was awaiting the decision of his old host as the corn-loft. The Hunter remained too. and light reddish spots on her white shoulder were all that remained And. where he stored grain when the harvest turned out too abundant for the usual storing-places." he said. to show the place of the injury. who After much deliberation it if his fate depended on it. After five days the wound had completely healed. an unhappy and a happy one. He begged her forgiveness for his act so often that she grew impatient. 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. if I can remain here until I feel certain that I haven't done only The any lasting damage with my accursed shooting. but do^vn with Lisbeth. ' ' he was not up there in his nook much of the time. The unhappy time was when Lisbeth was helping the bride with her linen and this she — . however. nevertheless he was well satisfied. He invited himself to the wedding. the bandage could be removed. however. The Hunter went up. as a matter of fact. Soon there were just two times in the day for the Hunter. to just stop it. "it is all the same to me. ''For. She remained at the Oberhof. and I shan 't need to be up here much of the time. weather is fine.THE OBERHOF ' ' 229 ' ' ! And even if it is the Hunter.

or where it was necessary for them to cross an insignificant bit of water. for he would beg her so earnestly to do it that it seemed almost sinful to her to refuse him so small a request. 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. Then she would always bend over sideways after a flower. began the fresh air. it seemed to them as if anxiety and pain what could never enter into their lives again." Then he would fly to the place where he suspected she was. and behold! his suspicions had not deceived him. When the red. The further away from the Oberhof they wandered in the waving fields and green meadows. she had looked in the direction from which he was coming. It was then certain that the two would come together. as if she were not aware of his approach. The Hunter then was absolutely at a loss The happy time. and permit her own to rest in it for a while. for even from a distance he would catch sight of her slender form and pretty face. And in places where the road dropped off somewhat abruptly. he had swung himself up on the hedge. ''Lisbeth is now outdoors.230 did every day. Nevertheless she would accept his arm. And now they would walk together through field and meadow. while she would laugh over this unnecessary readiness to help. to be sure. the more free and happy would their spirits grow. And were he ever so far away behind the bushes. even after the road had become level again. the wish to have . including their own youthful forms. THE GERMAN CLASSICS to do with his time. or where a stone lay in their way. he would stretch out his arm to lead and support her. before them had even had time to enter her mind. it would always seem as if somebody were saying to him. the Hunter and she. On these walks the Hunter would do everything possible to please Lisbeth that he could guess from her eyes she wanted him to do. But beforehand. setting sun lighted up everything about them. on the other when Lisbeth rested from her work and took hand.

had only the story of her own Lisbeth. no And yet he thought he clever people. one after the other. simple life to tell him. how tenderly he had loved her. For every menial service which she had performed. In it there were no big cities. because each one of them made Murg Valley. looked upon it all with different eyes. Finally. and of the many clever people whose acquaintance he had made there. she had rendered noble by love. to be sure. the Alps. pleasant walks the young souls had a great deal to impart to each other. originated. the and the Hohenstaufen Mountain on which the whose deeds he related to her.THE OBERHOF On 231 these quiet. own deceased mother. and how it was perhaps for that reason that he afterwards came to cherish and revere all women more. obliged to let things which he could not prevent go on. Thus their days at the Oberhof passed. Of the young lady and the Baron she had a thousand touching things to tell. and. no mother had never heard anything more beautiful. illustrious imperial family. alas. and would say to himself: *'It isn't right for a young nobleman like that — ' ' ! . He told her all about the Suabian mountains. on the other hand. he told her about his mother. But he often shook his head when he saw his young guests walking and talking with each other so much. Then he would speak of the great city where he had studied. and she had read in the books which she had secretly him think of his ! 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. The Justice. in all the little haunts in and behind the castle garden she had had adventures to relate. but was. the great Neckar. of course.

followed him. it . The fine letters delighted him. according to his notion. the two awaited girls came down the steps and took their stands on either side of the first.jacket. She did so. adorned with ribbons and bouquets. for if the latter were not on hand before the appearance of the bridegroom to take the place which the day assigned to them. for thanks were not . Some young people. hove into sight at the farther end of the road leading through the oak grove. But finally. but could not make it had teeth. The first bridesmaid then fastened the large bouquet of sage to the breast of his wedding. front of the house.232 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Chapter XII THE DISTUKBANCE. varied by the ringing of bells. The bridegroom accepted the bouquet without thanks. like that the principal persons of this ceremony. He looked at what was her own name. WHAT HAPPENED IN A VILLAGE CHURCH Finally the Hunter finished cutting the pen. but went on spinning and spinning. the men stood by the chests and bundles in the entrance-hall. and now the bridal carriage. was done for. she said. With an expression of all of unconcern on his face. with her large and rather malodorous bouquet. in the clearest and most regular lines. The first work very well she had written . Then the door opened and the bridesmaid entered with a dress and a request that Lisbeth be the third bridesmaid. the bridegroom alighted from the carriage. it bridesmaid stood demurely beside the bride. drawn by two strong horses. He pushed a sheet of paper toward her and asked her to try it and see if it would write. the entire ceremony. was coming nearer and nearer. now He slowly approached the bride. all ready to seize them for the last time the Justice was looking about anxiously for the second and third bridesmaids. Outside the music. who even did not look up. exactly at the right time. his most intimate friends. just as the carriage turned in toward the open space in .

just as silently. 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. who on this day were cherishing the most radically opposed feelings. and the young fellows were obliged to follow on foot. for the people with the baggage. Now let us allow the latter to drive slowly to the home of the bridegroom. with the three bridesmaids and the spinning wheel. arose and placed herself with the bridesmaids. There the carriage is Meanwhile let us go on ahead to the church. the flax. the servants had carried the dowry to the wagon. Inasmuch as it was the proper time. women. and the Hunter placed himself at his side. which he addressed to the Justice. Thus two men walked together. on a green hill in the centre of the entire community.THE OBERHOF included in the traditional routine. although his thoughts were hovering about the bridal carriage. and the Hunter of anything but the wedding. to his bride. . The scene assumed a rather wild aspect. who replied to them with a smirk. and as the people had already gathered in the church. in hurrying back and forth among the cooking-fires. the Sexton began to unloaded. shaded by walnut-trees and wild chestnuts. girls and youths from — all city. where already the entire wedding-company is waiting for it men. For the Justice was thinking of nothing but the wedding. as the dowry occupied so much room that there was none left for them. The bridegroom sat down apart from her in the back part of the vehicle. then. who thereupon third. which she carried herself. in addition to friends from the Captain and the Collector. stands which. the bride. He walked along behind the young men. After the loading of linen. and the various pieces of wearing apparel. took a seat in the carriage. 233 hand He silently offered his to his father-in-law. One of them made this the subject of traditional facetious remarks. the the surrounding estates. between the first and second and in front of the In the meanwhile.

and this was that forgotten battlehymn 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. this little country service with the best finally obliged to give up the idea of taking an active part in it. For when he sat down in one of the pews. so that the aristocratic gentleman. He knew but one prelude. who knew him to be a member of The one of the brilliant social circles in the capital. but since each one of them. From this march the Sexton managed to swing over. as soon as the gentle- near to him. every one of the peasants seated in it moved along to the extreme farther end. and when he chanced to cast his eyes over the con- met an unexpected sight. The aristocratic gentleman wanted to share a hyrun book with some one of the peasants. he was unable to accomplish his purpose. in order to join in the gregation. in three or four pews. to be sure. respectfully stepped aside. He had business in the region. with transitions which. This moving along and getting up was repeated man drew who was attending of intentions.234 THE GERMAN CLASSICS play the customary ''Battle of Prague" on the organ. and when he moved along toward them they finally deserted the pew altogether. He knew . whose attention he was diverting because they were all constantly looking up from their hymnals and glancing at his star. by means of condescension. A gentleman from court. into the ordinary church melodies. they singing. as soon as he heard of the peasant wedding. namely. While the hymn was being sung the Pastor entered the pulpit. were not infrequently rather bold. the idea was of attending it affably occurred to him. from beginning to end immediately sight of the gentleman did not make a pleasant impression on the Pastor. For that reason. was standing among the peasants. and succeeded only in causing an almost general unrest. and did not want to miss an opportunity of winning. the hearts of these country people for the throne to which he felt himself so near.

and he was at a loss to know how he was going to protect his person and dignity from the horrible attack. he got the notion into his head that he himself was going to be the object of a general maltreatment. had resolved to get rid of the disagreeable intruder. All this went through his soul like a streak of lightning. While he was helplessly wrestling for a decision. As it was impossible for him to guess the true meaning of these preparations. as it seemed to him. and since the clubs seemed to indicate incontestably that somebody was to be the recipient of blows. his feelings were somewhat concealed. looking to the right and left and before and behind him. For that reason his thoughts lost some of their usual clearness. . All the bearers of clubs. and there immediately arose the wildest tumult. not understanding his condescending motive. however. For. The bridal pair were kneeling. with wild and malicious glances. Everybody was standing up and whispering and looking around. rushed forward yelling and screaming and flourishing their weapons the aristocratic gentleman. 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. . and the fateful questions were being put to them. the formal ceremony.THE OBEEHOF 235 what a peculiar custom would follow the sermon and feared the gentleman's ridicule. and the more he talked the further he digressed from the subject. he saw men and women. and how perhaps the peasants. he completely lost his composure. and he thought to himself how rough the character of country people was. men and women. He remembered how fearsomely the people had moved away from him. girls and youths drawing out thick clubs of twisted sack-cloth. He consequently cut short certain parts of the nuptial address and hurried along to . the Pastor concluded the ceremonies. Then something happened which gave the aristocratic stranger a violent shock.

the latter with great exertion forced a passage for himself through the crow^d. while the Pastor stood before the altar. violently pushing people aside. your Excellency. which had a private exit." The peasants. Clapping his hands over his head. Pastor. he to asked the clergyman: *'For heaven's sake. In a few seconds the entire church was empty. He ran. shoulders and wherever there was room. and thus. marks. who rained blows on his back. not' ' ' ' withstanding the dignity of the place. however. as one done to himself. replied the Pastor who. When it was quiet. when he saw from his Ararat that the blows were not meant for him. tell me what this furious scene meant. The gentleman. position called out in a loud voice to the raging crowd below "I advise you not to attack me! I cherish the kindest in three sidewise : and most condescending feelings toward you all. On the way this and that person received some unpremeditated blows before the intended object of them was reached. reached the pulIn a trice he had ascended it. what had the poor man done to his assailants?" Nothing. well covered with black-and-blue . bowing him with a friendly smile. could hardly help This act of beatlaughing at the nobleman in the pulpit. but ran on up to the altar. This was the bridegroom. and from this elevated pit. after the marriage ceremony is an old. and any injury done to me will be resented by the King. All this time the aristocratic gentleman had remained in the pulpit. grew calm and dropped his arms. to the church door but before he got there he had received certainly more than a hundred blows. inspired by the object they had in view. he left the church on his wedding-day. the Sexton closed the door immediately after the last one had passed through it and betook himself to the vestry. did not listen to this speech.236 THE GERMAN CLASSICS bounds over several pews. Everybody ran after him. ing the bridegroom ' ' . the bride's father and bride followed.

and to that end the Justice had exerted his strong influence. in The latter. peace and silence reigned once in the church. Bride and bridegroom were gone. there were even two or three of bronze. which covered the tombs of former pastors. that it is intended to let the bridegroom feel ' ' 237 They say how much blows hurt." mumbled his Excellency. The pews were kept very tidy and clean. into the vestry. and thus to avert so great a fright and shock. Two young people had remained inside . "Well. on the way to the vestry. who was to think would have part in the further The clergyman. descending from the pulpit. were used to decorate the surrounding pillars. The pulpit displayed some artistic carving and among the tablets on the floor. — The side light fell brightly into the little church. A beautiful cloth adorned the altar. The ceiling was painted blue with gold stars. whether or not he could take proceedings of the ceremony. or the tinsel of the wreaths which. 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. said that he it over. above which rose a twisted column painted to resemble marble. but still the peaceful little church was not yet entirely deserted. dainty and not too gay a rich benefactor had done a great deal for it. expressed profound regret that he had not been previously advised of his Excellency's design. The Pastor received him very courteously below and con- ducted his aristocratic acquaintance order to let him outdoors from there. so that in the future he will not abuse his rights as a husband toward his wife. It was a pretty little church. but that is certainly a most remarkable custom. because he then would have been in a position to inform him of the beating custom. having been taken from the coffins of the maidens who had died. still somewhat frightened.THE OBERHOF old custom which the people refuse to give up. the bridal procession was gone. more After both had departed. the trees out- were rustling.

Thou art thine own by law of love! • • • had crept up to him out of curiosity. who met the procession in front of the church. he gently grasped his hand and caressed it. Then he started to give him money. unseen by the rest. his cheek and brow were too hot. which avoid becoming again the object of conversation or now for a quarter of an hour had . The hymn with its solemn tones cooled the heat like falling dew he thanked God that finally. entered the church. THE GERMAN CLASSICS without knowing of each other's presence. nothing of the noise which followed it. in order dure. and this The Hunter.238 of it. The aristocratic gentleman. to facetious remarks. All that she was obliged to en- when she had just been so beautifully extolled in verse. 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. finally the supreme happiness had been granted to him . Oh. he sat down on a stool all alone by himself. when her heart was overflowing with joyful delight. He buried his face in his hands. she thought. embarrassed in her strange attire. his back to the people and to the altar. moved toward the stairs. he slowly led him down lest he should fall. And when the boy. Then he returned to his seat and heard nothing of the sermon. just when the good man thinks I am always natural I must wear borrowed clothes. when the wedding-party is how it happened. but that he could not long endure to do. Lisbeth. : In thy sadness. had bashlittle A child walked along behind the bride. looked at her critically for a long time through his lorgnette. There. She heard the peasants behind her talking about her in a whisfully per. in thy laughter. where she made up her mind to desert the procession on the way back. a bit frightened by his hot caress. did not do it. but pressed him against his breast and kissed his forehead. Half dazed she entered the church. She longed to have back her own. had separated from them and quietly gone up a flight of stairs to a gallery.

locked!" he cried in a tone of delight. She was anxious to see how she could make her way back to the Oberhof unnoticed and get rid of the disagreeable clothes. — Having finally awakened from his dreams. gently beside her.THE OBERHOF 239 been far from her thoughts. She too heard but little of the sermon. she lifted her eyes and stood still. "This is a horrible dress. and the Hunter laid his ''It is hand on the latch to open it. his other hand grasped her hand. and then lifted her from the pew. Then. without looking at each other. the Hunter was descending the stairs. Then came the tumult. "I hadn't been looking at the dress!" He seized both of her hands. She dropped her eyes and toyed with the ribbons on the gay-colored bodice she was wearing. the matter-of-course expression on the faces of the bridal pair aroused a peculiar emotion in her a mixture of sadness. With short steps and eyes cast down she walked along a side passage toward the door. filled with sweet horror. shy and artless. And when the rings were exchanged. and with fully. ''We are locked in best luck the church "Locked in?" she said. they went in silence to the door. as if the in the world had befallen him. she drew a deep the altar. He too was anxious to quit the His heart church. "Oh!" he cried. and quiet resentment that so heavenly a moment should pass by two such stolid souls. "Why does that cause you dismay? Where can one possibly have better quarters than in a church?" he said soulHe gently put his arm around her waist. but where to go he did not know. adjusted her apron. throbbed when he saw Lisbeth. ' ' ! . gently stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen over on her brow. and she fled involuntarily behind When it grew quiet again. envy. breath. isn't it?" she said scarce audibly after a long silence. earnestly as she strove to follow the discourse of her respected clerical friend. and took courage. Then he led her to a forced her to sit down and himself sat down seat. pressed them violently to his breast.

Now he raised his. My only love Forgive me Will you be my wife 1 my eternal. too. By chance he had entered the church once more from the vestry and. she lay half-fainting against his breast. and pressed his favor- Then. ** so still. There he let her down. Then he gently drew her down to her knees beside him. ' ' ! ! — They could give Father in Heaven voice to nothing save. leading the way. but his eyes spoke.240 THE GERMAN CLASSICS sit "I cannot bear to church!" he cried. The Pastor was standing between them with a shining face. Lisbeth and the Hunter had found each other for their lives — ! . had witnessed the betrothal which had been consummated here apart from the wedding in the presence of God. They said it as confidingly as if the Father whom they meant were offering them His hand. touched and amazed. her head. and neither made a sound. and holding his hands on their heads in blessing. ites affectionately to him. Finally the prayer died out and they both silently laid their faces on the altar-cloth. and both raised their hands in prayer before the altar. bright village church. and borne her to the altar. Her heart was throbbing against Her tears were flowing on his breast. —Let's take a look at the Probably there is not much here worth seeing. But his strong arms had already surrounded. sweet wife?" She did not answer." she replied trembling. lifted. For a long. he went with the couple into the vestry in order to let them out. He drew the youth and the girl to his breast. long time they held them together. And thus the three left the little. He. Suddenly they felt their hands lightly touched and looked up. quiet. ''Father! Dear And that they did not tire of repeat' ' ! ing in voices trembling with bliss. "Lisbeth!" he stammered his voice choking with love. said no word. Thus united they continued for some time to kneel in the church. and their lips met.

Lud- wig Borne. and Karl Gutzkow. preferred the establishment of a Ger- man republic on lines similar to those of the United States of America. The common bond of coherence among the widely divergent types of mind here represented. dominate the literary activity of Germany from the beginning of the fourth decade to about the middle of the nineteenth century. and revolutionists. Ludolf Wienbarg. Heinrich Laube. Ph. and had construed such reminders as disloyalty and as proof of dark designs against the government.GUTZKOW AND YOUNG GERMANY By Starr Willard Professor of Cutting. as infamous demagogues. and most of the members of the earliest Burschenschaften (open student societies). who called for a redemption of the unfulfilled pledges of constitutional government. It had branded indiscriminately. like Karl Follen (Charles Follen. or. Heinrich Heine. This German phase of an essentially European political restoration had turned fiercely upon all intelligent. 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 govVoL. longed for the creation of a new empire under the leadership of Prussia. German Literature. is the spirit of protest against the official program of the reaction which had succeeded the rise of the people against Napoleon Bonaparte. the Turners.D. first professor of German at Harvard). patriotic leaders. traitors. Tlieodor Mundt. VII — 16 [241] . all those who. in dire need of popular support against foreign invasion. Under a policy of suppression. like Jahn. among others. University of Chicago |GEOUP of men. including. given by the princes of Germany.

. because of this helpless ignorance and indifference of public opinion. not the state. and many others. We Americans owe to this erland. the status quo. — seventy years of the nineteenth century. were especially violent during the period under consideration. but. the brothers Wesselhoeft. This term has since then served friend and foe to designate the group of writers of whom we speak. which extend over the first . at any rate. England. 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. who spent — Wienbarg dedicated in 1834 his Esthetic Campaigns to Young Germany. They were by time-hallowed tradition virtually the wards of their patriarchal princes. Just because the birththroes of modern Germany. 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. 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. and an elaborate system of espionage. unchecked by responsibility to the people freedom from the narrowing prescriptions of ecclesiastical authority. for the most part silenced opposition and saved. The broad masses of the people were unacquainted with political forms and principles. But . prosecutions. Freedom from cramping police surveillance freedom from the arbitrary control of government. circumbanishments. . Their slogan was freedom. This ''success" had incidentally cost Germany the presence and service of some of the ablest and best of her own youth. the rest of their lives in France. Franz Lieber. Switzor the United States. ''success" some of the most admirable types of our citizenship expatriated Germans like Karl Follen. the reaction had by arrests. the program of the school had from the outset a strong political bias.242 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ernment. locution-office delays. Karl Beck.

^^^^^^ t.ui." -*/ /'S7"' "-/r'^?^'-'-.t>^ KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW ..

i .

the tragedy of Friedrich Ludwig Weidig. the Frankfurt riot. with its attempt to take the Confederate Council by surprise and to proclaim the unification of Gerthe interest of still many. anti-Romanticists. were fairly forced by circumstances into playing the game. 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. No wonder that their tales. They were all. 1832. This swirl of agitation put a premium upon a sort of rapid-fire work and journalistic tone. like Heine and Gutzkow. then. frequently lodged by their critics against the writers of the school. on the twentynationality seventh of May. 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. on April third. quite incompatible with the While the Young highest type of artistic performance. 1833. 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. and. that thinking men. to be sure. The July revolution of 1830 in Paris added fuel to the flame of this agitation in Germany and intensified wider masses in the question of large and popular control. Then came. No wonder. Germans were all politically liberal and opposed to the Confederate Council and to the Metternich program. novels.KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW the drastic official 243 measures against early agitators proved to be a challenge to further activity in the direction of progress. The resulting persecution of Fritz Reuter. For it is beside the mark to speak of their opposition to romanticism as a ground for the charge in question. and dramas became in many cases editorials to stimulate and guide public thought and feeling in one direction or another. They called upon men to discover by clear- . the German revolutionary speeches of the Hambach celebration.

They are usually spoken of as free-thinkers and fre- quently as anti-religious in temper and conviction. This was tack especially true after the accession to the throne of Prussia of that romantic and reactionary prince. at any rate. It is. Hence also their protests against the bloodless abstractions as a stimulant to of the Nazarene school of painting and to transcendental idealism in art and literature. their wit. 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. mans since the time of Herder. saner. and . not as an opiate to make us forget such defects. the matter of religious and philosophical thought. Frederick William IV. They would employ literature. and satire were directed.. in 1840. not for its own sake. but make us remedy them. This atwas 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. undeserved. and human life. not against religion. They cultivated art. but against the obnoxious externals of ecclesiasticism. however. The charge of irreligion seems based upon the misconception or the misrepresentation of their orthodox critics. the leader of the It is true that they were liberal in school. but for the sake of a fuller. In this sense they were didactic but they were no more didactic than the Romanticists and the Pseudo-Classicists who had preceded them. disintegrating.244 THE GERMAN CLASSICS eyed vision not only the beauties but also the defects of contemporary social existence. Critics have ascribed the negative. as far as Gutzkow. is concerned. Hence their reexhortations to use the senses and to trust them as peated furnishing the best kind of raw material for legitimate art. 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 Gerfreer . irony.

Reimarus. already urged as inherent in the historic crisis under discussion. Laube. and from the sentimental tragedy of Charlotte Stieglitz in real life. as a literary producer. punishing Gutzkow by one month's imprisonment. choice to Young Germany. the resulting verdict of the still Mannheim municipal court. from Saint Simonism. were non-Jewish Germans. Mundt. Laube. while Borne and Heine belong through sympathy and deliberate political criticism. is more closely allied with the Romanticists than with Young Ger- many. and Hamburg. worth remembering in this connection. 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. to the abundant non-racial grounds for this spirit. and Wienbarg and his journey with Laube through Mundt. sinand consistent German patriot. his association with Heine. ' ' religion . . Wally the Skeptic. compounded of suggestions from Lessing's Dr. Wienbarg. Austria and Italy in 1833. longer detention during his with no allowance for a . . the real spokesmen of the group. of the school in transforming art criticism into was no cosmopolitan but an ardent. Leipzig. however. as the son of humble parents. Munich. his precocious development in school and at the : University of Berlin his deep interest in the revolution of 1830 in Paris. Menzel 's revengeful denunciation of this colorless and tedious novel. In addition. his doctorate in Jena and subsequent study of books and men in Heidelberg. are the following His birth on the seventeenth of March. who in his celebrated Letters from Paris (1830-34) and elsewhere went farther than all other members cere. Among the external facts of Gutzkow 's life. we should recall the fact that Heine. 1811. his student experiments in journalism and the resulting association with the narrow-minded patriot. and Gutzkow. and that Borne. Wolfgang Menzel. as an "outrageous attack upon ethics and the Christian Berlin.KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW 245 cosmopolitan spirit of the group as a whole to the fact that Borne and Heine were Jews. Moreover.

and. unusual grasp of intellect. the success of his tragedy. entitled. a cousin of his life. and Heine. first wife . in the same year after an estrangement of seven years. journal. and the resulting appointment of the author in the same year as playwright and critic at the Royal Theatre in . in the night of December fifteenth. from 1839 to 1854. and from there to Sachsenhausen. near Frankfurt-on-the-Main. Gutzkow 's continued energetic championship of the new literary movement and editorial direction of the Frankfurt Telegraph. work upon the The Magician of Rome. either intentional or accidental. by the light of which he had been reading. the publication in 1850-51 of his first great novel of contemporary German his continuous editorial Spiritual Knighthood. his attack of insanity under the strain of ill health in 1865 and unsuccessful attempt at suicide. Fireside Conversations. Amalia. thence to Heidelberg. due to his own infatuation for Therese von Bacharacht. Mundt. his rapidly declining health and frequent change of residence from Berlin to Italy. finally. from 1835 to 1837. Wienbarg. in 1846. Dresden. and ambition to secure an adequate education brought him into early touch with alert representatives of the educated middle the best single embodiment of the spirit of . This bare outline recalls the personality and career of Young Germany. and his tragic death there. of eleven plays. 1858-61. produced within the space of fifteen years. his removal in 1837 to Hamburg and his gradual transformation there from a short story writer and journalist into a successful dramatist his series trial. his temperate participation in the popular movement of 1848 and consequent loss of the Dresden position the death of his wife. 1878. His humble birth.246 THE GERMAN CLASSICS and future writings" by Gutzkow. from 1849 until the appearance of his other great contemporary novel. and perished in the stifling fumes of the burning room. when under the influence of chloral he upset the candle. his happy marriage in 1849 with Bertha Meidinger. the official proscription of all ''present . Uriel Acosta. Laube. under the very eyes of the Confederate Council.

Besides. MenzePs student connection with the Jena Burschenschaft. He aimed henceforth to enrich German literature by abundant contact with the large. This led Menzel to est in German had also invite Gutzkow to Stuttgart and to propose a cooperation which could be but short-lived. never wholehearted. After a brief apprenticeship to Jean Paul and to the romantic ideal. who been a member of the Burschenschaft. and consistent. abandoned life to gain a fool's paradise. adopt. Gutzkow utterly renounced the earlier movement and became the champion of a definite reform. and truer human life for the individual and for the state. 247 critics who were the keenest and most consistent of the political. Gutzkow felt that literature had. entitled German Literature. as already noted. too much of a Romanticist to be a thorough-going Young German. and ecclesiastical reaction which gripped German life at that time. Heine was. in the hands of the Romanticists. and prompted him to write and publish in his student paper a defense of Menzel against his critics. new thoughts of modern life in its relation to the individual and to the community. whereas Gutzkow was sincere. This steadfastness and singleness of purpose. 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. his early published protest against the emptiness of recent German literature.KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW classes. In his eyes statecraft. courageous. because of the disintegrating influence of his simultaneous acquaintance with Borne and Heine. richer. and aimed at the imitators of Goethe and at Goethe's own lack of inter- and unification. make Gutzkow the most efficient leader of the whole group. and express the leading thoughts and aspirations of his own time. his polemic. freer. re- . combined with a remarkable power to appreciate. He was no less sincere in his determination to make literature introduce the German people to a larger. social. for Menzel was timid and vacillating. attracted young Gutzkow.

to compress into artistic shape. He accordingly set himself the task in one way and another to make his own generation share this conviction. (1833). to be used by him presently in his work as a dramatist. 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 theatregoers and inspired many better artists than he to treat themes drawn from the public and private life of the day. and atmosphere of the original. and Contemporaries (1837). notably those of Laube and Wienbarg. by which he — accomplished this important result. On the Philosophy of History (1836). It would take us too far afield to trace in detail the nature and sources of Gutzkow's writings. The Sadducee of Amsterdam. as well as the essays entitled Public Characters (1835). color. and political leaders of the time. Practically all of his earlier writings. together with a reminder of his great indebtedness to the simultaneous efforts of other Young Germans.248 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ligion. science. like the short story. philosophical. the material of he lacked the skill of many his observation. He was conartistic limitations and would have con- fessed them in the best years of his life with the frankness of a Lessing in similar circumstances. In his two powerful novels. 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 scious of his own perfection. philosophy. Spiritual Knighthood (1850- 51) and The Magician of Rome (1858-61). may agree that We greater poets than he. movement. are evidence of the intense interest of the author in the social. must suffice. with due regard for line. he states and discusses with great boldness and skill those problems of the relation between Church and State —between religion . They are preliminary studies. and industry teemed with raw material of surpassing interest and importance for the literary artist. A few suggestions.

their witty dialogue. Patkul (1840). by virtue of their national substance.KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW and citizenship day. 249 — that confronted the thoughtful men of the The backbone of each of his numerous serious plays is some conflict. the best of the author's serious plays. the first and third have. of original. is . Gutzkow wrote three comedies which in point of continued popularity have outlived all his other numerous con- German stage: Sword and Queue (1843). obliged at last. proved dearer to the heart of the German people. The Prototype of Tartuffe (1844). and struggles of modern German social. and civic life. to witness his own public unmasking in the person of Moli- whom he is the sneaking. In The Prototype of Tartuffe we are shown President La Roquette tributions to the at the court of Louis XIV. antagonisms. simul- — taneous love of two women. religious. We fiture. embodies the tragic conflict between the hero's conviction of truth and his love for his mother and for his intended wife.. and their droll humor. reflecting directly or indirectly the prejudices. Werner (1840). hypocritical hear him in anger declare his readiness to join the Jesuits and we join in the laugh at his discomere's Tartuffe. the conflict between the hero's championship of truth and justice and the triumphant inertia of authority in the hands of a weak prince. The second of the three has the best motivated plot. written to celebrate the hundredth recurrence of Goethe's birthday. in spite of his long continued successful efforts to suppress the play. A White Leaf (1842). Richard Savage (1839) that between the pride of noble birth and the promptings of the mother's heart. King Saul (1839) embodies. Uriel Acosta (1846). The scene of The Royal Lieutenant. and The Royal Lieutenant (1849). the conflict between ecclesiastical and temporal authority between the authority of the church and the claims of the thinker and the poet. for instance. and Ottfried (1848). shortcomings. variations of the conflict between a man's duty and his vacillating.

who prefers a union of his daughter with an Aus. to the King to bring him a promising recruit for the corps of Royal Grenadiers the evening of the Tobacco Parliament. in the pseudo-deceased which. 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. —to a tells final scene. Karl Gutzkow's life-work was a struggle for freedom and truth. poets. and his outlandish atfather in Frankfurt. theoof the eighIn religion a pantheist. he wins not only the cordial approval of the King but also the heart and hand of Wilhelmine. fied father tempts to speak German. tion. he believed in the . the clever portraits of the digniand the cheerful mother. We recognize in the web of his serious argu- ment familiarity with the best thought of the logians. With rare skill the different characters of the play are sketched and shown upon a background. through a maze of intrigue. and philosophers of his own day and teenth century. and the unhistorical sketch of little Wolfgang. including Prussian ambition to secure an alliance with England by the marriage of the Princess Wilhelmine to the Prince of Wales. as Hotham 's proposed grenadier recruit with Queue and Sword. with his pleased and precocious anticipation of his future laurels. though not very coherent or logical whole. in Hotham 's proposal honor of the old King. in which the Prince of Baireuth feigns tipsiness and in a mocking funeral oralish treaty. some bitter truths.250 laid in the THE GERMAN CLASSICS Seven Years' War in the house of Goethe's The Riccaut-like figure of the Royal Lieutenant himself. Count Thorane. after the manner of the comedy of Scribe. of witty dialogue into Prussia is developed by a very free use of the facts of history. a diplomatic blocking of this plan. are woven by means of an amusing. with the help of the English Ambassador Hotham the changed front of the old King. In Gutzkow's Sword and Queue an entertaining situation at the court of Frederick William I. trian Archduke to the hard terms of the proposed Eng.

had unshaken confidence in the tendency of the world that ''makes for righteousness. far transcending the artistic value of his works. People are just beginning to perceive his genetic importance for the student of Ibsen. Nietzsche. with other members of the group known as Young Germany. . a significance for the subsequent development of German literature." and recommends the ideal of ''truth and justice" as the best central thought to guide each man's whole life.KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW 251 immortality of the soul. He shares in an eminent degree. and the recent naturalistic movement in Euro- pean letters.

" into a work inspired by the principles of pure comedy. the creations of Euripides. And the Comic Muse When Aristophanes would mock is even less indulgent. Ever since the example set by those great Greeks.KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW SWORD AND QUEUE (1843) TRANSLATED BY GRACE ISABEL COLBRON Pkeface of the Author 'HE essence of the comic contrast. he at once turns the tragedian into a rag-picker. which are meant to move the public by their declining fortunes. [252] He . has once fallen a victim to the Eumenides. causes him to see blood in every glass of champagne and to read his warrant of arrest on every chance scrap of paper. Fate seizes him red-handed. nor can he go about the usual business of daily life. deal with extremes. A king lacking the customary attributes of his station . professional estheticians must is acknowledge that by the very nature of its origin the following comedy answers this definition. cannot. as a figure in a drama. Even self-contradiction. a royal court governed by the rules that regulate any simple middle-class household surely here is a contradiction sufAnd it was inficient in itself to attract the Comic Muse. go off on pleasure trips. the stage has claimed the right to who. sinning and laden with the burden of human guilt. ^schylus and Aristophanes. deed 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.

The author feels no compunction on this score. the symphonic composition of the play. Prussia. written in a less sophisticated age than our own. Vol. a fairly good soldier. It is not necessary for the actor to present Seckendorf as an imbecile. the technical. Not only the character-drawing. and especially the people of Berlin. Puck's manner of writing history may be softened a little. Princess of Prussia. Stupidity. In the case of Seckendorf. this particular Seckendorf was both vain and tyrannous. as Comus is not wickedness." necessitates making a victim of a man who was a mediocre diplomat. I). which allots the parts as arbitrarily as in the Midsummer Night's Dream does Peter Quince. In truth I have seen but a very few performances of my . hardly fail to be ''unjust" to an Imperial Ambassador of that epoch. he offered the Austrian Court a detailed plan by which the "Land-hungry conqueror" might be personally rendered innocuous. But it needs only a perusal of the Memoirs of the MarJcgravine of Baireuth. have suffered the same necessary injustice of comedy. or. who says to highly respectable people *'You play the Lion. : — Such injustice belongs to the native wantonness of the Comic Muse. and you play the Ass. In plays of a specifically Austrian character. I might say. according to Chevalier Lang and other more reliable authorities. and the authenticity of which is undisputed. A Brandenburg-Prussian comedy of 1733 can. His hatred for Frederick II. each is necessary to different moments in the play. a priori. The exaggeraSword and Queue brought forth many a contemptu- ous grimace from the higher-priced seats in the Court Theatres. but for a time. Fortunately. tragedy must. but the very plot. and his eternal "combinations" went to such lengths that. Maria Theresa. Actors have the unfortunate habit of taking the whole hand when a finger is offered. at least. However. the Lion or the Ass artlessly thinks. is founded on those Memoirs. exaggerate. to give the grotesque picture a certificate of historical veracity. (See Arneth. during the first Silesian war.SWORD AND QUEUE tions in 253 Comedy may.

still held . possible only to a mind which turned . In such a case a wise manager intrusts the comic part to an actor who is not — comic. of our readers may chance to know the little garden of the Hotel Reichmann in Milan. the stage manshould take care to intrust such roles to the very acager tors 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 fifth act followed on the shores of Lake Como. did not quite sink to the level of the Marshal von Kalb. surroundings which. At this point a dramaturgic hint might not come amiss. and the Some sandstone cupids of that garden. the first four acts ripened during four weeks of work. one Amid may feel sure. The following play was written in the spring of 1843. to hold fast to those burlesque only memories from the history of the sandy Mark Brandenburg was.254 THE GERMAN CLASSICS I. in which the Hereditary Prince. still retained. In cases * ' ' ' is danger of degrading the part. bring to mind the laws of the ideal. The buffoon and sometimes even the finer comedian cannot free Shakespeare from the reproach of where there — having given two kings of Denmark a clown as Prime Minister. by their beauty. in spite of his clumsy combinations. And still rarer is it to see a Seckendorf who. In a room which opens out into the oleander bushes. the trickling fountains. play in which Frederick William his tongue like a trembling lackey . some share of royal dignity in which Eversmann. despite his confident impudence. as father of two excellent children. as a man who met death with tragic dignity. at the last. as royal adviser. still — neath her girlish simplicity. despite his desire to find everything in the Castle 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 beridiculous. 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. and. beneath his attitude of stern father.

255 its however ''treasonable" other opinions. Frederick William IV. Hinckeldey's messengers brought the ann-ouncement that the presentation of the piece met with disfavor in high places. . and again prohibiting it even after 1848. now forbidding it. yet the romanticism of San Souci. The Dresden Court Theatre was formerly a model of impartiality. owes This play. 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. like to his artistic zeal its introduction to those high-class theatres where alone a German dramatist finds his best encouragement and advance. Unfortunately. many another. And above all. did everything possible to hamper and curtail the author's ambitions. has at all times persecuted the play. ''The White Lady.SWORD AND QUEUE in love to its Prussian home. the Vienna Burgtheater. as well as the estheticism of the Berlin Board of Censors. When the aged and revered Genast from Weimar had played the king a dozen times in the FriedrichWilhelmstadtisches Theater." who is supposed to bring a presage of death to the Prussian royal family. again permitting And an occasional performance. But to give truth its due. Emil Devrient's energetic partisanship for the newer dramatic literature was a great assistance to authors in cases of this kind. where war of 1866 again banished Sword and Queue from the it had won a place for itself.

Count Seckendorf. Lackeys. Officers. his wife. ter. Fraulein von Sonnsfeld. Lackey in the King's erals.SWORD AND QUEUE DRAMATIS PERSONS Fredekick Prussia. lSi4. op Bai- Kamke. King of the Frederick Frau von Viereck Frau von Holzendorf The Queen's Ladies. MemGren- yConfi- bers of the Smoking-CircJe. First performance. The Queen. Gen- General von Grumbkow Count Schwerin CouNT Wartensleben and Court Ladies. Princess Wilhelmine. a grenadier. William father of I. January 1st. in the Court Theatre in Dresden. Councilors A EcKHOF. Imperial Ambassador. Hereditary ^ the King's valet. Lady-inwaiting to the Frincess. The Prince REUTH. [256] . adiers. their daugh- Eversmann. The Boyal Castle Baronet Hotham. Great. Scene of action: in Berlin.. service. in the Queen's service. Envoy of Great Britain. dants of the King.

THE POTSDAM GUARD Adolph von Menzel .


] (co^nes out angrily. Two Drummers of the Guard. The drummers take up a position near the door to the left. And inasmuch as late rising is a favorite vice of the youth of today. the door and looks in). it has been ordered that the reveille be played at six o'clock every morning before the doors of the royal Princes and Princesses. Later Fraulein von Sonnsfeld. Sonnsfeld. . left I Scene I One window and four of the room. speaks ivhen the noise has drummers play a This is subsided). to ruin one's nerves unendurable left wheel — ! enough —march—out It is with you to the parade ground where you belong! [The drummers march out still playing.] ashamed of yourself. leading to apartments of the Princess.SWORD AND QUEUE ACT A room in the Palace. Princess Wilhelmine [257] is VII — 17 no longer a child. you ought to be continues. We heard it. the Fkaulein von Sonnsfeld {opens That will do. A table and two armchairs on the EvERSMANN.] Sonnsfeld (looks in again). ma'am. [EvEESMANN gives the sign again and the Sonnsfeld third long roll. Eveesmann. When the noise can no longer he heard she Eversmann. [The drummers play a second roll. You should remind the King of the respect due to ladies. taking snuff comfortably. Yes. and execute a roll of the drums. I obey my royal master's orders. doors. yes. Vol.

who^ by the way. EvEESMANN. the sweeter for death— Dreams of our final release —of despair —of the EvEESMANN. cannot see the truth more clearly than that. is my devoted young friend Fritz. which are made up of whole cloth. clip manly beard. SONNSFELD. Oh. If the poetic fancy of our Crown Prince. five estates. Majesty's stately pigtail every morning. I respect —and influence for the imaginative I twist His ? — SONNSFELD. fluence the then I have little power of poets. Have a care that the Crown Prince does not auction off lows-tree all these objects under the gal- some fine day. all EVEESMANN. but your Ladyship must have slept badly. Eh? that has already earned you three An influence city houses. His Eoyal 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 — . Or possibly dreams like- of marriage ! —and Have a care. King EvEESMANN. a remark a little command possibly why naturhis fine — — — ally- You pick them up and weave them into a ''nice innocent little influence" for yourself. fill his cozy little Dutch for him each evening and if in the pipe course of these innocent employments His Most Sacred Majesty lets fall a hint. and a carriage-andfour. Pray spare me these predictions and prophesyings. Eversmann The Crown Prince has won his freedom at last.258 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Her morning dreams are that reason. he is keeping a lin most exact record of all that happens in Berand in the immediate environment of his seIt is well known that you inmore than do his ministers. SONNSFELD. vere father.

Oh. sews. After the morning here in this Court! prayer the Princess knits. {timidly). SoNNSFELD. WiLHELMiNE SoNNSFELD. If the King only knew that she is learning French secretly. If my Princess did not possess so much natural wit and spirit. presses her linen. and yet the entire family are expected to look on at His Majesty's melodious snore-concert. He's forever quarreling with the Queen. — ! Scene II Princess Wilhelmine comes in. and even to brush away the flies from the face of the sleeping Father of his country. then the King takes his afternoon nap. to braid his pigtail each morning.SWORD AND QUEUE Majesty than to fill 259 his pipe each evening. alas! is forced to listen to a stupid sermon every day. you 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. Is the letter written? .] [He goes You may pretend to be ever so honest and simple — we know you and your like. At dinner. what a life we lead Go your way. Can any one hear us? Not uuless the walls have ears. carrying a letter. and to shave him in the good old German fashion every sec- ond day. and. studies her catechism. the sweet creature would be quite crushed by such a life. they have scarcely a good word to say to each other. Have I made my meaning old sinner! clear? out. and can I almost write a polite little note already hear her coming. we get very little to eat.

of my mother. A hundred? Then the letter must be much longer than Your Highness first planned it. 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 WiLHELMiNE. And made a what hundred mistakes? In that case we are just where we were before. the Queen to you as a child. You feld. posterity and so forth but this conscien- — continue to treat tiousness will be your ruin. The Crown Prince has made himself free and how did — Only by courage and independence. seize a musket yourself and join the Potsdam Guards ! WiLHELMiNE. trumpet. the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth.260 THE GERMAN CLASSICS I hardly dare send it. in your despair. Sonnsfeld. I know there are a hundred mistakes in it. from the oppressive on him by the caprice of bondage imposed others. Sonnsfeld. And now he sends to you from Rheinsit? He tore himself loose berg his friend. to be a support and protection to you and to the Queen so that here in this Court — where they drum. You are the victim of the conflict between two characters who both perhaps desire what is best for you. but who arc whom he do so totally different that you will never know or which one to please. and won the means to complete his education. you may not finally. make plans and send out when he . and parade all day long. WiLHELMiNE. The King will make a slave of you. you have written? eighteen-year-old Princess has to consider history. I appreciate that an Is that the Queen. dear Sonnsfeld. liavc a sense of It is all well humor. my dear Sonnsenough for my brother to emissaries.

SWORD AND QUEUE is 261 safe in Rheinsberg. I'll confess to you in secret that I should greatly enjoy being in the midst of the Rheinsberg merriment. You will make me angry! —here. But I know a better means. in his true self. Your Highness. 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. quickly. am of the sex whose good duty it is to be patient. how could I trust to a chance adventurous stranger whom my brother sends wild. I cannot have anything to do with this forbidden correspond- I am pathos. No jokiug pleasc. Rheinsberg— sends to me to be my knight and to me from out of his artistic circle in Such a thought could have been paladin? conceived only in the brains of that group of poets.] — SoNNSFELD. than is my mother. Ask yourself. dear friend. She indeed. absorbed in her political ambitions. [Hands Sonnsfeld the letter. But I'm in Berlin not in Rheinsberg. disguised of course. He knows that the path to the freedom he has won led past the very I foot of the scaffold. dispatch this letter. Wilhelmine.] ence. My father is so at heart. Sonnsfeld. ! It was the only to the Prince's tender epistle. To become an accomplice to a Impossible forbidden correspondence in this Court might — cost one's life. Princess. WiLHELMiNE. answer I could possibly send Sonnsfeld. and No. my fate to endure this life. Sonnsfeld. often turns a harshness that accords It is ill from me with with mother-love. gentler possibly. an . And to dispatch this letter? [With droll No.

Theu you are preparing to do battle here? My intentions are not altogether peaceful. the French taste of the favorite garb.] How did you leave my brother? In good health? And thoroughly And Peince. these stairways.] The letter is no longer necessary. slight embarrassment by this early visit. as Princess Wilhelmine doubtless knows. as different as possible from the king's cautiously. The Prince of Baireuth! Her very picture! It is the Prin{aside). and that is [She means — glances toivard a door in the background] deliver it yourself. these winding corridors it — was a taking. but to this noble and venerable castle. and yet. [Aside.] I crave Your Highness' par- impatience to deliver the greeting of Your Royal brother the Crown Prince in person WiLHELMiNE. dressed in period. visit of recognizance. Your Highness. these galleries.262 THE GERMAN CLASSICS absolutely sure ter to its of dispatching the letdestination. such as must precede any important under- WiLHELMiNE. cvcu in this you cannot exercise too much care. cess! [Aloud. comes in WiLHELMiNE The Peince {asidc). Princess. Prince.] Scene III The Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. occupied ? The Crown Prince leads a versity in his exile. \_She slips out of a side door. I am compelled to confine myself to a policy of defense solely. WiLHELMiNE. The Priiice of Baireuth places me in no don that my Prince. life He of the gayest dihas made of Rheins- . [Aloud. The visit was not paid to you.

devoted now to serious study. with horror. his entire environment. we model. recognizing . how any diflQculties may be met. here. advise how this situation be If it improved. one would hardly believe that so much imagination could be developed and encouraged on the borders of Mecklenburg We paint. Princess. obtained at the source. we build. Here we tread the earth with ringing spurs. you employ too harsh an expression for what I would rather term merely our own peculiar ceremonial. WiLHELMiNE. as to the situa- may. now to poetic recreation. The regiment which is under the immediate ! command gic to carry out. [She bows and turns as if to go. of our talented Prince serves merely by military evolutions. should deeply regret leaving so delightful a spot had it not been for the flattering and important task intrusted to me. the strate- In short.] Princess! Then it is really true that which is whispered. bccamc known that I am granting an who has not father or to audience. I descriptions of Polybius. the Crown Prince desires full and true information.SWORD AND QUEUE 263 berg a veritable little Court of the Muses. to a Prince yet been presented either to my Peince. tion of his sister. here in this public hall. at every court in Eu- my — self for several — of Prussia tyrannizes not only his court. his mother. but his own family as well? rope ? It is true that the King WiLHELMiNE. "We have enjoyed unforgettably beautiful hours there. that he if necessary. In Versailles the Royal Family consider themselves but as a merry company. Prince. In Versailles they glide as on butterfly wings over the polished floors. mother I dould prepare myweeks in Fortress Kiistrin. we write.

