Schleiermacher to his Sister Charlotte.
[XI.] Niesky, 30th August, 1793.
DEAREST SISTER,
With true joy, gratitude, and humility, I heard first from Fritz von T—— that you had been allowed to remove to Gnadenfrei; afterwards, I saw from your dear letter that you had already taken up your abode in the choir-house;1 and now I obtain the further news from your dear nursing mother,2 that you were received into the community on the last Gemeinde Tag,3 on occasion of which event, I congratulate you most heartily, and pray that the Saviour will grant you His blessing.
You have, no doubt, reason to be vexed with me that I have remained so long silent after having received these pleasant accounts, and that I have not written even a single line to you; but I know that you will excuse me, when I tell you that it is because I could not make up my mind to send you a short note only, the first time I wrote to you in the choir-house, and yet I could not do otherwise, without putting you to the expense of postage (which I was loth to do), as I could not find a safe opportunity; and I, therefore, postponed writing until the arrival of your nursing parents, who have at last come, and, to my great joy, have brought me letters from our dear parents and from yourself. That my dear parents had not received my letter has greatly surprised me, and I do not wonder that they felt hurt at my supposed silence, more especially on occasion of our dear mother’s birthday. By this opportunity they will, however, receive a second long and circumstantial letter from me and Carl, who is as well in health, and, as you may conceive, as much pleased as I am. I must earnestly beg you to forward it to Anhalt as speedily as possible, that is to say, if you mean to write and not to await the arrival of my father. I hope you may soon have a visit from our beloved mother. How greatly will she not rejoice to see you, contrary to expectation, so soon established in the choir-house, and so thoroughly happy among the sisters. But I do wish that I might soon have a visit from you, not only that I might see you in the dress of the sisterhood, though I am very impatient for that, but also that I might have a long chat with you about many things; therefore, the first time any one from Gnadenfrei is coming here, you must jump into the carriage and surprise us with an unexpected visit of a week. That would be delightful! … .
And now, dear sister, I think you would like to hear how the conferences in this place are regulated; for the same rules do not prevail in all congregations. Sunday, at half-past nine o’clock, we have the Litany; at ten, a sermon; at two, strangers’ meeting for the Diaspora;4 at five, a Liturgie5 for the full members; at eight, Gemeinstunde.6
On week days, at half-past nine o’clock, children’s meeting; at seven, evening meeting; at nine, singing meeting.7 On Fridays, at nine in the evening, we have the Liturgy: “O Lord, full,” &c. &c. On Saturdays we have no evening meeting, but a singing meeting at seven.
Dearest sister, my sheet is now full; but very soon you shall have another like it. I hope that Carl will still bring me a little letter to enclose; at all events I can assure you that he is merry, cheerful, and in good health. And now farewell. Love me, and think often of your affectionate brother.
[XII.] [No date.]
DEARLY BELOVED SISTER,
Like yourself, I cannot allow this excellent opportunity to go by without writing to you, particularly as Countess Lisette has strongly recommended me to do so. Your last letter, which contained the only accounts I have had of my father during the last four months, was the more welcome on that account, though not quite satisfactory. I think of writing to him next week, as my letter will then arrive in Gnadenfrei exactly at the right moment; I will at the same time execute all the commissions, and make Carl write also, if only ten lines.
You seem this year to have altered your opinion relative to the summer; and I have likewise altered my mind. I used to be very fond of summer, but now I like winter better. My love of walking, too, has subsided, because I have too much of it, and because the country here is not particularly attractive, as you will see when you pay us a visit, which the Countess gives me the hope you will do some day. I believe, also, that winter is more favourable for study, and the first snow will be a most welcome sight to me. The walks round Gnadenfrei are more attractive, and there I should probably feel as you do. However, neither my love for winter nor my hatred to summer disturb the cheerful state of my mind; but when I find that I do not love the Saviour enough, that I do not sufficiently honour him; when the daily intercourse with him does not go on uninterrupted, then I am disturbed. But as often as we draw near to Him feeling ourselves sinners, who can only be saved through His mercy—as often as we pray to Him for a look of grace, we never go away from Him empty. He never abandons us, however much we may deserve it; yet the more undisturbed our minds the better, the more consistent, the more tranquil, the nearer to Heaven—happiest for us would it be, were we there altogether. But His will be done; it is the best.
One word more only. I would rather have heard from you than from Countess Lisette, that our father had been ill at Gnadenfrei. Ought you not to have been the first to have informed me of this? You might also remind my father that my purse is suffering from consumption, and that brought on by fruit. Who would have believed it? Papa alone can cure it. And now fare thee well, under the guardianship of the Saviour, to whom I commend you as also myself.
Your loving Brother.