And how. her language. a Frenchman. I swear to you this must be changed. No one dare approach me who Peince. The Crown Prince asked me to employ all conceivable means to free you from this barbarism. Fraulein von Sonnsfeld? . All iustructors of the French language have been banished from Berlin by strictest order. Princess. That is impossible. Peince. a member of his Rheinsberg circle. Laharpe by name WiLHELMiNE. His first needs. where the parents must always be the first to speak. cannot first satisfy the questioning of the Castle Gruard. "WniiHELMiNE. where a prayer is said before meat. How thought was for your mental it with your knowledge of French? WiLHELMiNE. I — am at your service entirely is —command me. no bond but that of—unfettered inclination. Peince. pray? Prince. Here the Court is merely one big middle-class family. where one quarrels. The King detests all things foreign. tolerate even absurdities. Cannot Laharpe instruct you in the apartments of your Lady-in-waiting. He sends you therefore. WiLHELMiNE. a talkative but very learned little man. where strictest obedience must. and most of all does he detest France. as a beginning. sometimes where we even torture one another and make life harder for one another all out of — — love Prince. if necessary. The Crown Prince is aware of that. out of one's mutual aifection. Laharpe will come to you without his identity becoming known. her literature.264: THE GERMAN CLASSICS no ties as sacred save those of congeniality.

the Royal — — — Prussian Laundry. the sister of the Prussian Crown Prince is permitted to remain in that room for an hour or two if she will. are those rooms over there. the starching. This —for a Princess ? WiLHELMiNE. Yes. among the steaming pots and boilers. By Heaven Oh yes. Ah! there. Prince. The Prince. and occasionally. to look on at the washing.SWORD AND QUEUE WiLHELMiNE. Prince. palace. Impossible. Not cxactly but hardly much better. when supposed any serving-maid. It is. like little the poor daughter of a King is room. behind those flower- . two hours every Sunday —in church. then. Prince. But this is appalling! Why. Prince. ! Do they never leave you alone for one hour? WiLHELMiNE. Do you scc the smoke issuing from the open window? Prince. WiLHELMiNE. That is oh. Prince. The King's private WiLHELMiNE. have their ladies-in-waiting! The ouly place which I may visit occasionally. it cannot be the kitchen? WiLHELMiNE. no doubt? A gallery of family portraits? WiLHELMiNE. I have the honor to inform you. Impossible. Do you scc the little window with the flowerpots and the bird in a tiny cage ? The wife of our silver-cleaner lives there. 265 In the Queen's rooms. this same poor Princess slips in secretly to the good woman's to be busied. in the lower story of the library. the ironing. No. and remain in unaccompanied. in Versailles every Princess has her own establishment when she and even her very dolls is but ten years old — WiLHELMiNE. the sorting-out of body and house linen Prince.

For he will never regain his freedom no matter how in all the tongues sweetly he may sing ..] -And Laharpe? WiLHELMiNE. In that little obey my brother's command to perfect my French style. She is charming. for the moment Scene IV ' ' ! [She hurries out. If I must dare it send the learned gentle- — man room to me down there.] There is a spell that seems to hold me in these rooms. Remain my brother 's friend and my protector But I will : * * — —goodby. I am still happier than the poor little singer in his cage. through which she glides like the — — — ! . and — my I can say to myself that with all my troubles. [Looks about him.266 THE GERMAN CLASSICS pots. Where am I? "Was that a scene from the Arabian Nights 1 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. much fairer than the miniature Frederick wears next his heart And yet I had fallen in love with this miniature. Prince. with all my sorrows.. I can laugh freely and merrily there I can let the little linnet feed from hand.] Prince (alone). Laharpe down there behind the flower-pots Laharpe tete-atete with a Princess who visits the kitchen and ! with a linnet which happy bird is privileged How beautiful she is to bite her fingers. in most elegant and modern French. [^Zo?^^. T-RmcB (aside). Among many other things I should really like to learn to say. these words Yes I will dare to begin a new life. of earth.

to his 7'ight. Queen. The Queen? Where shall I go? SoNNSFELD.] SoNNSFELD {comes in quickly. [She pushes him to an opposite side-door. The Queen sinks She motions a chair. Queen. he himself will one day be one of the best sovereigns of our century. And I . to leave her.] — — — Peince. These wretched politics! Have you seen Kamke? my Sonnsfeld. My knowledge of the territory is growing rapidly. him to the Prince Peince {peeping out from the door. The field is all in my favor. luto that room over there you may find some way out no one must see you here. the bayonets of the parading troops flash in the sunlight and that door over yonder leads to the apartments of a Down — Princess whose possession would mean the highest bliss earth can afford.] Scene The Queen comes them in. He 's I sent No. Away Prince away. My son. assures me that I may trust this Prince completely. 267 [Goes to the ivindow. V into followed by two ladies-in-waiting. who judges men so keenly. To me? Queen. aside).] there in the square. They go out. Pkince. Peince (aside). Your Majesty's lackey? been gone so long. Your Majesty. Queen. [He goes out. of Baireuth. the Queen is approaching. Has daughter risen? I worked so late into the night that I am still quite fatigued. If I may judge by the letters the Prince brings me from my son.SWORD AND QUEUE Genius of the bower. excitedly). And there — whither leads that door through which the kind guardian of this paradise disappeared? [He turns toward the second door at the back.

] My heartiest thanks for the letters — from my worthy son. [Aloud. Your Majesty. SoNNSFELD (alarmed) Is there is there anything new in the air. makes me very happy to know that I haven't in this mat- . which I reread many times. I did not hear Sonnsfeld (pointing you Peince. I shall need to display all my strength. Prince. — Your Majcsty — is laying plots? Queen. all my willpower. He gave me Your Majesty's He Queen. tions to the Prince. Your Majesty. Here he is.] word about it. Prince [She sits down.] Did my messenger The good fellow met me just as I was about to leave my hotel. gracious command. Queen (mm^). [Sonnsfeld moAs soon as he arrives. permits me to assume that he has informed you of a certain matter. has a pleasing exterior and intelligent eyes. . Your (aside). motioning him to do the same.] dear Sonnsfeld to the Prince.268 THE GERMAN CLASSICS me need some one of force and character to aid I need such a one now more than ever. who comes in). . Majesty was so deeply absorbed in thought Queen Pkince. This is a surprise. One sentence. Kamke has just shown him in. Certainly. SoNNSFELD. enter. Your Majesty? Queen. heard a It Queen. 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. [Aside. I am consumed with curiosity to make the acquaintance of this Prince whom my son considers worthy of his friendship. a certain plan of mine Prince.

But if one bewhich has recently had the honor of being chosen to fill the throne of England if one is the daughter of a King. ! Queen. 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. also.] Majesty entirely. Queen. the wife of a King. — — mean? Queen. called after my moving carriage. will in- form you as Queen. Although a Hanoverian Princess myself. the mother of a future King you will understand that in this matter of my call me unduly longs to a family — — . were these: ''Dear friend. like him. as our own. — Peince. I think I may say that I understand Your What can she [Aside. No state has such need to be careful in the choice of its alliances. my son and I are so completely in accord. his last words. my gracious mother. Your Majesty. My He [Aside. Peince. No one can proud. I find my happiness in Prussia 's greatness.] If I only knew what subject son writes me that I may rely entirely on your sympathy did not exaggerate." I am quite ready to do Peince (aside).SWORD AND QUEUE ter. to all further details concerning the affair in question. politiAnd hence cal or matrimonial. Your Majesty. the Queen. my pride in Prussia's fame. You know that the Electors of Brandenburg have but recently become Kings of Prussia. Undoubtedly — undoubtedly. in this affair. That sounds very as he says. as 269 indeed in most things. Then you. When I parted from him. a question the answer to which you have doubtless already guessed. think as we do on this subject? Pkince. The plot thickens.

I am denied the influence which should be my right as mother of my country. you see my need of a man of your intelligence. and into the nature of which I now initiate you.270 THE GERMAN CLASSICS daughter's future —there me are weighty consid- erations which force political mesalliance. as my the wife of land. Mesalliance? The Princess? Your daughter? I was but I must confess [Bewildered. about to tell you. My Fm-HCB (aside). that I may know what be —what to hope —or Prince. she will therefore be the future Queen of Engson's friend.] Good Heav- ens! Queen. is a secret and the superficially result of the gravest negotiations and plans. your insight.] — Queen. The King has surrounded himself with persons who have separated him from me. Let me then inform you of a secret but completed negotiation in which all the nearest relatives of our house have already taken part. the importance of the issue involved Will you consent to mediate this ques! ! . Zounds! A nice rival this Queen. daughter is to become my nephew. Prince. I dare not think how this company of corporals and sergeants will receive plans. to a my deeply thought-out How will the King be inclined in regard is matter that of such decisive importance for the happiness of his children and the fair fame of his house? In this. the Prince of Wales . Prince. too. You know what kind of a Court this is at which I live. What I am informed of all these matters. Prince. [Aside. to avoid any possible Peince. to dare! [firmly] if need I shall be most eagerly anxious to justify Your Majesty's confidence. under the seal of your utmost discretion. So you see.

me whether it is Ansbach principalities. to Hanover and him with proud condescension and goes out. whom I love more madly with I to ! cruel blow of fate. that was England [She bows ! Ansbach it. Introduce yourself to him. my dear Prince of— now my son has forgotten to write or Baireuth that you inherit.SWORD AND QUEUE 271 all — a question of such importance to rope—with my husband? tion Eu- Pkince. But I should prefer the evening hours. It is so easy to confuse these little —yes. spects to — with those persons whom I mentioned a short time ago. Your Majesty. At almost any time. oh. quite bewildered am still by this —this flattering And when may I pay my reYour Majesty again? Queen. Farewell now. when those on whom I can rely gather around me. Very my dear Prince of Ansbach. dear me. Scene VI Peince (alone). The future Queen of England! And I the Hereditary Prince of Ansbach That was a ! — mediate these matters of international importance This angelic being. Use this favorable moment to draw from him an expression of his opinion concerning the throne of England. Prussia. And am . —Baireuth—Ansbach well. I the result at once. Very well. while the King is with commission. and let me know Pkince.] 1 What a detestable errand! Queen. remember. with the greatest pleasure [Aside.] . The King will be here shortly. of course. 11 With the King? Mediate? Oh. then you can begin at once.

] Prince (aside).] Eversmann? The Minister of Finance or the Head Steward. pray. the suite is entering the castle I dare not meet the king now in this excited mood. EvEESMANN (is Quitc indifferent. are you? [Thcrc is a long pause. Can any one have seen me? to EvERSMANN (goes the door. Don't mention it. comes down a few steps. Peince. And who I? EvERSMANN.] I am Eversmann. my good man. moves fonvard a few paces. Why are you looking at me. she cannot possibly love the Prince of Wales. EvEESMANN. He ? crosses to the door through out. Prince.'] which the Queen has gone Pkince ( aside ) . escape. Eveesmann comes in carrying a large book. looks at the Prince impudently). sirrah? I am the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. [He looks about as if seeking some means of — . Prince. But will they consult her inclination? Will cold considerations of politics heed the cry of her heart? The parade is over. then halts again. He has a pen stuck in behind one ear. [He goes out into the Queen's room.272 THE GERMAN CLASSICS every breath I draw my dear Frederick —this exquisite sister of — destined to become a is victim of political intrigue ? Oh no. [Drums and the sound of presented arms is heard back . I wonder? He betrays parsimony in every shred of his garments. His Majesty is coming in from the parade. boivs very slightly). Who 's this [EvERSMANN looks the Peince over from head to foot. Prince. I thank you for the information. halts again. but does not grant audiences in this room. she has never seen him.

Was that the King's voice? King {outside). I will come over . Your Majesty. as with a cane. you forgotten that this is the day for revising the books? Eversmann. VII — 18 until after midnight.'] 273 The King? Why The King is coming. Queen {comes out from her door. Prince. should I feel so timid. {outside). Prince. heats the door loudly with his cane). listens timidly). [He draws hack and stands to the left. the fellow hear? in hurriedly). 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. Eversmann! Now. is heard at the centre door. Come in. and that.SWORD AND QUEUE of the rear entrance. what's that? without. have {in corridor but not yet visible). opens it. {still Eversmann Prince. I was occupied in balancing the books of Her Majesty the Queen. indeed.] King {knocking outside). if I see a light again in her rooms Vol. No. Your Majesty. the [Goes to centre door. so oppressed. Prince {looking in at his door). still Eversmann! Doesn't Eversmann {coming The door is open. tell the castellan that eleven o'clock is closing hour for wife's apart- my ment.] Your Majesty? Is that King? King Eversmann.] close by the door Scene VII A King King loud knocking. Eversmann. ! Surely this castle is haunted! [He slips into the door at the right. again.

So that she may obey orders. Your Majesty? King (still outside). Will he go now? EvERSMANN. King. EvERSMANN. And tell my daughter that I .274 THE GERMAN CLASSICS myself at the stroke of twelve every corner and to discover plot is brewing there. ! King King. What's that? King. I say.] Prince (aside). Eversmann Eversmann. And tell her to have a care this Laharpe is a ras- — — cal. Eversmann. Your Majesty. If you should see the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth Prince (aside). will teach a lesson to Crown Prince for sending these French vagabonds here. That French windbag who's been hanging about Berlin since yesterday . Miserable lackey Queen. Wigmakers? And now get back to the books! At once. [Goes out. A rascal.] Prince (aside). King. Laharpe is a rascal. It's my turn now. Eversmann. You'd wife yourself. who pretend to be teacherswof the the language and are merely ordinary. (outside). the Princess Wilhel- [WiLHELMiNE opeus Jiev door softly. Eversmann! Your Majesty ! Now go mine to —my daughter too. good! for-nothing wigmakers. — ! King. How disgustiug [She goes out.] Eversmann. WiLHELMiNE (aslde) Laharpe? Prince (aside). King. Eversmann one thing more. To Her Royal Highness King. sirrah so that to search into what better political tell — my she may obey orders. WiLHELMiNE.

march of Shoulhe goes off a short roll [As Idiot! drums is heard. Do you know why ? Tell me what you think.] Prince (alone). Sh! You will probably be chosen to conduct the negotiations between Prussia and Prince (beside himself). I know. Confidential? To me? King. The King wishes to speak to me. Arch-Duke Leopold — — [He goes out into the Queen's room. yes. Eversmann. Rascal! King. Pleasing description! EvEKSMANN. tell him I have something very important to say to him something very confi- — dential. If Your Highness promises not to betray me I think it concerns a certain affair between Prussia and Austria. Eversmann. I'll tell him Your Majesty him.SWORD AND QUEUE Prince (aside). King. 275 will not receive Prince (aside). Eversmann. No. The Princess? Eversmann. Oh. Austria ? Eversmann. I thought one might guess King. Your Highness is still here ? Prince. Oh. Guess? What right have you to guess? — You're not to guess at all. Empress Queen And I I who love her ! ! — . To be the future Empress of Austria. — — Prince. You know. The Princess is destined Eversmann. Prince (aside). Eversmann. sirrah 1 What do you know 1 You know nothing at all. is willing. think it is What do you that the know ? has to What do you say to me ? King Eversmann. they say that is if [with a sly gesture toward the Princess' room] if Princess Wilhelmine Prince (excited). ! Understand? der arms.] to Prince (crosses quickly Eversmann). Concerning an important and pressing matter.

a centre door. combination. Grumbkow we must find the combination! Eversmann. A dispatch from Hanover grand cordon sword of state twelve plates extra thirty- Eversmann. A dispatch from Hanover. as merry a comedy as ever — — — was played at any Royal Court. [He goes out. Seckendorf. There are to A dispatch from Hanover —arrived about an commanded— sword together. you say. Grumbkow. hour ago —grand cordon —we must put these facts of state Grumbkow—find their meaning.276 THE GERMAN CLASSICS to desperation. the arrival of the dispatch. in with a wide orange-colored ribbon with and a gleaming sword. be twelve plates more at table [Meaningfully. A writing table and chairs.] ACT Grumbkow and Seckendorf come ries II Eversmann. many Scene I The King's room. A side door on the left. are set aside for the dinner everybody to appear in full court dress. I am to help bring about either of these alliances? That will mean a tragedy or [after a pause he continues more cheerCourage courage it may turn out a fully] comedy after all. His Majesty ordered these immediately after Grumbkow. When he had torn the seal from the dispatch. The latter carstars and Orders on it. six thalers —the — — — — — — he wept two big tears and said: ''I'll make them all happy if I have to beat them to a .] Thirty-six thalers today. Seckendorf. It was a dispatch. Eversmann? Seckendorf. And all this elegance? The ribbon? The sword of state? What does it mean? Eversmann.

EvEESMANN. gentlemen. Grumbkow? we must put two and two to- — — — — — — gether and find it. on hand? Doesn't Your Majesty want the crown also? The crown! Idiot! [He comes out. thirty-six thalers? in the asylum are to have new like Grumbkow Seckendorf. {as if joking). Well. King. invite the whole city to Grumbkow. Could it be the arrival of the courier ? . where 's that frippery? What's this the English orders — are missing? Fasten it on well. Is there something so important King. The orphans? That looks a wedding. [The two ministers prepare reluctantly to depart. Good morning good morning.] You can be glad that you don't have to wear it. (startled). Good morning! Good morning! Hope you slept well. I don't want EvERSMANN the fol-dols knocking about my knees. On The orphans clothes. you rascal. E VERS MANN (^iar^^eci).] Grumbkow (in the door). He's coming! The King! Scene II The King looks in from the side door. sirrah! Off with you now. [Eversmann goes out. Dispatch Hanover thirty-six thalers two tears beat them all the meaning of that. and see that everything is in order. Eversmann. today." like And now to he's eagerness and would dinner. Grumbkow and Seckendorf No time for you now my compliments to the State of Prussia and I beg to be left to myself — . Your Majesty is in such a merry — mood Seckendorf.] Good morning.SWORD AND QUEUE jelly to 277 all do it.

still I can spend as well as any of them when an occasion offers. yes. They've gone.] Eversmann {takes off the King's coat). Grumbkow {aside).] — off. From Hanover? A courier came King. Oh. Concerning English King. King. With news of importance. just imagine! Oh. treaties. He is in a desperate mood again. Did Your Majesty intend to King. going out). EvERSMANN. Something of that nature. An occasion like this [with an out- burst. Thankee now just imagine oh. No one must know of it. Change my clothes? Yes take this coat — — — [Aside. Grumbkow.278 THE GERMAN CLASSICS King {indijferently). [Remem- bering. My rcspcctful congratulations. yes no. they shall see that though I may be parsimonious ordinarily. Seckendokf. we'll spare no expense. English affairs! Seckendorf. Will Your Majesty put on the embroidered uniform? . News of importance ! Geumbkow. At last I have a moment to myself.] I am supremely EvERSMANN. Grumbkow. Your Majesty? King. happy. From Hanover.] — — — Scene III King. gentlemen. The Dutch shipping agreement? King {enjoying their curiosity). Thirty-six thalers twelve places the orphans we must find the combination! [They go out. They shall see that I possess wealth. [EvERSMANN coMCS in. doubtless I East Indian commercial No —no. the affairs. Doubtless King. Good morning. yes. Seckendorf {aside.] Eversmann.

There is only one thing Your Majesty can hold fast to. Eversmann.SWORD AND QUEUE King. I'll ! — — — money! gown. Is Your Majcsty going on his account? On his account? all Possibly. [Eversmann turns to go.] I'll lead them dance. King (threatening him with his cane). Eversmann. pecting guests shown. and that is your King. He's right. Not any They've spoiled my pet . sirrah? until you have found the unidressing gown form.] Has the Prince of Baito all this trouble EvEESMANN.] Eascal! My corns! I believe the rogue is a hurting me on purpose because I won't tell him anything.] [Eversmann pulls off the with difficulty. there Why did you laugh just now? Eversmann. Zounds! Villain! [Aloud.] Hey. Your Majesty. King. Your Majesty can't keep a secret. You rascal ^how dare you? Eversmann (retiring toward the door). But they my of them — they shan't. [Aside. 279 I The embroidered uniform. But. — have you asking questions! Now what are you Heh? Fetch me my laughing at. to am ex- whom — for when all honor must be it concerns the boots reuth been here yet? who [He sits down. Great honor arrival of persons Take off my boots. heart out.] Scene IV King (sitting in his shirt-sleeves). It burns shan 't know. Ha! ha! [He goes I'll fetch^ the dressing- out. I haven't asked any questions yet. Because I know that before I have brought Your Majesty your hat Your Majesty will have told me all about it.

I'll and I'll send all play a different game the camels through the needle's eye at once. isn't it? at your service. Your Highness. brought by the Hanoverian — courier. l^The lackey goes out and the Prince comes in. was a great surprise is England my wife 's England. announces. Pleased to receive him. What this? does he take me for? to receive Prince. aside). ha ha ! — me —he! he! idea— therefore I am for to ! [A lackey conies in. I'm I'm on a very confidential footing with the — King. Prince. reuth. King. They think I'm on the side of Austria. Well. [Turns to go. Then Your Highness wishes King of Prussia? — to speak to —to the You heard me say me. too and soon we'll have the wedding and the christening. this time.] Prince.] That's the King's study in King. so. At once. did you not? Announce King. [He goes out. Go in and announce me.280 THE GERMAN CLASSICS plans before now. — there. Are these old erosspatch's apartments'? [To the King. But no ha! ha! England's own offer. What fashion is Are you in the King's ser- vice? Is this the style in which guests to whom His Majesty has promised an audience ? King. the . to save their liveries. His Highness the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. Is this the way to go into your master's presence? In your shirt-sleeves ? King.'] Lackey. I'm the Prince of Bai- King (surprised. Yes Prince. This is a strange Royal Household indeed! The servants stand about the anterooms in doubtless from motives of their shirt-sleeves — economy.] Prince (aside).] Prince (alone).

Prince (looking at him). It's of no consequence. in dress uniform. Now I can listen to his favorable — — — — — ! — — — opinions regarding Austria. 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. and to disparage England. quite time enough to learn King. which may be even kinder to me than I expect. Scene — V The King comes in.] In England? Yes. about that unmannerly and extremely ridiculous country and its ways. Your Majesty I am a strangerKiNG. In in England. And where were you all this time ? Prince. Yes. my fate rests on the Genius of Love on chance. What's that? England ridiculous? Here. You were deucedly insolent but my people are thick-skinned. young friend we have some distance to go yet all — . The King is coming. here. Her parents are of divided minds thereby do I gain time to win Wilhelmine 's heart for myself. Well I want to speak to you. Ah you spent much time in England? Prince (aside). Prince (embarrassed). no. King. King. my dear Prince of Baireuth. You are surprised? It was a slight mistake in identity. I suppose he wants me to help him with — — Austria. Your Majesty that is. I left Baireuth three — — — — years ago.SWORD AND QUEUE 281 great hour has arrived the die will fall. Is that not King. with the grand cordon. [Aloud. Are you just come from Baireuth? Prince.

I fancy King (aside).] [Aloud. ily. I 'm not ingratiating myself at all. King. In Versailles? In Rheinsburg? Well. tak! ing money out of the country? Prince. [Aside. Does he favor England? I thought it was Austria yes.282 THE GERMAN CLASSICS before we reach the point where England stands today. never mind. a wonderful country such — — — development of such life and activity King. Who is to pay that debt eventually! King. [Aloud. though! doesn't yield your father much revenue. [He whistles the . Has Seckendorf. to improve the soil. that Baireuth [Aloud. Good heavens And with such a state of things in the exchequer you're traveling about Europe. About how much debt — Prince (aside).] Austria? Surely. as if he were Louis Quatorze and runs his country into debt meanwhile. I dare A — say! Pbince. him? talking to or any of the others. King. More or less.] of yours. does your country carry? I don't know that myself. he favors Austria. been Is he trying to please me? nice little country. Then he does not favor Austria. Ten millions? Prince. H'm have you been in Italy? Or in Austria or thereabouts 1 Pkince (aside). King. sauc- Ten millions. we've had enough of that. sire. I'm completing my education. Soil somewhat stony. Activity? — industry and — commerce ! — in all directions H'm! The activity in Austria isn't dan- gerous yet! Peince (aside).] These geographical prejudices Trying to improve it by the pleasure palaces your ! We're learning father is building? What's got into the man? Puts up one gimcrack after another.

Good It was about these heathenish performances — ! that I wanted to speak to you. King. England? Zounds that ran over hurrying across the highway. bars of the Dessauer March. by this wedding. —your daughter's wed- King. is in Berlin the evening that our guests they go to sleep in — Beer drinking and pipe smoking not yet to every one 's taste. say unicorn— eagle — — unicorn — leopard — intermingled — eagle Prussia and England — and must be in —in verse. H 'm— I mean a sort of spectacle — oh. Your Majesty. how we can win much honor and glory — Prince. Brunswick and Mecklenburg. King (rises). a man who is well acquainted with those godless Greek and Roman brate doings. artillery will furnish the salutes.] you've taken part in those heathenish performances at my son's Court. I mean? Prince. I will see to the reviews and parades myis in My But it grow weary their chairs. Saxony. As it is in my mind to cele- 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. therefore. who will all be here for an entire week in a word. and such al- legorical presentations. they tell me you are a man of taste. We '11 have to swim with the stream. arid provide suitable amusements —illumination. England? This news comes with such a surprise . operas. Wedding? The Princess ding? Yes. as were. rhyme it it I my tongue like a hare Prince.SWORD AND QUEUE first 283 Tell me. and self. The part of a confidant. Prince. ! Prince. all fol-da-rol — about Prussia and England. Prince.

I fancied that Her Majesty the Queen was much more in favor of Aus- — — tria King.] No. Europe wonder how England came —the world —will to deserve such honor. you understand. but comes back). pure. the details of the marriage. a plenipotentiary has left London. Yes. this one with England. But Grumbkow must act in it. it. [Aloud with decision. Must it be in English or in French? King. King.] to I want put her .284 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The whole country. Yes. Give every one of them something to say. since he has learned that art behind my Prince {turns to go. Austria? might have known she would own will through. who assures me that England is thinking seriously of this plan^ of this marriage arranged in all secrecy. all place fore me under obligations to you. Oh. Neither. not the Berlin . The Queen? Why. Meanwhile. Grumbkow must be in it and the ladies Viereck and Sonnsfeld and Seckendorf — — — — and Prince {as above). Shall it be a pastoral masque? King. In German. fiery German High German. The Prince of "Wales has taken ship from England it is supposed that he is already landed on the Hanoverian coast. ho! don't flatter the old lackey! It's an old affair. in strictest incognito. I received today a dispatch from our Ambassador. there- Prince {in despair). nay wife has been working at it for years. Surely. on his way to treat with me concerning [Aside. only not me. The envoy is You would likely to arrive at any moment. And the ladies and gentlemen of the Court are to act in it? King. Prince. good. And the Crown Prince can play the flute for back.

The Privy Councilors urgently pray Your Majesty to receive them. Where the Bong-tree grows! [He goes out. . Gad. Now as for Holland. You know— it's the land where the Peince (beside himself). 285 if you could bring in a little Dutch somewhere certain considerations of commerce would render that [Confidentially. Prince. Your Majesty but my imagination is smoking like any volcano already. Each carries under his arm a small bundle of red-hound books. Geumbkow. it will be spoken of in the papers and the Ambassador of Holland will be there you see. Your Majesty —but it is incredi- ble that such unprecedented crimes should occur in the very bosom of the Royal Family! What's the matter now? Geumbkow. No. Your Majesty has already been informed about the Frenchman who was found wanderKing. [Makes gestures as of smokand whispers into the Peince's ear. about the land — where tobacco grows. Lackey (coming in). as I was saying an allegorical marriage masque that's what. Forgive us.SWORD AND QUEUE flavor. King.] And — very pleasing to me. Put in some verses about the colonies.] Scene VI Gbumbkow and Seckendorf come in. — — to be fine enough to compare favorably with the one they rigged up in Dresden.] Well. but they must be eaten up by curiosity Bring Peince (in despair). Not quite in the style of VerAnd yet I want the pre-marital feast sailles.] But ing — I suppose a fine self doesn't young gentleman like your- smoke. — A ! them in. it's about the importation of tobacco. [The lackey goes out.

p. King. Eveesmann. takes up one of the books and then touches the bell. Seckendoef.] The Crown Prince's seal But no no the vagabond must have stolen it from him. the man who had the temerity to say he had come to teach Princess Wilhelmine his language. Eveesmann comes in. [The King starts in anger. Geumbkow. Geumbkow. . Seckendoef. This sort of book? These French hold hold what have we here is this not the disgusting novel written by the hunchback Scarron. Oh. A satire on us all on me on — — ! ! — — — Seckendorf. . Eversmann. Grumbkow. [Eveesmann goes out and returns with a big pair of glasses. Geumbkow. [He looks through one of the books. but we have discovered further complicaBooks were found in tions. my King. Our Court? King {turning the leaves). On me. Convince yourself. cess' instruction. R. These immoral French writings are all marked with the initials of His Highness the Crown Prince. Or else the books were intended for the Prinspectacles ! .286 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ing through the streets of Berlin without any proper passport or identification. — . Your Majesty! this man's possession. books which point to a dangerous connection with Rheinsberg.] Eversman [with conscious impressiveness]. . I will not have these French clowns in my country. too? . F. . Your Majesty. King. It was only a wigmaker from Orleans. the husband of the fine Madame Maintenon his notorious satire upon our Court? Geumbkow and Eveesmann (together). Prince Royal.] The Attoragain ney-General must make a thorough examination of this vagrant's papers. Frederic.

Old Rapacity Eversmann. But the books are to be burned. Grumbkow and Seckendorf the festivities? {together. Gentlemen. and in the enjoyment of a glass of good German beer. that it may be better understood. Festivities? out. aside).] Grumbkow. Seckendorf. [In extreme anger. 287 The Crown Prince has underscored most Here it. country marked properly by the Crown Prince at that! Can Wilhelmine be a party to this? That would indeed be scandalous. The rogue! And such books find their way — ! King. The Attorney-General must make a thorough investigation.SWORD AND QUEUE King (serious). shake this matter off. Vicomte de la Rancune. is a Marshal with the nickname le chicaneur. Seckendorf. as I have done. And he called Eversmann la rapiniere. shall I take these ungodly books to the executioner. Grumbkow. King.] [They go . Yes. Send them out to the powder mills by the Oranienburger gate. It's it's an international insult. we also can be just as witty at the ex- — pense of Versailles and the entire French cabinet. [He goes out. of ! King. This evening. or.] Isn't it possible for me to have a single quiet moment? into the — Eversmann. le petit comhinateur. Eversmann (aside). in another manner. Seckendorf. They can make cartridges for my grenadiers out of them. otherwise That's you. You know that's meant for you. over our glowing pipes. No. to have them burned? I wouldn't use them even to light my pipe not even as bonfires for our festivities. as we would say. King. Your Majesty. Outrageous The Ambassador. Bonfires for Eversmann. Your Majesty? King. Grumbkow.

[Kamke goes out. For four days I've scarcely ficial been out of the saddle.] Here the crown of England. grown mature. it weighs one's pocket heavily. is Ireland.288 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Scene VII The scene changes to the room of Act I. followed by Hotham.] win his way through to the Fora man has to eign Office by years of courier-riding.] There's some one about. The Prin- room there? And the Queen's here? Thanks. this carrying a kingdom about with one. What shall I take — from here in exchange? [He looks deuced and close-fisted. then halts on the threshold as if in despair. Baronet Hotham comes Kamke. I've smuggled myself into the country from London by way of Hanover as if I were a to the extent of — — bale of prohibited merchandise. lies [He slaps his right coat-pocket. Faith. good friend.] Baronet Hotham is preserving his incognito becoming entirely invisible. [Rises. [Now the left coat- Here the crown of Scotland and pocket.] here.] .] business. seem disinclined to trip the light fantastic. they'd not think it strange that their statesmen. where a man needs have the manners of a dandy with the unfeeling bones of a postilion. There's space niggardly enough in these great halls. but I'll wager there are many mice here. [He throws himself Gad! if the nations knew how into a chair. It's as quiet as an English Sunday. [The Prince opens the centre door. in my waistcoat pocket. in cautiously through the centre door. [Wipes his The deuce take this equestrian offorehead.] Is the gilding real? It looks coming. A hall with four doors cess' ? Quite right.

or else you need a friend to aid you with his sane mind. Prince. Has your sion? father cut you off from the succes! Ah. {surprised). Prince. are ill of a fever. I believe he's writing verses. Prince. Prince. Hotham — all those pleasures are over for me! Hotham. toward the Peincess' door.] Prince. Prince? Think of meeting you you dear. 289 Well? [The Peince comes down a step and claps his hand to his forehead.SWORD AND QUEUE HoTHAM (in surprise). I've just come from England. VII sojourn in England. What ? Who —who it is this I see ? Hotham Prince. excellent fellow and just at the very moment when my deIs it really spair threatened to overcome me true? Where do you come from? From — — ! Paris? Hotham.] HoTHAM. then sees Hotham. which you so Prince. you are a genius many an intrigue of You — your country's foes will be shattered against that brain of yours. Hotham. Fetch me. Alas. Hotham! Is Do my eyes deceive me? in Berlin. Hotham. possible? You here friend? Hotham. with the very best greetings from our mutual friends and a special commission to capture you and bring you back to the race-track. do not touch that sensitive wound instead. Hotham. is the matter. [The Peince moves as before. enjoyed. But you cannot help me. Prince. what Prince. Why. and the boxing ring. the Empire of Morocco. I wish that I could. your debt for a hundred I am so deeply in good services ren- dered Vol. It was your influence that put me in touch with me during your — 19 . to the hunting field.

Has the King been informed already? Prince. for you. Peince. Hotham. are both — . Does the King really look with favor upon this — marriage with the Prince of Wales? Prince. That depends upon circumstances ces of a most delicate nature. most peculiar situation devote my very life to your service. to ence here. An affair of honor? (low). Prince. To you I owe all that I am and have my brain is at your service. It concerns a possible —circumstan- Hotham marriage contract between Princess Wilhelmine and the Prince of Wales. Horrible! among a thousand I picked this man for a genius I took him others. in a my arm is at your service. (absently). that the King and the Queen. What would I be without you? To you I owe this flattering mission. friend. my to my judgment. quite ignorant of their mutual agreement. then. Yes —why are you here? It is Hotham {looks about). let — it let it act think for you. you opened the diplomatic career to me. I'm I >vill HoTHAM. I I shall not hesitate to am not curious. tell you what it is. You? You are the ambassador of whom the King spoke to me just — now? Hotham. Then you you are that irresistibly clever diplomat whom they are awaiting with open arms ? Hotham. Prince. an affair of the greatest se- But if you desire crecy. Prince {as if beside himself). you I owe my very pres- Prince.290 THE GERMAN CLASSICS our leading statesmen. from from Paris and put him into English diplomacy and now I must suffer because he does honor Let me tell you. Will it keep you here long? Hotham.

The English nation. Prince. indeed a discovery I did not dream of.SWORD AND QUEUE its implications. you must HoTHAM. is loved by a prince who cannot compete in power or position with your Prince of Wales. Of ! Circumstances might arise which would not only give me the right. unhappily. the cabinet. must my do all I can about the marriage. why should they not grant you the hand of the Princess 1 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 is all Baireuth with Ansbach. add not a pleasant one. my government. Pkince. passion so far outdistances all and any crowned suitors for the hand of this angel as heaven. HoTHAM. Peince. Your Highness. HoTHAM. take courage come about. all thoughts of the match. nay. You revive my very soul. You are aware. The discovery as envoy of to bring the less pleasing in that I. But if you ask in due form. but would even make it my duty to give up Prince. outdistances earth this prince is —myself. the unhappy sacrifice of your political ambitions. justify I take the liberty of suggesting that yet possibly under certain conditions this mar- — — riage with England might not a truth. And recommendation. the Houses of Parliament send me. 291 heartily desirous of this marriage and all of But you are to know also that —and that HoTHAM. and I must. but who in devotion. Prince. This is Princess Wilhelmine. love. as paradise. your sojourn in whom England must have made the house of Hanover was it plain to you that called to the throne . Of course. it is not the Prince of Wales I represent here.

Prince [takes his hands]. An alliance with the dynasty of the rising young kingdom of Prussia seems. And HoTHAM. The Prince of Wales. 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. but still more warmly for their balance-sheets. And mercantile scheming you would mingle a question of love an affair of into this —this — the heart? HoTHAM. wait and trust To the counting-room? . diplomacy. my protector. feels little Whether or not the Prince of Wales any personal interest in his cousin is of moment. Talents to awaken a hope on which the bitterest HoTHAM. And you shall see that I have other talents besides those of am Peince. Wait. Prince. as future King of England. Peince. then. but in one of its clauses which states this holds out lies if all else be favorable. disappointment must follow. to be the most favorable. my patron. There some hope for me? no hope in this unfortunate mission of mine. that the marriage. Parliament takes no cogni- zance of whether they love each other or not. then I am all yours. hearts that beat warmly for the throne.292 THE GERMAN CLASSICS 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. I here to speak for the hearts of our merchants. under the present political constellation. : Peince. If our factories have nothing to hope for. will contract any matrimonial alliance that is suggested to him as necessary to the national welfare. Peince.

] The rustle of a gown it is she. is merely your assistance in obtaining from the German Empire some little concession for our harmless. innocent manufactures.] and then to the main battle. The moment seems favorable. when you understand 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. in case the King will not treaties. then all I shall ask of Your Highness. I Sonnsfeld. Ah. Prince? I have reason very angry with you. I have devoted myagree self entirely to your cause. Land! Land in sight! Something. [He goes out. I'll knock. {opens the door to the right). "VYhy not? 293 when. Your Highness ? Why with me ? . — Kamke HoTHAM. With me. Over there are the Queen's apartments.SWORD AND QUEUE HoTHAM.'] — Scene VIII Peince (aZone). posts to the sound. thcii to be it is it [WiLHELMiNE you— yourself! comcs in. in Gerto the And new — many's very heart.] Prince. Farewell. as a German sovereign at the Diet of Regensburg. I hear a [He knocks again. [He draws hack a step and First one must take these little outturns. Everything else later. the Princess' lady-in-waiting. — — Prince {startled). Oh. [Zfe goes softly will try to little draw Princess' door and knocks]. surely. WiLHELMiNE. was you. can be done now! With Hotham at my right hand. She is waiting in the anteroom. into the plot. For the present trust me. I need only some female reinforcement at my left.

would you drive an insult? this learned me mad? I offer WiLHELMiNE. and cultivation can be admitted only when they come bearing enough. Princess. WiLHELMiNE. Peince. Princess.294 THE GERMAN CLASSICS As if WiLHELMiNE. Laharpe has been banished. poetry. But our plan has come to naught. kingdom should be that the passport of wigmakers. WiLHELMiNE. Peince. Princess. But is a wigmaker from Orleans assure you. Princess. Priiice —this language know that you are It is the language of a feeling I can no longer control. Peince. do you . Peince. Have you not heard what sort of a person Laharpe of yours really is ? Princess. of an indignation I can no longer sup- press. It is true Laharpe does understand the splitting of hairs. Do not think me quite unworthy of Grant me the blessed conhis place. and lays on them the powder of in- genious sophistry an art that is better understood in France than here. WiLHELMiNE. he is not a wigmaker. A weak reflection of his brilliancy has remained. It is unfortunate — your royal bad repute that foreigners of wit. father's in such Your Highness. One might search long among your scholars here in Berlin before finding his equal in cultivation. that he paints his thoughts in words of elegance. you did not know the insult you have you offered me. but only in scientific controversy it is true he does use paint and powder. Peince. Laharpe is one of the most intelligent of men and possessed of a pretty wit. taking sciousness of having aided you to escape a situation which passes all bounds of filial obe- dience. in ! He I .

first stirring of my personal conscious- have never had a will of my own. my own inalienable possession. perhaps even please your ambitions when you hear that you might win even an Imperial crown but. if you love the Prince — WiLHELMiNE. Then you do not love the Prince? Wilhelmine. 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. my heart's free choice then in- — deed the bottomless depths of my obedience be found exhausted. who commands it. I have been obedient and dutiful from the ! have never seen? Who very ness. it Who says that? sires —far be from me it to pass judgment on your defrom me to inquire if it may not surprise.SWORD AND QUEUE 295 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 Pkince. Far be indignation). Wilhelmine. Wales The Priuce of Wales ? Who says that I love him? Peince. But when they would take the one thing from me. to give it expression. will — . Do I hear aright? Wilhelmine. The Prince of Wales? My cousin. Prince. the one thing that is still mine after all I these years of humiliation. My heart is free. or if I had that will. And no power on earth can force me to give it to any man but to him whom I shall choose myself. who presupposes it your father. dared. Your mother. whom I of — has never betrayed the slightest interest in me? A Prince whose loose living has made me despise him Prince.

what are you doing—please arise— courage to say to one Prince who. Priucc. And you must tell . Prince. I will tell you of the plans concerning England or Austria of which in their poverty.] much joy too much bliss! [Aloud. WiLHELMiNE. the potted flowers offer a secret the little linnet in his cage is impatient for the return of his beautiful and benign down retreat — mistress. alone with you. You would would take the place of that misjudged and slan- dered scholar.296 Prince. WiLHELMiNE {drawing her hand from Pbince. although he will one day reign over no more than a tiny plot of German earth. I his). Those simple people are overjoyed when their Princess consents to linger an hour with them ! — ! have much to say to you. some one is coming Not until you promise me you will meet me there. still can gather from the spell of her beauty. Princess. Oh if wc should be surprised like this! Please get up Prince. undisturbed by [noise of drums outside] those cruel guardians of your freedom. THE GERMAN CLASSICS Princess! What can I do it is too [Aside.] Princess! the green garlands on the little window — — there. WiLHELMiNE. Where? [He points to the window. I would tell the most charming Princess of Europe that WiLHELMiNE. very much. And down there.] There? But I am not alone even there. You will promise ? You will meet me ? WiLHELMiNE. I you are the central figure. Prince {throws himself at her feet). You have nothing to tell me nothing at all. the kindness of her heart. the there is her— I love you Prince. I would tell her that — —I worship you. not worried by threatening footfalls in the corridors.

If you promise to talk only about the plans that concern me and about French gramPrince. Your Highuess rang? Yes. I 11 Nothing. in gin with the verb J'aime —I love —and Voltaire is only —a wigmaker. which know thoroughly— that you hate me — that you detest me "WiLHELMiNE. Wilhelmine SoNNSFELD. looks at the Princess as if surprised. am [SoNNSFELD looks at her. SoNNSFELD. ! — mar Feisct^ (springing up) You promise? You will come ? By star in the firmament I swear I will beevery . speaks after Prince. Your Highuess Wilhelmine. veil. even shall see how. starts as if to follow the no longer heard. you comparison with the language of a devoted heart.] Wilhelmine I am begin(alone). Wilhelmine.l Scene IX The noise of drums in the distance left alone. now that I . is {He goes out. My mantilla—my fan—the is going out? going out. Some one is approaching Please get up. Not until you promise WiLHELMiNE. Permission ? Are you beginning to take that tone. Has Your Highness permission? Wilhelmine. Wilhelmine Then she turns back hesiShe rings the bell. and walks with uncertain steps to the table. in comparison with the art which unadorned nature can practise. SoNNSFELD. ning to be conscious of myself. a pause. astounded. Your Highness commauds ? {as if awakening from a dream). I am tired of all this. Will you promise I WiLHELMiNE. Cruel one You won't get up Peince. Prince. tating. SoNNSFELD comes in. too ? Fetch the things I want. then goes out.SWORD AND QUEUE me again I 297 —in the very best style of Versailles. you torture me — I hear voices. I did. SoNNSFELD.

Princess ? EcKHOF. nation.298 THE GERMAN CLASSICS know able. there I is meagre worth.] EcKHOF. Don't quesMust I give you an action everything I do. show the world that a Princess of Prussia has at least the right to pass from one court of the palace I am tired of to another of her own free will. The centre door opens and EcKHOF comes in. Grenadiers front! [Three more men come in without their muskets.] WiLHELMiNE. will still be none the less a Princess of Prussia. You may that I am [Holds out her hand. You might have chosen the Brussels lace. [SoNNSFELD comes hack with ynantilla. Throw the veil about my head. the second a ! — . ' [She turns to go. The door remains open. kiss ing great and important plans for his child's future.] hand. Your Higliuess what is your purpose? "WiLHELMiNE. Halt SoNNSFELD. in her revolutionary ideas? I I havo joiued no one. and that this child. Good Heaveus —have you joined your mother want to trifle! WiLHELMiNE. followed hy three grenadiers. the mantilla with SoNNSFELD. counting for every — SoNNSFELD. even though she should be stubborn enough to refuse to acquiesce in his plans. The first carries a Bible. The Grand Elector lived for as well as for the others the Hohenzollerns are what they are for my me — sake also. fan and veil. And do not forget my the daughter of a king who is formAdieu. Are you to have a Guard of Honor. being tyrannized in this way. this some one wlio recognizes my The situation here is unbearof this unworthy subordi- am weary barrack-room service.

front! [The third grenadier comes forward with the half-knitted stocking. Likewise. Dreadful stuff! Boiled beans Third grenadier. front! [The first grenadier j/ marches forward with the Bible. in consequence of forbidden communication with Castle Rheinsberg. a pair of woolen stockings for the worthy Foundling Asylum of Berlin.SWORD AND QUEUE ing. finally. SoNNSFELD. Calm yourself. front! [The second grenadier comes forward with the soup tureen. every two days. as ordered by His Majesty the King.] And. May it please your Royal Highness graciously to forgive me.] The food ordered for Your Highness will be brought up from the garrison kitchen punctually every day. What's that? Princess! EcKHOF. I ask Your Highness to graciously submit to a strict room-arrest. SoNNSFELD (opcns the tureen).] 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. May it please SoNNSFELD this ends my orders. the third a half-knitted stock- EcKHOF (comes fonvard and salutes the Princess). are these the (in King's plans for your future? WiLHELMiNE (trembling in excitement). Second grenadier. Yes. if by reason of a special investigation commanded by His Majesty the King. this is the beginning of a Your Royal Highness — . His Majesty the King pleases to command Your Highness to knit. Princess. dear friend. a tone of despair).] 299 soup tureen. ! EcKHOF. His Majesty the King has graciously pleased to make the following dispositions: First grenadier.

No. You'll soon learn after hour passes What will think of me? Or can he have ! — the Bible verses and of the knitting. It Seemed as if you were talking to yourself. SoNNSFELD. Schleiz WiLHELMiNE. You are too good I'll relieve you of most —you are kinder to me . right and left.300 THE GERMAN CLASSICS new life father and SoNNSFELD. Tell him that we WiLHELMiNE. Doors centre. An open window the right. knitting a child's stocking. Wilhelmine (asi^Ze). Don't be too melancholy. SoNNSFELD although we will eat the beans our fault if [with renewed if in the despair of our hearts courage] It will uot be And (tragically). SoNNSFELD. Scene I Princess Wilhelmine leans against the window-casing. Attractive. A cupboard. Greiz and Lobenstein ! [They go out angrily. SoNNSFELD. Go to The him the King and for me. Hour the Prince learned my fate already? SoNNSFELD. And wish that we were merely the Princess of Reuss SoNNSFELD.] What are they to Tell him? I WiLHELMiNE (wUh tvagic decision). I I merely sighed. SONNSFELD sits on the left side of the room. him that That I \^Her courage begins to fail. tell battle is on ! Go to my tell him tell [To the Princess. deep in thought. a table. cozy apartment. Wilhelmine. We let fall the stitches in the or- phan's stockings WiLHELMiNE.] ACT III to The Princess' room.] That although we will learn the chapters WiLHELMiNE. Did Your Highness speak? Wilhelmine.

SoNNSFELD. WiLHELMiNE. You take the other one let me have it. SoNNSFELD {rises and looks toward the door). there. Prince 1 You cauuot dcuy that his attentions to you might be called almost tender — WiLHELMiNE. Why complaiu 1 It is of itself. isn't it? question the man. quite nicely domestic. In this way we will gain time that is started.] — SoNNSFELD. 301 than I have deserved of you today. Are you crazy? SoNNSFELD {at the door). That is tiring you give it to me. to send you at the same time the most ardent lover under the sun. Hey. The Priuce? What made you think of the SoNNSFELD. ! let-doux written ! I'll . No. What would the Prince of Baireuth say if he could see you now? WiLHELMiNE. Almost worthy of a Seckendorf. WiLHELMiNE. At your service. grenadier! EcKHOF {comes in). WiLHELMiNE. Lovers hold more with the moon. Souusf cld What power of combination SoNNSFELD. SoNNSFELD. 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 bil- And — by the Prince. [She knits. WiLHELMiNE. — to rest later.SWORD AND QUEUE work SoNNSFELD. in any case. madam. in sending this young Prince to you. "WiLHELMiNE {listening toward the door). And we aren't even allowed a word with each other in freedom. Almost Such cycs ! much mistaken Such burning glances I am very or it was Your Royal brother's ! intention. It is cruel to let soldiers see a Princess humiliated to the extent of knitting stockings.

Through the window! frightened me! letter? A how it Wilhelmine. and will is my friend and your work for you while he seems It is a dangerous game. yes. But Baronet Hotham. ' ' SoNNSFELD.] [To Eck- From the Prince of Baireuth? EcKHOF. but it means your freedom and Love comprehends Love. aside. and it is adIt can only be from the Prince — dressed to Your Highness. no. Pick it up. friend. There you are! HOF. HavG jou a letter for us ? EcKHor. Please Your Honor. SoNNSFELD {doing so).] Wilhelmine. — my life. is thrown window. letter. To me? Why. then why shouldn't I accept — [She opens the letter. yes. SoNNSFELD {to the Princess). ] Oh. attached to a in at the stone. Where is it? Did you take it? EcKHOF. [Gives her the letter. the English Envoy. [A SoNNSFELD. Please Your Honor. May I hear ? . But you won't accept it. Wilhelmine. Please Your Honor. But how dare the Prince imagine that our sentry could forget all — all sense of propriety it? in this way? not have accepted little ! SoNNSFELD.302 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS SoNNSFELD.] The general heartSoNNSFELD. to be working against you. you say.] ''Adored one! Is there to be no end to these cruelties ? Have they begun to torture you with England yet? it? — They will come to you and will try to force you into this marriage. Would you Never WiLHZLMiNE. [Wheels and goes out. [She reads.'] It is it is from the Prince. even to the uneducated Wilhelmine. What a dreadful country ! lessness penetrates classes.

didn't you take the letter? EcKHOF.SWORD AND QUEUE WiLHELMiNE. are you thinking of? We'll make the trial. Impertinent creature! EcKHOF. Hamburg. must give up all thought of sending an answer. [Aside. Drcadful creature (aside). SoNNSFELD. Even if shame could be healed by money. [She goes to the door. SoNNSFELD. would compensate you for any such pun- SoNNSFELD. Nothing. And why? EcKHOF. ! WiLHELMiNE We EcKHOF. Nothing? That is little enough. WiLHELMiNE. Just 3. SoNNSFELD. Would mouey be no compensation? EcKHOF. The good people are all so fond of you. that would be the one remedy you couldn't apply. It is a little 303 message of sympathy — from— from one of our faithful servants. I suppose? WiLHELMiNE. word or two it is really of no im- — SoNNSFELD. But we need not offend any one. WiLHELMiNE. SoNNSFELD.] What clever pretending! [Aloud. portance whatever. SoNNSFELD. You must answer it. WiLHELMiNE. Where wcrc you bom? your name? EcKHOF. Because Your Highness hasn't any money. May I go now? What is SoNNSFELD.] Here you stern warrior What — EcKHOF (in the door). EcKHOF. SoNNSFELD.] Let me try if our grenadier is still as stubborn as before. What have you learned? Eckhof. SoNNSFELD. It would mean running the gauntlet for me. You could not. Eckhof. At your service. He knows our situation only too well. Why We ishment. .

We are not clever enough to Eckhof. make of yourself? EcKHOF. unnatural mo- . I took to wandering way to Schwerin and a again. discharged his company and I was Our manager was compelled to take service with a secretary in the post new master's wife deoffice. still inspired me. and in these drilled. SoNNSFELD {to Eckhof). WiLHELMiNE A strange man! It will afford amine him. The post office and the courtroom were just two new sorts of theatre for me.304 THE GERMAN CLASSICS What did you want to SoNNSFELD. understand such witty answers. had sought to drown my melancholy in drink. my brain exercise. I begged my learned man of the law made me his clerk. but all I ever learned there to clean the lamps. us a Let us cross-exlittle amuse- ment at least. Everything. Then. The addresses on the letters excited my imagination. The de- upon the stage. . the longing for an Art that still calls me as to a sacred mission. I was dazzled by to satisfy I the handful of silver they offered me for its sake I bartered away my golden freedom. as her footman. the uni- form smothers the impulse to create human nobility. Since that day I carry the musket. But when my manded that I should climb up behind her car- riage. fate threw me into the hands of the Prussian recruiting officers. the lawsuits gave sire to create. to depict vice and virtue in reality's own colors. true pictures greatness and human degradation. but I saw no opportunity of human when it. (aslde). The noisy drums drown the longing that awakens a thousand times a day. How do you reconcile nothing with everything? I grew up in a theatre. in a reckless moment.

EcKHOF. It shall be a rehear- sal for the torchlight dance at your wedding. Eckhof take the EcKHOF {looks about timidly). That is all very well. too. [inuch years since I have touched that noble.SWORD AND QUEUE tions of 305 my limbs. WiLHELMiNE. We have a violin. now play something for us and dance. You know sic the King's aversion toward violin if I mu- and dancing. Your Highness. and you are the lady. I play the violin. Princess. that magical instrument. It i^ a picture of WiLHELMiNE SoNNSFELD. With the King may SoNNSFELD. But Heavens it is three . sadly). Comc uow ! I'm the cavalier. then you can entertain this poor imprisoned Princess. my free will and my sense of personal dignity will perish at last. Just a little Frangaise. What are you thinking of? Queen's room over there? And the surprise us at any moment from the other side. where is the Crown Prince 's flute ? Of musici EcKHOF. From such a fate there is no release for the poor bought soldier —no release but death. —and now begin.'] Prince's entire orchestra hidden here. We have the Crown [She will violin. but you really should be glad that now you are something as you were nothing before and had not learned any — trade. [EcKHOF plays one of Vol. The two the simple naive dance ladies dance. SoNNSFELD. Here. (aside. I understand something of music. Ah. VII — 20 tunes of the day. I learned little from books but much from life. SoNNSFELD. goes to the cupboard and brings out a Here.] . my own sorrow. SoNNSFELD. we WiLHELMiNE. — moved] SoNNSFELD.

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 pris- SoNNSFELD. Your Majesty it was we who forced — him. WiLHELMiNE. As for you. They do not notice him.] SoNNSFELD. King. [The King takes her hand gently with one finger and dances a few steps. — — — ! — Scene II During the dance the King comer in softly through the door to the right. [Holds her hand out behind her hack] —Like this. He comes nearer and attempts to join the dance unobserved. WiLHELMiNE. Bravo. The Eckhof salutes with King the violin.] And your hand is strangely rough today. dear friend. [Dahcing. the tune in a gruff voice. dancers and the grenadier playing the\ violin.] How clumsy. He starts when he sees the WiLHELMiNE. Your Majesty have mercy! King. who had be- gun to hum three start in alarm.306 THE GERMAN CLASSICS This is going nicely ah. Forced him? Forced a soldier? Forced him to vio- duty in this devilish manner? I'll have to invent a punishment for him such as the Prussian army has never yet seen.] (angry). You are discharged from the army that serves under my . Conrad Eckhof. Havc mcrcy. [She turns and sees the King. oner he is set to watch? Pardou. Sonnsfcld. I'll talk to you later. I late his — know that is your name —I will tell you what glorious your punishment shall be. Eckhof! what joy to dance once more This way now la la la! [She hums the melody. that's not right! Now it's the gentleman's turn.

But you are not honored by being sent to a convict company or into the worthy station of a subject. .] WiLHELMiNE. out. has need of just such nymphs and graces for his court fireworks and his ballets. You call ter's heart for my because you lack a daughyour father." a clown of clowns — and henceforth amuse the German nation with your foolish and criminal jokes and quips. Sonnsfeld {going out. Wilhelmine ! [She goes out. the Elector of Saxony.SWORD AND QUEUE flag. You are to — — in the Cloister street. In his anger he chooses punishments that can only delight any King. Your Majesty. Listen to the fate I have decreed for you. Shame upon you EcKHOF ! {with a grateful glance to heaven. what have I done that I am so unhappy as always to arouse your displeasure? King. — become an actor. 307 discharged in disgrace. off the honorable Prussian uniform and to join this group of mountebanks. as a warning to every one. {Goes King. I thank his joyful excitement) Your Majesty for this most gracious sentence. I have brought up children in the good old German fashion I . ! Conrad Eckhof will endeavor to do honor to himself and his despised new profession. speaks aside).] And as for you. me "Majesty" . sent there by me. my Lady Sonnsfeld. person of refinement. pack up your belongings and be off to Dresden where my cousin. trying to conceal An actor Oh. you may. troop of German comedians has taken quarto be A ters in the Warehouse These mountebanks histriones are in straits because their clown for whom they sent to You are to take Leipzig. the sooner the better. has not arrived.

for This wigmaker who was to instruct you in all the ambiguities of the French language WiLHELMiNE. It expresses. In that — braided hair lies concentrated power. instead. He was. He was not a wigmaker. then you dislike him simply because you are so fond of your horrid pigtail. Father It Is that tone sincere? WiLHELMiNE. But I am tired of this eternal quarrel- ing with you. Have I succeeded in this I You havc puuishcd us severely enough our faults. "WiLHELMiNE. You will soon be free and mistress of your own actions. pious and well-brushed order. you will soon be able to do whatever you like. entwined obedience. an example of how the simplest honest household WiLHELMiNE. King. WiLHELMiNE.308 THE GERMAN CLASSICS have tried to keep all French vanities and French follies far from their childish hearts. — King. The pigtail is a man's best adornment. Well. fit symbol for a Christian gentleman. may be ruled. to revere the best of comes from a heart that men. King. you may read French . a simple. will never cease Then you realize that I desire only your happiness? Yes. King. on my throne I have tried to prove that Kings may set an example to their subjects. 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. I announce herewith that you will shortly be able to come and go ! at your own discretion. This present arrest shall be the last proof of my fatherly affection. falling gently down over the shoulders. if hc was. King. Wilhelmine.



Queen {to the Princess). My dear child. several lackeys follow. The Prince's friend? aside). You will have horses and carriages. WiLHELMiNE. dance the minuet. You will — — — Scene III The Queen comes in. father? King. Hush! Let us cast . and footmen. I to understand all this ? Pardon me. King {has been only half listening). What what is going to happen King. Good morning. keep an entire orchestra of musicians. But still I hear your mother.] Your Majesty. [Aloud. the Prince of Baireuth should take dear child. The Prince! [The Queen bows coldly to the King.] King {equally coldly). "WiLHELMiNE. How may I understand this. I here present to you the Envoy of the King of England. Kjng. WiLHELMiNE. Queen. wife. WiLHELMiNE {bows. It will all work out for the best. HOTHAM and leaning on the arm of the Prince of Bairetjth. I present to you precedence. I have arranged all things for your happiness and for your freedom. My here the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. Do not lose courage. WiLHELMiNE {aside. Queeu? see that I do in very truth deserve the name you gave me. Prince {bows.SWORD AND QUEUE 309 books. Prepare yourself for a weighty moment the moment of your betrothal. Baronet Hotham. Have you good news from Ansbach. This eternal mistake of hers. I hear there is a plan on foot to transplant Ansbach to Baireuth. the name of the best of fathers. surprised). speaJcs How am King. dear Prince! Prince {aside). speaks aside to Wilhelmine). as becomes a future Queen.

solemn moment imports. If I should ask you." King {looks surprised and pleased). Did you really write — that? Hotham. still have so many points of contact that they should seize every opportunity to come closer to each other. and King examines his pen. is WiLHELMiNE. what a happy — Queen. and customs. is it at the head of these Printing Hotham. Please Your Majesty I have already written "In God's name. companion of my life. going to happen! You. Has marriage is that anything to do with our daughter's wed- Do ding-contract I not interrupt me. King.] —here! Prince {aside). We are concerned here with an affiliation between two nations which. Hotham the commercial treaties [HoTHAM sits down at the centre of the — table. Couldn't you weave in something there about the . saith the Scriptures but you may begin now. — language. King.310 THE GERMAN CLASSICS aside all these earthly thoughts and plans and prepare ourselves for a work of sacred import. opens the portfolio which he has brought with him. You may not be conscious of it but I am fully aware of how much this — Hotham. manners. King. you are in the centre. [The lackeys place the table in the centre of the room and then go off. Kjlng. as my natural aide What Baronet Hotham. It is customary to print and similar contracts.] In God's name [After a {folding his hands). lays out sheets of paper. Wilhelmine. Sit down by your mother. not as good the letter killeth. although differing in . my faithful pause] spouse. Prince.

What must the envoy of the elegant court of St. — Queen {aside to the Peincess). the conditions are but just being drawn up. I give my daughter as dowry. as you say. wedding. And the conditions! [^Aside] I am eager to hear about the dowry. Accepted? King. The Priuce of Wales'? HoTHAM. Your Majesty. I trust that this is not Your Majesty's Baronet Hotham. Hush! Do not disturb idle chatter. I will bear the expense of the is all. But that Queen {rising). Pardon me. I can tell you that in fewer words. These chattering women Very good. Wilhelmine. His suit is accepted attendant upon the conditions here following. Wilhelmine. WiLHELMiNE. Queen. and a yearly pin-money of two thou- sand thalers. very well.SWORD AND QUEUE mans f 311 English being really descended from the Ger- That would lead us too far afield. James think of the manners of our Prussian Princesses ! King. But but how is this possible Peince {to the Peincess). to unite in the bonds of holy matrimony two of their illustrious scions. forty thousand thalers. Prince? Peince. Certainly. I beg you . Oh. real intention. King. The Prince of Wales sues for the hand of Princess HoTHAM. this solemn procedure by Wilhelmine. HoTHAM. ! think so. Baronet Hothe beginning was excellent. First paragraph King. Your Highness. Don't you tham. Such an opportunity now offers in the mutually expressed wish of the dynasties of England and Prussia. It was a good beginning. HoTHAM. [Aside] It was odious. Do not interrupt.

King. The question of dowry will offer but little diffi- culty to a country as rich as England. King. in case Your . Hotham. Very decent. King {seated). Questions? Points of discussion? Do you see anything to object to in my daughter? [He rises. I — would now like to present to you. with your gracious permission. I mean certain questions and points of discussion which. in the case of so intimate an alliance. Prince (aside).] HoTHAM. To take up one point. you fox! HoTHAM. Am I England. Your Majesty. Yes. Far more important are the political matters which. Be quiet. wouldn't it? Well? Parliament declares itself willing. must come up for especial consideration. King {half aside). Declares itself willing WiLHELMiNE. For this marriage Eng- land will confirm without hindrance Your Majesty's investiture of the Duchies Jiilich and Berg.] King. child. thanks.312 THE GERMAN CLASSICS will not include such a declaration in the protocol. there are certain advantages for both nations King. And furthermore Parliament declares willing itself King. What has Parliament to do with it? marrying the two houses of Parliament? QvEEN (half aloud). Advantages for Prussia? [He sits down again. for your mother. all political In have something parties to say in such matters. Political matters ? HoTHAM. h'm tle? — Not include in the protocol? thousand thalers in cash forty it — too H'm— lit- HoTHAM. You don't understand. that would be the country HoTHAM. — You may speak HoTHAM. then.

Wilhelmine. But continue con- — tinue ! Prince {aside). Well? Hotham. Just think. England would King. interruptions. feel grateful if the former friendly understanding. Wilhelmine. To interpellate means to harass and embarrass the government by continual contradictions. That's why your mother understood it at once. I am on tenter-hooks. For these many tokens of unselfish cordiality. which would make this marriage a true blessing for both countries. I should not have believed Parliament would be so amiable. My kindest greetings to Parliament. For all this we ask but one little concession.SWORD AND QUEUE 313 Majesty wishes to complete the conquest of Swedish-Pommerania. For this For this? Hotham. if the former friendly commercial King. Queen {pleased and excited). Much obliged. to be reviewed by me in detail later. my dear Hotham. to let the matter pass without an interpellation. interrupted somewhat since Your Majesty's illustrious accession to the throne. What sort of a new political torture is that! King {to the Princess). understanding Understanding? . and objections. ! King. Prussian industry has now reached a standard which renders England desirous of testing its products under certain conditions of importation. Hotham. Very polite indeed. proofs of a sincere desire to be enduringly united with a brother nation King. f Out with it Hotham. for further manifold proofs of political complaisance. Parliament promises not to interpellate.

] King. that I have sought to raise and ennoble the civilization of my country. as the price for the honor of an alliance with England. England asks for a new commercial King. A lackey — — appears. on the occasion of this auspicious union. our lanterns will blaze through the . Prince. Our festivities will take place for all that. that I have furthered commerce and industry. New commercial treaty? Commercial [He rises. in part. King. I have allowed you to remain in uncertainty concerning a dispatch which arrived this morning from Hanover. to repeal. The meeting is adthere is a slight pause. My ministers piness? ! Queen. King. welcomed in England with such rejoicing. —pro- What? HoTHAM. and if Your Majesty would graciously decide. gentlemen. 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. that now. treaty. What? You would sacrifice your daughter's hap- Scene IV Gbumbkow. Step nearer. promoted shipping. the present hibitive regulations HoTHAM. Seckendorp and three generals come in. In a word. poet. King.] journed. You shall now hear my formal answer to it. What's that? Is it for this then. — Queen. given an asylum within the state to thousands of religious refugees from France for this. do not be alarmed.314 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Could be restored. our cannon will thunder.

deeply touched by his affection still. Wilhelmine. And that is I HoTHAM. 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. Take to horse. in the eventuality of an Arch-Duke 's arrival. To Vienna! King. Prince. Your Majesty compels me. I? Wilhel King. and ride off within the hour.SWORD AND QUEUE night. Impossible Queen (triumphant). 315 to put Prince. My daughter 's hand is promised to Vienna. in Berlin? All. Peince. If you will drive me to the last stand. Geumbkow and Seckendoef. but controling himself). the welfare of my subjects I must beg of him to return whence — he came. voy of this Prince. moves me greatly. to make a certain declaration herewith King. Baronet Hotham. I breathe again. House will enter the walls of our capital. do you want me under Can it eternal obligation to you? Peince {misunderstanding). ! envoy to Vienna. Geumbkow and Seckendoef (together). you ride to Vienna as enmonarchy. The Prince of Wales arrived three hours ago. Within as special my a fortnight a scion of the illustrious Imperial HoTHAM. until he has been prop- erly registered at the gates of the capital. King (in real consternation. nay. Do you want to make me your debtor forever 1 Peince (joyfully). possible 1 Your Majesty! be King. the Im- . The Prince of Wales is already here. The Prince of Wales HoTHAM. if you would make the ground of hot for for me — then my own country too tell the Prince of Wales that although I am my family. under conditions threaten- ing the peace of my country. I confess that this news surprises.

The Prince of Wales in Berlin I can hardly realize it. if you must. the truth that is not yet credited in England.] ! — — — . Wilhelmine. it isn't cordially. Very well he who will have war [To Hotham] Have you any other instructions than those — — we have already heard? Hotham. for the contract with Vienna. Lord Hotham. but now the personal presence of the Prince of Wales has taken the decision out of our hands. Prince. gentlemen. I your pride found its limits at last? have pledged my word to England. None. possible holds out his hand. the news of the arrival of the Prince of "Wales gives Ride to Vienna. possibly [firm and decided again]. Grumbkow. Prince —become.] Queen (touched.316 THE GERMAN CLASSICS perial Crown you. Bring him to me and prepare him for everything but no do not mention to him those revolting forty thousand thalers. An hour ago. you have been witness to a scene which confirms for you the truth as to my posiSir. Foreign shall teach German peoples and egotism Princes how to be truly united. tion here. [He goes out cleave to into his study. And as for [aside to the Queen]. Then come to me. a traitor to a cause which will conquer. Your Majesty. has not Queen. Give me your arm. King (good-naturedly) But if [Comes nearer . me fresh hope. better so.] Seckendorf and Queen (to Hotham). Madame will console you. despite the intrigues of my enemies. hesitating). King. the generals follow. I will Germany with all my soul. A German state in England's stead! 'Tis better so. [She goes out with Hotham. — King.

is this your farewell while I prepare to meet death or despair? WiLHELMiNE. Oh. no. I must. You are trembling. 317 V to What do you say your friend now! ! The Prince of Wales in Berlin I do not know where I am in all this tangle. I will tell him now that I cannot do as he wishes. an honest suit for your hand in face of the danger of losing you I will go to the King. Can such language be deception! I realize what I owe to you. Prince. Frankness — even before the world.] [She Prince. turns to follow the Queen. But — tell me. No never. Hotham is a traitor. of following the call of your own inclination. do you trust your father's heart? . I will throw myself at his feet forever. WiLHELMiNE. yes. Prince. You doubt my sincerity. and confess with honest sincerity that you. I realize it now. when — — the glamour of the personal presence of a Prince of Wales may dazzle your eye perhaps even your heart? — WiLHELMiNE. Prince. Be more cautious in the future when you talk of friendship and love. Farewell. Princess. — I know your dutiful heart shudders at the thought of defying your parents. betrayed us all. It's uot SO easy to die in Vienna. Prince.SWORD AND QUEUE Scene WiLHELMiNE. begin to consider my heart only from the political point of view. And you believe that I will leave you now. Princess. Do you wish it? I love WiLHELMiNE {hesitating). Wilhelmine! — — WiLHELMiNE Prince. (aside). an ingrate who has be- trayed me. I will tell him. Princess ? You distrust a heart which has truly loved but once once and for all time loved you. Princess.

Wilhelmine then? If he reheart. hut — Then to —I fear that you roguish keep maidenly). Very shown confidence in me. he has — — tion? Prince. [She goes out quickly. Prince. She loves me. Your Highness? the King. Investigation by the Attorney-General —just . Prince. What else remains? Betrayed by Hotham. Then one thing is sure! I will now take the straight road into the very jaws of the lion.l — Scene VII EvERSMANN coTfies from the King's room. the arrival of the Prince of Wales provokes him to rebuke such hardiness. fuse the hand I'ask Wilhelmine (turning from hi7n). He has honored me. Prince. Whither. And if he grant it? Wilhelmine (overcome hy her emotion. allows her heart full sway. angry. What does that mean? is to undertake the Eversmann. The Duke of Weissenfels mission to Vienna. fuU of kincliiess and love. will not your word punish is still and me for torturing you so cruelly. Eversmann. Peince. Eversmann. there is naught but Wilhelmine 's love and my own courage. To You will find him very Angry at whom? Eversmann. You are joking! Eversmann. Prince. You will find consola- well. I w^ill show him what is in my and then. Prince. Angry at you. then.'] Scene VI Prince (alone).318 THE GERMAN CLASSICS It is WiLHELMiNE. [He goes toward the King's door.

Pardou me. Prince.SWORD AND QUEUE come Prince. Prince." Why this letter). The are pleased to hear that? traitor assures you on his honor that there could be no better means of fulfilling your heart's desire. It concerns the I must speak most important King.] EvERSMANN. The wigmaker confessed it all. You HoTHAM. You are quite mad. Prince {takes the of ''To my son. The Princess is under arrest — again. Prince. Good news. to — this is Berlin ! a formal decree of banishment from How could it happen just now ? EvERSMANN. affair of my whole [Starts for the door again. His Majesty knows you now as the emissary of the Crown Prince. The man was a wigto the maker. ! Prince. life. HoTHAM. kindness of the Prince of Baireuth. His Majesty sends you this letter. And you HoTHAM. Would you drive me mad? To throw a preliminary cold shower on your doubt [looks about cautiously] kindly read . Rheinsberg within twenty-four hours. [He goes out. Prince. I suspected Your Highness from the first. traitor There is more. It's merely a polite hint. Prince. the Crown Prince be delivered personally in Prussia.] Betrayed forsaken by all HoTHAM (coming hastily from the Queen's room). call that good news. to the 319 King's ears. sent to stir up a revolution here in Berlin and in the palace. Prince. The traitor is pleased to hear that you also have fallen under the ban of the royal displeasure. Wish you a — pleasant journey to Rheinsberg. Everything is discovered and not only the matter of Rapiniere.

June the fifth HoTHAM (indicating a line lower down). But come now. Prince. "You ask for news from court. James at this moment. — — Prince. You mean? [They both go out. up the chimney. Just as since our commercial treaty is as I am mistaken in your chances. There read there. not here ^but he is here The Prince of Wales is — here. more confidence in Hotham's friendship. doughtier ally. The Prince of Wales is not in Berlin? place devotion — HoTHAM. hut smiling). nowhere where he would be in our way. doomed. behind the screen. under the earth. Wales ? " HoTHAM. The Prince of Wales. 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 anx— iety and terror your doughty rival but your still Prince (in HoTHAM. ''London.] . despite arrest and displeasure. We are very poor in such news just now. Prince (reads). Prince. and cleverness. H'st! for We know all he is the others. You are to believe that you could well afford to Prince (reads). I am not deceived in your friend- ship? HoTHAM. please. Hotham ! Then little. A billet-doux from your Prince Read it. in the air. in all Prince. But what am I to think? What am I to believe? HoTHAM. but anywhere where we might need him for the merriest comedy the world. there. The Prince of Wales is still hunting wild boars in the Welsh mountains. Just as little as you are in the Palace of St.320 THE GERMAN CLASSICS this portion of a letter I have but just of re- ceived." The Prince is not in Berlin? HoTHAM (still cautious. laughing surprise).

321 Scene I of Act Scene EvERSMANN comes from I the King's room. When he speaks you see that one eye-tooth is missing Eveesmann.] Ha. ha! the white — 21 ! . 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. It is the court tailor most likely. if such a one should appear at night about the castle. stooping slightly his frail left in Ber- shoulder higher than the right. VII to the door. Eversmann. The King has recognized it. these days. all our pro-Austrian plans are in danger. Pst! Evers- Have you seen him yet? Eveesmann. Eversmann. The King will not recognize the presence of the Prince of Wales. pass unhindered and even unchallenged.] Every noise startles me Eveesmann. [Low. We are being deceived. Seckendoef {puts his head in at another door). He is indeed lin mann! —he has been seen everywhere. Count? Seckendoef. Writing materials on the table.] 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. [He goes domino Vol. Unter den Linden —by the river — even beyond Treptow — — a figure of a man. Seen whom. [There is a knock at the door. The Prince of Wales. pardon me. The same as in II. Seckendoef.SWORD AND QUEUE ACT IV Anteroom in the King's apartments.

Can there be some secret doings here? Seckendorf {aside). A white domino the Prince of Wales? Seckendorf {aside). I must have certainty.] Seckendorf {startled.] Seckendorf {aside). [Eversmann returns with a little package which he opens. [He goes out into the King's room. This is the moment when I must show my whole power. aside). sented to give me a farewell audience. May I ask how His {aside). can give — Royal Highness. Most happy to meet you. That the Prince of Wales? Hotham {aside).] Now. What's the key to this new riddle? Hotham {aside). Hotham {aside). I will question Baronet Hotham cau{to Hotham). Hotham Mayhap this much-decorated gentleman me some information. smiling. osity. if you wish to see the Prince of Wales [Pointing to the domino] here he is. perceives. is enjoying himself in Berlin? I am Count Seckendorf.] Eversmann you at once. I will announce sir. Hotham. the Prince of Wales. [Points after Eversmann. In the best hands? Is he As Your Excellency moment in the very mocking me or is he deceived himself? It looks as though he too were in the conspiracy.322 THE GERMAN CLASSICS can the court tailor be doing here? And a white domino? Vienna's interests are in danger. tiously. drawing out a white dotnino. The court What Scene II HoTHAM {comes His Majesty graciously conin. bows). he is at this best hands. Count Seckendorf. The King does favor England. tailor? Seckendorf. [To Seckendorf. Seckendorf {clearing his throat). This misunderstanding whets my curi- .

to bring up the talk about the White Lady just at this time. Seckendoef (aside). Seckendoef. The King's Cabinet! Where the Court tailor has just taken the white domino? [Aloud. connected for centuries with the House of Brandenberg? Your Excellency. And I hear that the White Lady has been seen again recently. ha! because these — . ha! And — you believe that no one sees through this fine game ? You do not which realize that there are eyes 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 lenged because —ha. I am. I am told. They history of the HoTHAM. we have opposed the suit Wales. Procure me an opportunity to speak and I will consider it an honor be allowed to repeat this assurance in his HoTHAM presence. but that he King at any hour. Recently? It is a conspiracy. The King may have his own reasons for that.] double-dealing. this is [Aloud. The Prince of Wales and the King have a thorough understanding with each other. do you happen to be acquainted with the legend of the White Lady. What grounds have you HoTHAM. own The door of His. 323 You are in error. for your belief? Seckendoef. Majesty's Cabinet is. Baronet. the are deceiving us under cloak of the mystery of White Lady. to if you believe that of the Prince of to the Prince.] H'm! Baronet Hotham. is is received HoTHAM. Seckendoef (aside). (pointing to the King's door). always open to the Imperial Envoy. The King? The King has his ha. It was neatly done. are let pass unchalha. Baronet Hotham.SWORD AND QUEUE Seckendoef. Be honest! Confess that the Prince by the not only here.

banished from the palace and from the city. [He goes out. and presuppose a tender thoughtfulness for the young adventurer on family or political grounds. then —with the excuse of — in- troducing the Prince of Wales. But. whose power of diplomatic manipulation has not yet been excelled. But do not trust too much to the King's indulgence toward the Prince of "Wales. but winning only imperfect knowledge. 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. And I at least should be very sorry for a young diplomat. connect the sentry order with the ghost of the Prince of Wales.324 THE GERMAN CLASSICS 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. he may not wish him compromised. back again quite unhindered to his captive princess and even.] Why. who cannot profit by a direct hint from a statesman of twenty years' experience. The King himself plans some midnight adventure. prying into everything. . that is all the Prince has to hope for here. He is his nephew. Therefore he allows him to pass in and out in disguise. tries. just beginning his career as you are. Delicious! [He sits down to write on a paper he has taken frorn his portfolio. and does not wish interference on the part of his senHis favorites. Then the sentries let the white domino pass unchallenged.] Scene III HoTHAM (alone). I might bring the poor Prince of Baireuth. believe me.

Tell him that a country's turies of preparation to be able to sell at the low prices quoted by English merchants. King {sitting. Baronet Hotham is about to ask Your Majesty King. King {paying no attention). Tell him that I send my regards to him and his English price-lists. And now. Tell him Grumbkow. Grumbkow. Who is it. Gkumbkow and Eversmann follow. dressed for the street. Baronet Hotham General. Grumbkow {in the centre). The incident it is closed. German manufacturers need a chance to catch up with what the English already know about spinning and weaving. Hotham. Hotham {to Grumbkow). — . Baronet Hotham.] You see. His Majesty is present. I prefer the customary procedure. — The King approaches.'] King {still outside). EliNG {coming in). I prefer the customary procedure. Tell in person for his dismissal. will you say to His that I deeply regret having failed in Majesty my mission? Tell him industries need cen- Grumbkow. [The King comes m. absorbed in his note-booh) Very good. Grumbkow {designating the bowing Hotham). him Prussia is putting her best foot forward. Baronet Hotham desires to pay his respects to Your Majesty personally. Grumbkow. [He sits down. We in Berlin are not cottonwards inclined just at present.SWORD AND QUEUE 325 The sun shines once more to the Queen. for the account of the Prince of Wales that I'm planning to build a couple of new gates in Berlin. but there is another storm to conquer first. but for . My ministers can attend to now. Will you not address His Majesty in person? Hotham. you say? Grumbkow. tell him.

one that as may suppose the Princess Wilhelmine to cherish the same feeling for her cousin. Understand? Grumbkow. strong young man. a close friend of mine. of good family. And kindly add. Grumbkow. Very good. General von Grumbkow. General. If His Majesty should seem inclined. General von Grumbkow. Kindly state. that I have a favor to beg of His Majesty before departing. HoTHAM. HoTHAM. Baronet Hotham. Pay no to the tomed to obey my wishes. out of the nobility of his heart. Grumbkow. the attention to that. Very well. HoTHAM. fully . HoTHAM. young man. as King. Grumbkow. King. and that I most heartily wish all Englishmen were of his the will furnish his sort. that the young man will take service in His Majesty's army. HoTHAM. then tell him that I know of a finely-built. who would deem it an honor to serve up from the ranks under His Majesty's glorious flag. Grumbkow. you might casually inquire what a favor General it is sort of he wants. to make amends for the cruel manner in which he has just dismissed an ardent admirer of his military greatness. Tour Majesty. But announce gentleman that my children are accus- Prince of Wales. you may In the matter of ask him if the recruit own equipment.326 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the present he'll have to put up with the old ones through which to leave the city. you may tell Baronet Hotham that his personality and manner have pleased me greatly. And you might add. Grumbkow. and that the affair with Vienna is as good as settled. King.

begs for a place with the Dragoons of the all Guard in Potsdam. I am most curious. as a sign of our friendship. in a small. Dear me way — our police of clubs or private affairs. too. No — no. a small but select circle of men on whom he bestows his confidence. That's a fine regiment. a position as recruiting officer? He would decline this honor. who is doubtless destined to introduce Prussian tactics into England. suppose we offered Baronet Hotham. They in the Guard. to present himself personally to His Majesty in a few days. King. would serve better on foot HoTHAM. Grumbkow. and that he furthermore brings with him a neat little inheritance of his own. A certain genial personage gathers around him several times weekly. permit that sort of thing in Berlin? Eeally. King. but he would beg another favor. . Grumbkow. Potsdam? That won't do.SWOED AND QUEUE 327 equipped according to regulations. at least —join the . In journals. Quite what one might expect from a born Englishman. He or to horse. ask the Baronet whether the young man. that all is ? HoTHAM. we read of a certain gathering in Berlin which goes in the beyond anything an Englishman can imagine King. Hotham. his hair and his heart in the right place. King. want to serve But he can for Glasenapp Mus- — ke tiers in Pasewalk. a while. in all records of travel. And HoTHAM. low-ceilinged room in the palace. . King {more and more pleased). Please express my sincere thanks to His Ma- The young recruit will have the honor jesty. . HoTHAM.

That reconciles me can you smoke? and the choice ! — — — Hotham. Some who do not smoke hold cold pipes between their teeth. And you have the gentleman has no. they entertain each other in the most unrestrained manner in spite of the exalted position held by most of these men. is made by lot.328 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Sitting on sleeves. Come to our conference tonight. We will wash down our diplomatic disagreement with a good drink of beer. King. Give me your hand. . at least. King. I'm having quite a good sort grown here in the Mark Brandenberg now. and blue clouds of smoke from our pipes shall waft away all the intrigues. Each and every one can in turn become the butt of merry satire. Grumbkow I believe he means our Smoker. that they may not mar the harmony of the picture. I fear I should have to decline trying that. Hotham. you have heard of my Smokers 1 You have said nice things about them. Baronet." King. often in their shirtbeer tankards before them on the great open table. Dutch clay pipes in their mouths. Yes. One member of the circle is singled out nightly as an object for mirth. plots and countobaccos as well. the light Dutch Varinas. King. Baronet Hotham.] I shan't use the customary procedure any more. wooden stools. HoTHAM. [He rises. I have that — and the Porto-Rican and Hungarian In fact. Your Majesty. The world-renowned Prussian "tobacco-conference. 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. Egad. ter-plots.

to play the fox ! hounds We'll find some one to be the central figure this evening. to such HoTHAM King. takes a partly written letter from his portfolio and reads it. You must be among the laughers. That sort of amusement pleases me mightily. (aside). HoTHAM. the Smoker is at eight o'clock. with . then. Now for my letter to the Queen.] Scene IV Hotham {alone). For in the matter of drinking we pay no attention to the customary procedure. and I would permit it to come into this country without excise or other duty. followed by all except Hotham. Your pardon for this queer audience of dismissal.SWORD AND QUEUE Grumbkow. Baronet! it will be a hot skirmish. and then you can tell us something of the cockfights and the boxing-bouts in England.] ''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. Excellent! We adapt ourselves to circumstances and circumstances adapt themselves to us. who is to furnish the source of amusement tonight? Will Your Majesty take me as the scapegoat? But —Your Oho. but desires. 329 Majesty. He hopes not only for the happiness of pressing a kiss on Your Majesty's hand. [He goes out. Very well. He who has been under fire from a dozen such old soldiers needs a week or two to recover from the experience. Bring a brave thirst with you. [He sits down. King. A pleasing fate indeed.

" [He begins to write. to do him the pleasure to attend his Smoker! HoTHAM. there he is! Prince {looking in cautiously). IVe been looking for you everywhere. You're —you're laughing. Hotham. What [Hotham laughs heart- ily.] *'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. You know the value the King sets on his nightly smoking-bouts. Another Royal mission? Prince. It's are you laughing at? unspeakably comical. finally to look upon his dear affianced. I can scarce believe it myself. as represented by the in- — vited guests. Disconsolate. You have an invitation? Prince. But imagine my astonishment at the surprise in store for me. can storm the fortress of the mother's heart. I anticipated some new humiliation." There the young people can see each other again. Use all your power to free the Princess from her imprisonment for this evening. pecial He invites to these gatherings only persons for plans.] Hotham. I was for the journey. before my departure tonight.] Now if I could find tht Prince Ah. whom he has esNow picture my amazement when I learned that His Majesty begs me. and can win for themselves the support of public opinion. . the Princess Wilhelmine. and stopped to cast preparing one last look up to the windows behind which my beloved suite sits captive —a lackey of the King's approached me. What do you think has just happened to me? HoTHAM.330 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS all the longing of an ardent heart. [He seals the letter.

SWORD AND QUEUE Peince. And baiting. those in charge have bestirred themselves to find royal game for the Prince. I will be there. It would . the matter with you? Stand up straight breast thrown out at your back What do you mean? his hair). —hands — side — no. Peince. methinks. And that I may en- joy the true savor of the customary and. then out with my sword — ! — — and at them ! Hotham. As a consequence of a most droll diplomatic transaction. I will take place at the foot of the great table. Comical? I should consider first it when a sovereign humiliates us and then suddenly heaps amiabilities upon What is HoTHAM. Hotham. Prince! Excellent! That's the right mood! this That is the language one must use in court. but I humbly my warn you that my patience is exhausted. sometimes strongly realistic entertain- ment of such occasions. What are you doing to my hair? And you're still laughing HoTHAM. I am to be —the game? This is too much! I will be there. Bravo. —head up to more the Prince. 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 and should the shafts this brutal despotism be too weak to penetrate their leathern harness. The hour draws near. I will show them that I have weapons to parry the jibes of rough soldiers. I also have been honored with an ! invitation to the Smoker. PIoTHAM {pulling Fine growth — fine strong growth. then. us. 331 rather tragical. weapons I have not yet brought into play. Hotham.

A plain low-ceilinged room in the palace. One door The walls are gray.'\ are ready to aid my plan. Cherish this noble anger. is in the centre. Prince ! Rage as much as you will snort like an angry — [Takes him by the arm and leads hiTYi more heap it up there. Then. He has a short Dutch pipe fully behind him. The King comes from the door on form. I am willing to bear the burdens and cares of government. My only recreation! While I may keep this little diversion. Are they gathering already? EvEESMANN. King. Those Bernau brewers had best have a care I may pay an unexpected visit to their brewery. as we set out for the Smoker but I see you are in no mood for ex- you now. [They go out. — . — planations. Then they bring tankards on wooden platters and set them in a circle on the table. It might be better. How about the white smock I ordered? EvERSMANN. Is the beer right fresh? And a little bitter. The a small window Lackeys carry in an oaken table and place a number of wooden stools around it. Aye — and some are fuming already outside there.'] Scene V at the left. now out. More — — — ing him to respect you. main entrance at the right. King. which is none you other than to have you win the King by forctiger. King. The lackeys go out. the left in easy. eh? EvERSMANN. he shuts the door care- King. Ready at hand. A brazier with live coals is also brought in.332 THE GERMAN CLASSICS take us too far a-field were I to detail to my plans I will first dispatch this letter to the Queen. Are the clay can- nons loaded? EvERSMANN. There's noise enough outside there. undress house uniin his mouth.

last of all. King. Count Wartensleben. There is a pause. Your Majesty. A dozen women have been invited there tonight. Passing the King they touch their hats and remove their Hotham and the Prince of Baireuth come pipes for a moment. Good evening. Good evening. Wartensleben. •Count Schwerin. King. Pipe draw well! {with the prescribed greeting). Good evening. Your Majesty. The door to the right is thrown open and the members of the Tobacco-Conference come in. Good evening. and a — great conspiracy is going forward. Orumbkow . led by Grtjmbkow and Seckendorf. Everything is ready for Your Majesty. Your Majesty. 333 meeting is over you know what I have planned EvERSMANN. carrying pipes in their mouths. EvEESMANN. Seckendorf.] [The King walks to the window. King. But wait a bit I'll be with you. Fine! Thanks. Schwerin. This day has begun weightily and shall end — — weightily. King. The King stands to the left and lets the procession move past him toward the right of the room.] Three rooms Light in my wife 's apartments again illuminated where one would have been enough and tallow so expensive now. King. ! King. You may go now. Your Majesty. Good evening. Grumbkow. There are about ten of them besides the principal actors. with the Prince of Wales received incognito all to defy me. Your Majesty.SWOKD AND QUEUE King. remaining Yes. Scene VI A small clock strikes ten. Your Majesty. Good evening. Does it taste good? Schwerin. Good evening. there for a feiv motnents. They come in solemnly. Good evening. [He goes out. wearing their hats. The door is to be opened at the tlie When — stroke of ten. Seckendorf.

you will have something good about my family to tell them in Rheinsberg. the subject this evening? Ha. gentlemen choice — the smoke of war levels — —free all rank. [HoTHAM and the Prince of Baireuth come in. Seckendorf.334 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Wartensleben. I am hoping that I may find fire enough here. The others pass one after the other.] King. We'll soon begin to tap the Prince.] Tell me. Take your once. Thanks.] no formalities seats. serving the guests. or sometimes several at King. To His Majesty's health! King. Lay on. [He moves past the King. But the promised for subject. oh! Prince. and so forth. Your Majesty. gentlemen there stand the care-chasers. Prince {with suppressed anger). His brow is already bedewed with the sweat of anxiety. [Aloud. that you are come. Your Majesty.] ing Grumbkow.] But your pipe is cold. The Prince of Baireuth? Prince. with similar greetings. [Aside. after such a day of annoyance and sorrow let us rather drink to cheer. since you have windbagged yourself about so much of the world do they smoke Be merciful. (aside). at least. ha! The target? There it comes. and a happy turn of wit! [They touch glasses with one another. Prince. Good evening. No. Now.] All. [The company sit down. Hotham and the Prince at the other. passcoal for the pipes. let us rather drink. jollity. Right. — tobacco in Versailles also ? . Grumbkow King (aside). the King and Grumbkow at one end of the table. King. Grumbkow. Evers- — — MANN moves King (aside). I wager it will be right jolly to- night.] Spy! [Aloud. Yes. about. King.



Eversmann. Our costly. is there no news from Lies? Ansbach in the journals? HoTHAM Arm yourself.SWORD AND QUEUE Prince. . King (aside). have growth. It's we'll not introduce that fashion not because of the taste. They say that many deserters have again fled from Potsdam. On with the attack. King. Count. King. it. Prince. Your Excellency. Then. what do the Dutch write about Prussia ? little Eversmann. Grumbkow. here. full of lies. Prince? Prince. Eversmann (impertinently). Eversmann. Tell me. 335 No. there be news from such a King. that explains why our beer is so sour. Your Majesty. Brr! Grumbkow. sailors use tobacco as a remedy for scurvy. but such meals would be right HoTHAM. Outrageous things. a disease which begins with he's pricked. unfortunately. Grumbkow. Take notice. me rather. King. That's not a lie. is Seckendorf. according to the proverb. Why should (aside to Prince). have the newest Dutch journals arrived? Yes. so they say. Prince. But they express themselves with more politeness in Holland. They say that Your Majesty's Guards consist mostly of men who suffer from an abnormal These giants. evil tongue. What an scurvy? is The scurvy. where they shoot up to such an extent periods that they grow and grow beyond the tree-tops and disappear altogether from human ken. How then. as usual. but I've seen sailors in Lon- don who chew King. Be quiet! Tell country? Prussia also was once a little country. Eversmann. Grumbkow.

[All laugh. no newspaper dare appear in Prussia. wit. Prince. HoTHAM They want to make you drunk. I imagined that Your Highness read only French journals. Seckendorf. Pkince. (aside). Hotham? HoTHAM. time to exercise your (aside). He invented iron ramrods. Now. my son . he 's not afraid to speak his mind. Hush I will choose —I'm getting something ready. HoTHAM {aside to Peince). King. Not too sharp it's — ^be milder at Grumbkow Seckendorf King. time. fitting has already discovered that. Do you know that. Aha. ha! Wittily expressed. keep his glass well filled (aside).] See. first. King. what did the old Dessauer invent? Seckendorf (aside).] Eversmann. you see. (aside). you see. But do you know for what great invention mankind is indebted to the old Dessauer? Prince (aside). Your Majesty King. It can't be gunpowder. You know the old Dessauer. Push your tankard nearer my place. Prince. Prince. Ha.336 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Ha. because Count Seckendorf Seckendorf King.] Never mind. see. King. But drink. thanks to General von Grumbkow 's policies. [Aside. ha! There you have it! [Aside. I'll wait the moment. now we have caught him. Prince? Prince (surprised). Grumbkow. my own But you're not drinking. I would rather read Prussian newspapers. Your Majesty wishes to know what what the old — — Dessauer invented? King. Prince. But. Damn their cross-questioning say it was gaiters. Yes. Why. drink. Grumbkow. 'Twill be a merry night. You're expected to drink here.

(to Prince). HoTHAM You're done for you've lost everything. you are a most excellent speaker. that of anything like that.'] if slightly tankard in his hand. and whatever their heathen names may be. Give us a speech.] Bravo. Prince. Yes. — ! — — merry company? King. Who the devil could think of iron ramrods! Grumbkow (rising). Out with it. VII — 22 — And let that we need waste no time him discuss me. [They All. ing. Make him respect you be as brutal as he is pretend to be drunk. Speaks as King Prince. The question is what shall he talk about? King. 'Tis done ! choice Vol. They all laugh. I believe he's hipped. all rise except the King. King.] HoTHAM.] a pleasant journey. What if he were to discuss some member of this King.] Is he drink- Eversmann? Don't let slip HoTHAM Prince. I could suggest an interesting subject. About anything whatever he chooses. Prince. — in . King. Gentlemen (aside). for all Ms Homers and Voltaires. HoTHAM. Prince (aside). It was shameful perfidy! HoTHAM (aside). a speech speech [The Prince rests his head in his hands and does not rise. his all sit down after having touched glasses amid intoxicated).SWORD AND QUEUE 337 in Rheinsberg. HoTHAM. All. And — and— and — I thank you. He's done for. Your Majesty: we must have him make a speech now. the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth. he gathers round him. your advantage. We'll drink a pleasant journey to His Highness. — — — [They Prince (rises. (aside). [He sits down. Grumbkow. laughter. couldn't think [Aside.

is composed entirely of false- (aside). King. . [Aside. warm — HoTHAM. they're merry just the same. King of Prussia. Well —well—by his own fault! own fault. Friedrich Wilhelm I. Merry company cheerful mourners permit me to interrupt your enjoyment by a few painful remarks on the qualities of the deceased. Well.] In I am curious to know whether such a tas. so his mind. he staggers slightly then controls himself). under the influence of disturbing emotions. HoTHAM Peince. Give us a speech about me. King. Peince. Peince. noble in itself. Merry? I'm dead. As with all those who owe their education to their ! own efforts. King. he simplified administration. The Prince of Baireuth us a speech about me. he im- proved judicial procedure.. It's very All Your Majesty! King. Your Majesty ! Quiet Silence all. let it be as if I had just died will give vino Veri- HoTHAM. Merry company! King.338 THE GERMAN CLASSICS (startled). Peince (steps forward. begin. Eversmann. Contradictions Peince. Painful remarks? That's a good beginning. King. in whose character were united the ! — — strangest contradictions. was a great man. But the enjoyment of all these blessings his was spoiled for him by King. the saddest of which was distrust. French windbag hoods. King. These are nice things I hear. No hesitation— Prince Please ourselves [Opens his coat. No matter. here. This is the decisive moment. Gad is that true ? Peince. He brought his country to a high degree of pros- perity.] Let's make comfortable. fell King.

but his tastes were sufficiently simple to let him prefer satisfying this desire in the bosom of his own family. His son's unhappy history is so well known that I can pass over it in silence. Prince. 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. now there. When fatigued he could not conceal his desire for pleasant recreation. EvERSMANN. The father's deeds will remain the foundation of this state. But a milder spirit will reign in the land. In silence ? Prince. Now he is departed. now here. He would have grafted stem to stem. Those minions who during his lifetime came between the heart of the mother and the heart of the husband and father. youth on age. those minions tremble now. In planning to bestow the hand of his charming daughter. King. the arts and sciences will outdistance the fame of cannon and bullet. Friedrich Wilhelm could not understand the freedom of the human will. . surely! Prince. . . been drinking heavily. But even here. Eversmann. child?" — : King. His vivacity of spirit kept him in a continual unrest which was as painful to others as to himself. this unfortunate sovereign made for himself a bed of thorns.SWORD AND QUEUE Seckendorf Peince. And the soaring eagle of Prussia will now truly fulfil his device. take this pipe. where he might have reposed on a couch of roses. It remains to be seen how the misunderstood son will dispose of them. There'll be a misfortune. Nee Soli Cedis — or. 339 The young man must indeed have (aside). . son on father.

Prince. Prince. me something to What hour is it? drink.] " . ] tham.!] [Lookhe's only a bookish Pity offi- man. you.'] my choice make you happy. Good night. let them tell you that the King touched glasses with EvEESMANN. brushes angrily past the trium- Eversmann. when you have come to your senses tomorrow. [Eveksmann takes up a candlestick with cious haste.340 THE GERMAN CLASSICS to put it in German. At Your Majesty's service.] May I light Your Majesty on your visit — to King (interrupts him with the Prince's words). child?" "Does ing at the Prince. Hotham. (Aside. give King (after a pause). [He goes out. He doesn't understand. King (taking a tankard from the table). stand aside from out thy path!" [He recoland after a pause returns to the Hotable. Translate it into sober language for him. during which he glances over them all] I would be alone. again pretending drunkenness. [He turns again and looks at the Prince thoughtfully. repeating the words.) If we should meet the Prince of Wales now. gentlemen. "Even the sun's glance Even the sun shall shall not dazzle thee! lects himself. King. Your Majesty. woe unto him. "These minions tremble [After a pause. phant Hotham and throws a glance of suppressed rage at the Prince. Eleven past.

That is high treason. . Candles on and tea service. The Princess has been instructed. night in strictest incognito. There! And now be ready to re- ceive the ladies at the little side stairway. playing-cards. A window Three doors. do you hear out. the tables. centre. So that our festival may not be observed.] concerned in this conspiracy? down you SoNNSFELD. at whatever cost. The Queen has taken all responsibility. risks her Kamke. She knows that I will come to her room and remain there in her place to deceive the sentry. They will arrive in sedan chairs. Kamke. to 341 the right. Tables and chairs. and left. remem- SoNNSFELD. Scene I Kamke dow. The Queen wishes to see the Princess amid the circle of friends whom she has invited this evening for a secret purpose. Kamke {on the ladder). Is everything in readiness? You're planning to free the Princess from her imprisonment? ber. Ah. [The lackeys go SoNNSFELD {comes in from the left). It must succeed. She own freedom for that of her daughand will receive the Prince of Wales toter. why are you draping that window ? Kamke. No noise. right. She will meet you in the Blue Room.SWORD AND QUEUE ACT V A drawing-room in the Queen's apartments. [Comtoo are Then ing off the ladder. stands on a step-ladder fastening a large curtain over the winTwo lackeys are assisting him.] —softly— softly. at last a festival of which the Prussian Court need not be ashamed.

Hush — from Rheinsberg HoLZENDOKF. the Prince of Wales Viekeck (low). that His Highness. through the centre door. Feau von Holzendorp. Doubtless at the same time with His Highness. (horrified). Viekeck. Has His Majesty the King gone from home? Viekeck. Kamke. What can Her Majesty the Queen be planning for tonight? HoLZENDORF. the Crown Prince. Viekeck (whispering). at the French Embassy. had come ! ! . . Step cautiously if only HoLZENDOKF (wMspering) It's all quiet here these wretched shoes of mine didn't creak so. I heard it said. quickly. Yes. They say the Crown Prince has again disagreed with his father on questions concerning the future administration of the state.342 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Kamke. no. — and you will lead her from the door at the Kamke. The Blue Room where for the last few nights the White Lady has been seen? SoNNSFELD. Me? She will speak to — — Kamke Kamke. and about six more laddes enter cautiously. My lady —whom—whom? The Princess Wilhel- mine? SoNNSFELD (goifig out). At the moment both are at the King's Smoker. you — me Me? SoNNSFELD {pulUfig — Mm to the ^I mean you Blue Room you will take her hand and bring her safely hither by the surest and quickest route. one by one. the White Lady but come quickly now.] — Scene II Frau von Viereck. No. [They both go out. — right). She will meet you there SoNNSFELD.

ViERECK. you do not yet know what surprises this evening has in store for Surpriscs. Cards. ViERECK. there. Pray sit down. the table. I have decided to be more sociable in future and to have you with me oftener than I have done of late. ViERECK {aside). ladies! There are cards on Hush! I hear a noise. I know. commanded that Princess Wilhel- mine. so they say. are devoted to me. HoLZENDORF. Ladies. Your Majesty? For eighteen years now I cannot recall having seen a card in the palace.'\ Queen. Queen {indicating Sit my Try your Frau von Viereck. Your Majesty? a card-table near the tvindow). ladies. We will change all that. Welcome. — through that curtain? v . Frau von Viereck? ViERECK. the cause of the quarrel. but that the Prince of Wales took the part of the Crown Prince. be sent to Kiistrin at once. I am happy to have about me once again the circle of those who. Queen. in the heat of the argument. HoLZENDORF. It is the Good Heaveus. The Prince received ? of Wales? Then he has been And the King. you have not yet heard my plans. full toilet. Heavens play cards there? When every outline of my shadow can plainly be seen luck with down dear Holzendorf.SWORD AND QUEUE HoLZENDORF. Is it 343 possible? And they say that the Prince of Baireuth tried to bring about a reconciliation. ViERECK. Will you have a game of cards. [The Queen comes in in excited and yet timorous. you HoLZENDORF. She is The ladies hoiv. Queen.

. Yes. trembling). And coffee? These forbidden beverages? HoLZENDORF. HoLZENDORF. What does this mean? [The knock is repeated. not even by any surprise. ous longing of a being whom my courage has freed from a humiliating situation. ning Who. ladies. The evewill offer one surprise after another. This is but the beginning of to pass this ** „ many things that will come — evening. is at that door now? [The knock is repeated.] HoLZENDORF.] Queen. ladies. And yet it is. in assurance of [There is a knock at the perfect safety door. Queen. Why — [The lackeys place the table farther from the window. If His Majosty the King Queen. Have no fear. do you imagine. do you hesitate? Have we Your Majesty's permission to draw the There there is so tables nearer together? much air at this window.] ages of China and the Levant shall from now on no longer be strangers to our court. Give your feelings full sway express yourself without fear. Do not allow yourselves to be disturbed by anything that may occur. beloved being. [Lackeys come in with Order what pleases you. The ladies all rise as if — frightened. What is tMs ? Tea? ViERECK.] Moderate your impatience.] There is no danger. The hand seems none of the most delicate. this evening a new era begins for our monarchy.] Was not that a knock ? ViERECK (aside. ladies. I will break at last with the established etiquette. And so I cry in over- flowing emotion [There is another knock. You may resume your seats. The bevertrays. Queen ViERECK. Be calm.344 THE GERMAN CLASSICS (sitting). That knock expresses the impetu- Queen. right.

IThe ladies ror.] What's that? Tea? Chocolate? Coffee? will — Queen. how fine we are here.] Frau von Viereck.] Scene III The King steps in. his hat pulled down over his face. I imagine.] Viereck (tries to hide the cards behind her back).] King. On my word. Your Majesty [The ladies place themselves so that they screen the table. Yes. King (angry. Do not let me disturb you. King. have been keepwith your age long enough. Your Majesty surely —permit us—to keep pace with our age. very fine indeed! And how nice it does look with so many lights several.] Queen (aside. They hide the cards quickly.SWORD AND QUEUE you shall mother!" find 345 here what you seek —your [She opens the door. all rise with exclamations of horhis hat. you. King.] [He looks into cups. Your Majesty such graciousness [She holds out one hand. He is wrapped in a white cloak. [Slyly he holds out his hand to her. but forcing himself to be affable). About ing pace thirty years ago you'd give an old boy like myself a handshake occasionally. ladies? Did pect such a visitor? The King removes crushed). What is your Enparticular entertainment this evening? a cup of soup. The King! burning. — . Frau von Holzendorf ? joying Oho the silver service? [Comes nearer. ladies.] you hiding yourselves. [He blows out Why you are ex- Queen. your mother.

] Did you not drop something? My [He stands as if speechless.] Who knocks there? Queen (aside).] Queen. Was that not another knock? [A stronger knock.] What do I see Wilhelmine ! ! 'WiL. that you were only telling your fortunes from [To the Playing-cards! madam a Christian court — — ! I am quite sure. And I King. Frau von Viereck King. I do believe. husband also.] This castle is haunted. Frau von Viethat you were merely endeavoring to asreck. comes in cautiously. [There is a knock from the left. King. Surely or is it possible? Money on the tables [He clasps his hands in horror. A veiled lady! And such mysterious visitors are received here? [He lifts the veil.uBL. is heard.Mi'H-E (throwing herself at his feet).] [He goes to the door himself and opens Scene IV Wilhelmine.] You are awaiting more visitors? Come in! it. certain whether you would bury your fifth the cards.] You have been playing? at my a knock [There at the door to the left. This is a nice reception. lets the What's that? God! Cards! cards fall behind her back. wearing a white veil and domino. ladies. and cards I am Frau von Viereck. [ViERECK King. give Father! For- me ! This invasion of the State Prison this attack on my sovereign will? Wilhelmine (rising. I know. It is Wilhelmine or the Prince of Wales! is — court? —playing— cards? am lost! ! — — — — — I [Another gentle knock King. Forgive you? — .] King.] Cards. aside).346 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Both. — let me have both. prophesying from those cards. you were merely sure.

you to these rooms asked you to appear before the your queen. Oranienbaum. (steps before him). according to our House's laws. I feel within me hear now tonight why —why I I invited power to do it. All. are more to me than all political calculations. this secret understanding with one who in my eyes is merely an adventurous stranger. Queen King. you ture son-in-law. will find there my nephew. You have torn asunder the ties that bound me to my family. Sire. Never King.] Who is there at that door? You will not answer? Then I must open it myself. You No. would hinder me from discovering whq. . that my good name. You may enjoy your triumph at your future widow 's-seat. Wilhelmine. Open that door. has ruined Wilhelmine 's reputation forever.SWORD AND QUEUE 347 have indeed been fortunate enough to prevent the outbreak of a conspiracy! [A louder knock. to which place I now banish you. ! Queen. Wilhelmine. the Prince of Wales. you will not. Yes. for the few remaining years of my life. that bound me to life. you have achieved your purpose. Ttvo hands? Queen. You know that this scene here at night. You defy me? the You set yourself in opposition to King? Queen. Yes. 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. are enemies of the Crown? I will open that door. I freed you from a captivity unworthy the daughter of a King. my fuSire. Ladies. The Prince of Wales ! King {when he has gained control of himself). You know that my honor. Madame.

but he refuses to yield one treasure to him except at the price of his heart 's blood and that treas- — . The Prince of Baireuth comes in. the Prince of Wales. wrapped in a white cloak. He seeks. with whom he desires a duel to the death. Baronet. And what is the Prince of Baireuth doing here ? HoTHAM.] HoTHAM. Madame. in that he returned to England the very moment which he realized that his patriotic inter- interests of the cotton industry could not be reconciled with the inclinations ests —the — of his heart. nor his treasures. A duel? And why? Because [All exclaim. I am all astonishment.348 THE GERMAN CLASSICS to the WiLHELMiNE (hurrying that. What? Whom do I see? All. King. what does this mean? Where Prince of Wales? HoTHAM. as we do. staggers to the door. is is the I have now on a What's that? Queen. The Prince is not in Berlin? HoTHAM. carrying a pointed metal The helmet. admit the Prince of Wales. this poor Prince of a tiny country does not begrudge the heir to a World-Power his fleet. King's side). While some trustworthy witnesses insist that the Prince was actually here. such as belonged to the Prussian uniform of that day. helmet must not be seen at first. Your Majesty. WiLHELMiNE. After a moment's upward glance she opens it. Scene V The Queen. Hotham follows. No —no. King. others again assert All. not King. breathing heavily. The Prince of Baireuth? Queen. but just learned that the prince journey to Scotland. his army.

whom he loves. Your . present him to Your Majesty before his departure for Pasewalk. What's tary attitude.] King. German Prince. Halt! (kneeling at the Queen's Wilhelmine and the Prince Mother! feet). whispering to the Queen). His hair is braided into a long pigtail.] King. [General emotion. Prince. left. who deems it an honor to serve have the honor to up from the ranks Battalion— left in my army? ! wheel Battalion [Commands. King.] this I see? The Prince of Baireuth a grenadier? With pigtail and sword ? — — — HoTHAM.] forward — march ! [Prince executes manoeuvers and marches to Wilhelmine. ure is the hand of Princess Wilhelmine. There was no such order given.SWORD AND QUEUE ft 349 King. twenty-one.] Whom he loves? My daughter's hand? But does the Prince of Baireuth understand swordcraft? [HoTHAM takes off the Prince's cloak and places the helmet on his head. He stands motionless in a mili- King. HoTHAM (good-naturedly. Halt! [To Wilhelmine] Is the enemy yonder disposed to accept the capitulation on this side ? Until death! Wilhelmine. The Prince stands there in the uniform of a grenadier of the period. Entire regiment — right wheel! Forward march to — right. The equipment of the young I recruit of the King. twenty-two the [All three march over Queen who stands to the left of the room. But it was the hearts' impulse. King. A Glasenapp Regiment.

But Austria hasn't us. audibly] How did he sober up so soon? Prince. my son? If that which you have said shall one day be written into the book of history. but with his Pigtail merely the first — citizen of his State. and has but the wish that they might add: ''With his Sword he would be King. hesitating. —I am still King. King. . and pensionings Well. him for a son-in-law? Queen. won't you correct the mistakes of these two Queen. Out of my young recruits ? sight.350 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Majesty. . [To the Kjng. King. Wilhehnine. shall we take On the condition that I —that I fix the amount of And the dowry.] But we still have Austria. Forgiveness? For your speech. you traitor to your Royal House I Arise. Now only Friedrich is lacking. mother. [In Hotham's ear. I crave your forgiveness Your Majesty drunk with joy. also that you [emhracing the Queen] remain close to my heart. . And all this is ! cotton industries the result of your your Baronet Hotham? Thanks — for this splendid recruit. ' * . then my old heart is quite content. The minions Tomorrow there'll be ! — prince? dismissals— dismissals eh.

" which overthrew the Bourbon dynasty in 1830. though the policy remained dominant. had made itself felt much more slowly across the Rhine." The "Revolution of July. Metternich himself was now compelled to retire.D. of Metternich still 1351] . 1830 to 1848 Nollen. and the other German states seethed with revolt. Prince Metternich. and. the liberal sentiment grew in power until the February revolution of 1848 in Paris inspired similar upheavals in all Germany. however. a consistent champion of aristocratic ideas and of the ''divine right of Kings. The policy of the German and Austrian rulers was dominated by the reactionary Austrian Prime Minister. 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. President of Lake Forest College 'HE years from 1830 to 1848 were distinctively revolutionary years in Germany. Ph. The spirit of political and social reformation. of Prussia granted his people a constitution. which had caused the great upheaval of the French Revolution late in the eighteenth century. which until then had remained strongly conservative. Frederick William IV. had its counterpart in popular movements that forced the granting of constitutions or other liberal concessions in several German states. 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.GERMAN LYRIC POETRY FROM By John S. France.

drama. the only important lyric poet Young German group was Heinrich Heine (1797who had begun his career with the most intimate poetry of personal confession. in which the simplicity of and the nature-feeling of the romanticist are Heine's impastrongly tinged with wit and cynicism. radical emotion of any revolutionary period that finds the most effective lyric expression. one of their number. as well as of poetry. tience with German conditions led him to expatriate himself. quite hostile to the ideals of detachment and disinterested worship of beauty that Goethe and Schiller in their classical period had preached and practised. and the Romantic movement of the opening nineteenth century. so "Young Germany" reacted passionately against the moonlight sentimentality of the popular romantic poets. an outpost of the revolutionary army. the folk-song This brilliant poet. and none so well as he could tip the barb with biting sarcasm tle . and from his retreat in Paris to aim venomous shafts of satire at his native land. Thus there was developed a body of literature strongly polemic in purpose. Indeed. and journalism. with his marvelous mastery of German lyric tones. represented a spirit of sharp revolt against the then dominant pseudo-classicism and rationalism. expressed a wide range of poetic inspiration. of the 1856). the novelist and dramatist Karl Gutzkow. with its "three dozen masters" and its philistine conservative nightcaps and dumplings.352 THE GEBMAN CLASSICS The lyric poetry of Germany in these years inevitably reflected the liberal sentiment of the time it is always the . but he loved particularly to conceive of himself as an aposof liberty. found the name ''Young Germany." Just new as the ''Storm and Stress" of 1770 to 1780. the conservative state of mind being more characteristically prosaic. The aim of the Young Germans was vital contact to bring literature down from the clouds into with the immediate problems of the day. This literature took the form of fiction. For the group of ardent spirits who made themselves the heralds of the day. as well as against the stupid political conservatism of the time.

He was. Prussian . traditional type. all older than Heine. a virtuoso for whom no . was a consistent conservative in his political attitude. — of a sion and personal caprice. It was something new for German poetry to find inspiration in the wrath of a beggar who cannot pay his dog-tax. of aristocratic French descent. For the great liberal movement of the thirties hension. . to use his own phrase. His lyrics are the purest echoes of folk-song and folk-lore. or the laborious resignation of an aged washerwoman.LYRIC POETRY. the sardonic piety of an old widow reduced to penury by the exactions of the gracious prince. endowed with a expression. Eichendorff 's patriotism was of the Silesian The 1857). tender and cjmical. ' ' ' ' — nobleman Joseph von Eichendorff (1788officer and civil official. an ''unfrocked romanticist" at once a brilliant representative of the poetry of self-expresconsistent traits. and lovely maidens in picturesque settings all suffused with gentle yearning and melting into soft melody. and the simplicity and genuineness of his art give an undying charm to his songs of idyllic meadows and woodlands. carefree wanderers. and using all the familiar romantic forms and motives. and a romanticist in every fibre of his poetic soul. who contributed largely to the lyric output of the period." different attitudes of thoughtful men toward the influences of the time were variously reflected in the work The of three leading poets. Adelbekt VON Chamisso (1781-1835). serious and flippant. —Feiedrich Ruckert Vol. reverent and impious and he could be at once a patriot and an alien. postchaises. and satire. and an exemplar and prophet new ideal. was yet thoroughly democratic and prophetically modern in his unalloyed sympathy with the impoverished victims of the social order. the "holy alliance of poetry with the cause of the nations. 1830-1848 353 Heine's personality was full of seemingly inHe was both fanciful and rational. VII and forties he fatal facility of lyric — 23 had neither sympathy nor compre(1788-1866). a pious Catholic. echoing faintly the battle-hymns of the "War of Liberation.

the youngest member of the group about Uhland. but his maturer years were devoted to domestic and academic interests. which are marked by minute realistic and refreshing originality of observation and sentiment. Every impression of his life. ancient and modern. but also for her nature-lyrics and common life. not only for the fine religious poems of her Christian Year (similar in plan to Keble's cycle).354 tour-de-force THE GERMAN CLASSICS political from the was too and youth his Sonnets in national awakening against Napoleon. This Suabian country vicar. lived in the utmost serenity . social quality stood aloof the political interests of the time. was material for a poem or a cycle. nevertheless expressed something of the spirit of emancipation in her quiet protest against the narrow conventional limits of the feminine life. This pious gentlewoman. there is something almost feminine in the finely-chiseled lyrics of the Protestant pastor the Eduard Morike (1804-1875). In his Armor had done sturdy service in the difficult. songs of detail as she also repudiated the violence of the revolutionists of 1848. The talented Westphalian Catholic poetess Annette von Droste-Hulshoff many genuine poems of great beauty. and blended the folk-song simplicity and melody of an Eichendorff with the classical form-sense of a Keats. He handled with consummate skill the odd or complicated metres of eastern and southern lyric forms. His unusual formal talent and mastery of lanwere a constant temptation to rapid and superficial guage versifying but there are in the vast mass of his production . Two other poets of quite distinctive from (1797-1848) has a place apart in her generation. whose Poems appeared in same year (1838). lived most of his life aloof movements of his time. If there is something masculine in Fraulein von — Droste's firm and plastic touch. But she would have recoiled with horror from the reckless propaganda for sexfreedom that was a part of the Young German campaign. whether deep or fleeting. occidental and oriental. and he was most versatile as a translator of foreign poetry. usually so maidenly in her reserve.

but in later years has quite supplanted it as a permanent national song. The period of the real dominance of political poetry began with 1840. which at the time could not compete in popularity with Becker's poem. easily saw the value to the national defense of such patriotic strains. German officialdom. or describes the all-powerful minister-of-state enjoying his social triumphs in the palace ball-room. 1806-1876). The first in the field was Anastasius Grxjn (the pen-name of Count Anton von Auersperg. which had looked askance at all political poetry. with which Griin contrasts the blessings of liberty in America. The German Rhine. This Austrian noble- man boldly attacked the reactionary policy of Metternich in with biting his Saunterings of a Viennese Poet (1831) he pictures the fate of the Greek patriot Hypsilantes. 1830-1848 355 turning the common agitation. Here we find the direct lyric expression of the revolutionary movement. electrified Germany with a martial poem. The same events inspired Max Schneckenburger's Wacht am Rhein. In another collection entitled Debris (1836) there are whole-hearted protests against the political martyrdom of the best patriots.LYRIC POETRY. But political poetry could not be kept within officially recognized bounds. and now encouraged these national singers with gifts and honors. fortresses. while Austria stands outside the gate vainly pleading for liberty. when a petty official in a Rhenish village. . Anastasius Griin was the forerunner. Inevitably it became partisan and revolutionary in character. inspired by French threats of war with Prussia and of the conquest of the Rhine territory. amid the troubles of revolutionary art. and the oppressive despotism under which Italy groaned. irony broken in health by the "hospitality" of Austrian prison. We emerge completely from the quietude and piety of these individualists when we come to a group of men who were distinctively political poets. Nikolaus Becker. or reviving with charming naivete the romantic figures of medieval poetry. devoted to his experiences of every day into forms of beauty.

of which the much-declaimed Lion's Ride is an excellent example. He. Georg Herwegh (1817-1875). he gave up a royal pension and twice went into voluntary exile in order to be free to express his liberal sentiments.356 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Heinrich Hoffmann (who styled himself von FalleesLEBEN after his birthplace. which in ringing refrains But when the deed folincited to revolutionary action. But from this expression of the common German tradition Hoffmann went on to espouse the liberal cause. and sang only too copiously in all the tones and fashions of German verse. the most famous of these. is still sung wherever those who love Germany congregate. one of the most prolific lyric poets of Germany. Hoffmann was essentially an improviser. he lacked the courage of the martyr and fled from the peril of death. again brought new hope of in stirring unity. too. Gottfeied Kinkel German measures this national was and condemned to life imprisonment. Deutschland iiber alles (1841). created a sensation with his Poems of the Living (1841). no other poet found more daring and eloquent words for the spirit of revolt and of democratic enthusiasm than Freiligrath. with the aid of Carl Schurz in 1850. indeed. But Freiligrath's strongest work was in the field of political poetry. . Freiligrath sang awakening. lowed the word. 1798-1874). and Herwegh led an invading column of laborers into Baden in 1848. and he had his taste of martyrdom when he lost his professorship at Breslau because of his ironical Unpolitical Songs (1840-42). made sacrifices for the faith that was in him. Feedinand Feeiligeath (1810-1876) gained immediate fame with the brilliant color and tropical exuberance of his early oriental lyrics. had the knack of expressing the common feeling in poems that became genuine national songs. Deutschland. Feanz Dingelstedt (1815-1882) also took part in the insurrection in Baden. He began. And when the war of 1870 . with the denial of any partisan bias but when the Revolution of 1848 broke. but escaped captured. also driven into exile by his opposition to the government.

Lenau was also a master of the melody of words. Abnormally proud. whose ballads are unmatched in German literature for spirit and fire. his journey to America. In the melodious interpretation of nature in sad and quiet moods he had no rival. NiKOLAus Lenau (the pen-name of Nikolaus Franz Niembsch Edler von Strehlenau. Strachwitz despised the democratic agitation of the revolutionists. Indeed. like another Alexander should cut the Gordian knot with the sword. 1830-1848 357 (1814-1881). men like Hoffmann. With Emanuel Geibel (1815-1884) we come to the voice . on the other hand. A gifted musician. the conservatives were not altogether voiceless. ended in homesickness and bitter disappointment. Lenau was born to unhappiness and disillusionment. and his nature-feeling was unusually deep and true. but for the great political movements of the day he had little regard. self-centred and sensitive as he was. begun with the most generous anticipations. Before he had reached middle life. The picturesque and the tragic fascinated Lenau he could sing with genuine sympathy the fate of dismembered Poland. after all the intrigues of the demagogues. Herwegh.LYRIC POETRY. Very different was the wholesome and chivalrous nature of the young Moravian Count Moritz von Steachwitz (1822-1847). or the lawless freedom of Hungarian rebels and gipsies. nor were the notes of the romantic lyric silenced. and sang with fine — . found his sarcastic Songs of a Political Night-Watchman (1842) no bar to appointment as director of the theatres of Munich. Slavonic and Hungarian blood. 1802-1850). enthusiasm the coming of the strong man. Weimar and Vienna. and Kinkel could not deny the strong influence of the romantic motives and tones upon much of their best poetry. his genius went out in the darkness of insanity. One lyrist greater than any of them was dominated by the romantic tradition an Austrian nobleman of mingled German. While the poets of the revolution were busily at work. who.

. in the days after the War weariness and disappointment. the German lands relapsed into dull acquiescence in the old regime. in was yet faultless sincere in the expression of his emotion. the generous hopes of the people seemed doomed to perish in As nobility. and the harvest came in due time. more gaining the widest populardays filled with partisan clamor. But the seed of the new day had been sown. In the reaction that followed the intoxication of liberal enthusiasm. and his form clothed the utterance of a soul of rare purity and of Liberation. Lacking in real originality. in the person of Bismarck. Geibel was a conservative liberal. in the creation of a unified and powerful German Empire on a constitutional basis. he Geibel succeeded in once ity. also.358 THE GERMAN CLASSICS of fair compromise between the extremes. with the failure of the attempt to unify Germany under Prussian leadership. . for the pure lyric of romantic inspiration. so in the years following the revolutionary movements of 1848. He was in a true sense the poetlaureate of his generation. ship. and his love of (1846) liberty was matched by his aristocratic hatred of the mob. honestly patriotic without partisan- Thus his Ttvelve Sonnets for Schlesivig-Holstein were broadly German in inspiration. But the liberal dream of 1848 was realized. and the "Gordian knot" was cut with the sword of the war of 1870. and the voice of democratic poetry was silenced. Strachwitz's intuition was justified the strong man did appear.



And among them wander grand. with a stately. courteous. solemn Honored. How gracious. clad in festive garments Here the valiant sons of battle. venerable matrons. [359] Translator: Sarah T. He who in the Princes ' Congress for them all must act and think. He it is by whose firm guidance Austrians fortunes ' rise or sink.ANASTASIUS GRUN A SALON SCENE* (Berman ( (1831) VENING I III the festivG halls the light of many it yj^ oriaggtcg candles gleams. . air. Shedding from the mirrors' crystal thousandfold reflected beams. and I how kind and In the light his orders sparkle with a faint and careless grace. there the rulers of the land. slowly. gentle he's to great And how small modest. But on one that I see moving every eye is fixed with fear Few indeed among the chosen have the courage to draw — near. Bar- rows. But behold him now! to all. * From Spasiergaenge eines Wiener Poeten. ladies young and very fair. unassuming. In the sea of light are gliding.

a needy client standing waiting at your door Whom the slightest sign of favor will make happy ever- more. open. and the doughty men of war. And the state's distinguished servants by his grace enraptured are. Or when. when he praises golden curls. he wear. Man of state and kind. How Europe now but see him. And you Hidden 'neath 'Tis the do not need to fear him he 's intelligent and fair his homely garments. courteous as can be. without. withered blossoms. man of counsel. Or when. . so the ladies. his winning smiles all . from anointed heads. Austrian people. methinks 'tis heavenly rapture. gentle smile is always playing on his face he plucks the ruddy rose leaves that some rounded like to But a When bosom wears. honest. young and old. since you're in a mood so Since you're showing to all present such a gracious frame of mind. See. knife nor dagger does . Yes. kingdoms he asunder Equally enchanting is it. so engaging. they're pleading: ''May we ask you for the freedom to be free?" . See. tears. the royal crowns away he hurls. which delights the happy man Whom Could his words to Elba's fastness" or to Munkacs' prison ban. gallant. delight. enchant How the church's pious clergy.360 THE GERMAN CLASSICS friendly.


I .

And the willows trail their streamers still In these waters and deep. "Translator: t my Charles Wharton Stork. SEDGE SONGS t I (1832) In the west the sun departing Leaves the weary day asleep. With magician's mantle cover All this day-world from my sight.) . All I love I leave behind . dreamy-pinioned. That for aye thy form may hover O'er my being. (1832) dim dominioned. gentle. my bitter tears.NIKOLA us LENAU PRAYER* Eye of darkness. Stay. lovely night. unfathomable night. Flow. enchant me with thy might. Sweet. As athwart these reeds and rushes Trembles soft yon evening star. Translator: Kate Freiligrath Kroeker. flow ever. Earnest. Into deep lonely sufferings Tenderly you shine afar. And the reed shakes in the wind. Sadly whisper here the willows. [3611 (From A Century of German Lyrics.

Their swift transient form Flashes through the lake. By entangled hidden footpaths. Thy Till thy song. Then a faint mysterious wailing Bids me weep. wondrous nigh Streaming wild and free — Thy long tresses fly. Love and then I think of thee. Sultry air and dead. still weep alone. Sinks into the silent mere. Sedges in the night-wind moan. ! When the woods gloom dark and darker. Ill Angry sunset sky. And I seem to see Thyself. remote yet clear. . And methinks I hear it wafted.362 THE GERMAN CLASSICS II Oft at eve I love to saunter Where the sedge sighs drearily. sweet voice. Thunder-clouds o 'erhead. descending slowly. From the lurid storm Pallid lightnings break. Every breeze doth fly.


il .

And the weary day would sleep. full of fear. stream forth amain! : In the breeze the rushes quiver And the willow sighs in pain. oh tears. Here the willow fronds are trailing In the water still and deep. IV Sunset dull and drear . From my darling I must sever Stream. Charles Wharton Stork. On my soul in silence grieving Mild thou gleamest from afar.LENAU: POEMS SONGS BY THE LAKE* I (1832) 363 In the sky the sun is failing. •Translator. As through rushes interweaving Gleams the mirrored evening star. . the sky's wild rack Shoots the lightning pale. And thy streaming hair Flutters in the storm. Sultry. O'er the waters black Dark Through Burns its flickering trail. All the winds fly fast. the clouds drive past . In the vivid glare Half I see thy form.

No one but the moonlight pale Roamed upon the highway. all my soul a rare Thrill of thought toward thee doth tend While through now Like an ecstasy of prayer. Timidly the brook stole by. "Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. Silver clouds flew o'er us. "Waterfowl amid the rushes Vaguely stir with flutterings light. (1833) Spring. methought. Down my tear-dim glance I bend now. Breezes wandering in the gloom Soft their footsteps numbered Through Dame Nature's sleeping-room Where her children slumbered. with splendor dight Led the happy chorus. While the beds of blossom Breathed their perfume joyously On the still night's bosom. THE POSTILION* Passing lovely was the night. . Stags from out the hillside bushes Gaze aloft into the night. Empty now each by-way. Sleep-entranced lay wood and dale.364 THE GERMAN CLASSICS V On the lake as it reposes serene Dwells the moon with glow Interweaving pallid roses With the rushes ' crown of green.

while. his Jehu humor spent. 'Twas the churchyard met our glance None might view it lightly. 'twas No God's own pity!) one else could blow the horn shrill Half as and pretty. Left his tuneful courses. ''Here's where horse and coach must wait You may think it odd. And merry trumpet-call Eang o'er hill and valley. straight. — And the cross. Close against the mountain braced Ean the long white wall there. . sir : — — But up yonder. : Midway in the Maytide trance Tombs were shining whitely . ''Better lad was never born — (Sir.LENAU: POEMS 365 My postilion. his Hoofs beat steadily the As the horses gamboled. heedless all. On the cross his gaze he bent Then pulled up his horses. Cracked his whip most gaily. Like to dreams that shimmer. Silent rose o'er all there. Grove and meadow gliding past Vanished at a glimmer Peaceful towns were gone as fast. in sorrow placed. lies my mate Underneath the sod. sir. And along the shady aisle Spiritedly rambled.

Than unwithered he may bear Blushing roses to her. .366 THE GERMAN CLASSICS " So I stop beside the wall Every time I pass here. that echo from the ledge In my ear kept tingling. On we went through Long field and hedge. And I blow his favorite call To him under grass here." Toward the churchyard then he blew One call after other. unto thee I would bring how gladly I But It alas! if o'er the foam . I this flower should carry. From the cliff each lively note Echoing resounded. "Which. Farther let no mortal fare Who would be a wooer. Loosened bridles jingling. That they might go ringing through To his sleeping brother. As it were the dead man's throat Answering strains had sounded. TO THE BELOVED FROM AFAR* His sweet rose here oversea I (1838) must gather sadly . •Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. would fade ere I could come Roses may not tarry. beloved.

LENAU: POEMS Or than nightingale may fly For her nesting grasses. of the third? to a —He was fast asleep. From the second's pipe the smoke-wreaths He watched them melt at his leisure. When And cares of life perplex us. A dream o'er his heart-strings glided. His harp bough confided The breezes across the strings did sweep. The garb of all was worn and frayed. Wharton Stork. With tatters grotesquely mended. So full of content. or fiddle ills them off. But flouting the world. To smoke. of the three was fiddling there In the glow of evening pallid. The three with fate contended. They showed me how. and undismayed. it curled. Or than with the west wind's Her soft warbling passes. by three-fold scoff. . Playing a wild and passionate air. The tune of some gipsy ballad. Had naught And what to seemed the world add to his pleasure. or *Tran8lator: sleep. wearily o'er the sandy way My wagon The first brushed the heather. . 367 sigh THE THREE GIPSIES* Three gipsy men I saw one day As Stretched out on the grass together. scorn the Charles that vex us.

— MY HEART* "While (1844) Sleepless night. Heart. Let not fear thy courage darken. the rushing rain. let what's mortal die.368 I THE GERMAN CLASSICS passed them. Their loose hair black and curly. 'tis fatal thus to harken. Charles Stork. Is the storm near. Who came safe o'er Galilee Makes •Translator: the voyage Wharton now in thee. but my gaze for long Dwelt on the trio surly Their dark bronze features sharp and strong. beat thou high. Onward. my heart with ceaseless pain Hears the mournful past subsiding Or the uncertain future striding. . Though the past be all regretting And the future helpless fretting.

an unrestful bond It draws.EDUARD MORIKE AN ERROR CHANCED* An Of a once inviolate love. Might it yet be some day that on my threshold . in the morning twilight. yet cruel. Her traveler's bundle beside her. [369] . ! Meseems that. ''See. a thread of magic Binds her yet to me. Alas her lofty forehead ! Was bowed. Yet did she go in silence Into the dim gray World outside. (1824) error chanced in the moonlight garden And Shuddering I came on an outworn with sorrowing look. it draws me faint with love toward her. Saying. I the slender Bade Enchanting maiden Leave me and wander far. And her eye true-heartedly looking up to me. I've come back. deceit. VII — 24 Wharton Stork. for she loved me well. spun of the air. Sick since then. Back once more from the lonely world ' ' ! *Translator: Charles Vol. Wounded and woeful Never shall it heart be whole. as erst. I should find her.

I catch the tone Which sensuous on from wondrous voices brimming.370 THE GERMAN CLASSICS A SONG FOR TWO IN THE NIGHT* (1825) She. creation's soul is rapt with thee! to the — EARLY AWAYt The morning (1828) frost shines gray Along the misty field Beneath the pallid way Of early dawn revealed. streaked with misty light uncertainly. How wind strokes the meadow grasses And. through the woodland passes Now that the upstart day is dumb. To sphere-wrought harmony Sing they. Oh lovely night I how O'er samite ! black —though effortless and free green by day —thou movest And whirring music that thou lovest Thy foot advances imperceptibly. The very heavens in the glow are swimming. soft the night ! He. Then more transparent and more lustrous groweth Meantime a muted melody outgoeth From happy fairies in their purple cave. Thus hour by hour thy step doth measure In tranced self -forgetful pleasure Thou'rt rapt. with murmured song Joining the zephyrs' well-attuned hum. and busily The thread upon their silver spindles floweth. The air like woven fabric seems to wave. breathing music. * t Translator : Charles Wharton Stork. One hears from the still earth a whispering throng Of forces animate. the warm wind drifts to me. While. . He. . She.



Yet o'er the western trees The moon is shining clear. (1829) Down to the hearth I go. I feel. I watch them listlessly In sorrow sunken. My cheek upon thy breast The streaming tears bedew. A The sun comes And straight my dreams depart. too. purple-black. Blue eyes. . thy kiss I hear thy whispering light. Swim dark before my sight. he glows. is cast veil across my view. . So. I see in torturing trance The night of our farewell.MORIKE: POEMS Amid the 371 glow one sees The day-star disappear. out. I send my glance On distant scenes to dwell . While from the cliffs A chill across my THE FORSAKEN MAIDEN* Early when cocks do crow Ere the stars dwindle. Thy breath. Fair leap the flames on high. Sparks they whirl drunken. •Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. he throws heart. Fire must I kindle. Till. a lake of bliss.

. Leave alone this heart to treasure All its joy. oh world. That all the night of thee I have been dreaming. SECLUSION t (1832) ! Let. a wistful sorrow. its misery. Primeval rivers spring renewed Thy silver girdle weaving. thy worshipers and watchers mild. Youth so fair seeming. ah let me be Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure. (1831) my land Eemotely gleaming. What my grief I can not say. ! — WEYLA'S SONG* Thou art Orplede. Yet through tears at every morrow I behold the light of day.372 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS Sudden it comes to me. * t Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. Tears then on tears do run For my false lover Thus has the day begun Would it were over . 'Tis a strange. child! Before the godhead bow subdued Kings. The mist arises from thy sun-bright strand To where the faces of the gods are beaming.

and lightens This oppression in my breast. THE OLD WEATHERCOCK AN IDYLL f : (1840.MORIKE: POEMS When my weary soul finds rest 373 Oft a beam of rapture brightens All the gloom of cloud. If only they 'd leave him at home A love has no ribbon or star. Like a good old cock I watched the town. We are bound by a rose-woven band. cross such as gentlemen wear. how He would But for me he would do true (1837) ! give his heart's blood for the king. My No gen'ral he'll never become. ornament and a weathervane. Through night and tempest gazing down. the same thing. oh world. let me be ! Tempt me not with Leave alone All its joy. 1852) At A Cleversulzbach in the Underland hundred and thirteen years did I stand on the tower in wind and rain. ah. if the king only knew How brave is my sweetheart. Mary each night . ! For 'er the stars there are three shining bright Church of St. its gifts of pleasure. Up An t Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. THE SOLDIER'S BETROTHED* Oh dear. this heart to treasure misery. . Let. And a house-cross is always at hand.

And sparrows. Oh fountain.374 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The lightning oft my form has grazed. My my age all black I'd grown. Goodby. despised by all. you. 'Tis o'er. poor driveling old schoolmaster. And worthy friend the pastor. and preen. the roof's high ridge. fare ye well ! I Beloved tower. Churchyard and streamlet with its bridge . Ah well! 'tis thus we run our race. Another now must have my place. When came a crooked devil's minion. how I '11 miss your chatter ! For every bit of dirt seems dear Which o'er my form you used to smear. my So from my lofty perch I crew. Go strut. The slater 'twas in opinion. In times when all seek shade who may. what cheered my heart so long. Who after many a knock and shake . Till I at length. my And would have sung much longer too. The sound of organ. The scorching sun with rage unslaked My golden So in body well has baked. where the cattle throng And sheep come trooping all day long. mount and dell Vineyard and forest. With Hans to urge them on their way And Eva on the piebald gray ! Ye storks and swallows with your clatter. And many a warm long summer's day. sweet landscape. beauteous glint and gleam was gone. bells and song. Was lifted from my pedestal. The frost my scarlet comb o'erglazed. but don 't forget What court the wind will pay you yet ! Farewell.

was broke at last from the roof he pulled me past old heart me bells which from their station glared And on my fate in wonder stared. . "Hi! And have you come to this. While other chickens by the dozen Unheeding cackled round their cousin. I may fairly boast For Things must go hard if I've no place old church servants in hard case. The time being May. for your flock! He'll hardly do to broil or roast. 'Twas then the pastor happened by. and off we went. Then to the scrap-heap I was brought. The sooty lout with quick assent Laughed. poor cock? A strange bird.MORIKE: POEMS Detached 375 My poor When The wholly from my stake. For me though. And there at noon of that same day In grief before his hut I lay. then smiling. and from my throat Toward heaven I'd sent a joyous note. a little tree Shed snow-white blossoms over me. Which as he paid he said 'twas wonder How much folk wanted for such plunder. picked me up. Andrew. ' ' Bring him along then speedily And drink a glass of wine with me. Spoke to the smith. But vexed themselves no more about me. Thinking they'd hang as well without me. But soon each face. A little more. Within the manse the strange new guest Astounded all from most to least. before afraid. The glowing light of joy displayed. For twopence by the blacksmith bought.

Here you may see where on the tile Stands Bishop Hatto's towered isle. ! With And store of pictures overwrought. Geranium scent and mignonette. While rats and mice on every side Swim through the Rhine's opposing tide.376 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Wife. Of such I learned full many a word. ! With pillared strength and flowery grace. is Within these walls left the peace enshrined world behind. In the Quite Until left like its corner in full view. rhymes that tell of pious thought. The armed grooms in vain wage war. When the snow fell and winds blew cold. ! I seemed to breathe a magic air. maids and menfolks. Behold my Cathedral-like stove with reverent eyes its noble size . Welcoming. looking. a tower its bulk was raised peak the ceiling grazed. too. most delightful resting-place On the top wreath as on a mast The blacksmith set me firm and fast. all. (To me of course all this was new. handling The man of God with jealous care Took me himself and climbed the stair To his own study. While the old stove from out its hoard Would draw them forth for young and old. And faint tobacco lingering yet. we after at his back.) An ancient stove I noticed. girls and boys Surrounded with a seven-fold noise The giant rooster in the hall. . Essence of books and learning rare. while the pack Came stumbling Entering.

Voluptuous women. But God prefers to pass it by. she 's a lady patriarch. Devoured straightway shall he be To pay the price of perjury. did not laugh at all. Sole by the lamp's reposeful light a mind perplexed Sets out to choose his Sunday text. Before the stove a while he stands. costly wines But in the amazed sight of all The dread hand writes upon the wall." Which commonly would be a lie. Now that I'm here. Since both are w^ell God asks when he doubt if this : And Her he may fulfil ' ' ? indiscretion to recall ''I She says. An awful death now his pictures represent earth. is . Sarah listens in the tent While God Almighty. come to Abraham the birth Of Isaac and his seed thereafter. My master with . There too Belshazzar's banquet shines. Till thousands ranged in close arrayLeap from the walls on those at bay And seize the bishop in his room: tails 377 The host of — —Lastly the How Foretells to doom. advanced in years. And Since 'tis not done with malice dark. the laughter hears *'Doth Sarah laugh then at God's will. I think with reason That winter is the fairest season How smooth the daily current flows close! To ev'ry week's beloved —Just about nine on Friday night.MORIKE: POEMS grows more and more. Sarah cannot restrain her laughter.

he Murmurs a sentence audibly. Dips pen and makes the A and 0. Look at him now. .378 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Walks to and fro with twisted hands. takes the light. And Shepherds' Knoll with snows a-shimmer. "Bedtime!" He rises. So do we come by smooth gradation . Which I with outstretched bill peck up And fill with lore my eager crop. That has no terrors. My master hears and turns about. Pour on my brow your tide so rare! I see where Verrenberg doth glimmer. with far-off gaze ' ' ' ' Pondering. though. —Oh cooling surge of Now and again amid his He lifts the window and doubt looks out. I hear the marten vainly scoop The earth around the chicken-coop. And The vainly struggles to determine theme on which to thread his sermon. Behind the wainscot sharply picking I hear a while the death-clock ticking. I meanwhile from my post on high Ne'er from my master turn an eye. To where begins the ''Application. Which o 'er his Preface always go. Nor ever hears my shrill "good-night!" Alone in darkness then I'd be." ''Eleven!" comes the watchman's shout. He sits hiin down to write at last. And through far trees the tempest rushes — Along the eaves the night-wind brushes. for me. . starlit air. testing every phrase The snuffer once he seizes quick And cleans of soot the flaming wick Then oft in deep abstraction.

And When For finally the watchman sings: ''Arise." this. Fresh for the business of the day. How The sweat runs down my back like At two. At length my master enters gay. ! rain.MORIKE: POEMS Bird Wood's the name that forest bears. now once more alive. faith. quite savory too. 'Tis lucky. his house at visit or distract his brain. stiff My spurs are growing with frost When in comes Lisa. A cock-crow rises clear and free. My High in my breast with rapture springs. with the morning bell at five whole heart. Soon after an hour at most. least. Which warms you so —Just now I well might feel afraid. for Jesus' sake. thank God again at three. hums some snatches. for those who are Secured from harm by bolt and bar. When thieves and murderers ply their trade could I call so men would hear me If some one raised a ladder near me ! When thoughts like this attack my brain . On Saturday Not a worthy priest Should keep his room. 379 Now That splits a all beech with such a crack —My the valleys echo it back. . bright and fair the day doth break. the long hours through That night seems fraught with blessings too. good friends. Turning his thoughts to things profane. I scent the steam of onion stew. And rakes the fire until it catches. goodness when these sounds I hear ! I'm glad a pious stove's so near. Then from below. Where rude old Winter raves and tears.

Is cut .380 THE GERMAN CLASSICS But once master was not tempted so. desk ancient cabinet-maker's pride. don't let it out. And through Some the cactus stems Fain o'er the walnut it stretches. and then a mouse. and talked and had a smoke To me. Bengel. On wafer-box and seal it dances And lights the inkwell with its glances Across the sand it strikes its wedge. The church-bells call both far and The organ sounds so loud to me I think I 'm in the sacristy. upon the penknife's edge. There clad in parchment and in leather The Suabian Fathers stand together : Andrea. The sunlight now the window reaches — near. And Oetinger are well in view. Suspends his web from neck to bill. I'll own. There it beholds with searching looks Concordances and children's books. I hear a fly. Making a titmouse trap for Fritz Right here. The sun each golden name reads o'er And with a kiss he gilds yet more. never asking my goodwill. Then to the bookcase with its tomes. Across the armchair freely roams. The blessed Sabbath now is here. you know He squandered all liis precious wits My — — . it seemed a joke. And. There 's not a soul in all the house . With that a spider slim and small Begins upon my frame to crawl. to glide. . Riegers two. As Hiller's ''Harp" his fingers touch Hark! does it — ring? It lacks not much.

When. accept your fate. ! Perhaps 'twould suit your high behest If some one. away And set you up there on the sleigh. I'll say it out— : — We've got a sleigh here. — : ! . In summer I could wish outside Upon the dove-cote roof to bide. old tell twinge of longing now and then Will vex. With all the family round you too Man. With just beneath the garden bright A And stretch of greensward too in sight. staunch and stout. child the whole blest crew Old image. All colored. yellow.MORIKE: POEMS I don't disturb myself a whit. no doubt. 381 — But An me now if any^vhere church cock might better fare. woman. neat and clean And on the dashboard proudly strutting strange. Just freshly painted. the weather 's prime Now I've begun. Or else again in winter time. For him it is a lucky hap That I'm disposed to take a nap. Would take you. the happiest men. new-fangled fowl is sitting: . A — The whole expense would be but slight— Now if they'd have me fixed up right —Fool And And none need ! I'd stand there quite as well as he feel ashamed of me I reply. what! so shameless yet. be not so immoderate. Just wait and watcli him for a bit. for a common jest. stove and all. black and green. as today. And prone on gauds your mind to set? Think on your latter end at last! Your hundredth year's already past.

oh soul. who can doubt it? * ' — Tells not each day the old tale? Yet the foreboding word in a youthful bosom Eankles not. Just where who knoweth. These may with heavy tread Slowly convey the dead E'en ere the shoes be shed They now are wearing. Deafened by use. . fixedly Over thy grave to be — . She died at the age of nineteen. Doubt not!" My sweetest Sappho. Strangely.) ''Many the paths to Hades. Two black steeds on the Briskly are faring. Swift the time floweth.382 THE GERMAN CLASSICS THINK OF IT. These are ordained for thee—' Think. however. ERINNA TO SAPPHO t (1863) (Erinna was a Greek poetess. And in a garth unseen A rose-tree bloweth. as a fisher bred by the seashore. Attend : • t Translator : Charles Wharton Stork. today my heart misgave me. perceives the breaker's thunder no more. MY SOUL!* (1852) Somewhere a pine is green. and one of them thou thyself shalt follow. down Or on their way to town Canter uncaring. a friend and pupil of Sappho of Lesbos." an ancient proverb Tells us.

But there on the table gleamed a beautiful hair-net. what will ye! Spirit of me. thy gift. although my blood beat 383 Quick with uncertain waves o'er the thin cheek's pallor. I said. pouring Through the trees of my well-walled garden. This. that within there dwelled securely as yet. Thou dost nod to me. Occultly wed to my living senses — — Demon-like. while my thought reeled at the frightful abyss. Till I bethought me of thee. That no mourning lock thou untimely sever From thy beloved head for thy poor Erinna. Tearless at first I pondered. When straightway the tears ran fast. Weighing the terror of Death. . Death presaging! Ha all at once like lightning a thrill went through me. strange eyes. when next in the flowery festal season We shall worship the glorious child of Demeter. — Eyes. Or as a deadly arrow with sable feathers ! Whizzing had grazed my temples. This will I offer to her for thy and my sake. Parting with nard-moist comb above my forehead The veil of hair in the glass my own glance met me. Costly handwork of Byssos. Full was my soul of quiet. a long time Dumb-struck I sat. Then. Koused the slugabed (so of late thou calledst Erinna) Early up from her sultry couch. my Sappho. as I loosed the plaits of my shining tresses. spangled with golden bees. with hands pressed over my face.MORIKE: POEMS Sunny the glow of morn-tide. And of my comrades all. And of the muses' lore. So may she favor us both (for she much availeth). half smiling thy solemn message. So that.

The splendid coach. His thick hair. Don Juan. curiously fashioned gilt buttons black silk stockings and small-clothes. and were about one hundred and twenty miles from Vienna. unusually warm for September. where he was to finish and bring out his masterpiece. drawn by three post-horses. for the new clothes to be worn at court were carefully packed in the trunk.MOZART'S JOURNEY FROM VIENNA TO PRAGUE (about 1850) A KOMANCE OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE By Eduard MoRiKE TRANSLATED BY FLORENCE LEONARD |N the fall of the year 1787 Mozart and his wife undertook a journey to Prague. fitted with stiff leather curtains. and shoes with gilt buckles. The carriage was painted a bright yellowish-red. Mozart wore an embroidered waistcoat of a somewhat faded blue. The dress of the travelers was simple. As the day grew warm. the body adorned with garlands of gay-colored flowers. now drawn back and j qriasgics fastened. the wheels The high top was finished with narrow stripes of gold. was powdered even more carelessly than usual. Eleven o 'clock of the fourteenth of September found them well on their way and in the best of spirits. his ordinary brown coat with a row of large. who prided herself on her intimacy with the Mozarts and on the favors she had shown them. he had taken off both hat and coat and was sitting in his shirt-sleeves. serenely chatting. bareheaded. wife of General Volkstett. drawn back into a braid. They had been traveling two days. — — [3841 . among the beautiful Mahrische mountains. belonged to an elderly Frau Volkstett.

which grew deeper and deeper. and white. Come now. a wealth of light brown curls. little goose. fell. *'I might have known it. while we get some of those blue-bells your yonder in the shade!" rose to leave the coach they became aware of a accident for which the master had to take the blame. he would have left behind. — — joy our journey instead of hanging our heads like sheep in a butcher's cart. over and carriage cushions. "This was the only way that your sacred smellingstuff would do us any good. which. The air was like an oven here. "How beautiful!" he cried. It will last all the rest of the way. where rich fields alternated with long stretches of woodland. light green They were slowly ascending a gentle slope. till only here and there a stray sunbeam lighted up the green mossy carpet. much less thought of going into them! Postilion. never disfigured by powder. ''I have smelled it this long while! Oh dear! A whole bottle of real 'Rosee d 'Aurora!' I was as careful of it as if it had been gold!" "Never mind. and strolled into the shade of the pines. when Mozart exclaimed: "How many woods we have passed — every day of our journey. and I hardly noticed them. and all your fanning made it no cooler.JOURNEY TO PEAGUE 385 Frau Mozart's hair. let us stick our two Vienna noses into this green wilderness!" They climbed the bank arm-in-arm. So cool was the air that Mozart soon had to put on the coat. half unfastened. unperceived." clothing lamented Frau Mozart. upon her She wore a traveling-suit of striped stuff shoulders. stop and let horses rest a bit. VII — 25 . but for his prudent wife. 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 enlost its cork. "It is like Vol. Presently he stopped and looked up through the rows of lofty tree-trunks. slight Through his carelessness a bottle of choice perfume had As they and its contents had run." was Mozart's comforting answer.

even the acorns on the ground seem like second You could walk cousins to the old corks lying beside them there two hours. astonished that such a thing actually exists not as a poetic fiction like the nymphs and fauns. both wonderful and beautiful. I feel as fresh and strong as ever. But how much the outside world. ! and delicate white lines. and both fine arts and useful arts That black charcoal-burner there by his kiln knows as much as I do about many things. To think that I have traveled half over Europe. gowns and fans. with his wonderful antlers. 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. praised its deep red color being in church! happening I am . and the mischievous squirrel. drawn out of the earth by moisture and sunshine Imagine the deer. the wood-cock. said his wife and mushrooms are to be found there too . Thank God. these steps in the Prater. my new there opera is finished and brought out. but really living. ! ''Any one would think that you had never walked a dozen same rare cones ' ' ' ' ' ' "What Heavens. and put a handful of cones into his pocket. and ready for a thousand things as soon as tains behind them. to come into an ordinary Bohemian pine-woods. and the jay!" He stooped and picked a mushroom. how can you mention it is there in the Prater but carriages and swords. large as they are well. and how much at home. have seen the Alps and the ocean. and still smell waiters and sauces!" * * The Prater ! ! — I is to Oh. music and hubbub! As for the trees. and no one can be blamed for wanting to stay on it as long as possible.386 THE GERMAN CLASSICS This is a real wood. sciences. what a speech from a man whose greatest pleasure eat a good supper in the Prater!" After they had returned to the carriage and sat watch' ' ing the smiling fields which stretched away to the mounMozart exclaimed: "Indeed the earth is beautiful. that I know nothing about! is in Beauties of nature. and yet. at home here. And I should just ! t .

" interrupted his wife. never knew peace and contentment. One read ! ' : dle of October they are to cast the great lions at the im- Another was underlined twice: perial brass foundry. **I came across your old pocket-calendar for '85. in the children and flowers.' 'Call on Professor Gottner. There were three or four About the midspecial memoranda at the end. keenly alive to all the beauties of the world. It is too hard to think of all that one puts off and loses.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE like well ' ' 387 enough to look into some subjects that aren't connected with my own trade *'The other day. and full of the highest as- pirations. who invites me long ago. years ago I planned to go there! Shameful!" "Well. on the side where the sun does not fall. and could only agree with him as he Madame Mozart : went on 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. the shadows of the mountains. and. passionate as he was. to take you to They have a new telescope. I meant. so strong that they can see distinctly mountains and valleys and chasms. the moon will not run away!" "But it is so with everything. Two — could not or would not turn his thoughts into another channel. I remember! observatory. and stop.' Who is he?" "Oh yes. chase me once around the room. ' » ! Dear Lord To think of it With such self-reproach began a serious conversation. not duties to God and to man only. at Easter or Whitsunto " Have I ever been able garden or woods or meadows to grow young again And meanwhile life is among and running and rushing away from us gradually slipping tide. see the moon and the man in it. but pure pleasures those small innocent pleasures which are within one's grasp every day!" That kind old gentleman in the there now and then. I must shake them off and go! I cannot remember that we have had once a whole day in the country together. in spite of . ! ! How sad that Mozart.

Part of the night was always devoted to composition. These pleasures. which generally took a part of the afternoon also. and in the mysterious ways of genius they bore fruit in later days. sometimes quieter in tone. He was to be found almost every afternoon at billiards in the Kaffeehaus. mas- — — querading regularly on St. An hanger-on whose only merit lay in his companionable mood or in his jests. apparently unconquerable. The rea- son is easily found in those weaknesses. But the greater part of his recreation Mozart sought away from home.388 all THE GERMAN CLASSICS that he enjoyed and created in his short life. whether of prudence or duty. poets. he made the rounds of his lessons. singers. He enjoyed both driving and riding. and many an evening at the inn. frequented balls and masquerades a finished dancer and took part in popular celebrations also. he finished his work. tivity Both in his amusements and in his creative acMozart knew no limits. Bridget's Day as Pierrot. gathering of any sort. would bring in unexwhom he might hap- fellow-artists. often even while in bed. of self-preservation or of economy. sometimes wild and extravagant. driving or walking. Then. He had. ''We take a great deal of trouble for our pupils. and it is often hard not to lose . dinarily great. his fondness for society extraor- Honored and sought by all the families of he seldom refused an invitation to a fete or social rank. besides. But unfortunately he was so bent on enjoying to the full every moment of pleasure that there was room for no other consideration. Occasionally. The man's needs were many. which were so large a part of his character. were designed to refresh the severely taxed brain after extreme labors. he pected guests of diverse gifts. any one pen idle to meet — amateurs. was as welcome as a gifted connoisseur or a distinguished musician. to the inconvenience of his wife. his own circle of friends whom he entertained of a Sunday evening. early in the morning. and often at dinner at his own well-ordered table.

was finally fulfilled. by his ill health and the premonition of his early death. whom Satan has tempted to wade through thorough-bass and counterpoint. course. the hair-dresser. Mozart's illness showed most plainly when The temptation to spend his money foolishly and It was due. If any one in need came to him to borrow money or to ask his name as security. are well recommended as pianists and teachers of music we load ourselves down with pupils. dies. from publishers and pupils. required. school-work. added to the effects of The at home. depth. and rehearsals as well as private lessons. matter whether the new student be a Hungarian mustachio from the engineer corps. or the haughtiest little countess who receives us in a fury. were out of all proportion to his actual income. were the smaller because the public taste was far from declaring itself in favor of Mo- zart's compositions. opposed to the easily understood . 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 melo. So. The deepest melancholy and remorse were the bitter fruits of every pleasure which he tasted. together with the Emperor's pension. and ever-recurring fits of melancholy were certainly fostered. he consented at once with smiling generosity and without making arrangements to insure the return of the loan. and are always willing to add another if only the bills are promptly paid it does not . The means which such generosity. needs of his household. His health began to suffer. and fulness of his music were.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 389 '* Because we patience. when weary with the occupations ' ' of his profession. he gave his nerves a seeming restorative only in new excitement. to one of his most lovely traits. which for a long time haunted him. if we do not arrive on the stroke of the hour. as a matter of carelessly was very great. as she would Master Coquerel. if not actually induced. The very beauty. The sums which he received from theatres and concerts." he wrote to one of his patrons. in general. and in need of refreshment.

perhaps. to make up for the loss in great things by saving in small affairs. if he had been more prudent and circumspect. was added the melancholy of her husband. on the other hand. several years later Figaro made a most unexpected and lamentable fiasco. Mozart. by entreaties or by coaxing. though it might be but temporary. in which he would remain for days. the cultivated and unprejudiced people of Prague received with such enthusiasm that the master. in comparison with the success of its pleasing. even when full houses shouted their applause to him. and almost always her clear judgment found counsel and relief. If she persuaded him in seriousness or in jest. In reality she could make no radical change in the situation. musical. painful embarrassment. in gratitude. But she lacked. She held the purse. thanks to its popular element. To be sure. And what every vexation was carried to her. So circumstances. accomplishing nothing. to eat his supper and spend ! . might have received a very considerable sum from his art. refusing all comfort. But. and had the best will in the world to stop the mischief at the outset. and fear of open disgrace. or sitting silent in a corner. and want. and either sighing and complaining. and. his own nature. though quite insignificant rival Cosa rara and not alone through the intrigue of the manager.390 THE GERMAN CLASSICS compositions then in favor. thinking continually of death But she seldom lost courage. ! a sad life was that of Frau Mozart She was and of a cheerful disposition. How often must she have choked back the tears when to such distress every bill. the Viennese public could not get enough of Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail. But despite the unfavorable period and the influence of his enemies. failing in that. As it was. determined to write his next great opera for them. Every claim. and his own faults conspired to keep him from prosperity. It was the — same Figaro which. skill and experience. and kept the account of the house expenses. and of a musiyoung cal family. he was in arrears after every enterprise. soon after.

a great improvement in their financial condition. even now. to defend it. then he would grow calmer and more natural. which could hardly fail to follow Mozart's increasing fame. who took into consideration the state of the public taste. unexpectedly. 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. if. were prepared to hear. Constanze. and. could be lightened. Perhaps. was like all women. Some decisive step toward the realization of her plans and wishes she promised herself as the result of the new opera. he would soon. One is tempted to believe that he could not do otherwise. they are less apt than men are to give heed to discouraging features. and that a code of morals. could enjoy with a clear conscience those pleasures which he needed for body and mind. however. instead of devoting half his strength and time to earning money he could live only for his art. hardly expected an immediate and universal success and with these the master himself secretly agreed. She still new occasion held fast to her favorable opinion. within six months. for. in spite of his affection for the place. totally different from our ideas of right and wrong. touched by the sight of his wife's distress. Yet Frau Constanze hoped continually for a favorable turn of affairs. hope. particularly in a righteous cause. She hoped. moreover. for an opportunity to leave Vienna. If once they . The composition was more than half written. she had gained but little.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 391 his evening with his family. more or less. of But to necessity controlled him. for which they were now on their way to Prague. that his Don Juan had taken all Germany by storm. indeed. and had. If the anxiety which always pressed upon him. His more prudent and moderate friends. find himself in the old ruts again. She did so in her gay and lively . no purpose. he would curse his bad habits and promise all that she asked —even more. she was convinced that he would never prosper there.

''Oh!" general music director. then?" "Well." The higher the better " Build away "No. the more earnestly because Mozart's spirits had fallen decidedly in the course of the previous conversation. *'Your Herr Bondine will make some money with this opera. That famous visit to her brother-in-law in Saxony. I mean. they are more probable too!" ''What. there are plenty of other good things that might happen to us. a full little after nine o'clock one fine old friend and admirer speed across the three months. She has been away for . 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. has at last come off." . That sum would supply their most pressing needs. "Keep first of ' ' ' ' "What. after their return. for instance?" *'A little bird told me that the King of Prussia needs a leader for his orchestra. "May the foxes bite you for that!" "I hear already what our old friends are saying and gossiping about us. she should use the hundred ducats which the manager at Prague would pay for the score. Let me build you an air-castle That weakness I got from my mother. She returned yesterday. that we have heard about every day. you ridiculous goose! next September there will be no 'Imperial Court Composer' of the name of Wolf Mozart to be found in Vienna. and they could live comfortably till spring. even if he doesn't. She described minutely how. and cannot wait any morning our Frau Volkstett comes sailing at Kahlmarkt. But.392 THE GERMAN CLASSICS fashion. of the price that other theatres pay him for their copies of Don Juan. my air-castles are very real ones! In a year from " now they'll be reporting If the Pope to Gretchen comes a-courting ! "A ' ' ! ! ' ' ' ' ! I tell you by the quiet.

my dear. ten heavenly days!' 'Oh. think of it! He is sure of his three thousand . She was. When would that have occurred to his dear Emperor Joseph ? They had but He is fairly radiant with just returned w^hen I arrived. and does not wait for an answer. 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 at — charming. '' 'What! Not through Berlin! You haven't been with ' MozartsT 'Yes. Potsdam. but by way of Brandenburg.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 393 longer to see her dear friend. from their garden and country-house to the brilliant scenes of public activity and the smaller where he was to play accompaniments circle o'f the court for the And Queen — — all were vividly described.' she begins after the greetings are over. " 'Yes. the Colonel's wife. as sound and solid and lively as quicksilver. 'I have so many messages for you. and the most Indeed she seemed more familiar delightful anecdotes. tell me all about them! How are our the 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.' colors the glories of the then the speaker began to paint in the brightest new position. She recited. Upstairs she goes and knocks at the door. Guess from whom? I didn't come straight from Stendal. From their dwelling on Unter den Linden. with the greatest ease. moreover. health and good spirits. You may imagine the rejoicing and the embracing on both sides. good Frau General. with happiness and comfort beaming from his " countenance. best Frau Colonel. with Berlin. cunning enough to depict our hero with many new domestic virtues which had developed on the firm ground of the Berlin life. and Sans Souci than with the palace Schonbrunn and the Emperor Joseph's castle. *Now dearest. whole conversations.

and to take their noonday meal. malicious. mutilated. Look. and were approaching a town. 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. conducted by Mozart himself he said. while he and his arch-accomplice were plotting to present Don years ago. and for wliat? once a week. the work of his imagine! You must cerdeadly foe. I vowed that if the infamous Tarare was ever me to go to see it. wrapped around a little souvenir from the Mozarts and myself. do you think? Look.394 THE GERMAN CLASSICS For directing a chamber concert thalers. ruined. I have seen him. precious little man. whether I had a hair clipped from Absalom's head. Meanwhile they had long ago reached the valley. contented with Cosa rara. read it. our dear. And what was on the posters. to rest. behind which lay the small modern palace of Count Schinzberg. yellow. in Paris. and the preparing to repeat in Vienna the triumph which he had won with his piece. and the opera twice. sad to say. Ah. too. 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 to show our good plain public. printed in letters a yard long ! ' ! 'Heaven forbid! live Not Tar are!' 'Yes! What cannot on^ to see! Two Juan.' "Brava! Bravissima!" shouted Mozart. But now Tarare on the Berlin stage. if it is only to be able to say in Vienna tainly go. in laughter . a hawk or two. Fran Colonel. When everybody else ran to hear it you too. nothing should hire — — ' ' ! ' ' — — and jollity. In this town they were to feed the horses. Several times after that. were never in the least to be realized ended finally given. and ate my supper. my Frau Colonel I sat by my fire with my cat in my lap. please! I brought it for you. 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. old Salieri was Juan just as they had presented Figaro. And I kept word. when Mozart wrote Don wretched.

It was a light. since his conversation suited Mozart no better than his wine. till he suddenly came upon the palace which stood a little to the left. resting upon slender green posts. with a broad. the family were stairs. Here. no one but the host was to be seen. however. Constanze prepared for her nap. and he descended to seek entertainment in the coffee-room. and fresh. in the Italian style. with a balustrade. short walk brought and goddesses. were allowed to enter the grounds besides. took his leisurely way through a dark grove of pines until he came to an open space where a fountain was playing. Respectable strangers. Mozart. After they had alighted. left to his wife the ar- rangements for dinner. Mozart promising to wake her in time for dinner. The clean white bed was covered with a painted canopy. a smooth gravel . brought up The room was newly whitewashed. double flight of steps in front. whose silken curtains were long ago replaced by a more ordinary stuff. plaster building. he was told. The rather large oval basin was surrounded with carefully kept orange-trees. and. while she asked only for water and a quiet room where she could get a little sleep. . not six hundred paces away. away him to the gate. as usual. now singing. The host led the way up- and Mozart. A for the day. passing many flower-beds still gay with blossoms. clean. and ordered for himself a glass of wine. and was adorned with statues of gods . interspersed with laurels and oleanders. the master proposed a walk to the palace garden while dinner was preparing. Our master turned toward the shrubbery. She bolted the door behind him. and. the slate-covered roof was finished in the usual manner.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 395 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. now whistling. the rear. which stood open then he slowly followed a path overhung by tall old lindentrees. The ancient articles of furniture were of noble descent. they had probably once adofned the dwelling of the Count.

after rolling the fragrant fruit back and forth before his nose. but stopped. broadshouldered him. then fitted them gently together. blue eyes. apart from the rest. most amusing for a third person with a sort of defiant — — . He looked long at the inner surfaces. was too much surprised to speak. done. and with a small silver-handled knife slowly cut open the fruit. It was a most tempting resting-place. Mozart started. as the tempting fruit in his hand. and he worked it out eagerly. Then his glance brightened. Perhaps he had a vague sense of thirst. and again put them together. he presently took from his pocket an enameled case. suddenly remembering where he was and what he had He was about to hide the orange. sitting as if nailed to his chair. and Mozart threw himself down upon the rustic bench which stood by a table within the arbor. opened them again. while his lips moved silently looked at it. He — indeed. an idea had come to him. stood before He had evidently seen the last guilty movement. Mozart. Smiling thoughtif to take fully. Absently he grasped the orange again it broke from the tree and remained in his hand. amazed. Listening to the splash of the water. he reached toward the nearest orange. heavy with fruit. the head-gardener. A tall. and watching an orange-tree which stood. but did not see it. looked the gardener somewhat boldly in the Then it would have been face with his big. the frarance of the open fruit allayed it. which he pondered long and tried to follow out. with the melody which was singing itself to him. our friend was carried away by visions of the South and favorite memories of his childhood. and darted here and there. musical memory. half laughing yet blushing. man in livery. his artistic abstraction went so far that. either from pride or because he was too late. if so. and. and stopped. Just then steps approached the arbor. half-effaced.396 THE GERMAN CLASSICS walk upon wliich an arbor opened ran around the fountain. likewise. but. But closely connected with that scene of his youth there flashed upon him a long-forgotten.

"I am covered with confusion. and remain "Your most obedient servant. felt in his pocket. in your Paradise." Mozart rose. how do you happen The devil! to be pilfering here?" "What!" cried Mozart. Meanwhile Mozart had taken a piece of paper from his pocket-book. lifted the tree upon a barrow and carried it away. that I meant to steal and eat that thing?" "I believe what I see. Here I sit. " ^'I do not know whom I have the honor ''Kapellmeister Mozart. Be assured that I will wait here'. as the gardener did not stir. and I am responsible for them. The mischief is done. and Mozart." ''I "I am a stranger. and. sir.JOUENEY TO PRAGUE dle of the table. I cannot let you go until I have reported the matter and you yourself have told how it happened. as he looked at Mozart's unprepossessing clothing. Those oranges are counted. A. of Vienna. began to write : "Bear Madam. sir. for she is at the inn sleeping the sleep of innocence in a canopy-bed. merely passing through the village. way to Prague. thinking that perhaps he expected a fee. Two men now came by. like Adam of old. as if he would go. That tree was just to be carried to the house for an entertainment." "His wife?" "She is engaged and would hardly see you. after he had tasted the apple." . Is the Count at home?" "No. — "On the "W. "Pilfering! Do you believe. surrounded by Graces and Cupids." "Very well." The gardener hesitated. Mozart. sir." ''You are acquainted in the palace. miserable. which is incomprehensible even to myself. and I cannot even put the blame on a good Eve. 397 courage he set the apparently uninjured orange in the mid- beg your pardon. "With your permission. but he found nothing." began the gardener rather angrily. If you require it I will give you an account of my offense. I presume. then.

I told Franz to keep an eye on him. who had brought with him. but. had returned from the betrothal somewhat earlier. I've told you a thousand times that the front gates were A . waiting downstairs. only to be told: *'He is dressing. arrangements at the palace. who walks along the high-road and helps himself to whatever he sees!" "I beg your pardon. sir." "The deuce! What good will that do. He waited and waited. long while to wait before father and son at last appeared together. now? Even if I should have the fool arrested. from a neighboring estate. but she did not come back. .398 THE GERMAN CLASSICS handed it He hastily folded the note and servant. and for fear the gardener would let slip something which the Baron was not **Go to know beforehand." cried the fat. and heard the fatal news. he asked for the Count. to the impatient The fellow had scarcely gone when a carriage rolled up In it was the Count. good-natured. sir. I thinks he's not quite right in the head. "That is an impossible story! Vienna musician is he ? Some ragamuffin. One servant after another ran past him ^waiters.' He is to be very proud. Lieutenant Max. She did not stop to open it. Now corridors and stairways were alive with servants. valets. The Countess. and he seems He says his name is 'Moser. but somewhat hasty Count. . He doesn't look just like that. without noticing what the messenger said. a young and wealthy Baron. with her son. ''That is outrageous. 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. and only with difficulty did the gardener finally reach the antechamber and hand the note to the Countess. hurried away. in order to the opposite side of the palace." At last he found Count Max in his own room but he was talking with the Baron. it wouldn't mend matters. chamto complete — bermaids. cut the message short with: Then there was quite a I'll be there in a moment. his niece and her fiance. which had always been a second home to his niece." along.

it couldn't have happened if had had things ready at the proper time!" you Just then the Countess. too. and Max may as well tear up poem. the good man. he began to walk uneasily up and down. and persuade him to come in. Fate could not have proIf vided a greater gift or a finer surprise for Eugenie today. go to the inn and bring him and his wife too." "No. I can use the ac- — — cident to especial advantage. as no one appeared. the composer! Some- room with body must go at once and be gone ! invite him in ! I'm afraid he treated will What will he think of me 1 You it politely. "that was my first thought. "For goodness' sake." While all this was going on in the palace. both of you. He shall not go further today if we can coax him to stay. our quasiprisoner. Papa! And" as they descended the staircase "you may be quite easy about the verses. But go. Then. ' ' "What happened?" him very that happened?" Count. pleased and excited. if you possibly can. indeed. release be filled. ' ' "Impossible!" "Not at all!" if "Well. Monster! So the point of our joke is gone. Come. instead.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE to be kept locked! 399 Besides. entered the the open note in her hand. Velten. Presently came an urgent message from the inn. not very anxious over the outcome of the affair. no answered." answered Max. What was interrupted the was not immediately assuaged by the prospect of a visit The madman pulled one of the nine from a famous man. " she the gap can easily Oh. I hope. read that note! Mozart from Vienna. earnestly Leave that to me. whose wrath oranges from the tree which was for Eugenie. you do not find him in the garden. that dinner was ready long ago and the postilion was anxious to start. that is so —I take your word for it —^we will do the lunatic all possible honor. . had busied himself some time in writing. ' ' * ' ! his ' ' . "Do you know who is downstairs?" she exclaimed. The ninth Muse will not desert me.

400 THE GERMAN CLASSICS would he please come at once. She had been promised an invitation from Princess Gallia house where you often zin. as we already learned. particularly since the last of your concerts. As an officer he was distinguished rather for his learning and culture than because of fondness for military life. immediately. The Count greeted him in his jovial. knows your works by heart. my dear Maestro. talent and inclination for belles lettres. and would hear not a word of apology. besides. knows whether you will ever come back to us. Count Max inherited from both father and mother a lively imagination. rather noisy fashion. did not hesitate long. let us send away your traveling carriage and be responsible for the remainder of your to — journey. and a carriage should follow . however. who would willingly have sacrificed upon the altar of friendship or of pleasure ten times as much as was asked of him now. or with greater enthusiasm. that I doubt if you could find a family where your name is spoken more often. So he packed up his papers and was just about to leave. and had. 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 Gotz." The composer. But now you are going to Prag-ue. Count Max craved the pleasure of bringing Frau Mozart and of attending to all necessary matters at the inn he would walk over. My niece sings and plays. He was well read in French literature. that very early next morning they must continue their journey. Take today and tomorrow for rest. *'You are so well known to us. in a few weeks I hear. The betrothal had offered him. and has had the greatest desire meet you. she spends almost the whole day at her piano. a — . He insisted. for the afternoon and evening at least. in Vienna. when the two men appeared before the arbor. and no one play. but insisted that Mozart should accompany him to the house.

fair and slender. I assure you. fled with lips. led the conversation. habits of forming acquaintances and accepting impromptu invitations to be greatly surprised at the appearance and message of the young ofiQcer. As she finished he went to her with unaffected pleasure. meanwhile. refreshments were offered. VII — 26 .JOURNEY TO PRAGUE particularly gifts. and Eugenie began to sing. jovial host. It is laughs. do we composers hear ourselves sung with such . The Baron. was most comfortably and delightfully entertained. He had met Eugenie. the postilion dismissed. she herself made ready. gay in shining crimson silk and costly lace. ''How can one praise you. almost too generous with his jests and stories. ''Such singing is like the sunbecause it does every one to the soul like a refreshing bath to a child he itself best Vol. and is content. Then some one opened The upon which Figaro was lying. and thoughtfully and quickly gave all necessary orders. and. to the Baron's accompaniment. The embarrassment which the piano. which praises good. Not every day. too. for a moment made her notes from her the first bright color come and go. was presented. Satchels w^ere repacked." he said. With undisguised pleasure she prepared to accompany him. the inn-keeper was paid. shine. never guessing in what a strange fashion her spouse had introduced himself there. He. 401 of his happy occasion for the exercise He found Madame Mozart seated at the table. Susanne's passionate aria in the garden scene. dear child. and she sang as if inspired. but little older than his fiancee and seemingly well suited to her. which our traveler did not refuse. talking with the innShe was too well used to Mozart's keeper's daughter. a man of gentle and frank disposition. Mozart was evidently surprised. without too great anxiety over her toilet. and wonders. with a white ribbon studded with pearls in her hair. where she had already begun the meal. and drove off in high spirits to the palace. a most lovely creature.

which Eugenie happened to be learning. the gracehands and curved fingers. and immedi- ately appeared guests —a family of distant relatives. It was a great delight to have the artist and his genius so near within one 's own walls. At that moment after Madame Mozart other entered. as the playing ceased. although they gave the close attention and kept the perfect Insilence which were due to such enchanting playing. deed it was not easy to resist a throng of distracting and wondering thoughts as one watched the composer his — good-natured face. his almost Turning to Madame Mozart. had who had been expected been from childhood Eugenie's intimate friend. And how comfortable it must be. and. only half disguised in changing forms and daz- — zling lights. but. seems to have lent herself to the service of Elegance. of whom one. and her eyes filled with tears of pleasure. Mozart seated himself at the piano. stiff position.402 THE GERMAN CLASSICS purity and simplicity with such perfection!" and he seized her hand and kissed it heartily. When all the greetings and congratulations were over. The composition was one of those brilliant ones in which pure Beauty. He played a part of one of his concertos. Mozart's amiability — and kindness. no less than his high appreciation of her talent. * : . All words are equally good and equally extraordinary in their mouths they dare to say whatever they please. to clap the modest and learned man on the shoulder and say My dear Moare a Jack-at-all-trades !' And the word goes like zart. to sit close behind Herr Mozart's chair. for instance. at the final chord of a brilliant Fantasia. were divided between seeing and hearing. the Count began: ''When it is necessary to give a compliment not everybody's business how easy it is to a composer for kings and emperors. touched Eugenie deeply. ful movements of his small erect. in a fit of caprice. even Eugenie herself. you — — . betrays in every movement her own nobility and pours out lavishly her glorious pathos. Franziska. The Countess noticed that most of the listeners.

as usual. whose sparkling foam crowns the second half of the feast. carried on from all sides.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE wild-fire ' ! 403 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. and the guests followed their hostess toward the dining-hall. I do not play a very dignified role in the tale. I came within a hair's breadth of sitting. came mysteriously nearer and nearer to it. and all the appointments indicated an extensive banquet. 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. the familiar manner of the emperors. In short. "I will truthfully confess. who. in fact. had been general. on the other side was the charming young niece who soon commended herself to him by her wit and gaiety. "how I came to have the honor of an acquaintance with this noble house. and quite inimitable. not here at this bountiful table. from the first. had been hinting at Mozart's adventure in the garden." he began. The lower end of the table was empty. For some time the conversation. that is the way of the great. an unmarried aunt of Franziska's. Frau Constanze sat between the host and her friendly guide. In the centre stood two large epergnes. Mozart opposite Eugenie and the Baron. others puzzling their brains to know what it all meant. where the fragrance of flowers and refreshingly cool air greeted them. the Lieutenant. The walls were hung with rich festoons. I have always envied the Friedrichs and the Josefs that faculty. Mozart at last took the cue. from the deepest red to the pale yellow. But when the Count. His neighbor on one side was a little elderly lady. They took their places at the table. but hungry and alone in the most remote dungeon of the palace. so that some were smiling. watching the spider-webs on the wall. Upon tables and side-boards were the choicest wines. heaped with fruits and flowers." .

the Villa Reale. among whom were the young and lovely Queen Carolina and two princesses. moreover. "The first part of the entertainment was rather uninteresting. A where I had already played twice several times in other places." he went on. into a The nobility royal garden. close to the sea. even the gentle Eugenie shaking with uncontrollable laughter. swimming. situated upon a beautiful company of Sicilian comedians street. as you will soon see. A float which lay on the water had served as a stage. a thirteen-year-old boy. ''according to the proverb I need not mind your laughter." cried Mozart. "In the spring of 1770. sat on benches ranged in long rows in a gallery shaded with awnings. The day before we left he conducted us. and diving. ' ' in the conservatory and and clergy had shown us many attentions. on the left gleamed the gentle curve of the shore. But the second part consisted of rowing. reminiscence of my childhood was to blame for it. But first hear how it happened that an old fellow could so forget himself. and every detail has always remained fresh in memory. be a pretty story. The many-colored sea reflected the glorious heavens. "With many distinguished spectators. and who. who flattered himself that he was a connoisseur. I traveled with my father in Italy. Then Mozart related minutely all that we already know. with some other acquaintances. were performing there 'Sons of Neptune' was one of the — A many names they gave themselves. while the waves splashed against the wall we below. had some influence at court. "Well.404 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Madame ''It must. There was no end to the merriment. to the great entertainment of his audience. directly before us rose Vesuvius. for I have made my small profit out of the affair. opposite sides of the water two graceful light my "From . but especially attracted to us was a certain Abbe. We went from Rome to Naples. indeed.

was noticeable as well for her beauty as for her dress. yet the pair seemed rather indifferent to each other. The larger one. sat at her feet. or were amusing themselves with a like number of maidens. ideally handsome. ''One of the girls tossed from light fingers a couple of oranges back they came from fingers in the other boat. took no part. One of these. gorgeously painted. with a gilded prow. a slender mast and a sail. stretched an awning to shield her from the sun. bent. . — — . Thereupon the liveliest of the girls took a rose from her bosom. and accom- panied with her clear tones the singing of the others. A basket of oranges probably only yellow balls stood on deck. besides the rowers' seats. She was answered with enthusiasm. Only one. the beauty in the middle of the boat. with bared shoulders and limbs. and passed her flowers from the basket. Five youths. who was sitting in the centre of the deck twining wreaths of flowers. a flute player. sullen and contemptuous. another joined in the sport dozens of oranges were soon flying through the air. as it seemed. They stopped ings to the maidens.JOURNEY TO PEAGUE 405 boats approached each other. ** Meanwhile the other boat had come nearer. The colors boat were red. The red youths looked on. as if to ask whether such a gift would be welcome. except to look on. The beauty in the centre had her own particular admirer. The others waited upon her. were busy about the boat. and I thought the youth almost rude. nodded greetand made signs that they wished to become better acquainted. was provided with a quarter-deck. and had. It was more simply fashioned. One. curiously. from green. accompanied by music from the quay. and now began a charming display. their sweethearts. and roguishly held it on high. and as one girl after light. back and forth. but could not object when several of the maidens proposed to throw to the poor strangers at least enough to keep them from starving. as On they went. upon a pleasure-trip. and carried youths of the first only. but the crew of this one wore at sight of the others.

All efforts of the red to recover their boat were vain they . heedless of the despairing shrieks of the others. as if it had really been alive. but it slipped from their hands to the sea. They. admire The boats turning now the prow. This was only a ruse. You could hardly imagine anything prettier. toward each other. more. threw themselves into the water after So began a lively and most amusing chase. one of the youths of the green colors drew out of the water a net with which he seemed to have been playing. The boy's companions sprang to seize it. Her smile and her eyes with their long lashes I can see to this yet they seemed many — — day.406 THE GERMAN CLASSICS We now could not sufificiently circled slowly about. however. about my own age. to lure the red youths from their boat. boarded the red boat. There were about two dozen balls continually in the air. At green swimmers. hastened joyfully to the beautiful maiden. The play with the balls gradually ceased. were beaten back with oars and weapons. sometimes rising high in lofty curves. her comfortable couch. kept nodding her head in time to the music. all of a sudden. the skill on both sides. the sides. Saltorelli. Sicilian airs. "Now let me it ment. almost never going astray. seeing their opportunity. Canzoni a hallo a long medley woven together like a garland. who received him with the fish. The noblest of the enemy. dances. an impulsive little creature. ''The ear was quite as well entertained as the eye with charming melodies. Their futile rage and struggles. the cries and prayers of the maidens. a huge shining fish lay in it. the music now changed in tone the waters all made a scene — — — . To the general surprise. last the rapture. and then. and they fell into the trap. though briefly describe the rest of the entertainhas nothing to do with affair in the my garden. The youngest princess. but seeming to be attracted by some mysterious power in the outstretched hands. as well as those of the green. as handsome as a god. which now had only the maidens to defend it. sometimes falling in regular figures.

The unhappy maidens were released. It should be a simple child-like melody. "It was this way. but the fairest one of all sailed away. I seemed to hear the same music a stream of joyful melodies. that is a devilishly cute That little tune I listened more closely. deserted boat. with her to a little island. and out of it sprang to the bowsprit a rosy." whispered Eugenie to the Baron. silver-winged boy. So.JOURNEY TO PEAGUE 407 "beyond description. I thought. one after another. Then suddenly the sail was loosed. the right theme did not present itself at the first attempt. something quite to me. as if under the guidance of the god. and the audience applauded wildly. and the wonderful game of ball. lover. the composer continued: "It is seventeen years since I was in Italy. But who that has once seen Italy. Hold on. strange and familiar. in six-eighth measure. after signals of truce had been the red youths hastened after boarding the exchanged. — . . I not right? Hasn't it just the Am grace of FigaroV^ But just as the Baron would have repeated this remark to Mozart. simple number of my first act unfinished the duet and chorus of ' ' ." **I think. of her own free will. even with the eyes of a child. old and new. Good Heavens is Masetto. the sail filled. he went on " there was a little. sparkling with joy a fresh bunch of flowers tucked in among a maiden's fluttering ribbons. that is Zerlina!" He smiled and nodded at new ! ! Madame Mozart. Thither. will ever forget it? Yet I have never recalled that last beautiful day more vividly than today in your garden. Naples especially. When I closed my eyes the last veil vanished. who guessed what was coming. "that we had there a complete symphony in the true Mozart spirit. and the boat glided away. And that was the end of the comedy. Two months ago. mountain and city. — my a country wedding. Presently a little dance- — — song came along. with bow and arrows and quiver the oars began to move. when in composing score I came to this number. the gay throng of people. in the pause that followed. and I saw the lovely spot sea and shore.

just outside the village. and was so engrossed in the rest of the work that I almost forgot it. while we were driving along. he said at ' ' last. Nemesis was lurking near. and a lively and amusing discussion followed. I left that number. and so I knew most interesting " Here Madame Mozart had to interrupt him and give them most positive assurance that he was the one who asked the questions. and suddenly appeared in the shape of the dreadful man in livery. too. only an hour later. The fiend People do not easily make me so hot His face was as hard as bronze and very like the terrible Emperor Tiberius. thought I. Constanze there. For I overheard the fat hostess of the inn telling my wife. but such a thing never happened to me before. men and girls. The bird had only his head out of the — I proceeded to pull off the rest of Zerlina's dance floated before my eyes. the view on the Gulf of Naples. For to find a melody exactly fitted to the verse but I must not anticipate. but I cannot remember that I thought much about it. in the arbor by the fountain. and it Meantime somehow. and because such trifles often come of themselves. at any other time." Here Mozart gayly hummed the beginning of the song. I heard the voices of the and the chorus of peasants. I caught just the right motif. ''Meantime my hands had done the mischief. ! bridal couple. shell. the text came into my head. on that heavenly day by the sea. what must His Grace the Count be! But to tell the truth I counted and not without reason on the protection of the ladies. too! If the servant looks like that. Had an eruption of Vesuvius suddenly destroyed and buried with its rain of ashes audience and actors. I could not have been more surprised or horrified. I heard some- . the whole majesty of Parthenope. all the facts about the family.408 THE GERMAN CLASSICS because one should not force such a thing. and. who is ! ! — — — somewhat curious in disposition. An artist has strange experiences now and then. Today. Yet. * ' However that may ' ' be. more happily than I could have found it in any other way.

after the mirth had subsided. "1 believe. An inscription fastened to the orange-tree proclaimed it the property of Eugenie. "that Eugenie does not know Avhat that tree really is. was seen. 'Per said to myself. it Incredulous. which you must have noticed a hundred times. when the long-lost son or brother proves his identity by his moles and scars Look have ! at that knot.' No sooner said than done I had time enough. as I remembered that. 'that will Sit down and write out the help you out of your scrape as far as you can. if you will accept it!" He held out the neatly written manuscript toward Eugenie. and her surprise and delight knew no bounds. my dear!" At his signal the folding-doors of the salon opened. and beside it the count placed Mozart's autograph note. cut in pieces. besides being Dio!' was goodness itself. explain your behavior truthfully. placing on each side a slender myrtle-tree. but in front of it. Is it your tree or isn't it?" Eugenie could doubt no longer. song I ! and they will think it all a good joke. 409 thing about a favorite foster-daughter who. then at her " I knew It isn 't possible. as the napkin which covered it was lifted. said: ''Have patience a moment longer." "And its so f place you think that we have found another That would have been worth while No ! to take I shall ! to do as they do in the play.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE beautiful. and sang like an angel. and quickly taking it himself. ." uncle." said the Countess. upon a porcelain plate. she said very well that ' ' ' ' . bringing in the fateful orange-tree. and servants appeared. Eugenie looked first at the tree. which they put at the foot of the table. but the Count anticipated her. couldn't be saved. and at this crack. She does not recognize her old friend with all its fruit and blossoms. an impromptu wedding-song. and found a blank piece of paper and here is the result! I place it in these fair — ! hands. an orange.

for he possessed a most excellent wife. indeed. it was treasured the more as the living symbol of an age which. oaken chest. and afterward was treated with the greatest solicitude by children and grandchildren. who lived more than a hundred years before their day. For perhaps twenty-five years it grew under her care. in the centres of cultivation and learning. She sympathized with the ever-varying intellectual pleas- — ures of the court without sacrificing in the least her strong. the sprig from an orange-tree.410 THE GERMAN CLASSICS To the Count's family this tree always suggested the story of a most excellent woman. The after his grandmother's death. Prized for its own actual worth. From the hand of Mme. Renate Leonore. perhaps. During her repeated visits to France she came in contact with the brilliant court of Louis XIV. she had received. On this very account. which she had planted and which became in Germany a flourishing tree. all without giving offense.. the most charming the noblest — from the Marquise and her daughter. inborn sense of honor and propriety. and could attack her adversary in his weakest spot. was nevertheless so modest and so well controlled that she was honored with the friendship of one of women of the time Mme. and with the most distinguished men and women of the day. and her correspondence gives many a hint of the courage and independence with which she could defend her sound principles and firm opinions. had found in an old Count. Her lively interest in all the personages whom one could meet at the house of a Ninon. she was the leader of a certain naive opposition. and who well deserves a word in passing. de Sevigne. full of interesting papers. 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. de Sevigne. was then regarded as little less than divine an age in which letters — . during a fete at Trianon. intellectually.

until the day of the betrothal. since he could find no particular cause for its fading. gifted with song. and had altered the close of his verses. The gardener gave it up for lost. he had postponed the surprise for several weeks. at the last moment. The greater was her disappointment then.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE we. moreover. can find little 411 that is truly admirable. so ran the story tree of the Hesperides in the garden of Juno on a western sprang up. which shook the world. To the bequest of her excellent ancestor Eugenie showed much devotion. But the Lieutenant had long before dinner found op- portunity to arrange his poetical contribution to the festive presentation. when. 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. lest those oranges which had ripened first should fall from the tree. as a wedding gift from Mother Earth. advised by a skilful friend. and there is no need of further excuse for the good man's emotion. turning to Eugenie. the leaves of the precious tree began to turn yellow and many branches died. Now he rose and drew forth his manuscript. only a few years distant from our innocent story. island. and his hope of surprising his beloved niece with her old friend in all its new strength and fruitfulness was realized beyond expectation. and did not succeed in reviving it. during her absence in the preceding spring. and her uncle had often said that the tree should some day belong to her. he found that a stranger had robbed him of his pleasure. when. and was The oft-sung — — watched over by three nymphs. began to read. today. but which was preparing the way for events. . But the Count. Repressing his impatience. A shoot from this tree had often wished for a similar fate. and. ages ago. which might otherwise have been almost too serious. for the custom of bestowing one of his race on a royal bride had descended from gods to mortals. and anxious.

poem— Phoebus — so ended the Phoobus. the number of the nine sisters. and — — . with a changed heart. happily. she came alas! too late. Smiling. His leaves were withered. plucks the god of music One sweet orange from the tree : "Share with me the fruit. in his work rejoicing. ah the sight Tempts him. be. the maiden to whom he might turn his fond glances seemed at last to be found. more radiant than ever. He touched the tree with his all-healing hands. shrubs and trees nodded greetings to her. but for one. In vain the myrtle comforted own example. fruits appeared. and garden received her with the greatest joy. nectar-laden flowers opened here and there. looked up with modest rapture. And how she wept and mourned over him But Apollo heard her voice from afar. but. his him and taught him patience by her the absence of his beloved increased finally malady till it became well-nigh fatal. In another moment ! Doth he yield to appetite. looked with compassion upon her grief. his neighbor beside the spring.412 THE GERMAN CLASSICS After long and vain waiting. Counts the fruit . and only the lifeless stem and the dry tips of his branches were left. their young green changing before his eyes to the color of gold. He would never know his kind friend again. and. Yes for what cannot the immortals do the beautiful round to stir rise in the . three times three. But summer brought back the absent one. coming ! nearer. Immediately the sap began trunk young leaves unfolded white. But the proud laurel (devoted to the Muses). palace. She was kind to him and lingered by him often. the noblest. roused his jealousy by threatening to steal from the talented beauty all thought of love for man. thou fair one. Eoses and lilies. and. Town. they grew and grew." And this slice shall Amor's .

Turning to him. is even this one passage : How splendid * Invocation to Calliope. whose ready wit had already been called out by the Count and Mozart." cried Mozart. "There we have the god just as he is bending thoughtfully over the sacred spring. bending down toward the god?" "Yes. Ode IV." answered Max. and readily pardoned for the unexpected ending which had so completely altered the really charming effect which he had made in the first version. which was sacred to him. "Here in the Golden Age is the same I hope that scene which we have heard about today. "he will stop this roguish And catching her by the mouth with a thousand kisses. and returning brought with her a large old English engraving which had hung. as I have always heard." ! "Exactly. And. arm he vowed that she should not go until she had paid the — — ' ' forfeit * ' —which was promptly done." applauded Franziska. as she set up the picture at the end of the table. who was standing behind Mozart's chair. 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." "Not at all. read us what written beneath the picture. little heeded. look behind him in the thicket is an old Satyr w^atching him." she cried. Ill. made a fine translation of them a ' ' while ago. "Do you see that bough heavy with fruit. is Max. that there is nothing new under the sun." "Excellent. that is the olive-tree. she continued. suddenly left the table. ' ' said the Countess. They are verses from a celebrated ode of Horace. And in a moment in a fit of abstraction he will pick one. Apollo will recognize himself in this situation. It is in most beautiful rhythm. Max was Franziska. Bk. . in a distant room. of Berlin." "Instead.* The poet Ramler. "It must be true. Those are the finest oranges.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE The verses were received with shouts 413 of applause.

and his father. The Lieutenant was an able second." "How so?" "Eugenie is envying her friend and with good reason. *He who will never lay aside the bow. But such conversations cannot well be repeated. once or twice the latter succeeded remarkably well. But what would the Herr Baron say?" "I could forgive for once. also. . in future. 'He who was always a most diligent fiddler. — sides. would not be outdone indeed. Herr Baron. the time sonality in — gaiety of the mood and the charm of perword and look are lacking. mean in plain prose. There is no danger as long as the god does not lend me his countenance and his long yellow hair. Among the toasts was one proposed by Franziska 's aunt that Mozart should live to write many more immortal —the — works. many a toast was offered. I wish he would. who never more Will from his shoulders lay aside the bow.** "Ah! you have discovered my weak point. But you need not be alarmed. I would give him on the spot Mozart's braid and his very best hair-ribbon be* ' ." Very well." to be careful. you are sowing discord in two gentle hearts. and Mozart soon fell into his way of talking in rhyme. then I shall not neglect my opportunity. Mozart. For instance. the wines were passed. who holds the Lycian thicket And his ! native wood — Apollo Delian ai)d Patarean King.414 THE GERMAN CLASSICS " —And own he.' But. Who in the pure dew of Castalia's fountain Laves loosened hair. of course." "Beautiful!" exclaimed the Count. With such exchange of jests the merriment grew. "but it needs a little explanation here and there. how he gracefully laved his new French finery in the Castalian "Apollo would have fountain. because the very elements which make them irresistible at ." laughed Franziska.' would.

too). such as you (Mighty Schikaneder. Eugenie had long ago quietly examined her inheritance . Mozart promised afterward to write out the song at leisure." cried Mozart. and touched glasses." All three." Mozart." The Count. and the last four impromptu terzetto suddenly became a socalled "endless canon. "Unless you with all years." and Franziska's aunt had wit and confidence enough to add all sorts of ornamentation in her quavering soprano. and he did send it to the Count after he returned to Vienna. even. "And Mozart. That shall drive you to despair. Then the Count began to they eagerly sing with much power and certainty. Great arch-thief of Italy. according to the rules of the art. "Works.JOUENEY TO PRAGUE ''Exactly! 415 I am with you in that. "Works that you shall live to see. thanks to his in- — spiration : "Here's to Mozart's latest score. Clever Signor Bonbonniere. "Straight zum Teufel first repair. May he write us many more." Max. Clever Monsieur Bonbonniere." lines of the The Count was loth to stop singing." your wares. con forza. until now Never thought of once. "You may have a hundred Mozart. I vow." Max. da Ponte.

It was now almost sunset. half inclosed by a high vine-covered trellis." and presently some one asked to hear the new duet from her and Mozart. ''if we not sit here for a little. "I will tell you a story that you must know in order I wish to give to to understand a little plan of mine. The Count was not slow in doing the honors for Madame Mozart. to ask Franziska for a waltz. The last rosy rays of sunlight shone in through the leaves." "Per- . It is no article of luxury or of fashion but it is interesting solely because of its history. and indeed it was Mozart himself who gave the signal." tell Madame Mozart would suggested the Counus about herself and her husband!" Madame Mozart was willing enough. as Mozart and the fair Eugenie fin- ished the last dance. while the Count led the way to the billiard room. From the hill they could look off into the fields. for Mozart was known to be fond of the game. Eugenie?" asked Franziska. and her eager listeners drew their chairs close about her. ''Could tess. The uncle was glad to join in the chorus." "What can it be. and down into the streets of the village. the Baroness-to-be a souvenir of a very unusual kind. as he left the piano. he claimed his promised privilege. Finally. After they had walked about they ascended a little slope. and all rose and hastened to the piano in the large salon. We will follow the ladies.416 THE GERMAN CLASSICS from the shrubbery of ^'Tiberius. haps the ink-bottle of some famous man. and the garden was cool and pleasant. The charming composition aroused the greatest enthusiasm. Even Franziska 's aunt became young again as she trod the minuet with the gallant Lieutenant. There the Countess invited the ladies to rest and refresh themselves. while Max took up his violin. and one after another joined in the dance. but its very character was a temptation to put music to another use.

VII — 27 an hour before church or . the human blood. corpuscles. my cure. and I had to laugh at him. and such unheard-of things. when they go with their families on Sunday for a stroll in the country. phlogiston. in the Stephansplatz. For the doctor had hardly been gone a half hour when I found my hus- band. But his patient paid little heed to the good advice. Now for the story and with your permission it shall begin back a year or more. sitting in his room and examining a walking-stick which he had ferreted out of a closet full of old things. I have been thinking about it. it was not easy to follow a prescription which took so much time and was so directly contrary to all his plans and habits. But no one had ever before seen a cane in Mozart's hand. and digestion a subject of which Mozart was. deep in thought but of a cheerful countenance. a quarter of Vol. there is our neighbor. Then the doctor frightened him with a long lecture on breathing. who cannot even cross the street to visit his best friend without his cane trades. carry each one his trusty cane. there were dissertations on Nature and her purposes in eating. 'I have surrendered myself to with all its appurtenances. I will drink the water. It was a handsome stick. Although he was now and then in unnaturally high spirits when in company. " 'You see. "The lesson made a distinct impression. till then. "The winter before last. I supposed that he had entirely forgotten it. chancellors and shop-keepers.' he cried. And I have noticed how men and ofiicers.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 417 ''Not a bad guess. Mozart's health caused me much anxiety. as ignorant — as a five-year-old child. You shall see the treasure within an hour. with this stick as my companion. and take exercise every day in the open air. and had belonged to my father. drinking. it is in my trunk. the privy-councilor. with a large head of lapis lazuli. on account of his increasing nervousness and despondency. or sighing and ailing. The physician recommended dieting and exercise in the country. yet at home he was generally silent and depressed.

this old-fashioned and rather homely custom must short. where one canat any rate. since it helped him for three whole weeks to carry out the doctor's instructions. obtained a place in the opera. and I hope that we are partners for life. You may not believe it. I sent twice for him. for he sits there like a man in a balloon. Another was procured. and. and lasted somewhat longer. Indeed. and . some gossips would have it that she had made a conquest of him. and without doubt her coquetry had assisted her in winning his favor. We are already slightly acquainted. him all day. On the third day of their strolls the companion failed to return. once he is seated at the piano and lost in music. ' ' ' The partnership was but a brief one. but I am really impatient to go off with this good friend for my first constitutional across the bridge. through Mozart's influence. one can see. 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 soiree. be a blessing and a comfort. he went with some friends who were passing through Vienna to a musical soiree. But after a while the fancy passed. Then it happened that. but those are always the occasions when people most abuse his kindness. miles above the earth. and tranquillity. in the middle of the night but the servant could not even get a word with him. was thankful to Mozart's sudden fancy for canes. I . The young Eoman singer had. however. the THE GERMAN CLASSICS worthy citizens stand talking in groups and lean- ing on their stout sticks. are the firm In supports of their industry. Good results began to appear we had almost never seen him so bright and cheerful. and I was in despair again.418 court. not hear the clocks strike. at three in the morning. and I made up my mind that I must be very severe with . At last. order. He promised faithfully that he would stay but an hour." Here Madame Mozart passed over some circumstances in silence. after a very fatiguing day. he came home. which.

So when he awoke from a sound sleep shortly after noon. and even permitted herself to jest at the expense of her benefactor. to go out into the air. she had put off as long as possible the unHer money was now almost pleasant communication. he could not stay in the house. and well-nigh roused her pity. and there was no prospect that they should soon have more. He dressed himself quickly. the table ! He did not wish to eat. a somewhat exwas so indiscreet as to repeat to him the spiteful remark. spent. worthy of a Circe. If he had only known how heavy an anxiety had burdened her during the past few days But. as usual. as happened. As Mozart was returning from this soiree (at which. 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. It was the more amazing to him because it was the first unmistakable proof of the utter ingratitude of his protegee. yet she held conscientiously to her determination that he should not so easily escape punishment. In his great indignation he did not notice the extreme coolness of Frau Constanze's reception.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE had kept him for months on the rack. I should like to turn Carthusian or Trappist and make amends for my sins. On the table he left an open note in Italian: "You have taken a fair revenge. So it was quite like her to speak of Mozart to one of her more fortunate admirers as un piccolo grifo raso (a little wellshaven pig). the singer was not present). Without stopping to take breath he poured out his grievance." . But be kind and smile again when I come home. The comparison. he found neither wife nor children at home. I beg you. was the more irritating because one must confess that it contained a grain of truth. she conducted herself afterward in the most impertinent and ungrateful manner. yet his heart sank with discouragement and uncertainty. and treated me quite as I deserved. Although Mozart did not guess this state of affairs. 419 that However may have been. and it cited friend was spread for him alone.

but not his cane that had had its day and set off. through the Alser-Vorstadt. cellar. known for his good beer as for the excellence of his Mozart heard the balls and saw a dozen or more half-unconscious desire to forget himguests within. and watched the bowling. who — A had to serve the guests and at the same time attend to the shop. he stopped but a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful view across the green meadows and over the suburbs to the Kahlenberg. joined in their conversation. a master rope-maker. turning — — — to the left. with a bowling alley. and dill and cheap brandy. besides the necessaries of his all kinds of dishes and utensils for kitchen. and farm oil and wagon grease. who were just entering Although the silent sentinel who paced up and down beside the cannon did not disturb him. A — — full to trade. self among natural and unassuming people moved him to enter the garden. the proprietor. The good man sauntered along past the market toward the armory it was a warm. 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. who. At the end of Wahringer Street there was an inn. The peaceful calm of nature was too little in sympathy with his thoughts. climbed the Molkenbastei. Not far from the bowling-ground. was busy with a countryman. was as well ropes. he had for sale overflowing. thus avoiding the greetings of several acquaintances the town. without any particular aim. was the open shop of the rope-maker.420 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS — Then he took his hat. and. sunshiny. It was a small room. and so went on. also seeds of various kinds. summer afternoon and slowly and thoughtfully crossed the Hof. girl. With a sigh he set out across the esplanade. Since we have excused Frau Constanze from telling so much of her story we may as well spare her a little longer. toward the house. ordered his glass of beer. leading his little boy by the hand. had just stepped up to make a few pur- . for.

to the first one. and enjoying her blessings though they be hard to win! But if my art demands of me a different kind of work. As much as he was interested in the good. differing only considered. to who knows what may happen closely. sensible girl. were ' ' the man will go home to and tell her of his purchases. ^ Now. If only I could be as happy and independent waiting only on Nature. The master. ' ' ! He walked up to the shop. exchange for anything in the world. he was still more entertained by the countryman who. on a bench near the alley. had changed places with him he felt how important in his eyes . after all. all that was going on.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 421 chases a measure for fruit. was the small * transaction. — he could not decide upon any one. and the children will wait until the sack is opened. a brush. with her calm and earnest countenance. Mozart. that I would not. saw and heard. take up a second and a third. he thought. 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. try it. or have a friend or two with me what delight! plant trees. He would choose one article. now and then take a trip to town for an opera. with great amusement. then I could really live. lay it down. uncertainly. ' ' how tiously the prices. while the good wife will hasten to bring the supper and the mug of fresh home-brewed cider. spoke to the girl. and a little house. came back. I could . in the fall gather apples and pears with my boys. visit my — Well. his wife all anxiously and conscienby a few kreutzers. examine her stock more and began His mind had not quite . a whip. garden. to see if it holds anything for them. for the time being. and with the utmost patience helped him make his choice. and go back. In the mornings I could work diligently at my scores all the rest of the time I could spend with my family. left Mozart much to think about. for which her husband has been keeping his appetite all day. even after he had gone. The girl went off several times to wait on the guests.

however.422 THE GERMAN CLASSICS descended from its idyllic flight. a long time ago. Then he went back to the table to finish his beer. Constanze had. Mozart was now more pleased with his purchase than But his interest was to become still greater. as he looked further. the girl remarked with a smile that that was hardly a suitable . ticularly fine choice of spoons. as the girl passed near. Then. the tinker called out. such as she might need or might like to have. Only one of his former companions was sitting there. a master-tinker. Crescenz." ever. At last he spied a stout stick. At his suggestion. To make up for this. which had a handle covered with leather and studded with brass nails. rented a little piece of ground outside the Karnthner Thor. But all the other things which we have laid out you may bring to me today or tomorrow. so now it seemed quite fitting to invest in a long rake and a small rake and a spade. smooth^ shining wood. You are right. As the strange customer seemed somewhat undecided about this also. answered. "The girl there has had a good day for once. he I think I have seen butchers carry such sticks. child. and plates of all sizes." And he gave his name and address. ''Her uncle gives her a commission on all that stick for ' ' ' ' ' ' she sells. light and and was carefully varnished. in a moment. "Well. and had raised a few vegetables. and the clean." he remarked. I will not have it. There was also a pardark. and a salt-box of simple construction to hang on the wall. with its fresh smell. For. bread-boards. he did honor to his principles of economy by denying himself. he chose a deep dish with a cover and a prettily carved handle for it seemed a most useful article. attracted him. It was made of narrow strips of wood. No. a gentleman to carry. with an effort and after some deliberation. It suddenly occurred to him that he would pick out several articles for his wife. a most tempting churn. how is your friend the locksmith? Will filing his he soon be own iron?" .

There is a fine young apprentice who would have liked to marry her long ago. Now comes word of a good situation and a part of a house in Ghent. moderate his statements." The tinker was on thorns. but after he died it came out that he had her money. and uncle." she answered without stopping. fearing that they might have been overheard. He hastened to the girl. so loud that the other looked around anxiously. but of course he will not let her go. who was busy with new guests: Come early tomorrow. I hope that your affairs will prosper. "For a long time she kept house for her stepfather. "Shame on you. Wholly occupied with the way poor young couple. Since that she has lived with her is a treasure." She was too busy and too much surprised to thank him. he ran over in his mind and acquaintances who might be able to help them. clumsily enough. How so ! Has he nothing to live on I " "They both have saved a little.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE ''Oh. and give my respects to your good friend. in the shop. and took care of him when he was ill. ''that iron ' ' 423 is still growing deep in the mountain. since it was necessary to have more affairs of the a list of his friends . in the inn. Her uncle could easily lend them the little money that they need. "And is there no one who could speak the right word or show those fellows a fist? The villains! We to will get the best of them yet. He has spent all and she ' ' ' ' good friends in the council and in the union. and almost contradicted himself. "She is a good goose. for the stirred his blood. ' ' He retraced his incident had to the city at a quick pace. and the young fellow is meeting with all sorts of difficulties. but not enough. Then. with the children." "The wretches!" cried Mozart. He tried." said the tinsmith. But Mozart would not listen. but there is a hitch somewhere. 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.

'Good-evening!' he said. H 'm. which was addressed in a fair clear hand which he at once recognized. but came immediately to me. and longing redoubled his haste. After walking across the room once or twice. He stepped into the first shop to give the messenger his receipt. He confidently expected a more than cordial welcome and a kiss at the door. cried. " continued ^'I was at still. he dismissed the subject from his thoughts and hastened eagerly toward home.table. in her story. with a smothered yawn he took up the a most unusual proceeding fly-clap from behind the door and remarking. I had not noticed many flies. His step and tone were more cheerful and gay than I had expected. and more so my my than I quite liked. patsch. and. but when once in the street again his impatience was not to be checked.' Pitsch. It was nothing less than a heap of ducats. so he broke the seal. and I had been careful not to him hear ' it. 'In my house they are soon dispatched. as loudly as possible. I answered him quietly. He kept on with his nonsense behind my back. sitting husband come upMozart. now standing voured his letter. another matter. 'Do you see?' No answer. The noise is particularly unpleasant to him. de- Madame sewing. maledette! dis- . without looking up. I suppose!' it how rapidly their numbers multiply. ''and heard stairs and ask the servant for me. Presently the postman called to him and handed him a small but heavy parcel. talking to himself. so near that I could not help seeing without lifting my eyes from my work. 'To be Patsch. "What were they put in the world for?' Pitsch. 'Natural history teaches us killed. Ah.424 particulars THE GERMAN CLASSICS from the girl before he could decide upon any step. and giving a slap now 'The disagreeable good-for-nothing beasts! and then. He went first to his room.' I thought. Then he laid something on the table before me. when he does it himself Besides. ' ' ' ' ! Six at a blow he His strange behavior vexed me much. now walking. 'Where do all these flies come from!' be- — — ' gan let it's to slap about.

and there was the outfit. Yet he cannot take it amiss if I find in them a compliment to myself also. soon forgot her. Take care that the acknowledgment be not too long delayed. We have been playing your quartettes again. During a pause I was called out. The whole week went by. I lot of '* went back to the room and asked.* through Haydn. Count Hardegg. the letter. Captain Wasselt. so her to come in.' '"Postscript (for the — cried Mozart again which pleased him most. and my husband.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 425 per ate! Here are twenty more. spades. One Sunday evening we had a small musicale. EtC. no Crescenz appeared. wish. to whose support and of art. with rakes. He fell on my neck and we laughed as if for a wager. quite at ease. Tell him that I think as highly of his genius as you do." "Amen. in a whirl of engagements. 'Have you ordered a woodenware from the Alservorsstadt?' I did ! 'By thunder. Read the letter. and could hold out no longer. '* 'But where did the money come from?' I asked. '*0f the affair in the suburb I heard neither that day nor the next." said I. as you may guess. or the praise of the prince. would be hard to say We passed a very happy evening. as he shook the last pieces from the roll. to : " —His friend. From Prince Esterhazy. and his Highness was even more charmed and delighted than at the first hearing. Are you satisfied? ear of the good wife). I confess that just then the money appealed most to me. three months ago. ' * * You angel It ! You divine creature ' ! and again. We must not lose so favorable a breeze. I had had hard work to keep from laughing. and more than that he could not 'My good has. 'ElSENSTADT.' * I suppose the girl is here? Tell *'So in she came.' I read: * " my great delight. and The friend and patron of Haydn. A note from Mozart himself would be best. intrusted Highness me with the errand of sending to you these 60 ducats. Do you want them?' And he came and laid down another pile of gold. and others were there. or the money. he thought to honor you alone. He said to "When Mozart dedicated these me (I must write it word for word) works to you. interest we owe many works .

and was sent away much encouraged. she told her story with so much modesty and discretion that she quite won her audience. If I ' ' " 'Hear that! " 'Was always from the market!' ' ' ' libitum!' found hearty approval. with a description of Herr Mozart's purchase. and an account of his philanthropic spirit.' he *' said. " 'For your garden.' "The guests enjoyed the fun. assuring her that whatever assistance we could offer should be quietly given and cause her no trouble. praising and admiring. Those people must be helped. Mozart took the things from her. The important thing is a contribution toward the expenses of the house and the furniLet us give a benefit concert. I thanked him and was pleased with everything. and we will put this box on the table to receive the contributions and arrange the rakes as decorations. and I had to give them some of the unnecessary articles at once. THE GEKMAN CLASSICS and apologized for her delay. and handed them to me with great satisfaction. saying that she had forgotten the name of the street and had only just found it. admission fee ad ture. said the Captain.426 all.' This did not suggestion "The . Somebody picked up the salt-box and said: 'We must have an historic introduction. 'Goodness! we gave that up long ago. one after another. though I wondered all the time what he had bought the garden tools for. and besides we never had good luck with it. I know some one who will see to that. and you didn't object.' *' 'What! ' And so the asparagus that we had this spring had only known it! And I praised it just out of pity for your poor garden. I told you. when really the stalks were no bigger than Dutch quills. And when Mozart inquired of the girl about the prospects of her marriage. and encouraged her to speak freely. The tricks of the union do not amount to much. because the river did so much damage.

stops us . the lights were burning at the piano. So I laid whom we aside two which I thought were suitable. almost eight o'clock and tea-time. at least. ''But since way. salt." So ended Madame Mozart's story. happily. Mozart was ready and willing. Their delight was redoubled when. is a symbol of home and hospitality. and was taking by the them to her. which lay under lock and key. and Frau Duschek asked for some of the woodenware as souvenirs. and the model of patriarchal simplicity was formally presented. but. and soon our master was pressingly reminded of his promise to show his friends Don Juan. however. I will divide my gift. of that peculiar sensation with which a single chord. This. It was. as I have heard. heard the story. one who we have made another artist friend is. in the presence of the whole party. by this time. the interesting articles were brought out. dear friends of ours. the young couple had more than enough for their house- keeping moved. floating from a window as we pass. and also the other obstacles were quickly re- ''The Duscheks. My advice is to take the salt-box.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 427 happen. We could wish that our readers could here realize a touch. too. with are to stay. as important a place as that of the Florentine master's famous work. and who will not despise what Mozart has chosen. and what with the receipts of the concert and outside contributions. How pleased and gratified her listeners were is easily to be imagined. outfit. about to provide her wedding furnishings. in Prague. and by the time he had told the story of the plot and had brought the libretto. which is decorated with a tasteful tulip. the Count vowed. should have in the silver-chest of its present owner and all her posterity. not too deep down in his trunk. though the concert came off. may choose between a lovely open-work rod for stirring chocolate and the salt-box. and you. Eugenie. and with the gift go the best and most affectionate wishes.

expressly mentioned). were what Mozart could wish. and he shrinks before it in the very moment when it draws him most strongly. and one of Zerlina's two arias. the and he played them in a free sextet. or whatever it may be? Man wishes and yet fears to be moved beyond his ordinary habit. a work which has been familiar to us from childhood. singing here and there as he felt disposed. in the short pauses their interest or We when the rest of the audience expressed showed their delight in involuntary ex- . if you will —which —of able — being emoan stirs is perhaps the purest and happiest of which we are capable. Of his wife it is only told that she sang two arias. Reverence for perfect art is present. he feels that the Infinite will touch him. even if they had heard the whole of it.428 THE GERMAN CLASSICS 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. sort of transcription. in one hearing they could not fully appreciate and understand such a work. little company. that she chose Donna Anna's Or sai. They were about to hear. find only the last might guess. we have very enviable pleasure of hearing the advantage of them for . for the first ground time. and so engrossed that. They sat far back in the room. taste. since her voice was said to be as strong as it was sweet. was on very different from ours. CEdipus. Eugenie motionless as a statue. 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 number. however. chi Vonore. — — the thought of enjoying a heavenly miracle and being permitted to make it one's own tion —pride. in spirit. too. This If one subtracts the it through its creator. In all probability Eugenie and her fiance were the only listeners who. and judgment.

" "Exactly. and then thought I would . stopped. looking at the clock." he intertell rupted. "things work out very strangely. and intended to go to bed early." lamented Constanze. They spoke of the close of the opera. she gave only the briefest replies to the Baron's occasional remarks. That drink more than he ' ' still — ! "Is it possible! When? Oh! three weeks ago. I came in after ten (you were fast asleep) from dinner at the Richters'. Sillery —three bot' ' is past. before me. I made ready for bed mechanically. and of the first performance. announced for an early date in November. my dear." ' ' Bring some wine. and when some one remarked that certain portions yet to be written must be a When Mozart gigantic task. he showed himself particularly pleased with the Baron's comments. springing up and nod- ding to a servant. as usual. my husband will not has in his glass. tles. I'd rather like to." began Mozart. for I was to start very early in the morning. Meanwhile Veit had lighted the candles on the writing-table. so loudly that Mozart must needs hear: ''He has ideas which he works at secretly. just before I was to go on a journey?" "No." May it bring him luck and so to every one "Good heavens! What have I done. if you please." "Leporello!" cried the Count. as I had promised." ''You are playing your part badly. and conversation began again. "What if I should want to begin anew? And. and we must start early tomorrow. after the beautiful sextet." "Sometimes. sometimes. the master smiled. "It is nearly eleven. and Constanze said to the Countess.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 429 clamations. when you were to go to Eisenstadt. dear Frau Mozart. 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. to the truth. How shall we manage?" "Don't manage at all. This is how it came about.

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. 'There will be an extraordinary effect in the theatre. I sat down with great curiosity and began to read.' I said to myself. The scene in the churchyard and the finale. 'But." rang through the death-like stillness of the room. "Your laughter shall be ended ere the dawn. 'when the strongest wind instruments accompany the voice. be it never so tempting. be- — hind which lay the finale. so carelessly. in short. I hunted. Yet there are exceptions. with of the silver trumpet fell through the blue night as another row.' Now you shall hear it. more condensed. scolded all in vain. and was enraptured to find how well the fellow understood what I wanted. were greatly improved. it is never my habit to write any number out of order. from cutting through nerve and marif . and at the same time fuller. the warning which. But. — sphere ice-cold. which I had not hoped to see for months. and. with the disappearance of the hero. I struck a chord. and felt that I had knocked at the right door. The notes measures. "Now. my have loaded ' excellent poet. only four — five. Yes he had sent me the rest of his revised text. the scene near the statue of the governor. interrupts so horribly the laughter of the revelers that scene was already in my head. all the legion of horrors to be let loose in First came out an adagio D-minor. coming suddenly from the grave of the murdered man." He snuffed out the candles beside him. Then my eye fell on a sealed envelope from Abbate his pot-hooks in the address. — — — . It was all much simpler. and that fearful choral.430 THE GERMAN CLASSICS take just a look at the last notes I had written. that is a mistake which may be too severely punished. as well as it can be done without the orchestra.' thought I. grumbled. then a second. 'you need not me with heaven and hell a second time.

and. In spite of ourselves. I took here? : up the thread at Don Juan's midnight feast. After this warning had rung out its last notes. I had written this dialogue and the chorus of demons. shuddering. the Countess. long. that wonderful expression of majesty in every gesture. how strangely and horribly moves the unsteady voice up and down in that singular scale He demands speedy repentance. After that first fearful greeting. in which the half-transformed being refuses the earthly ! human nourishment offered him. keeping to the last. said: own feelings when you pen that night ? He looked up at her as if waked from a dream. I rose to down the ' ' . The composer paused. For a while no one could speak. "When the ice begins to break at the edge. in monstrous obstinacy withstanding the eternal commands. the voice of the dead speaks again. the spirit's time is short. there was no stopping. half to his w^ife: "Yes. long. share the pain of its self-destruction. my head swam at last. half to the Countess. youth leave the dead in peace. and. we sjTnpathize with the blind majesty. horrible dialogue followed. the whole lake cracks and snaps from end to end. monotonous as before. with voice ''Will you give us some idea of your laid unsteady. Mozart " went on Now. by the open window. after resting a moment. in fever heat. 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. struggles and writhes and finally perishes. hesitated a moment. And Don Juan. and then said.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE ''Who Then the is 431 Answer!" they heard Don Juan ask. the When voices have become silent. beneath the growing influence of the dark spirits. bade the ruthless choral. when Donna to the invitation. Involuntarily. still Finally. the way it must travel. Elvira has just departed and the ghost enters in response Listen!" And then the whole. nevertheless. or the burning of a splendid ship. as you can think.

who held his hand so long over your brow. for. and his voice betrayed his emotion. perhaps even an Italian. up to the seven- finale. on that account. He would burn his fingers. '*I said to myself." That was not the reason. why you could not and why you had to get me to leave the feathers at dismiss the coach and order it for another day. You didn't need. I told you you were two hours younger than you were. "but the sly man must not think that I was so stupid as not to know something of what was going on." His glance fell. sooner or later. stand six. Perhaps he would be tempted to rob me of my honor." answered Constanze. 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. ripe lying ready to his hand he dreaded the in the long grass — and found." ' ' ' ' cried the good-natured host. some one else were to complete the opera. You wanted to keep your treasure away from criticism yet a little while. though.432 THE GERMAN CLASSICS to your room. if painful. unthe rocks for construction close by— he might hoped teenth fruits. 'if after this. "Then I thanked God and went back. "that we shall not need to grieve the heart of a noble Vienna coachman to- "I am glad. "No. and kept you sleeping so soundly that you could not once call to me. The thought that it suggested was —so many sound. I know. When at last I did go to bed and you asked me the hour. 'Then. and found all the numbers but one. dear wife. 'If you should die tonight and leave your go score just here.' I went on. for it was nearly four and now you will under' . and thanked your good angel. its well laugh in his sleeve." "Certainly. to keep your beautiful new numbers all to yourself." . for I have many a good friend who knows my stamp and would see that I had ray rights. But another thought stopped me half way to the door. that I might talk a little and cool off.

when Herr Mozart cannot arise. give mankind." corrected the Count. long after I am gone. Finally. I will answer as well as I ' ' can. loaded with the eifects of the two travThe Count. with the Baron and Max. with Mozart. 'Hans. opinion is that if Don does not set the world mad. talking in groups. Mozart looked about him. till then. ' ' and give mankind to "And pipes to play on. "Very well. had versation took a . the good Lord may shut was ' ' My chests for years to come. all retired nor. stood in the courtyard. and asked the — — master how the carriage pleased him. any one felt weary." Vol. rejoiced in many a word of encouragement and good cheer. obliged the travelers to explain their urgent reason for declining it. stood. which was heartily seconded by the rest of the family. on the whole. you may unharness!' always makes one sad. the connew turn. of our Don Juan? Can you prophesy anything good for him?" "In the name of my aunt. since she They was not there he turned naively with Franziska. elers. ere the company separated. indeed." "The Lord preserve us!" laughed Mozart. VII — 28 . his question to ''What do you think. apparently for Eugenie. yet they readily agreed that the start need not be made so early as to interfere with a meeting at breakfast. long after midnight.JOURNEY TO PEAGUE 433 morrow." Eugenie approached. and the composer. was waiting for the horses to be put in. a little while longer. it seems most comfortable. "the bagand harden the hearts of the people so that they worship Baal. The order. Next day for the fair weather still held at ten o'clock a handsome coach." This indirect invitation for a longer stay. "But in the course of the next sixty or seventy years. growing ever more earnest and serious. Juan up his music understand the laughing reply. will arise many false prophets.

she sat looking out. You will ride hereafter in your ' ' ! ! ' ' own carriage. and have made us feel the blessings of dispensing hospitality. He embraced possession on and examined his new all sides finally jumped in. at least for the rest of the day. exclaiming: Bitter Gluck. When by such excellent people have enlivened our houses their presence. could not feel in the least unhappy or troubled. one would think. Soon after Count's horses were to be exchanged for post-horses." the smiling donor. What eyes they will make in Vienna "I hope. the Baron. with the others. . at least.434 ''Good! of THE GERMAN CLASSICS Then be so kind as to keep it to remind you me. "when you return ! he threw open the door and "I feel as rich and happy as ' ' Prague. and especially if we are left to ourselves. because she appreciated more deeply than the others the priceless experience she had had she." ''What! You are not in earnest?" "Why not?" " he called Holy Sixtus and Calixtus Constanze. Franziska's parents and aunt soon followed Franziska herself. with which they would continue their journey." said the Countess. nere up to the window where. ' ' this last happy scene the much-praised carmoved away with the departing guests. The coach is mine. and Max of course. was not true with our friends in the palace. Eugenie. and rolled riage At Wittingau the rapidly toward the road to Prague. with whom we are especially concerned. their departure leaves an uncomfortable sense of vacancy and interruption. remained. have given us new impulses through their fresh spirits. . the most noble and lovely things which could move her heart must be mingled with that other hapthe Mozarts. all from hung with wreaths. Her pure happiness in the truly beloved man to whom she was now formally betrothed would drown all other considerations rather. to see your carriage again. — . The latter case.

where the half-drawn green damask curtains made a soft twilight. Now. As she went away. as was natural. and it was almost daylight when she fell asleep. although the Baron understood her fully. and her friends. not without emotion. if she could have lived only in the present. turned upon Mozart. and she too. the men bore them company. she happened to return to its place a book of songs an old leaf fell out. that he could be but a fleeting apparition in this world. to think who had sat there but a few hours before. It was like a dream. which was unable to appreciate the profusion of his gifts. She felt sure that this man's energy would speedily and inevitably destroy him. had sung long ago. This thought. brought to her mind the most positive and cheering proofs that she was wrong. in spite of the ineffable charm be- neath the mysterious horror of the music. and when the conversation. in jealous care lest some other hand should open it too soon. and the apprehension increased all the while that Mozart was playing. perhaps. She took it up. had surged through her troubled brain the night before. which Franziska. and was brought to a climax by his own story of his night work. Eugenie did not conceal her apprehensions. the copy of a Bohemian folk-song. She tried to rid herself of the feeling. as she passed through the large hall which had just been swept and put in order. But she had been moved by anxiety while Frau Mozart was telling her story. . She looked long and thoughtfully at the keys which he had touched last. for in her present mood the most natural occur! . No one shared them in the least. How gladly she heard them She was almost ready to believe that she had been foolishly alarmed. particularly her uncle. So would it have been. Some moments afterward. the three women had seated themselves in the garden with their work.JOURNEY TO PRAGUE 435 piness. mingled with many others and with echoes of Don Juan. then she softly closed the lid and took away the key. or in joyful retrospect. she stopped sadly before the piano.

Toward home they canter when the master calls. "Far in the pasture two black colts are feeding. They shall go slowly with thee to thy grave." . — A Till o'er thy grave they bend to whisper and to blow. brought the hot tears to her eyes. And the simple verses. Perchance ere from their hoofs the gleaming iron falls.436 THE GERMAN CLASSICS rence might easily seem an oracle. "A pine-tree stands in a forest who knows where? rose-tree in some garden fair doth grow. as she read them through again. Remember they are waiting there. my soul.



trust Thy Thou didst promise to Thine own? word which cannot err. silence holds them all. young men and gray. the. Where kneeling. The hour draws nigh for forty days And forty wakeful nights toward Thee we've thrown Our weeping gaze. the air Let. And women. like a bird. [437] . its listless pinions fall. Yet standing grass-blades do not bow. in the sandy lake The panting tiger moans and Parched is the snake. soul must yet speak Hot winds blow. Where is He? Hour on hour doth steal. rolls about. parting. (1839) the sun's bright glare Fell sheer upon the Temple's beauteous wall Withered by tropic heat. They But sad and full of fear the time has grown. Swelling and swelling like a storm's advance. *Tran8lator: Charles Wharton Stork. And the still palm-tree listens in- a trance.ANNETTE ELIZABETH VON DROSTE -HULSHOFF PENTECOST* iHE day was still. They mutely pray! is the faithful Comforter Whom. But hark a murmur rises now. Where doth He bide? And though a seal Be on the mouth. Behold a group. And minute after minute swells the doubt. ! out. .

. Which weeps and wakes. not everywhere souls for comfort have appealed! Where drooping I yearn for day that never breaks .438 THE GERMAN CLASSICS seem these men to quake with fear While each on other casts a wondering glance? Why Behold! 'Tis here. but there Alas! and but to them art Thou revealed Oh And not to us. The sunflower looks about with scorn. then breathes her Of evening's balmy zephyr. And there across the window-sill . The sunset round it glowing. before this eye is wholly sealed. hedged with thorn. oh Comforter. THE HOUSE IN THE HEATH* (1841) Beneath yon fir trees in the west. Near-by reposes. A cottage lies like bird on nest. now whisperingly. Translator: Charles fill Wharton Stork. Its tone is heard. 'Tis here! ! 'tis here the quivering light Rests on each head. Light. . Oh shine. The bell-flower's head is bended. Now as a herald 's call. With thatch roof hardly showing. what floods of ecstasy Throng in our veins with wondrous might! The future dawns the flood-gates open free . A garden neatly tended. Resistless pours the mighty Word. Leans out a white-starred heifer She snorts and stamps.



The rasping saw sounds weary. the herdsmen there A pious choral sounding. A vision with such beauty crowned. monks observed it. The plane gives forth a crunching drawl. simple evening hymn still breeze together. the lily fair. They straight upon a golden ground pious Had Had painted and preserved it. The maiden with And peace the whole surrounding. A lily plucks with gesture mild And wanders down the alleys. And with a Wake the And from the roomy threshing hall The hammer strokes ring cheery.DEOSTE: POEMS And garden kneels a cliild. star that of heaven— stall The wondrous beams on all From out the fields May it not be that in the The Christ is born this even? . The carpenter. The evening star now greets the scene And smoothly soars above it. in the 439 A shepherd group in distance dim Lie stretched upon the heather. He seems in truth to love it. And o'er the cottage stands serene. She weeds or merely dallies.

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 the tangled reed-beds rustle. The boy running on. At each wild stride the bubbles burst out. Until at length from the midst of the din Comes the squeak of a spectral violin. And — ' ' ' ! ! Then stumps loom up beside the ditch. On. of the cursed Spinning-witch Who turns her wheel 'mid the rushes. each nerve a-twitch. near-by he dwells. And the sounds from beneath are many. Uncannily nod the the bushes. Through a jungle of spear-grass pushes. 'Tis the turf -digger's ghost. And where it trickles and crackles apace The home Is the Spinner's unholy hiding-place. That must be the rascally fiddler lout Who ran off with the bridal penny I •Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. ever on. . * Whoo whoo comes a sound like a stray cow 's groan . In pursuit through that region fenny. child with his primer sets out alone speeds as if he were hunted. And for drink his master's turf he sells. goes the fearsome rout. The wind goes by with a hollow moan There's a noise in the hedge-row stunted. When the wraiths of mist whirl here and there And wind-blown tendrils tussle. The poor boy's courage is daunted.440 THE GERMAN CLASSICS THE BOY ON THE MOOR* (1841) 'Tis an eerie thing o 'er the moor to fare When the eddies of peat-smoke justle.

that was a place ON THE TOWER* I STAND aloft on the balcony. breast to breast. like hounds at play. The starlings And let like Beneath me I see. on this narrow ledge I would I could try thy muscle And. A lamp is The boy Looks back as he pauses to take his breath. (1842) around me crying. masnad my hair stream free To the storm o'er the ramparts flying. The fierce throng hisses and clashes. for 'Tis poor damned Margaret crying! my a wounded deer. The lad he leaps like But the And there ground grows firmer beneath from over the meadow flickering homely-sweet. And were not his guardian angel near Some digger might find in a marshy knoll Where his little bleached bones were lying. two steps from the edge. . ! Ah. 441 and from the hole Bursts forth an unhappy sighing. at the edge of the shadow his feet. Yea.DROSTE: POEMS The turf splits open. Oh headlong wind. And 'Twas in his glance is the fear of death. Oh. Fight it out in a deadly tussle. How billow on billow dashes. tossing aloft the glittering spray. eerie there 'mid the sedge and peat. wretched soul!" **Alas. alas. to dread. might I leap into the raging flood And urge on the pack to harry •Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.

.442 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The hidden glades of the coral wood. How gay o'er the foaming reef we'd slip Like the sea-gulls circling near her! Were I a hunter wandering free. Might I seize the rudder and steer her. a worthy quarry From yonder mast a flag streams out ! as a royal pennant. I can watch the good ship lunge about From this tower of which I am tenant. And only in secret may have my will And give to the wind my tresses. . By overshadowing Within that tree-trunks gray. And solitary beetles near Amid the bushes softly drumming. For the walrus. THE DESOLATE HOUSE* (1842) ^ Deep in a dell a woodsman's house Has sunk in wild dilapidation. \ t\ (! i So dense the tangle that the day Through heavy lashes can but glimmer The rocky cleft is rendered dimmer . Or a soldier in some sort of fashion. Or if I at least a man might be. But now I must sit its as fine and still As a child in best of dresses. The heav'ns would grant me my passion. might I be in the battling ship. The flies •Translator: Charles Wharton Stork. There buried under vines and boughs I often sit in contemplation. As bold But oh. dell I love to hear with their tumultuous humming.

one can And in the fireplace where the snow Each winter down the chimney dashes A mass of bell-capped toad-stoots grow On viscid heaps of moldering ashes. 443 Methinks an eye all red with sorrow Looks down on me disconsolate. is built across The window-jamb. nowise eager.DROSTE: POEMS And when The the trickling cliffs of slate color from the sunset borrow. coo. Then creep in lazy streamlets through them To sink within a fennel-bed. . The arbor peak with jagged edge Wears many a vine-shoot long and meagre And from the moss beneath the hedge Creep forth carnations. A butterfly sometimes may chance In heedless play to flutter hither And stop in momentary trance Where the narcissus blossoms wither j A dove Her that through the grove has flown Above this dell no more will utter And but hear her flutter see her shadow on the stone. else unprotected. Along the roof o'ergrown with moss A Has many a spider-web tuft of thatch projected. The wing of a gleaming dragon-fly Hangs in it like some petal tender. There from the moist cliff overhead The muddy drippings oft bedew them. The body armed in golden splendor Lies headless on the sill near-by.

squirrel barking from his tree.444 THE GERMAN CLASSICS High on a peg above the rest hank of rope-yarn limply dangles Like rotted hair. when the woodsman died. With rude embroidery that spells *' Diana" worked upon the leather. And Swings from a hook by clasp and tether. they shot here . A An old dog-collar set with bells A flute too. and in the tangles The swallow built her last year's nest. I The shrilly crying. his only friend. laid her by her master's side. f k . Diana's bells once more a-jingle And echoes of the dead man's flute. f As I caught from out the dingle . The men who dug his grave forgot here The dog. And from the marsh the frogs replying A field-mouse near me I — ] i Then eerie shudders o'er if me shoot. But while I sit in reverie.

become confused. The common people did what seemed to them practicable and compatible with a somewhat lax conscience. without trade or manufacturing. and it was only the loser to whom it sometimes occurred to look up dusty old documents. at that time. meted out punishments or rewards in accordance with their own notions. (1841) By Annette Elizabeth von Droste-Hulshofp a.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE translated by lillie winter.b. The property holders. and of long uncontested privilege. one of those secluded corners of the earth. a law of public opinion. 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. or. It is hard to view [445] . as so many more that once could be found in Germany. was the son of a so-called Halbmeier or property holder of low station in the village of B. born in 1738. all the originality and the narrowness that can flourish only under such conditions. a second law had grown up beside the official. without highways. in and the most cases. 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. rather. however badly built and smoky it may be. The little country to which it belonged was. who sat as judges in the lower courts.. [REDERICK MERGEL. in some measure. which. which were. with all the failings — virtues. honest. a spot. of custom. Under very simple and often inadequate laws the inhabitants' ideas of right and wrong had.

the natural boldness of the wood-thieves in encouraging and the fact that the entire neighborhood swarmed with foresters served only to aggravate matters. less. from the half-grown boy to the seventy-year-old village magis- . that period without prejudice. and the newer generation does not understand This much. since in the oft-recurring skirmishes the peasants usually had the advantage. 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. The inhabitants of the little country of which we speak. Thirty or forty wagons would start off together on beautiful moonlight nights with about twice as many men of every age. want of principle rarer. and in the numerous fights which ensued each one had to seek his own consolation if his head was bruised. that the shell was it. 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.446 THE GERMAN CLASSICS . the kernel stronger. For he who acts according to his convictions. crime more frequent. The village of B. was reputed to be the most arrogant. being more restless and enterprising than their neighbors. be they ever so faulty. Perhaps its situation in the midst of the deep and proud solitude of the forest had early strengthened the innate obstinacy of its inhabitants. what is right. most cunning. one may assert. however. Wood stealing and poaching were every-day occurrences. weaker. these forests were of course vigilantly w^atched over. certain features of life came out more sharply here than would of have been the case elsewhere under like conditions. Since great and productive forests constituted tne chief wealth of the country. by legal means than by continually renewed efforts to defeat violence and trickery with like weapons. helped much . 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 . however. and most daring community in the entire principality.

but at the same time bespoke the miserable circumstances of its owner by its present state of dilapidation. In this community Frederick Mergel was born. . Mergel did not get so very drunk. was seen running through the village to her family. and the garden contained. At — A later the neighborhood would be alive with talk about the misfortune of one or more foresters. a faint scream. the first gray light of dawn the procession returned just as silently every face bronzed. brought on much of this. and so he had had no difficulty in wooing and winning a right pretty and wealthy girl. was. and here and few hours there a bandaged head. startled perhaps a young wife or an engaged girl no one else paid any atten. blinded with snuff. Those who were left behind listened unconcernedly to the grinding and pounding of the wheels dy- ing away in the narrow passes. in his bachelor days. and the bride 's parents went home in the evening satisfied but the next Sunday the young wife. but disorder and mismanagement had played their part. other people's corn grew in the field adjoining the yard. led the procession as proudly and self-consciously as when he took his seat in the court-room. which did not matter. Frederick's father. screaming and bloody. What had once been a hedge around the yard and the garden had given way to a neglected fence the roof was damaged . tion to it. — There was great merrymaking at the wedding. who were being carried out of the woods. leaving behind all her good clothes and new . and rendered unable to attend to their business for some time. who. and slept calmly on. one who lay in the gutter on Sundays and holidays. but during the week was as well behaved as any one. Strokes of I misfortune had. other people's cattle grazed in the pastures. . Now and then an occasional shot. old Herman Mergel. beaten. it is true. a so-called orderly drinker that is. as an experienced bell-wether. with the exception of a few woody rose bushes of a better time. more weeds than useful plants. in a house which attested the pretensions of its builder by the proud addition of a chimney and somewhat less diminutive window panes.THE JEW'S BEECH-TEEE 447 trate.

Margaret Semmler was a good. that she had overestimated her strength. 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. without hood or shawl. a added still village belle in her youth. or would creep into the barn. he seemed to grow more and more in need of "spiritual" bolstering up. be found in her very consciousness of perfection. On one such day it was no longer a Sunday now they saw her rush out of the house in the evening. If the event itself was unexpected. 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 . The young wife remained with her parents. so year after year passed. he would not come home. What had induced her to take this step was consequently We think the reason is to incomprehensible to every one. household furniture. heard his wild shouting within. unfortunately. At first she impressed her husband if he had taken too much. still respected for her good sense and thrift. until all of a sudden he again appeared as a bridegroom. with her hair flying wildly about my ' ' . in her forties. put it down as fault. and soon they saw him quite often staggering across the street right into his house. hired girls caused disgrace and damage. and at the same time not without some money. no matter. Whether it was remorse or shame that tormented Mergel. and soon began to be counted among the completely demoralized good-for-nothings. from time to time. where she soon pined away and died. the neck of a broken bottle to his mouth and pitifully lacerating his face and hands. raising. and saw Margaret hastily closing doors and windows. respectable person. The result proved. But the yoke was too oppressive to be borne long. Mergel was and remained a distressed and finally rather pitiable widower. the personality of the bride more to the general astonishment. if I am unhappy. — — .448 THE GERMAN CLASSICS . Of course that meant great scandal and vexation for Mergel. The household went to pieces.

and listened to the howling of the wind and the rattling of the garret windows. if he only kept every promise he makes Hurry now. Mistress Mergel hardly counted on it because a heavy snowfall had set in after sunset. and it was even thought he had become more temperate since the birth of the boy. and the chimney-stack rattled as if there were goblins in it. although born beneath a heart full of grief. "Mother. VII— 29 '*No. child. but. then. instead of entering it. Although he had promised to return in the evening. go into the barn. Frederick stood beside her. His father loved him dearly. Frederick was a healthy. a tomorrow. anxiously looking about her. Herman had gone to a wedding. and had started out early because the bride 's house was three miles away. "Mother. I — ' ' . — one cannot say gladdened. hurry and get ready. They saw her throw herself down in the garden beside a vegetable bed and dig up the earth with her hands. never came home without bringing him a roll or something of that sort. It was about the Feast raw and stormy winter night. They had hardly gone to bed when a gale started to rage as though it would carry the house along with it. The second year of this unhappy marriage was marked by Margaret is reported to have wept bitterly when the child was handed to her. quickly pick off some vegetables and slowly return with them in the direction of the house. isn't father coming home tonight?" he asked. at the coming of a son for least the noise in the house decreased. The bedstead quivered. God. It was said that this was the first time that Mergel had struck her. of the Three Kings. '^Oh. some one's knocking outside !" Vol. About ten o'clock she banked the fire and made ready to go to bed.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 449 her head. Frederick was in his ninth year. Nevertheless. ' ' But why ' ' not." mother 1 He promised to. although she never let such an admission pass her lips. pretty child who grew strong in the fresh air. already half undressed.

He thought there must be something alive within and without. no. it's at the door." "It does not lock. pray a little you know half of the Paternoster already. you restless boy! He's standing at the door. Frederick. The confused noise and rumbling in the house seemed strange to him. The wind had changed. The beads of the rosary slid ' ' by his face. The devil holds ! Don 't ' ' ! ' ' ! ' * him tight enough is ' ' ! "Where the devil. After a while he noticed that his mother was not asleep either. are you awake 1 "Yes." Frederick thought of the devil. He heard her weep and moan between sobs: "Hail. mother?" "Wait. that's the loose board on the gable being shaken by the wind." "Child. "Listen. His shoulder was stiff he crept clear under his quilt and lay still and trembling with fear. mother! I am sure I hear people knocking. mother. A little while longer he listened. child. and hissed like a snake through the cracks in the window near his ear." "Oh. but there's not an old board in the house that isn 't rattling. "No. A few hours later he awoke. don't you? that God protect us from flood and — — fire. ready to get you if you don't keep quiet!" Frederick became quiet. ' * ' ' Hark ! Don 't you hear ? Some one 's calling ! Listen ' ' I His mother sat up.450 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ' ' "Quiet. An involuntary ' ' sigh escaped him. Fritzy. the raging of the storm subsided a moment. Heavens. and several voices called: "Margaret! Mistress Mar" garet! Hey there! Open the door Margaret ejaculated ! . go to sleep ' ' deprive me of my bit of rest at night But what if father should come now His mother turned angrily in her bed. and wondered how he looked. and then fell asleep. Knocking on the shutters was distinctly audible. Mary!" and "Pray for us poor sinners!" . the latch is broken. mother. anyway.

" When the body was carried away two days later. "Ten years. 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. He emitted a fearful scream. she snatched her clothes. troubled face. come here!" Frederick approached her timidly. who was threatened with severe punishment get rid of the strangers. we will all have three masses read. ''There. "Margaret. That silenced him. when everything had become quiet. heard the fire crackling in the kitchen night and a noise like stroking something back and forth. and was now lying in fiant steps. and brushing it. ' ' ' ' Fritzy. don't take it so badly. if he got out of bed. together. whereupon some one boxed his ear. hastily and soon Frederick heard her walk across the hall with de- The rosary Margaret did not return. the kitchen. She was white as chalk and her eyes were closed Frederick thought she was dead. she mumbled. but in the kitchen was a loud murmuring of strange voices. after all. his mother had become quite uncanny to him with her black ribbons and her haggard. As soon as Margaret regained consciousness she tried to Her brother remained with her. ten crosses! But we carried them Then louder. Margaret sat on the hearth and covered her face with her apron. she rushed to the hearth. and at Eastertide we'll make toall gether a pilgrimage to the Holy Virgin of Werl. .THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE violently. they're again bringing the swine to me ' ' ! 451 home flew clattering down on the wooden chair. ' ' will you now . Suddenly a lamp was brought in two men were supporting his mother. but now and then sobs broke out that went through and through the child. and now I am alone!" "Fritzy. she said. and Frederick. young as he was. After a few minutes. there . There was little spoken and that quietly. Once he understood his uncle to say. Twice a strange man came into the bedroom and seemed to be nervously searching for something.

through . Now go into the shed and get me some fagots. ." *'Huelsmeyerl God forbid! Must I spank you? Who " tells you such wicked things ? ''The other day he beat Aaron and took six groschen from him. when they crouched by their fires at night and the owls screeched in the hol' . but the boy never spoke of it and seemed indisposed to think of it." '*If he took first money from Aaron.452 really be THE GERMAN CLASSICS good and make me happy. 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. "Listen. the accursed is Jew had Huelsmeyer a re- spectable householder. Brandes also says that he steals wood and deer. or will you be naughty and *' lie. Frederick had seen his father lying on the straw. Margaret was silent a moment. where he was said to have looked blue and fearful. for nothing so engrosses one as love and devotion on the part of a person who seems hardened erick 's case this sentiment against everything else and in Fredgrew with the years. But you do not understand that yet. On the whole. 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 neigh- — bors did not spare him. Brandes is a forester. They can belong to no one. the recollection of his father had left behind a ' ' feeling of tenderness mingled with horror. .«* . the experience of many slights on the part of others. no doubt cheated him out of it. or drink and steal?" Mother. Huelsmeyer steals. and the Jews are all rascals!" ''But. Fritz! Our Lord makes the wood grow free and the wild game moves from one landowner's property into another's. and then said. ' ' "Child." do foresters tell lies?" "Mother. mother. There is a tradition in those parts which denies rest in the grave to a person killed by accident.

restless. then he would howl and strike any one who was near. sometimes heard quite clearly in broken accents his Just listen. 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." of bad luck since "Yes. — — youf" she asked. once he even cut some one with his little knife and was. You want to see how I am getting along with my dirty boy?" Simon looked at her earnestly and clasped her hand. I saw you. upon awakening. on this ocAfter that he drove his casion. position.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE ' * ' ' 453 lows. 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. repent in haste! Now you are old and the child is small. all kinds Margaret sighed. seen his swollen blue face peeping through the branches. as she had no other relatives living. girl. where one could often see him lie in the grass for hours in the who had same up the thyme. But when an old house is burning nothing will quench the ''I've Margaret. marry at leisure. mother's cows alone to the other end of the valley. is that ' * "You have grown old. Frederick was obliged to hear much of this from other boys. 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. ''Simon. lean man with bulging fishlike eyes and a face altogether like a pike an uncanny fellow. He was a quarrelsome chap. had. Everything has its time." had much sorrow and . sweet Lizzie and an unprivileged woodman . pitilessly thrashed. trembling so that she had to steady herself on a chair. pulling He was Simon Semmler was a short. fallen asleep under the broad oak and been overtaken by nightfall. Nevertheless poor Margaret was glad to see him.

"He's a good deal like you. said the boy What when she hears her child praised! Poor Margaret seldom had this pleasure. "Indeed. "it's not a good thing. what the teacher says isn't half true anyway." Simon A continued. his limbs are straight!" "What does he look like?" continued Simon." replied Margaret. he was called 'good' too. Don't worry. too?" "All through the night." Simon laughed aloud. flashed across Margaret's care-worn face. ''But I hear your son is cunning and smart. "Yes. "Well. And A proud The lad actually has my light hair just see smile spread secretly over the mother's face. I'm getting better-looking every day. Tears started to her eyes. apparently to hurry on . isn't he? He doesn't run around with the other boys?" "He is a peculiar child. "Your boy is timid because the others have given him a few good thrashings. the lad will repay them! Huelsmeyer came to see me lately . Simon. "Look. He craned his neck toward the door. but good withal. a good deal. but what do you mean?" Simon seemed not to hear this. some one once stole a cow. as though to herself. But where does he pasture? In the Telgen glen? In the Eoder woods? In the Teutoburg forest? At night and early in the morning. mother's heart does not rejoice like was ' ' He swings his arms ! like your departed hus' ' band." said Margaret. there comes the youngster! His father's son! a deer." Simon laughed. But he is quiet and thoughtful. rather. *'H'm. red as blood. Of course he shouldn't be wasting his time at school.454 fire. You let him pasture the cows? Just as well. he must be a rare fellow. ! 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. every one called her boy malicious and closemouthed. thank God." THE GERMAN CLASSICS flame.

my son is not like one who has been ruled by a father's hand. by virtue of which he was not to take him entirely away from his mother but to her more intimidating than — was. "Leave it to me we'll get along all do you know what? let me have the boy right right. couldn't have es- And caped him anyway. which. Margaret patiently allowed her brother to explain how great the advantages of the arrangement would be to her. . looking a good deal like a man of fire doing penance beneath the sack he has stolen. Fritzy. with delicate. Frederick followed him. "but I am a lonely woman. command the greater part of his for this the boy was eventually to inherit the old bachelor's fortune. But she kept silent and yielded to everything. to be sure. however. to time. tall and slender for his age. half threatening words into his ear. She knew best what a sickly widow misses in the help of a twelveyear-old boy whom she has trained practically to replace a daughter. And so matters progressed until. ! I . how slight the loss." she said. " And Come. — . features and long blond curls that were better cared for than the rest of his exterior appearance would have led one to expect. neither obdurate nor insolent rather. for she knew his obstinate disposition. and Simon's manner today had seemed ever. 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. with the boy. Simon proposed a kind of adoption of the boy. with a look of neglect and a certain Simon nodded . to whisper a few hasty. ragged. but not harsh." slyly. She only begged her brother to be firm.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE a lazy cow. nevertheless. almost noble. sunburnt. after half an hour's discussion. Simon ahead with his face set forward and the tails of his red coat flying out behind him like flames. But everything ran Frederick showed himself smoothly beyond expectation. somewhat embarrassed and anxious to please his uncle. and. 455 in reality. "He is good. for the rest. put your wooden shoes on presently Margaret was watching them both as they walked away.

involuntarily he reminded one of a person who with anxious interest gazes on the picture of his future in a magic mirror. and as Frederick slowly followed his leader. ''Does your mother again." answered Frederick. Meanwhile they came nearer and nearer still the gloomy ravine." "Well. she "Really? tells And you pray — — . the boy absent-minded. the place in the TeutoForest where the Forest of Brede extends down burg the slope of the mountain and fills a very dark ravine. It was now quite dark and the new moon shone in the sky. Frederick followed close behind his uncle. so much the better! Do you know the woods before us?" *'It is the Forest of Brede. pray much?" Simon began her beads twice every evening. his "Yes. the boy looked aside slyly and laughed." ''Do you know what happened here?" Frederick reto mained silent. They were now approaching "Well. *'I say. Nevertheless a strong family resemblance between the two could not be mistaken." with her?" Somewhat ill at ease. "At twilight before supper she tells her beads once then I have not yet returned with the cows. Simon seemed pensive. my boy!" These last words were spoken under the sheltering branches of a broad beech-tree which arched the entrance to the glen. with his eyes riveted on the man who attracted him by the very strangeness of his appearance. *'Do you like whiskey?" The boy did not answer. but its weak rays served only to lend a strange appearance to the objects they occasionally touched through an aperture between the branches. and both were panting under their sacks. well.456 THE GERMAN CLASSICS hard melancholy in his countenance. Until now they had spoken little. and again in bed then I usually fall asleep. well. do you like whiskey? Does your mother give you some once in a while?" ** Mother hasn't any herself. Suddenly Simon asked.

and presently both entered a rather large clearing. Simon with the firm step of the hardened wanderer. The moon shone down brightly and showed that only a short while ago the axe had raged here mercilessly. some many feet above the ground. Here Simon suddenly clutched the boy's arm." erick. Frederick unsteadily and as if in a dream. Thus both trudged ahead sturdily. broad in proportion to its height." Simon continued. several times he came near falling. ''FredThat is the broad oak. the moon now towards one now away. A pale ray of light that fell on its trunk through the branches showed that it was hollow. and its leaves. and that the trees swayed another. in the lonely rays of Roots of and slippery places where water had gathered made his steps uncertain. trembling in the evening breeze. do you know that tree? Frederick started. and with his cold hands clung to his uncle." "Uncle. Everywhere stumps of trees jutted up. a fact that had probably saved it from the general destruction. Simon the fallen tree-trunk with interest.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 457 breath came fast and. "On the whole "What's coming over you? . "here Uncle Franz and Huelsmeyer found your father. you're pinching my arm! Let go. the forbidden work must have been intertrees rupted unexpectedly. It seemed to him that everything was in motion. still stopped a moment and surveyed fresh. for directly across the path lay a beech-tree with its branches rising high above it. one would have noticed in them an expression of tremendous agitation caused by imagination rather than terror. let go!" He tried to shake the boy off. just as it had been most convenient to cut through them in haste. if one could have distinguished his features. when without confession and extreme unction he had gone to the Devil in his drunkenness. uncle!" gasped Frederick. Now some distance ahead the darkness seemed to break. I should hope you are not afraid? Devil of a boy. In the centre of the open space stood an old oak. ''See.

''Frederick. one of which belonged to Simon. I'll ! ' ' have to see if you have no tongue in your mouth!" She made a few angry steps forward. her glances became anxious. and still Frederick did not come. Wait. the cattle returned home. have you forgotten how to talk? Boy. The . The child looked up to her with the pitiful expression of a poor. the seemed to her so strangely changed. half-grown dog that is learning to sit up on his hind legs. She was vexed and anxious. Frederick was standing on the hearth he was bending forward and warming his hands over the coal fire. features and gave him an unpleasant look of leanness and nervous twitching. It had been the night she had passed without hearing her child's breathing beside her. In his fear he began to stamp his feet and rub his back against the chimney. awaiting her boy. I can't understand you.458 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS strict your father was a good soul. The clock in the tower struck seven. how's your uncle?" The boy muttered a few unintelligible words and leaned close against the chimchild ney. The light played on his When . open Don 't you know I do not hear well with my your mouth The child raised his voice and began to stamear ? right mer so that Margaret failed to understand anything. and yet knew that there was no reason for being so. still he was not there. Margaret stood still. both walked the rest of the way through the forest in silence. You bad boy. God won't be too him. "What are you saying? Greeting from Master Semmler? Away again? Where? The cows are at home already. and soon the village of Brede lay before them with its mud houses and its few better brick houses. The next evening Margaret sat at the door with her first an hour. she reentered the dark kitchen. flax for fully and she had to get up to look after the cows. Frederick let go his uncle's arm. I loved ' ' with him as well as my own brother. Margaret stopped at the door. "Frederick.

! 459 boy looked as though he had shrunk together. Frederick!" she cried. 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. quite befitting the instrument. John here is the violin that I promised with a patronizing air are over now I must earn money. The strange boy had again bent over the coals with an expression of momentary comfort which bordered on simplemindedness. again she was sitting at her spinning-wheel. Margaret stood perfectly still and let the children do as they liked. that was not her child Frederick. which at that moment revealed distinctly the difference between the two boys who otherwise resembled each other so re'* markably. again turned to his charge. a wooden shoe strung with three or four resined strings. His mother's call aroused him from his thoughts which were as new as they were pleasant to him. hearing nothing more.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE yet— . you. His clothes And were not the same either no. in almost glassy clearness. hesi" and then tating. and his eyes. Then he went right up to his sorry double. A closet door in the bedroom slammed and the real Frederick came out. with an attitude of conscious dignity and independence on his part. she said. " he said. Frederick looked ' ' ' ' — up and. My play-days John cast another timid glance at Margaret. shabby coat. . turn. and she looked restlessly from one to the other. 'Hell me stopped. and then hid it stealthily under the flaps of his ' ' ! ' * . and handed him the work of art Here. very serious. Frederick. slowly stretched out his hand until he had tightly grasped the present. with a so-called clog^-violin in one hand. while Frederick's features showed the alternating play of a sympathy evidently more selfish than good-humored. Her thoughts had taken another. that is. and in his other hand a bow. ' ' .

"he is going home. do not go with him. "Yes. Mother always gives me a whole slice. "Well?" said Margaret. do you ! hear ? Do not go through "Why." Margaret turned to the boy. Uncle Sihalf of ' ' ' ' ' ' mon eats at seven o'clock. His name is John. Margaret arose and went into the bedroom. "Won't they save anything for you? Tell me! Who takes care of you?" "Nobody. John. but. He Nobody. take it!" she added nervously.460 THE GERMAN CLASSICS And then. get wood out of the shed. John Nohas no father. "let the boy go. so that he may attend to his errand. but he won't get anything to eat now. "No. When both boys had gone Margaret . said Margaret. gloomy expression on her countenance. "Nobody?" she repeated. After a while she came out with a harsh. why do you lie there in the ashes ? the air of With Have you nothing to do at home ? one who is persecuted the boy roused himlimbs got in his way." an- ' ' swered Frederick. "I'll give you my bread and butter. Frederick. Boy. just as softly: . "your name is Nobody and nobody takes care of you. "then take it. in return I promised him you see." she said. wait — body is his name. May God have pity on you! And now see that you get away Frederick." Never mind. Uncle gave me a pair of shoes and a huckaback vest which the boy carried for me." he added under his —yes. "What do you want. "Well." stuttered the child. it's too much for me anyhow. breath. he's a poor child." my violin." said Frederick proudly. and the fire. ' ' self so hastily that all his clog-violin almost fell into the "Wait. I only want to the village together. listen!" more softly: "Who "That is that boy? What is his name?" is Frederick answered. Uncle Si- mon 's swineherd he has a message for Huelsmeyer. mother?" "What's his other name?" "Well he has none.

But no. Uncle Simon. who knows whether we won't be reduced to begging!" I am to go back to Uncle Monday and help him with the "Money from ' ' ! ! — * * ' ' sowing. he is the only brother I have. how will you acquit yourself before God!" Thus she sat for a while. and her own plow stood useless in front of But as badly as this she had never felt before nevertheless. . "You go back to him? No. motionless. and slander is great! But keep God before your eyes. and a stream of tears suddenly rushed down her sunken cheeks. a false oath!" she groaned. Simon. She had borne many a heavy burden her husband's harsh treatment." he said. Now I can earn something for myself. tainly did not belong to him. and.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 461 sank down in a chair and clasped her hands with an exsheet. keep it!" she whispered. no. pression of the deepest grief. because I helped him work." she added. that the boy cerher house. never!" She embraced her child wildly. more astonished than frightened. "Simon. "Money? Where?" She moved and the little coin fell jingling to the floor. with her lips shut completely unconscious. scarcely audibly. she made herself believe that her brother Simon could not be so godless. "Yet. give it to the poor. "What's the matter? What do you want!" she cried. tight. Frederick stood before her and had already spoken to her twice. worse than that. Frederick picked it up. as if starting up. for resemblances can prove I . after she had wept through an evening and lain awake a whole night. and do not forget your daily prayers!" Margaret pressed her face against the wall and wept aloud. "We are poor ourselves. — and it was a bitter moment when the widow was compelled to give over to a creditor the usufruct of her last piece of arable land. Her face was as white as a **A false oath. "I have some money for you. "go." Money from Simon Throw it away. his death. away No.

His uncle. had she not herself lost a little sister forty who looked exactly like the strange peddler! willing to believe almost anything when one has so is liable to lose years ago One is by unbelief! From this time on Frederick was seldom at home. and that little . 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. son. for that reason she could not think highly enough of the boy's capabilities which could dispense with such a precious means of furtherance. now development. even without her advice. who could not be happy without schemes. Meanwhile participation in his glory was about the only advantage that Margaret derived from these favorable circumstances. sometimes undertook important public works for example. which she. The boy was as if transformed since that time. considered invaluable.462 nothing. road building. — its fullest in endurance. clever youth. THE GERMAN CLASSICS Why. scarcely any one could equal him Heretofore Margaret had only loved her she began to be proud of him and even feel a kind of respect for him. he walked firmly. his dreamy nature had left him entirely. 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. began to care for his external appearance. seeing the young fellow develop so entirely without her aid. 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. for although the boy's physical strength had not yet attained little. Moreover. like most people. at which Frederick was everywhere considered one of his best workmen and his right-hand man. and soon to have the reputation of being a handsome. all his powers .

in spite of all watchfulness. under the name of the Blue Smocks. perhaps with the cooperation. or lying in a forest clearing. the it was a stormy night . There must have been some very skilful spies in the band. Absolutely * ' ' ' contrary to the usual state of affairs. The fact that there were never any wagon tracks leading towards a village. Like caterpillars they destroyed everything. now dressed up and jolly as a recognized village beau and leader of the young folks. devastation began again. however. however. it had thus far been impossible. surpassed all its predecessors in cunning and boldness to such an extent that even the most indulgent would have lost patience. for the foresters could watch in vain for weeks at a time nevertheless. first night they failed. About this time. and again as a ragged boy slinking along. to watch. behind his cows. proved that the work was carried on under the protection. the . 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. but always to and from the river. to specify even one member of this company of thieves. and he preferred to submit to a hard but short exertion which soon permitted him to follow his former occupation of herding the cattle. So people grew accustomed to seeing him. the slumbering laws were roused somewhat by a band of forest thieves which.THE JEW'S BEECH-TEEE contrast to his reputation 463 were directed toward making his living outside. by a few blunt reprimands with his fist. That he silenced. quite in all steady work around the house seemed irksome to him now. scratching the moss from the trees. when the leading bucks of the herd could always be pointed out. leaving nothing to be found next morning but chips and disordered heaps of brushwood. apparently thoughtless. whether from sheer fatigue. lonely and dreamily. of the shipowners. although it was beginning to be unsuitable for his age and at times drew upon him ridicule. whole tracts of forestland would be cut down in a single night and immediately made away with.

but its light had begun to grow dim and in the East there was beginning to appear a narrow. ever alternating in the possession of the land and never meeting each other. the forest was patrolled day and night. THE GERMAN CLASSICS It was strange that the country folk in the seemed just as ignorant and excited as the for- vicinity esters themselves. . of their most success- The damage to the forest. guards and "Blue Smocks. 1756. Of several villages it could be asserted with certainty that they did not belong to the ''Blue Smocks. but immediately afterwards . over the entrance of the glen which was almost overgrown with shrubbery and underbrush." while no strong suspicion could be attached to a single one. yellow streak which bordered the horizon and closed the entrance to the narrow dale as with a hand of gold. at which almost every resident of this village had notoriously passed the night. had to be acquitted.464 or moonlight. more sleepy than the horizon. He seemed to be very tired. while during this very time the — "Blue Smocks" had carried out one ful expeditions. Nevertheless. rested his head against a weather-beaten stump and cast glances. Frederick was lying in the grass in his accustomed position. yawned. since the most suspected of all.. their success was but slight." "Blue Smocks" and guards. the knotty end of which he was trying to form roughly into the shape of an animal. the village of B. was so enormous that preventive measures were made more stringent than ever before. whittling a willow stick. at three o'clock in the morning. when the "Blue Smocks" This lasted more than a whole year. like sun and moon. It was July. the moon shone brightly in the sky. head-servants and domestics were provided with firearms and sent to help the forest officers. An accident had brought this about a wedding. for the guards had often scarcely left one end of the forest were already entering the other. Now and then his eyes manifested life and assumed their characteristic glassy glitter. in the meanwhile.

and he listened a few moments with his body bent forward like a hunting dog which scents something in the air. Suddenly he started. went in search of consolation to the very place from which the hurt had come. limping on three feet and howling. and stretched. ''I wish the cur would die on the spot. only at times. into the rosy morning light softly stealing in. For Vol. all in the same costume. Day was already dawning. first snarled and then. what was that?" asked the one who had first appeared. dressed in a green hunting jacket. as only lazy shepherds may. frightened out of his sleep. and a man stepped out. He cast a hurried glance over the glen and stared sharply at the boy. Then he quickly put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long. At the same moment the branches of a near-by bush were pushed back almost without a rustle. crashing noise. he lifted his head and glanced slowly down the several paths which led to the valley. with a silver shield on his arm and his rifle cocked in his hand. you cursed beast!" He threw a stone and hit the unsuspecting dog which. ''Fido.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 465 he half shut them again. shrill whistle. then stepped forward. accomfled. when the noise was ex- ceptionally loud or long continued. unconcerned by forest laws. nodded toward the shrubbery. "Frederick. His dog lay some distance away near the cows which. 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. and snuffed the fresh morning air. VII — 30 . with hunting knives in their belts and cocked weapons in their hands. with his arms crossed back of his head. and gradually seven or eight men came into sight. Out of the forest there sounded it from time to time a muf- lasted but a few seconds. Frederick paid no attention to it. a light flashed across his face. feasted indiscriminately on tender saplings and the grass. panied by a long echo on the mountain sides. and was re- peated about every five or eight minutes. and yawned.

shan 't get as much as a moldy crust ! of you'll go to the dungeon!" Frederick clutched a branch convulsively. Let us call it quits and now I will tell . ' scoundrel has seen us. If you did not engage the woodchoppers yourself. You bundle of rags. . "you have said something that you cannot defend. sent them." he said firmly. He was pale as death. they must be the 'Blue Smocks." ' ' the of My woodchoppers The naturally dark complexion How many the forester changed to a deep brownish red. and " look accompanied these words. of them are there." said another. you understand me too "The ''Tomorrow ! A which had an immediate ' ' effect. without a tile in your roof to call your own! Thank God. and his eyes looked as if they would shoot out of his only for a moment. I'd like to thrash you like a dog. I don't know. your mother. you'll soon find Brandes stepped yourself begging." When comrades. and where are they doing their job?" "Wherever you have Brandes turned directly. "Mr. "my patience is worn out. and that's no worse than you deserve. . you'll go on a trip with a stone about your Frederick went on. and at my door." thicket. in an almost gentle voice. Didn 't you hear anything in the forest!" the forest?" "In ' ' The boy threw a hasty glance at forester's face. the road is right before me. returned. think of my mother!" That 's what I 'm doing. I. "Frederick. bordering on complete relaxation. and so.466 all THE GERMAN CLASSICS he knows. neck. head like crystal bullets —but perhaps." he said in tones of suppressed rage. "Your woodchoppers ' ' ! —nothing else. "Go ahead. and kicked at the dog. Then the greatest calmness. don't act like a fool! You know me. I'll follow one by one they had disappeared in the to his close up to the boy. ' the cows could chew the ears off my head.' for not a wagon has come from the village why." ''Frederick. have you what you wish. "Sir. Brandes. the old But first both witch.

not twenty paces from him." "I tell you. the outlines of his body became fainter and fainter. had lost its expression of coldness. I saw it " The forester turned into the path designated. upon her anxious questea. sir. half reclining. He turned." perated. It was erick listened. called Frederick. haps. he repented easily. About noon. FredNo " he said in a decisive tone. and reached for his hat. Frederick had not changed his position the whole time." he mused. like most blunt people. and started toward the shrubbery. and his features had "Was he sorry. as he glided through the thickly wooded path with the long cautious steps characteristic of his profession. "if you want to follow the other foresters.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 467 and there are four wagons.tree. "It is too late." He faltered a moment. boiling Frederick had come home sick he had complained of a violent headache and had told her. they've gone up yonder by the beech. toward Mast Gorge. as noiseless as a lynx climbing into the hen-roost. long Heinrich's gun-sling even caught on the crooked branch why. During this gradual disappearance Frederick's face . across there. I did not see them. that he had not asked the forester to keep his information secret? He took a few steps forward. gathered * ' ! up his belongings. "No. Then there was one final flash through the foliage it was a steel button on his hunting jacket and now he was gone. he gazed immovably after the departing man. "Can you say that I have ever hewn a tree on your land. then stopped.tree. . Margaret was sitting by the hearth. the forester sharpening his flint-stone. ! . by the beech. There was a soft pecking in the thicket. or even that I ever raised my axe in any other place but where I was ordered to? Think it over. perfinally become anxious and restless. Here and there a branch sank behind him. . exas"No. . whether you can say that?" A confused muttering was the forester's only answer. but I heard them drive up the pass. and hastily drove the cattle down into the hollow." "By the beech-tree!" exclaimed Brandes doubtfully. with his arm wound about a dry branch.

Mrs. he asked "Where is Frederick?" She was just then busy getting a plate out and did not hear the question. ''Mother!" called Frederick. The village clock struck half-past eleven. you don't mean it!" she replied indifferently. She was spinning and thinking of rather unpleasant things. Kapp. She was not unaccustomed to hear her son complain at times." Frederick lay down again. but they go after little oaks of the thickness . "I'll see if I can sleep." he — said. all — lies. " When Mrs. came in. Margaret gazed into the boiling water. "Good day. Then he asked. he replied. Mergel. ''What did Huelsmeyer's wife nonsense!" Frederick sat up. He drank hesitatingly and in short draughts. how he had become deeply provoked with the forester in short. young trees. no I suppose it's the throbbing in my head. The scoundrels continued the clerk. Mergel brought what he wished. called Frederick from the bedroom. ever. silent and sad. Can you give me a drink of milk ? I 'm on my way from M. nothing at to him. with — the exception of several details which he considered wiser to keep to himself. A in and related in a low whisper some bit neighbor stepped of unimportant gossip which Margaret listened to without Then she went. Oh." he said. 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. They ruin if only they had a little regard at least for the everything ' ' ' ' ' ' ! . Margaret was sitting by the hearth. the door opened and the courtclerk. "About Gretchen Siemers. * ' ' ' ' ' ! ' ' ' ' ! ' * ' ' Margaret went in say?" "Oh. you know the old story well enough! there isn't a word of truth in it either. What Mother is it? Was that a shot?" I don 't know what you mean.468 THE GERMAN CLASSICS tioning. but today he seemed more shaken than Was this perhaps the symptom of some illness? She sighed deeply and dropped a log of wood she had just lifted. all about the incident just described. interest.

"Frederick. dead? For God's sake! only this morning he passed by here. "Oh. no. The clerk had finished his milk. He seemed to have something on his mindl "Have you heard nothing about Brandos?" he asked suddenly. "He is dead!" "Dead!" she cried. "killed by the 'Blue Smocks. feebly I must sleep then it will pass away. Frederick. with his gun on his back "He is dead. "How do you feel?" repeated the clerk. how do you feel?" asked his mother. what?" asked Margaret. with his face buried in his hands. "Mistress Mergel. ' ' ' ' . with pain then his color returned. ' ' ! ' ' — mean ? ' ' heavy groan came from the bedroom. "What's the matter with him?" inquired the clerk." repeated the clerk." he groaned." "Then you don't know what has happened to him?" "Why. "it is only the colic. God knows." "FredShall I go for the doctor?" erick. "he came home with the cows as early as four o'clock because he felt sick." she replied. Frederick was sitting upright in bed. ' ' ' ' . "are you ' A ' . answer me! "No. my body. Margaret hurried there and the clerk followed her. my head!" he w^ailed. too small even to make oars of on the part of other people were just as gratifying to them as gain on their own part!" my ! a shame!" said Margaret. eyeing her sharply. he never enters this house. "Oh. and moaning like one dying." asked the clerk earnestly. . Go. but still he did not go.' The body was brought into the village fifteen minutes ago. agitated. . "God in Heaven. Margaret clasped her hands. "What. I'll be better He lay down again his face twitched convulsively soon. perfectly well. ''It's "Nothing. do not judge him! He did not know what he was doing!" "Him!" cried the clerk "the cursed murderer you Why.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE of 469 loss It looks as if arm. he said.

you shall not go!" What must be." sobbed the mother. you are to come to your Uncle immediately he has work for you without delay. mother. ' ' "But you must come. as the clerk went out. and when they are grown. our hearts!" The judicial investigation had begun. yes — ' ' ." nothing but conjee' ' . . for God's sake. "he said I must ' ' ! bring you back. She went out for a few minutes when she returned. God he could!" you anything about Brandes?" that Brandes had reviled him in the woods and reproached him with our poverty. but ragged and shy. I am sick. Frederick was already dressed. the deed was as clear as day. ' Frederick. "when children are small they trample our laps. "you see how it is. "What are you thinking of?" she cried." gasped John. Did you hear ? erick. God. the rascal! But God forgive me. let me sleep. "I won't come. how do you feel ? "In name of God. ' ' ! "Mother. to ''Ask any child on the street. he can't. but the evidence concerning the perpetrator was so scanty that. " I 'd like to see you "Let him alone. terrible without confession or absolution . as we had seen him five years before. although all circumstances pointed strongly towards the "Blue Smocks. "You cannot. His face was even paler than usual. ' ' ' ' ." sighed Margaret.470 THE GERMAN CLASSICS home at four sure that Frederick came ' ' and did not go away again ? And go away? —I wish ''Didn't he the tell She stared in his face. now Frederick turned toward the wall." he ' ' ' ' ' ' ' . and was gone through the door with John. I can stand no more!" At this moment John Nobody entered the room tall and thin like a bean-pole." Frederick laughed scornfully. ! ' ' ' ' ' ' — Terrible. he is dead! Go!" she continued have you come to insult honest people ? Go " She turned to her son again. must. "Oh. he stuttered. Fredasked his mother. ! ' ' snapped. he replied.

the matter . At about two o'clock at night they had gone out and had come upon many traces of destruction. laborers who had been working in near-by fields all stood erect and firm. everything had been quiet. Finally. 471 One clue seemed to throw some light there were reasons. however. partly those of curiosity. . on the tenth day of the month. w^hen they noticed that the noise in the woods. and after about ten minEight forest officers tirely identical. Then followed the scene with Frederick. their evidence was enBrandes. however." When they had come around Bremer mountain and the wind had changed at the same time.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE tures could be risked. let us go home. otherwise. expressed himself but vaguely regarding the matter. "We have been led astray. as if thus silently manifesting their intention not to interfere. after Brandes had sent them away without instructions they had gone forward a while and then. were heard. the room was crowded He was sitting at his w^ith peasants. had entirely ceased. still rather far away. they had distinctly heard chopping in the Mast forest and concluded from the quick succession of the strokes that the "Blue Smocks" w^ere at work. why but litupon could be placed on it. and then had slowly approached the source of the sound without any fixed determination. they had stopped to wait for the head-forester. w^hich put the head-forester in a very bad humor. . since actual witnesses were lacking shepherds who had been watching who came out — their flocks that night. their pockets. with their hands in . had ordered them to go the rounds because he had evidently secured information concerning a plan of the "Blue Smocks " he had. The absence of the tle dependence owner of the estate had made it necessary for the clerk of the court to start the case himself. They had grown tired of waiting. They had deliberated a while whether it were practical to attack the bold band with such a small force. table. and partly those from whom the court hoped to receive some information. About four o'clock Brandes had said.

Some declared they had been at home or busy somewhere else at four o 'clock. His alibi at the time of the murder was easily proved. not to be suspected. other clenched. which he deemed expedient to keep to himself. These were the statements of the foresters. Here one of them had caught his bottle-string in the brambles on the way out of the wood. except the end. It was incomprehensible to them how this had been accomplished. He entered with a manner in no respect different from his usual one. His hearing lasted some time. the out. Every one had tions . and his forehead split with an axe. Then. Frederick was called in. the rest had been made way with. since no wagon tracks were to be found. not another sound was to be heard in the forest. and some of the ques- were rather shrewdly framed. and they were all decent people. Moreover. The forester lay at the end of the Mast forest more than threequarters of an hour's walk from the ravine where he had spoken with Frederick at four o 'clock. they had quickly walked to the other side of the wood in the hope of perhaps catching a glimpse of the thieves. stretched with his right hand clutching the barrel of his gun. and whence the latter had driven his cows only ten minutes later. he answered them frankly and decisively and related the incident between himself and the forester truthfully. of twenty fallen trees eight were still left. but no evidence could be obtained from them. although the ground in the vicinity looked as if it had been firmly stamped down. It was all over. and when he had looked around he had seen something flash in the shrubbery . the dryness of the season and the fact that the earth was strewn with pine-needles had prevented their distinguishing any footprints. The court had to content itself with ' whom their negative testimonies. on the whole. however. having come to the conclusion that there was no point in waiting for the head-forester.472 utes THE GERMAN CLASSICS had gone on toward the scene of devastation. It was then the peasants turn. neither strained nor bold. it was the belt-buckle of the head-forester they then found lying behind the brambles.

A blood-stain was visible. cried: *'To whom does this belong?" Frederick jumped back three paces. I thought you were going to brain me. The sensation which the incident had caused and the more stringent measures adopted in consequence of it. to this one he had spoken. One axe looks like another. The court clerk sat ill-humored and embarrassed. where it is probably resting yet with its rust spots." ''Lord Jesus 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. but he repeated once more with decision: "I do not know it. Sud- denly he reached behind him and. the bottom. ''I do not know. thus to disappoint the curiosity of the reader. are perhaps interested in the outcome of this affair. Twenty years afterwards the axe lay as a useless corpus delicti in the archives of the court." continued the clerk. Frederick took it in his hand. exclaiming." The clerk of the court sighed with displeasure. but actually happened I can add or detract nothing. I must say that the story was never cleared up." he added firmly. turned it over. looked at the top. It was the axe which they had found plunged in the head! forester's skull. all this . they never found cause to connect him with the notorious band. . 473 seen this all the peasants present did their utmost to confirm it. hearing.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE . and had only sought to bring about a possible disclosure through There was nothing left to do but to close the surprise. ''Look at it carefully. he seemed to shudder. nodded. presenting something gleaming to Frederick's gaze. In a made-up story it would be wrong ' ' ' ' . seemed to have broken the courage of the Blue Smocks from now on it looked as though they had entirely disappeared. to that one. and although many a wood-thief was caught after that. he then said. He himself knew of nothing more. To those who although much effort was made to throw light upon it and several other judicial examinations followed. and laid ' ' ' ' it unconcernedly on the table.

half -dressed his rough figure. ' * * ' ' ' "That ' ' I will." "Did you make a new handle for it? Where ' ' is the old You '11 ' ' find it at daylight in the woodshed. ' ' ." said Frederick. I thought you were a but you are like an old woman who thinks the house must be on fire as soon as she sees smoke rising from her Go. It was not there. and he hoped to find it with the help of the faint moonlight." you have been badly taught. door stood Simon. . is that you ? I am on my way to confession. "I? How?" is "Where your axe?" "My one?" ' ' axe? On the barn-floor." . Uncle. ' : Think of the Ten Commandments ' Thou shalt not bear witness against thy neighbor. . and as quietly as possible left the narrow closet which had been consigned to him in Simon's house. he thought. He glanced searchingly around. go. "That's what I thought. would be lying on the mantelpiece in the kitchen. none at all. His prayer-book. his uncombed. ''Frederick. ' ' man . where are you going!" whispered the old man. tangled hair.474 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The next Sunday Frederick rose very early to go to conIt was the day of the Assumption of the Blessed and the parish priests were in the confessionals beVirgin fore dawn. he possibly be walking in his sleep?" thought Frederick. and started at the bedroom fession. "Uncle. and the paleness of his face in the Can moonlight. in the name of God. Not false witness ' * ' ' ' ' ! "No. "Your conscience is not clear you have lied to me. and kept quite still. he who is unworthy to receive Both were silent. He dressed in the dark. what makes you think of this?" Frederick finally asked. ' ' he continued scornfully. accuses another in his confession the Sacrament. gave him a horribly changed appearance. but confess like a good Christian.

and many thought her brain had suffered. I have you to thank for a troubled conscience. But while they were whispering. the moonlight again fell on the bedroom door it was closed. He was not naturally ignoble. She became timid. "Desecrate the Sacrament by tale-bearing. during which it was noticed that Margaret became more and more quiet on the subject of her son. He would have given much to be able to see his uncle 's face. no." "Well. on the other hand. certainly not Uncle. Frederick did not go to confession that morning." he added. go and confess !" whispered Simon in a trembling voice.THE JEW'S BEECH-TKEE ' ' ' * 475 he went on. Frederick stood still. and set a spy on poor people who will manage to find a way to snatch their bit of bread from between their teeth. undecided. the work of many years. even if he is not permitted to talk go!" Frederick stood. oppressed and doubtful. may I never hope for salvastory tion. negligent. the sky had clouded over. by trjdng to realize what it first had pretended to possess. Frederick. Who doubts that Simon did everything to lead his adopted son down the same paths that he was following? And Frederick possessed qualities which pot. even slovenly. and gradually came to a state of demoralization which once would have been thought impossible. boundless pride. This unfortunate change in his character was. made easy: carelessness. . the clouds cleared away. and. See. however. I never thought it would come to this. which did not always scorn preall. excitability. The impression which this incident had made on Frederick wore off only too soon. tense and ended by doing its utmost to escape possible disgrace." sighed Frederick. but he fell into the habit of preferring inward to outward shame. I was at home long before. grew all the . One need only say that he habitually made a display while his mother this only too above starved. — ! — . if I know anything more about this than that doorpost there. "because I sent him the wrong way although but still. he heard a soft noise. ''I am very guilty.

but crafty. Externally he was neat. and the guests could expect more than the one violin. everybody was anxious to uphold the honor of the village. which they dreaded even more. and more intoxicated people were seen and more fights and stupid tricks were heard of than ever before. he was. had also lavished its riches on this corner of the earth. and through his cunning. apparently affable. boastful. and all day B. so to speak. Since he was also readier with his tongue than Frederick. Will Huelsmeyer. and often coarse a man in whom no one could take delight. had looked like a frippery-stall. which filled every barn with corn and every cellar with wine. and since honor would not permit him to overlook the secret disapprobation of many. did not like to meet. Since the early morning all had been astir. Only one young fellow in the village. he was the only one whom Frederick least of all his mother. through his audacity. sober. who realized his own strength and good circumstances. fun and laughter were rampant on every side. Everywhere there were festivities Blue Mon. days were the fashion. the open autumn of 1760. had attained a certain preeminence in the village. generally out of tune. The preeminence 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. than the single glass of whiskey. nevertheless. Four years had passed. . Since many outsiders were expected. more Ms irritable sense of — and who. and higher spirits than they themselves brought along. not so much to defy public opinion as to direct it into the channel which pleased him. he missed no fair or wedding. and whoever had laid aside a few dollars quickly wanted also a wife to help him feast today and starve tomorrow.476 THE GERMAN CLASSICS self-assertive . It was the month of October. noteworthy wedding took place in the village. up in arms. It was seven o 'clock in the evening and everything was in full swing. dared to defy him. and could always make a pointed joke. A big. which every one feared. clothing had been aired in front of every door.

where he too had tried to swing his awkward legs and shout a cheer. 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. and up stepped his protege from the dancing-floor. musician. ''Here's to the gracious lords and ladies and all the noble princes and princesses. and stepped up to the ' ' ' ' refreshment dripping with perspiration. by a quick movement of the head. and a great bass-viol with three strings was sounded ad libitum by dilettantes. the first violinist as a recognized artist drowned out the second. sounding the lowest string with great strength and much decorum. into their faces as a sign of admiration. . and whoever doesn't join in the toast will get such a boxing on the ears from me that he '11 hear the angels singing!" A loud Vivat responded to the gallant toast. strike up. Now is the time. red. like pen-folds into which too large a herd had been huddled. Frederick handed him the bow. On the barn floor there was dancing that is. *' John. A foot high above the others. gracious lords and ladies. ' " ! ing out of the waters. The orchestra was brilliant. his blond head bobbed up and down like a pike divthe dancers. and yellow figures. made his wishes known by a proud nod. whiskey and coffee flowed in abundance. he said finally.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 477 and the low rooms were crowded to suffocation with blue. all the guests were dripping with perspiration in short. and joined ''Now." he called imperiously. "Take nothing amiss. the 'Pape van The favorite dance was played. and Frederick Istrup 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. — — 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." table. Frederick bowed. it was a glorious affair. we are but ignorant peasant people. on every side girls screamed as he dashed his long flaxen hair.

wanted . "What cost?" cried Will Huelsmeyer. soiling their clothes. "Rogue!" he cried and a few hard slaps struck his patient protege then he pushed him toward the door and gave him a good kick on the way. although he tried to bring himself into the swing again by a bold huzza It did not work. but before that he to produce still another brilliant effect he drew out his silver watch. who had to put up with the worst at home. He was on the point of tak. all in confusion. "It is almost ten o'clock. through the crowd. down There was general excitement. ' ' ! ' ' A beautiful watch did it ' ' ! said the swineherd. caution. ! — ing refuge behind the bass-viol again. and John Nobody pushed his way. John. At moment a disturbance arose at the end of the scolding. Frederick's "Will you pay for it?" asked Frederick. his dignity was injured the general laughter cut him to the quick. the poor devil. .478 THE GERMAN CLASSICS this floor— shouting. or sprang back pushed the culprit girls Others made room as much out of pity as of But Frederick stepped forward. coughed an old woman in Shame a kitchen apron and with a dish-rag in her hand. laughter. and leaned for- ward rival. had stepped near the kitchen * ' ' ' * ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ! fire. The gallant came back dejected. and. 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 '11 find out soon enough. neatly wrapped in his handkerchief." he said. . or rather was pushed. and now the grease was disgracing him by running his coat. "Butter-thief. had tried to secure for himself a paltry half pound of butter for the coming time of scarcity. butter-thief!" called a few children. the from fear of forward. "Now the Bride's Minuet I will strike up. in reverential curiosity. without remembering that he had concealed it in his pocket. at that time a rare and precious ornament.

and they were all crowding again toward the dancing-floor." morning crossly. shouting all the while: "Oh. 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. "such things have happened. Franz Ebel had a beautiful watch too. Frederick was no longer there. "remember. partly from honest nervousness. a butcher and casual secondhand dealer from the nearest town. well. cause custom so decreed. Frederick threw him a haughty glance and seized the bow in silent majesty. "Well. the insignia of her new The young girl was crying bitterly." he said sun. whence there still resounded inextinguishable laughter and noise. as if annihilated. The business was ended. some young wags had looked through the tripod to see if the bride 's head band was straight. She was to manage a run-down household. moreover. the young wife had drunk to her husband's health. Frederick had gone away. He stood beside her. after a short unsatisfactory conversation. under the eye of a peevish old man. I am making you happy!" She looked up to him humbly and seemed to feel that he was right. it isn't you who are making me happy. 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. As you know well enough. "Catch the ' ' ' ' . He had met with a great unbearable disgrace. and. Frederick did not answer. but nodded proudly to the first violin and they began to play with all their might and main. Some had pushed after them into the yard.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 479 ''Have you paid for it I" retorted Will. till Aaron the Jew took it away from him. had dunned him before the whole company for the sum of ten thalers in payment of a watch delivered at Eastertide. she was expected to love. had suddenly appeared. whom. partly beposition. when Aaron the Jew. by no means like the groom in the Song of Solomon who steps into the chamber like the "You've cried enough now. and the Jew followed him." Huelsmeyer went on.

" said an old woman. H .480 4 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS ' ' ! ! called some others had Balance him against a pig become serious. Herr von S. he found the corridor crowded with all the domestics standing around two lower-servants. Having arrived at home. up in the air. and both had run as fast as their legs could carry them. and the crowd separated as the carriage of the lord of the estate turned into the yard. was out of sorts on the way home. now and then a brick fell and was dashed to crossly. my poor soul!" coming down from on high. "Frederick looked as white as a sheet. who had sunk down pale and breathless on the steps. a rattling noise like sticks beating against one another then suddenly had sounded a shrieking yell and quite distinctly the words. ''Another blessed pair of swine out of our o^vn pen sighed Herr von S. . apparently to look for the head of a horse 's skeleton which had the reputation of being an attested instrument against " " said Baron von S. any wiles of witches or ghosts. ''What two figures are those?" He pointed to two dark forms running ahead of the wagon like two ostriches. the usual and inevitable effect when the desire to maintain popularity induced him to attend such feasts. One of them even claimed to have seen fiery eyes gleaming through the branches. and then. when they were coming home through the forest of Brede. but every one in the castle was out of bed. Now they sneaked into the castle. He looked out of the carriage silently. ' ' ! Jew ghost." Three days later a frightful storm was raging. and it was discovered that some one had removed a pipe. "what rogues do not steal. It was midnight. "0. First they had heard a rustling and crackling high above them. 'm. Leaves and twigs flew against the panes. The Baron stood at the window and looked anxiously out into the dark toward his fields. The next morning the fountain in the garden would not play. They declared that they had been chased by old Mergel's . and went into his room to change his clothes. fools destroy. "Stupid nonsense!" exclaimed the lord of the estate .

in B. and S.. beyond that staff. no one knew anything about Aaron he had not been there at all. burst open and in rushed the wife of Aaron the Jew. VII — 31 . look again if not. It was only too true. put it all out with water let us read the Gospel of St. 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. Her great anxiety drove the woman back home. At the house of Solomon the Jew.. then there was a terrible scream and noise up the stairs. because there were still several bad debtors in B. Justice My husband is murdered Justice ! . God. 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. Meanwhile it had become very late." There was a terrible clap of thunder. and the Word was Word. she cried. weather !" said Herr von S. chen. VoL. Then they had gone to all the peasants with whom they knew Aaron had intended to transact some business. in this case he would : spend the night with the butcher. "For God's sake Is something burning?" cried Frau von The door S. All started.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 481 ''Terrible pieces on the pavement of the courtyard. there was no other injury. Samuel. on whom he would call for payment. "GretCome. where she cherished a faint hope of find. pale as death. His wife looked out anxiously. ' ' : ! * ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ! ! ! and she fell in a faint. The statement of the Jewess and her servant. dripping with rain. probably a On his left temple was the blue mark. John. Solomon. with her hair wildly disheveled. 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. /'Are you sure the fire is well banked?" she asked." They all knelt down In the beginning was the and the lady of the house began and the Word was with God. and those on the very day when he had left home. Only two had seen him. She threw herself on her knees before the Baron. and sank down with her face on the chair.

"Search for him!" she answered. it was hardly a minute before the door was opened. a tooth for a tooth eye which she at intervals ejaculated. examined the straw. Since the clerk of the court was at that time absent. hastened everything faster than would otherwise have been done. and Margaret appeared. Before long they found the Jew's body in a trench filled with dry leaves. during a lightning flash. "An These were her only for an eye. so pale and stony did she look. finally run off into the woods. They needed no warrant. come in. but the bed was still warm. in spite of repeated calling. They had been overtaken by the storm in the Forest of Brede and had sought shelter under a great beech on the mountain side. furthermore there was the ghost story of that night. the beating together of the sticks in the forest of Brede. started. and sat down on a chair. blunted. Come in. ' ' .482 THE GERMAN CLASSICS ing her husband after all. words. down the cellar. rather. half confused or. and had. Suddenly. The same night the guards were summoned to take Fred- senses now seemed ' ' ! erick into custody. the woman had seen something white beside her on the moss. It was her husband's staff. he then said roughly to the guards what are we waiting f or ? " They stepped into Frederick 's room. and almost at the same moment the dog had broken through the shrubbery with something in his mouth . it was her husband's shoe. "Where is Frederick?" he asked in an unsteady voice. himself had been witness to a scene which inevitably threw the strongest suspicion on him. They climbed to the garret. because Herr von S. He was not there. supported only in general by the wife her intense agitation had subsided and her . the scream from above. Nevertheless dawn was already breaking when the riflemen as quietly as possible surrounded poor Margaret's house. In the meantime the dog had been running about and acting strangely. he scarcely recognized her. ' ' ' ' . This was the report of the servant. fully dressed. Herr von S. Herr von S. The Baron himself knocked. The Baron hesitated a moment longer.

Under everything else. then two shrouds with black ribbons. the sight of the old woman made a strong impression on him.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE . the other for a woman. one made for a man. of course my Anne Mareplied Kapp. rie learned of the incident an hour before I did." he added in a plaintive tone. Some of them went into the garden. "that I was deathly tired!" ' ' Honor was — muttered the Baron. he was not to be found. took them alliance with the forest-thieves. ''Give me the key. ''Escaped!" said the Baron with conflicting feelings." he repeated. at the very bottom of the trunk. tents of the trunk were brought into view the fugitive's best Sunday clothes and his mother's poor finery. Give me the key to that trunk Margaret did not answer. was deeply affected. to tell ' ' "wasn't there any old woman in the village maid about it? And why didn't they wake you your ' ' ' ' up then?" Your Honor." Then he conHe 'd have indeed to be a stupid devil of a tinued angrily criminal who would let himself be caught Both were silent a moment. who had returned the night before and declared he had slept through the whole affair because his Honor had not sent for him. Having arrived at the castle. Herr von S." said Herr * ' ' ' ! — von S. even into the oven he was not there. Every old in the village knows about a thing whenever it's suphag posed to be conducted in absolute secrecy. My driver lost his way in police force ' ' A fine ' ' ! ' ' : ' ' ! ' ' \ . lay the silver watch and some documents in a very legible hand. one of these signed by a man who was strongly suspected of Herr von S. but she that your knew directing the matter yourself and then. looked behind the fence and up into the apple trees. to examine them. and the guards left the house withalong out Margaret's giving another sign of life than that of incessantly biting her lips and blinking her eyes. and noticed now for the The confirst time that the key was already in the lock. "You always come too late. crossly. the Baron found the court clerk. 483 looked behind every barrel.

''we were delayed over an hour in the wood. own limbs. So the judicial investigation had to be closed without — ." began the clerk again. I thought the wind would blow the wagon over. "I had not thought. perpendicularly under us. So I stood in the mud and rain without moving. The examination was short death by violence evident the suspected criminal escaped the evidence against him very strong indeed. At last. Meanwhile he had examined the papers that he had taken along. The Jews in the vicinity . Within the memory of man never had so many Jews satisfactory results. we drove on in the name of God. that the Mergels were so deeply in debt. ' ' Margaret. Suddenly we heard a bell ring very near." replied Kapp that will be no little cause for vexation to Mistress ! ' ' ' ' ' ' . we should all have been children of Death. most of them from usurers. The widow's house was never empty of mourners and advisers. to find some comfort at least in my pipe. and that it must come to light in this way. half conciliated. unable to see our hands before our eyes." "That was indeed no joke!" exclaimed the Baron. heading toward the Zellerfeld. 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 weather was awful. I had him stop.484 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the dark. and struck a light. They were dunning letters for money lent. had manifested great interest. but not those of a horse." he muttered. "Oh. 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. but not sufficient to establish his guilt without a personal confession. Your Honor will realize that I felt dreadI jumped out of the wagon. Then the coachman said: 'If only we don't get too near the stone-quarries!' I was frightened myself. dear me. for one can trust one's fully. until presently. his flight at all events very suspicious. thank God. . "Yes. when the rain slackened. it began to dawn.

number of the most prominent Israelites appeared in the morning to make a business proposition to the gracious lord.' "Well. commonly called "Joel the Usurer. Sir. Soon after.>n c^ ^V n'^r nnx n^'xs And where was enough away Frederick? it to find Without doubt. as long as there is a chip of it left. and was probably still in the vicinity. 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. a . nevertheless. under which Aaron's staff had been found and where the murder had probably been committed. and far no longer necessary to fear the short . if I should have the forest cut down.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 485 been seen together in L. up to the Zellerfeld. now that it is in full leaf?" asked the Baron. where they separated and each went his own way. gone. gracious summer.'* They offered two hundred thalers. all silent. all this did no good. "Do you want to hew it castle the next down. with their eyes cast down." offered one of his customers. The object was the beech-tree. it * * must remain standing winter and it would injure the young trees. we do not want it for any ordinary price. "No. and then returned just as seriously and ceremoniously through the village of B. The deal was made. They stayed in the woods over an hour. and all the foresters were strictly forbidden to injure the "Jew's head were seen going toward the Forest of Brede. about sixty Jews with a Rabbi ?jp r^5: n^^ aipr^a ij^. The next morning there was a Hebrew inscription carved on the oak with an axe at their : Beech" in any way. 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. When. and the judicial investigation had been declared closed." But then. who owed him many hundreds and whom he considered an especially sly fellow.

remarkable!" he exclaimed. named Ragged Moses. the dog of a Jew hanged himself with a garter. About "Remarkable. "What do you say to that?" repeated the Baron. His Uncle Simon seldom spoke of him. half a year afterward the lord of the estate read in the presence of the court clerk some letters just received. by-the-by. to away?" The court "Well. and now I have a new proof of it. . Isn't it said: *The wicked man flees from his own shadow?' Mergel 's conscience was dirty enough. What do you say to that? be sure. while we were at lunch. we now have. — . Kapp. and then The Jew 's wife finally consoled herself and took another ill." etc. "Just think. and had found only six groschen on him. perhaps on account of the forest thefts which we were just then investigating. has just written me ' : n' est pas toujours vraisemblable' (Truth does not always bear the marks of probability). Soon he was completely forgotten. spot. for the most part. A member of the Schlemming band (which. "and what reason then did the fool of a fellow have for running is Aaron a common name. I often find this out in my profession. Aaron. perhaps Mergel is innocent of the murder. disappeared and John Nobody poor. Frederick had gone. whom he had beaten to death in the woods. under lock and key). husband.486 THE GERMAN CLASSICS arms of such a weak police force. Only poor Margaret remained without consolation. Do you know that it is possible that your dear trusty Frederick Mergel killed the Jew no more than you or II Unfortunately proofs are lacking." these considerations they let the matter drop. but the probability is great. The Le vrai chairman of the court of P. "Unfortunately the examination was interrupted by the noon recess and. ne- With — glected John with him on the same day. even without this clerk reflected. alleged in the last hearing that he repented of nothing so much as of murdering one of his co-religionists.

Kapp. and his good-natured assistant. A man in form but yet our Lord. soft singing arose in the nearest house and. Half the way down he stopped. 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. It was almost midnight. as is the custom in Catholic countries. 1788. probably about twelve feet deep. undefiled. had been long since buried. long time had passed—twenty-eight years. animals. and plants had arisen. matured. From Hell grant us Redemption. gray and dignified as of old.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE half a lifetime. spreading from . only Castle B. still looked down on the cottages which. house to house. so dead and cold. as was general in those times. The narrow passes were covered with snow. rejoice and say: the Christ-child ne'er been Of Mary Virgin We all Yea. The wanderer seemed to be very tired or sick he groaned . and gazed fixedly at the lights. and the penetrating. To lasting woe we'd all been sworn. For He is our salvation. had bom. passed away. like palsied old people. heavily and dragged himself with extreme difficulty through the snow. leaned on his staff. thou our Jesus Christ adored. frosty air froze the window panes in the heated room. always seemed about to fall. and in every house the inmates were on their It knees awaiting in prayer the advent of the holy Christmas festival. 0. was Christmas Eve. a worthy child. December 24. People. Everything was so quiet. at least. and yet faint lights flickered from the snow mounds everywhere. 487 A long. yet always kept their balance. almost The Baron was grown very old and gray. ran through the whole village : A little Was bom babe. to us today. or. .. That night a figure moved slowly down from the heights of Brede toward the village.

The song was ended and the lights in the houses began to move. his whole body broken and ! powerless. After some delay the door opened. All crowded around the newcomer and scruhim with timid curiosity. A five children. who comes out of Turkish slavery There was whispering in the kitchen. ''A bed we cannot give you. and there's no wind blowing!" He knocked louder. The man who had returned home was . fell about his face. **I wonder what that is!" said a woman's voice inside. a middle-aged woman. let me in in front of one ' ' ! ' ' ' ' ! ' ' ! money. and am used to worse than that. The second verse began. He panted past several houses." "God reward you!" answered ' ' the stranger. **The door is rattling. The woman went silently to the hearth and added some fresh fagots. long hair. Everybody wanted to see the man from Turkey. which bore the distorted expression of long suffering. white as snow. with his back bent. *'Go to the inn." In the kitchen there were. then the third and the fourth. ' ' ' ' man came out a lighted lamp. it turned into nothing but loud sobbing. A wretched figure Wrytinized necked. let in a half -frozen man. he then said with you won't cut our heads off. "For God's sake. Come right in. fled with Frederick Mergel. and large hot drops fell on the snow." she said. you'll have to make the best of that. Then the man rose laboriously and slunk slowly down to the village. "indeed I recognized as John and he himself avowed that it was he who had once Nobody. The next day the village was full of the adventures of the man who had so long been forgotten. and ' ' * * . an old mother. then stopped and knocked on the door softly. he prayed along silently. "but I will make a good litter of straw here. the fifth house from here I have no In the name of our merciful God.488 THE GERMAN CLASSICS The man on the mountain slope had sunk to his knees and with a trembling voice made an effort to join in the song." answered another voice. besides the man.

Margaret had lived longer. ''So all was in vain. the tionable. They asked him why Frederick had disappeared. on his part. because she let everything that they gave her go to ruin. Finally he had been reduced to begging and had first fallen into and bad debtors whom died on the straw in a strange barn. the family of the Baron had cared for her.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE 489 they were almost surprised that he should still look like other people. John. Not killed him ' ' ! ' ' said John. about many things. how gray you Ve grown ' ! man. said an old woJohn. he said musing. ." he added. pray for him. when her pitiable condition had developed into complete emaciation. *'and where did you get your wry neck?" ''From carrying wood and water in slavery. it was business relations between them had been quessaid. sent her meals daily. inasmuch as he had not murdered the Jew. all in vain so much suffering He sighed deeply and asked. "And what has become of Mergel? You ran away together. ' * wretchedly disfigured though he was. didn't you?" Yes. after Nevertheless she had not suffered any actual want. characteristic of people to abandon the most helpthose whom assistance does not relieve for any length less." he replied. arated. to be sure. If you think of him. but the old could still recognize his features perfectly. ' ' **he probably needs it. for all. it is. of time and who are and always will be in need of aid. . The young folks. In her house now lived the son of the former swineherd. but in absolute mental torpor. 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. and even provided medical treatment for her. The people in the village had soon grown tired of helping her. did not remember him. He was told that Simon had been dead a long while. ' ' ' ' — ' ' ! but had complete poverty through lawsuits he could not sue because. indeed but I do not know where he is we got sep* * .

* ' you? how Mergel had called him away and said he must go away with from the hearth at night ' ' John began telling him. you know nevei told me anything about it. as it had been . ''But did the foolish fellow ever run away? I supknow that he was innocent?" pose you John looked down. I don 't know exactly I think it was on account of some why — ' ' . and then at the Baron who was sitting in his armchair he had aged greatly but still had his old bright eyes. So we' ran to Heerse. it was still dark then and Simon had . Upon entering the living-room he looked about him timidly. nor did he go very close to any. because we were afraid of the stonequarries at Bellerf eld and after we had been sitting a while . and the little red cap was still on his head. his wife. as though dazed by the light. twenty-eight years ago. he was seen limping about the cemetery in the snow he did not pray over any one grave. Now. ''you wasted away terribly there in Turkey.490 THE GERMAN CLASSICS so admired Frederick's watch on that unfortunate who had night. "All gone. the son of the murdered forester. beside him was the Baroness. do tell me all about your adventures." "But what did Frederick tell you?" Nothing but that we must run away. snorting and stamping over us and saw streaks of fire in the air directly over the church-tower long we suddenly heard . said the Baron. also ' * very old. all dead!" sighed John. but he seemed to gaze fixedly at some of them from a distance. In the evening. whom the Baron had sent to bring John to the castle. that they were at our heels. ' ' we hid behind the big cross in the churchyard until it grew somewhat lighter. when it had grown dark and the moon was shining. didn't grown ' ' old. But. all kinds of dealings. Thus he was found by Forester . forest aif airs. John." as he surveyed him through his glasses. but I do not believe they everything was as it should have been. Brandes.

the worst of . "On the vessel I work . The Baron looked at him in astonishment and raised his finger in warning. but Frederick had other ' ' ! ' ' . ''Remarkable!" he mused. "They fished me out of the Bosphorus. In the spring we had to march to Hungary. "We stayed over the winter in Freiburg. So he was put with the commissariat." he me. "and we got along pretty well I did." John seemed to shudder at the remembrance even now." he continued. and in the fall the war with the Turks broke out. they had begged their way through to Freiburg in I had my haversack with Breisgau as itinerant workmen. but John continued. insisted. and Frederick a little bundle. . we were actually on the right road to P. so they believed us. of 491 jumped up and ran straight ahead in the we could. and I was unable to endure it. and. went on. "it was beyond human strength and human patience.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE of Heerse. but that is terrible!" exclaimed Frau von S. "Yes." he then said. and the Baron thought of his departed Kapp and his adventures on the We name God as fast as slope of Heerse. In Freiburg they had been induced to enlist in the Austrian army he had not been wanted. too. telling how. when dawn arose. because Frederick often advised me and helped me when I did something wrong. from that point. and was still expected do as in former years. "you were so near each But go ahead. too. John now related how they had successfully passed through P." "But how did you get there?" asked the Baron. it consider us Christians no betwas that my strength left me I grew older. and across the border." replied John." He was silent for a moment. From there I got on a Dutch vessel. "Bad enough! The Turks ter than dogs with the hard to . 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 twentysix years "God in ! ' ' Heaven.

and the merchant to whom the ship belonged sympathized with me. they let me go free because I was useless. ' ' * ' But. ''Here. things are. "and" he pointed to his forehead "my thoughts are at times so curious I cannot ." Herr von S. come again tomorrow.492 THE GERMAN CLASSICS did not fare much better. "Well. "that tell how ' ' will . felt the deepest sympathy with the poor chap by the next day he had decided where to lodge him. when we arrived in Holland. John sighed deeply. whoever was not absolutely helpless was compelled to work beyond his strength." he shook his head." replied John." said the baron. go. shook his head sympathetically. 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. understand. You must tell me the whole story more in detail today it was a bit confused. "do you want to try There is no particular hurry. "I can still do something I can make wooden spoons and you can also send me on errands." Herr von S. and ' ' it very won't be as hard as you might think. either. . yes. ' ' "Oh. now go and come back soon. sir." "Very tired. sir. — — exactly an old story. Huelsmeyer probably put you up for another night. ." **I preferred to beg my way ''That was foolish enough!" said the Baron. be provided for too." it? Here is a letter to P." said the Baron. along back here. I suppose you are still very tired. if once I get started I'll —I can't move but get there somehow. doubtfully. is "I Now." said John. and wanted to make me his porter. fast. and the ship's tow ruled as severely as the Turkish whip. '*0h. The next day John moved into his little room in the house . he should take his meals in the castle and his clothing could. he concluded. ' ' John. "Sir. at Amsterdam. "But that wouldn 't work so remarkably well. too. At last. The scurvy broke out. of course.

widow He key. At last one evening he did not come home." answered the Baron." "You "I went through Fir-tree Hollow. and many a hectic person felt the scissors on his life's thread. was greatly worried and was already on the point of sending out peo. he added slowly. and the ocean. ' ' ' * He Did you ' ' see. but not very often. Some time after. The second day he . and did errands for the Baron. "John could tell many things. The fields were empty. John. that's a long roundabout go through the Brede Woods?" way! Why didn't you looked up at her sadly. when they heard him limping up the stairs." she said. Frau von S." she replied. and Herr von S. often conversed with him about Turin the village. 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. ways "Not a bit of it. melancholic than simple. "I am alafraid he '11 lose his wits some day. "he's been a "More ' ' simpleton all his life simple people never go crazy. getting along tolerably well. too. there's a bad ending in store for him!" "what a Meanwhile September was approaching. The good Frau von S. "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. the leaves were beginning to fall. said afterwards to her hus- band. squinting look there was in his eyes? you.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE of a 493 carved spoons. service in Austria. ate at the casOn the whole he was tle. "I was beginning to think you had lost your way in the forest of Brede. I tell queer. John stayed away much longer than usual on an errand. — . stayed out a long time. the Baron's family was very kind. ' ' ple. Ernest. I am growing old and shaky. John. It was thought the Baron had sent him somewhere." he said to his wife." "Why. "if he wasn't so down' ' right simple.

has fallen even into a dry pit. he cannot get out again. dissatisfied. — know nothing William ' ' call the forester ' ' and his son of him. and dogs set on the trail in vain! A child had seen him sitting at the edge of the forest of Brede. . seemed he had kept rambling about the forest of Brede. Here stood his bed still in ' ' . Who knows if he may not even have broken one of his distorted limbs! Take the dogs along. In was another clue. — the the afternoon there That had happened two days before. with his face resting on his knees as though he were asleep. his restlessness even drove him to John's room. It ''If That was only the day before. said the Baron. when they had convinced themselves that the animals had made a thorough search of the whole forest. first of all. ''Whenlthink of such a man. alarms were sent out. where he had been little girl. carving a spoon. but. He had the room of the lost man opened. ries.494 THE GERMAN CLASSICS still was not there. ' ' ! ! . horns were blown everjrwhere. 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. quick! If the poor crip- he added. Don 't give up Don 't give up " begged Frau von S. search in the quarries. On ''I the third his housekeeper grew anxious. She went to the castle and inquired. Again a child had seen him on the other side of the woods. ' ' ." he called to the foresters on their way. The foresters returned home after a few hours no trace had been found. in agitation. but finally returned home. ' ' . "It's better to take a few steps in vain than to leave anything undone. look among the stone-quarhe called out louder. The dogs were driven to the place where the woods had just been cut down the searching-party blew their horns and hallooed. "But he cut it right in two." said ple. He set out himself inquiry was made at every house." The Baron was almost as worried as she. although he was sure not to find him there. was restless. Herr von S. ''and. sitting in the shrubbery. only that damned shrubbery weren't so dense! Not a soul can get through it. ! '*God for- bid!" said the Baron.

The coolness penetrated to his limbs so soothingly that he closed his eyes. therefore. six new wooden spoons. at all events. not alive. The search was continued until they had convinced themselves that John was no longer in the vicinity at least. but one way was as unbearable as another. then. 495 hung his good coat which the Baroness had had made for him out of the Baron's old hunting-suit. and four silver ** A vest-buttons. meanwhile his dog leaped about. and working his way through the knee-high underbrush was very laborious. he had disappeared for the second time they ever find him again perhaps some time. and barked at the tree. you must know. but did not feel like getting up. There is. and then he put it on again. The Baron examined them with interest. Round about there was not a single tree save the "Jew's beech" for that he made. ' ' — — ! another twenty-eight years. neatly wrapped in paper.THE JEW'S BEECH-TREE disorder as he had left it. young Brandes was passing way from inspecting . on his . in that region a species of very juicy mushrooms which live only a few days and then shrivel up and mushrooms!" he muttered. moss under '*Foul it. The day was unusually warm for that time of the year the air quivered not a bird was singing only ravens croaked monotonously in the branches and opened their beaks to the air. tired to death. and stretched himself on the shady the . and stepped out. on the table lay a bowl. Herr von S. or. remembrance from Mergel. for he felt quite oppressed in the musty. He took off his cap. scratched at the trunk of the beech. Brandes was very tired. Bello ? A cat ' ' ? . opened the box five groschen lay in it. emit an insufferable odor. ' ' What have you there. he muttered. half asleep. close room. of these unpleasant neighbors he looked around him several times. . with all his might. heated through by the sun. Would So. certainly not after there . Brandes thought he smelt some . find his bones in a dry pit? There was little hope of seeing him again alive. after many years. his preserve. and a box. One morning two weeks later through the forest of Brede.

said — — — ! * * ! . examined the scar with great care. gently! Don't let him fall! Good But loose the knot heaven. S. " The body was buried in the potter 's field. At first I thought it was the mushrooms!" Nevertheless . and went out there They had arrived beneath the beech. inscription met ble. it was true. body again. "You must step over there." Herr von S." gasped Brandes.496 THE GERMAN CLASSICS He half opened his lids muttered Brandes. and the Hebrew He his eye. "I see nothing. urged the greatest haste. the worms are at him already and his necktie!" A broad scar was visible. "if Your Honor had been there you would have realized that the man is no longer alive. anyway?" Brandes was lying on his back. "It is not right that the innocent should suffer for the guilty. suddenly he jumped up with a bound and sprang into the thicket like one possessed. Then he turned to the foresters. "God. right here on this spot!" Yes. just tell everybody this man here" he pointed to the dead body "was Frederick Mergel. directly you fool?" cried the Baron. Good God " he said he bent over the Baron drew back. "Sir. the any^v^ay. finally put his cold nose against his master's face. much distorted but still quite legishut his eyes again the dog kept on barking and . Pale as death he reached the castle a man was hanging " he had seen his limbs in the Jew 's Beech-tree suspended above his face. looking up." . The Hebrew inscription on the tree read: "When thou comest near this spot. As far as all main events are concerned. it is John! Prop up the ladder! so now down gently. and in his intense agitation was silent for some time. **And you did not cut him down. thou wilt suffer what thou didst to me. Herr von himself. **Let me alone! What's the matter with you. the Baron recognized his own old shoes. ' * . this actually — — happened during the month of September in the year 1789.

cold and low. damp. Oh ! love while The hour will Thou 'It mourn by Love is yet thine own come when bitterly . . Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz. Beats to thine own in faithful love. G. churchyard grass. Take heed thou fondly cherish him And gladden thou his every hour. unheeded then. through weal and woe. VII — 32 [4971 . And not an hour with sorrow dim ! And guard thy lips and keep them still Too soon escapes an angry word. While yet a heart. thy loved one lies. alas Kneeling. love while ! . Unheard.FERDINAND FREILIGRATH THE DURATION OF LOVE* (1831) H ! love while Love is left to thee . Where. alone I And let thy breast with kindness glow. Oh Love is left to thee Oh love while Love is yet thine own The hour will come when bitterly Thou 'It mourn by silent graves. Leipzig. silent graves. ''0 Godl I did not mean it ill!" But yet he sorrowed as he heard. Vol. And who to thee his heart doth bare. alone. in Chambers' Journal. . ! . ! * Translator: M. And gentle thoughts within thee move. thou 'It hide thy streaming eyes Amid the long.

bustling band. slim and brown. long ago But many a burning tear he shed thine unkindness — softly now did forgive ! ! He ! slumbers with the silent dead. Translator: C. look down on me. You set your pails and pitchers down. God I did not mean it ill ! hears not now thy voice to bless.498 THE GERMAN CLASSICS And murmur: Mourning Forgive ''Oh. little all to see you lay in the waiting Ye men. From Your Each you. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz. with braided tresses neat. How careful. The hour will come when bitterly Thou 'It mourn by silent graves — alone I THE EMIGRANTS* I CANNOT take (1832) my eyes away boatman 's hand. on the sloop's green seat. Leipzig. that from your necks set down Your heavy baskets on the earth. Of bread. And you. . . It answers not ''I /lave forgiven!" : He ! He 'er —long. ye busy. causeless anger still hasty word to thee my my ! — " . Black Forest maidens. hushed the loved lip's fond caress. from German corn baked brown. By German wives. In vain thine arms are flung to heaven And. T. Brooks. on German hearth. Oh love while Love is left to thee Oh love while Love is yet thine own ! .

ver FERDINAND FREILIGRATH .. IIasenclf. New York J.Permission Bcilin Photographic Co. r.


Ah. From them shall drink the Cherokee. .FREILIGRATH: POEMS 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 oft 499 Ah! . Before fond memory's moistened eye! How will . oft ye stooped to chat and draw — your childhood saw. why seek ye other lands ? . and each familiar seat— The pictured tiles Where fount. The Neckar 's vale hath wine and corn Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands In Spessart rings the Alp-herd's horn. To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn. . the form of days grown pale In golden dreams float softly by. Like some old legendary tale. Oh say. in strange forests you will yearn For the green mountains of your home . in village street. in the far and wooded "West Shall log-house walls therewith be graced Soon. — The stone-rimmed The hearth. Faint with the hot and dusty chase . No more from German Shall bear them vintage. in leaf -crowned grace. ye home. tawny guest Shall sweet refreshment from them taste. many a tired. In spirit o 'er her vine-hills roam. Soon.

sedge there lies "Where gazelles and camelopards drink. the yonder comes the tall giraffe. the lion springs On her back now. Translator: C. and sire ! — ! Bless all And your fields with rich increase. moans the quivering sycamore. crown each faithful heart's desire ! THE King LION'S RIDE* (1834) of deserts reigns the lion. to the lagoon he paces.T. wife and child. slimy basin. Ominous. in the hiding. .500 THE GEEMAN CLASSICS The boatman calls go hence in peace God bless you. with parched tongue. in proudest stalls of kings. will he through his realm tall Down go riding. ! Hark. growing Dim and karroo — distant —when the Caffre sweeps along the lone "When in the bush the antelope slumbers. he crouches by the shore . Leipzig. gloomy waters of the dull lagoon to all quaff.Brooks. changeful signals on the Table Mountain When. O'er the naked waste behold her. kneeling. and beside the stream the gnu — Lo majestically Hot with thirst. from the stagnant. ! stalking. the ruddy hearth-fires in the Hottentot kraals are glowing. And the motley. above the monster. at dusk. What a race-horse! Say. a rustling in the sedges with a roar. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz. panting hasten — Now she sucks the cool draught.

of anguish. leaps and flies the tortured See her. that. with greedy strain . o'er the brown And the flying beast's heart-beatings audible the stillness make. black drops come and dappled neck. plunderer of tombs. Like a spirit of the desert. O'er the desert's sandy ocean. how with skin of leopard she combines the camel 's speed I See. like a waterspout at sea. guiding Israel through the land of Yemen. air. With a hollow cry steed . 501 ever richer housings than the courser's motley of the beasts tonight will On whose back the tawny monarch ride! Fixed his teeth are in the muscles of the nape. from the torn and bleeding veins. Fast the thick. croaking. Them their monarch's dreadful pathway. blood and sweat full plainly tell. pale and wan. cloudy column. known him well . like a phantom.FREILIGRATH: POEMS Saw one hide. trickling. Whirls a yellow. tracking them where'er they flee. is there Follows them the stealthy panther Cape-town's folds have — . through the And the terrible hyena. On their track the vulture follows. with lightly beating footsteps. how she scours the moonlit plains ! From their sockets start the eyeballs. shone. . Like the cloud. flapping. Eound the giant courser's withers waves the rider's yellow mane.

till strength and life- Mastered by such daring avail her. Mangan. the king of beasts his journey nightly through his em- pire makes. caftan-cloth unfolded o'er my limbs was lightly spread. —sinks—one groan—and smeared with the Now Far Thus the steed shall feast the rider. both as Captain and as watchman of band. (1835) 'TwAs at midnight. my Lay my Bazra sword and sand. and across. him on. While beside me. In the farness lay the moonlight on the mountains of the Nile. On With sharp claw him tear. THE SPECTRE-CARAVAN* . With my saddle And my for a pillow did I prop my weary head. see their ruler sitting there. dead. in the Desert. * pistols twain a-shimmering on the Translator: J. plunging. naught To the desert's verge she staggers all is o 'er. and their steeds were stretched around. faintly dust and gore. rearing. the painted cushion of his seat they see Eestless the giraffe must bear blood fail her. quaking. o'er Madagascar. C.502 THE GERMAN CLASSICS his living throne. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz. Leipzig. where we rested on the ground There my Bedouins were sleeping. rider. And the camel-bones that strewed the sands for many an arid mile. they. now morning breaks . .

and of women whom they . as warriors on their barbs ! the Night was come when all whom Death had sought and found. and grew to camel- And the whirling column-clouds of sand to forms in dusky garbs. 503 cry the Or the snortings of a sleeping steed at waters fancy-seen. . youthful maidens. the ghastly camel-bones arose. save at moments by a From some stray belated vulture sailing blackly down sky. bore. Here. and a thrill shook every man. ! —a sudden sandquake —and atween the earth la- Eose a mighty Host of Shadows. Yea. trains . Guides and merchants. Long ago amid the sands whereon their bones yet bleach Whence we knew around. hurrying on to Mecca! ! More and more the phantom-pageant overshadowed all the Plains. behold and moon goon. When. dashing. afoot as Hadjee pilgrims —there. their hueless faces toward Mecca evermore On they came. as from out some dim Then our coursers gasped with terror. bearing pitchers like And Rebecca.FREILIGRATH: POEMS And the stillness was unbroken. long files of camels. Or the hurried warlike mutterings of some dreaming Bedouin. And the cry was "Allah Ahhar! — 'tis the Spectre-Cara- van I" On they came. behind them troops of horsemen.

it to dust shall daylight doom these Wand'rers of the night. Or from my youth in Sinai flourished. even to Bab-el-Manere yet deb's sands. the morning breezes wave again your turban's their heralds to the plume Morning air and rosy dawning are tomb. Call on Allah! and the pageant. breaks bands I Courage! hold the plunging horses. Rise by legions from the darkness of their prisons low and And in dim procession march to kiss the Kaaba's Holy Stone. ere you look again. From Cape Verde's palmy smnmits. More and more Ere I the last in order have not passed across the plain. though yon waving mantles fan you as they is hasten on. . "Tranblator: Charles Had Wharton Stork. Or dwelt on Yemen 's glowing sand. Once again See. They have sped his my charger. the first with slackened bridle fast are flying back again. A sword were now within this hand. Patience ! gone! till . each man to his charger's head Tremble not as timid sheep-flocks tremble at the lion's I tread.504 THE GERMAN CLASSICS lone. Fear not. wildly rearing. dawns ! —A joyous welcome neigh our horses to the (1836) light! HAD AT MECCA'S GATE BEEN NOURISHED* I I at Mecca 's gate been nourished.



'mid the sand. rest my flock beside the fountains Where once the bush broke forth in flame. a mighty land. shining With golden-lettered mystic words. verses with impassioned fulness My kindred When Would stream from me The treasure of in glowing song. Who And dread the simoon's devastation fall before his wrath in fear. —through yon fissure deep and dim there The demon's forehead glows amain. my lips would dower My list'ners are To whom a nomad nation. They From While desert phantoms rise and flutter In wreaths of smoke before their sight. For as with me so with him there — See ! 'tis In the skull's cavern seethes the brain. often hear strange voices mutter Sinai's earthquake-shattered height. a monarch. .FREILIGRATH: POEMS Then would I ride across the mountains 505 And Until to Jethro's land I came. never idle Save by the spring till set of sun. And read the scroll of heaven. And ever with the evening's coolness to the tent would throng. A mighty tribe. At night upon the earth reclining They watch amid their sleeping herds. — — They dash with loosely swaying bridle From Aden unto Lebanon. And as with a magician's power I'd rule. All day they gallop. the desert's voice is dear.

a cliff I thought ere long of the old love song: Ah. poem in fantastic guise ! — ! A ! Here in the How dark I roam so blindly cunning is the North. a Bedouin bold WILD FLOWERS* (1840) flowed. And wondrous rare through all the air The scent of the vineyards hovered. thought as a falcon. I: Toward the sun I'll fly. land of tents and arrows flying Oh. Wa. ! eyes dream o'er the lazy stream — Oh. ! Then And daring. As I sang. thither would I be flying Charles Wharton Stork.506 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Oh. too. . The very tune shall upbear me To her window small with a bolt in the wall. and curtains wave. Where I'll beat till she shall hear me.ved in the wheat so proudly ! From Of near-by the joyous cry a falcon echoed loudly. would that I were a falcon With its melody as a falcon free. and cold ! — ! Oh. ships by the bank are lying. for the East. Alone I strode where the broad Rhine The hedge with roses was covered. desert people brave and wise Thou Arab on thy steed relying. the warm and kindly. To sing and ride. The cornflowers blue. the poppies too. Where And Two brown •Translator: the rose is brave.

his visage gleams. nor ceased from my ranting Till with hands all torn and heart forlorn I sank down. shalt prize it. the blossoming vine. thy vagrant lover. Though many rude bouquet a girl despise it.FREILIGRATH: POEMS With talons long 507 and strange wild song I'd perch me at her feet then. my love. ! — Yet come there may the happy day When In thou. sang and gaily sprang. The meadow-sweetening clover All vagrant stuff. might grace honest farmer's dwelling These cornflowers mild and poppies wild. His brow the storm resembles. Then branch and tree all ruthlessly I stripped. And gladly we should greet then. fitting place it well An — The osier fine. — ! . — His dark eye beams. — / While I heard the sound from all around Of frolicking lads and lasses. weary and panting. Though I gaily No . crude bouquet. had I to aid me pinions I took my path through the corn in wrath^ So restless my love had made me. Alone for hours I gathered flowers And bound them together with grasses. and like enough To him. his mad heart yearns. With others past my telling. His clenched hand how it trembles His fierce blood burns. Or bold I 'd spread my wings o 'er her head.

1848) marble breast. at whose word we were slain .508 THE GERMAN CLASSICS He breathes oppressed. on bloody scaffold down! Thus. with laboring breast ! — His weeds and he rejected shall they and he His flowers. raised us on the bloody planks with wild and wrathful vow! High in the air you lifted us. . Leipzig. fear — Whether his sinking head still wear its mockery of a crown. with deep and solemn vow! ''Come down!" ye cried he trembling came even to our — — bloody bed . that every writhe of pain Might be an endless curse to him. and every gory wound. dethroned. That every mouth with pain convulsed. Be round him in the terror-hour. the gash upon the brow. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz. see Lie here at thy door neglected? — ! THE DEAD TO THE LIVING* The You bullet in the (July. Or he should lay it. evermore be A wasting and destroying flame within its gloom inurned. bound. with the bullet in the breast. You laid us at the altar's foot. That he might see us shine. or quaffs his his soul should foaming That the dread memory on burned. •Translator: Bayard Taylor. in the gloom. . or in the daylight's Whether he turns wine. the gash upon the brow. his Bible's leaf. despite his dying . oh. 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.



with fear unwonted shaken). the barricades. thou my trust!" the anthem'd voices peal. we know each word and deed our spirit-ears have ! scarcely run. Since cowardly you've forfeited what — 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 ! TNHierever barricades were built. we had Loudly in Jesus. the lock on press and tongue ! . dying. And when ye made our burial. 509 — (like a mean puppet Sank lie whose his *' life had been a farce. all. which. and scarred in every ! of conscious Victory lay on our foreheads grim thought: the price is dearly paid. Why did the victor-crowds forget the sterner trust of steel? That morning followed on the night when we together fell.FREILIGRATH: POEMS ''Uncover!" and 'twas tamely done! led. but the treasures must be true. Meanwhile taken ! army fled the field. And rested calmly in the graves we swore to fill for you I The pride We Alas! for you —we were deceived! Four moons have we so bravely won! Squandered and cast to every wind the gain our death had brought Aye. there was triumph in the knell! Though crushed behind limb.

fierce and The war with ' ' ! all who Freedom would with- Shout The Republic till it drowns the chiming minster bells. —the dead Insurgents To join.510 THE GERMAN CLASSICS the free right of all debate. final hold! * * : Out with it. ! The slander fierce and Alas! that has become your share. instead of laurels proud Ye who have borne the hardest brunt. — —June-warriors the Elbe of France! wrong and treason everywhere. Oh upon our ghastly biers. and Rhine And No oh German men! your hearts. that Freedom might advance. Whose sound tells ! this swindle of your rights by crafty Austria In vain 'Tis time your faltering hands should disentomb us yet. Not to the palace-court. beside. begirt with many a bayonet. the grave-earth on each brow. to the tent. Oppression's ancient bar! The bond with Russia 's Cossacks loud. as then. with calm and sluggish tide ? war within your apron's folds? bold! second. And lift us on the planks. the market-place. and through the wakening land! Out through the broad land bear us sent. beat. the daily-practised wrong of prison-doors in North and South ! On The groaning clang afar! For all who plead the People's right. solemn sight! there we should lie. . that he may near us stand ! — No . Victorious in defeat and death Yes. the German Parliament.

believe it. from the ! and it awakes — shall and must awake an The Revolution. when the March sun on us shone. would that Wrath. too much still of shame. But before all other harvests was Freedom's March-seed ' ' : — I mown ! Chance poppies.FREILIGRATH: POEMS And 511 ! faces sunken in decay the proper Regents now Ere we could waste There we should lie and say to you away. among the stub- Oh. roused and morn! bold. too much been back. yet wholly forth will break. which the bles stand. heaped daily on Wrath and Revenge must Dead! It does remain. ye archons brave. is rotting in decay The Corn is housed which burst the sod. Your Freedom-gift. thus blossomed in the land And yet. stolen Too much of your head— scorn. form! grasps the rusted gun once more. ! While the red banners flap the air from every barricade Those banners lead the German Guards the armies of the — Free— Till Princes the sea ! fly their blazing thrones and hasten towards the land The boding eagles leave shorn — —the lion's claws are The sovereign People. It waits the half complete. the crimson "Wrath. to rise in hour With It lifted arms up-rolling and streaming hair— a wild and mighty power. like storm. be it left. sickle spared. it springs behind the reaper's ' ' ! track . await the Future's . Too much had been already gained. it does remain. and swings the battered blade.



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 Ger-






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 are Slaves!"


— they


— and

now, forever they




(July 25, 1870)

Hurrah! thou lady proud and
Hurrah! Germania mine!




fire is in


thine eye, as there 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!




thought hadst thou, so calm and


Of war or battle plain. But on thy broad fields, waving



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




Pall Mall Gazette, London. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig.

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,
; * ' !




Rhine Away Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Germania!
to the
! !

' '

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

Vol. VII

Germania now, let come what may, Will stand unshook through all

— 33



our country's festal day; betide thee, Gaul "Woe worth the hour a robber thrust

Now woe


Thy sword

into thy



A curse upon him that we must
Unsheathe our German brand

Hurrah Hurrah Hurrah Hurrah Germania





For home and hearth, for wife and For all loved things that we Are bound to keep all undefiled



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

Clicks loud—we wait the throw




think without a sigh 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!

who may



Hurrah! Victoria! Hurrah! Germania!

Death and Destruction they belched




forth in vain,


grimly defied their thunder columns of foot and batteries twain,


rode and cleft them asunder.

•Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig.

"With brandished sabres, with reins
all slack,


Raised standards, and low-couched lances, Thus we Uhlans and Cuirassiers wildly drove back,


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

he took the trumpet, whose angry Urged us on to the glorious battle. And he blew a blast but all silent and





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

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 I

the night, and

;ARL DOUGLAS, don thy helm

so bright,

And buckle thy sword with speed, Bind on thy sharpest spurs to-night

' '

saddle thy swiftest steed!
ticks in the hall of Scone,

The death watch

its warning, Robert in pains of death does groan, King He'll never see the morning."

All Scotland hears

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 With death he 'd begun to battle



hear the sword of Bannockburn
the stairway clatter




*'Ha! Welcome in God's name, gallant lord! My end cometh presently, And thou shalt harken my latest word



down my

will for



'Twas on the day of Bannockburn,

Scotland's star rose high, 'Twas on the day of Bannockburn


That a vow


God vowed


Charles Wharton






that, should






With For His holy

the victory there, give a thousand lances I'd go to fight



''I'm perjured, for


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, and glory depart, grief Shalt straightway cut from out my breast


battle-o'erwearied heart.

**Then thou shalt wrap the samite red And lock it in yellow gold,

And when
Let the



bier the


is said,

flag of the cross be unrolled.


a thousand steeds at thy


And a thousand knights also, And carry my heart to the Savior's 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?

' '


cut the ropes, ye seamen brave hoist the sail so free!
to his dark,

The king must

dark grave,

And we

to the dark-blue sea."

into the (sast 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


there breathed no gust,

All limply the flags were streaming, When up to the sky rose a cloud of dust


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, "II Allah!" they echoed to left.

The Douglas drew

his bridle rein,

stood earl and knight; "By the cross on which our Lord was slain ^Twill be a deadly fight !'*^



noble chain his neck embraced In golden windings three. The locket to his lips he placed

And kissed


fervently :

"Since thou hast ever gone before^ heart, by night and day, E'en so today do thou once more Precede me in the fray.

"And now may God


boon bestow^

As I to thee have been true, That I may strike a Christian blow Against this heathen crew."

threw his shield o'er his left his helm so proud, And as to battle he did ride, He rose and called aloud:




Bound on

**Who brings this locket back to me Be his the day's renown!" Then 'mid the paynims mightily


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.


sudden crash, a headlong flight. death raging around when the sun sank in the sea's blue light But From the desert there came no sound.

And mad


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


[HE anxious

night is gone at last, and mute we gallop past

ride to our destiny. keen the morning breezes blow Hostess, one glass more ere we go.



We go

to die




why now

like the rose shall

so green? be thy sheen,

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.



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



sweetheart! But there's no more wine The bullets whistle, the lance heads shine To her the glass where the fragments lie!

Like a whirlwind into the fray horseman's joy, at the break of day, At the break of day to die



William G. Howard.










AKE —awake

The cry rings out 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


in sight



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!




in faith as strong.

Let no

do your courage wrong Be one, what time the trump shall sound.




du P. Coleman.

I. Unite them with a mighty hand. and power. Coleman. God be with you now knows what my fortune is waiting to show? There is many a road that I never have gone. victorious weapons wield. . Your banner and your guide In the battle ! "Who in the field Their fealty yield To God. and the trees are in bloom sit listless with sorrow at home! — the clouds go a-roving up there in the sky. — ! Princes and people of Thy choice. The Cross be still your pride. and glory stay ! Thine is And shall THE CALL OF THE ROAD* Sweet May it is (1841) Who As So wills may come. Thou Whom the angels praise and love Be gracious to our German land Speak from the clouds with thunder-voice. du P. Look Thou down from heaven above. There is many a wine that I never have known. away for a life of adventure am I ! Kind Who * father.522 THE GERMAN CLASSICS Cleanse your souls by fervent prayer. Bring us through danger's hour. ! Translator: A. Hallelujah! today alway Kingdom. When He That so the Lord may find them fair shall make His questioning round. Be Thou our fortress-tower. dear mother.

Hassr EMANUEL GEIBEL . Berlin £..Fermisston E. Linde & Co.


. then my slumber I'll snatch 'Neath the kindly blue sky. tune up for a song. at night. To rest from the world's endeavor. High over the mountains and down through the meads! The brooks they are singing. wherefore so lovely. And — A song of my sweetheart— If I when I come to a cozy old nest. (1845) make me whole. I. To build on the soul's deep base-— That * is my only craving. *'Mine host. merry fiddler. with the stars to keep watch. Translator: A. And with a quieter motion Heaves now the laboring breast. Coleman. Dawn's kisses will wake me. sings for joy in the sun's merry beams Ah. and the life that I love. the trees hear the call My heart's like a lark and sings out with them all.GEIBEL: POEMS 523 Then up with the sun. du P. I'll best! help it along!" come to no inn. and away where it leads. The trees with their rustling will lull me to sleep . the hours to be brooding beneficent rest. . Then ho ! And God's pure The heart for the road. and up I shall leap. In the stillness of love to gaze. air to cool your hot brow as you rove. wide world of my dreams? — AUTUMN DAYS* Sunny days Days of the autumn. now a bottle and make it your And you. When a balm for wounds that were bleeding that shall Drops silently on the soul! Now seem In still.

and wondrous . And * all that should a gorgeous feast prepare. Blissful I learn my lesson — How through the world's wide sweep Matter and spirit together Their concord eternal keep. through the dales I wander. . (1856?) artistry. All that is growing or dying. A. I harken with reverent ear. It looks down from the cliffs in silence. Following each clear sunbeam. Fading or blooming. Speaks in the waves' long swell But all its wonderful meaning — The poet alone can tell. Each tiniest plant that blossoms With the perfume of its birth Holds in its cup the secret Of the whole mysterious earth. Coleman. Translator: du P. There where the leaves are turning. I. I hear. Where Whether scorching or kind it fall. the shy sweet streamlets call. THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS* On Cape Misenum shone a palace fair Among the laurels by the summer sea Long colonnades. Is a symbol of truth immortal To the soul that can read it plain. What blows in the rustling forest.524 THE GERMAN CLASSICS O'er the hills. Takes life from the sun and rain.

--'-^c^.-"^^ ''^mms?'' LUDWia RlOHTEK JOURNEYING .