The Father to the Son.

[LI.] Anhalt, 20th June, 1791.

MY DEAR SON,

I wrote to you last from Gnadenfrei; but I arrived here in the middle of May, safe and sound, thank God. Since then, I have again been absent in Pless on official duties; and on the 3rd instant, your mother was happily delivered of a little girl, who has obtained in baptism the name of Charlotte Friederike Wilhelmine. We selected you and Lottchen, my brother and sister-in-law in Pless, and my two nieces in Arnheim, as godfathers and godmothers to our child. Your mother, who sends you hearty greetings, was churched last Sunday, and she and the child are both so well, that we cannot sufficiently thank our faithful Lord and Helper. With like gratitude I have heartily rejoiced in Lottchen’s returning health of body and cheerfulness of mind, whereby she is enabled to bear with greater fortitude and trust in God, her otherwise painful position. She has also given me most consolatory proofs of her entire submission to the ways of the Lord, and her conviction that, the wants of her heart and her desire for tranquillity being such as they are, she could nowhere enjoy the same opportunities for satisfying and strengthening them as in a congregation of the Brethren; and that, therefore, she will be happier there than anywhere else. After all, this true or fancied happiness (for who can determine whether it be true or fancied, except God and our own hearts) has ever been and will ever be the goal towards which the children of man are striving; therefore we cannot sufficiently praise the all-embracing, omnipotent, and all-wise Love, which has ordained that every innocent want of the heart, tending towards this Love, shall find its gratification. I wish that I were able to afford our good Lotte more help, and to secure her from pecuniary cares; but, unfortunately, I am still subject to these evils myself, which have been aggravated rather than relieved, by my endeavours to pay off my book debts before the close of my life.

From our dear Carl, I have not had a line for upwards of a year. When you are writing to Charlotte, you might enclose a few lines for him to remind him of his filial duties, taking care, however—as indeed I do not doubt you would—to treat him with all the loving reticence, which regard for his faith and for his serenity of mind demands of a brother’s heart.

About a week ago I received from Lottchen your last letter to her, and while perusing it, rejoiced that this time at least you have fortunately escaped any disagreeable consequences of your impetuosity, for such I think I may call it. You have, indeed, ultimately drawn yourself very well out of the affair; and I cannot but approve of your having placed yourself on a footing that will preserve you from being imposed upon, and that will secure to you a certain amount of respect, which is as requisite in regard to your pupils as in regard to the Count and Countess. I believe, however, dear son, that you will find it necessary to modify, by a little more discretion and wisdom than hitherto, the superiority which your intellect gives to you, in order that you may not, in spite of your great love of truth, fall into the bad habit of always wishing to prove yourself right. From this, however, your position may preserve you, if you know how to avail yourself properly of it. According to my ideas, you ought never to place a lady like the Countess in a position either to give herself a disagreeable démenti, or to answer you in an offensive manner; for such was, in reality, the painful alternative in which she was placed by your uncalled-for assertion. You might have remained silent until your opinion was asked; and had it been asked, it ought to have been very easy for you to have glossed over in some way or other the precipitate judgment of the incensed lady; for it is generally allowed that such words, which have been adopted into the German from the Latin, are of very uncertain application, and are frequently, indeed, made use of from sheer vanity, where a German word would have been just as applicable and even more so; and, perhaps, many a learned man even would not hesitate to confess his ignorance of the original meaning of such a word, before looking into Cicero for it. It seems to me that you might have said this or something like this; for when you write that, in making the assertion in question, you were only trying to make amends for the offence you had already given, I cannot help thinking that your heart has deceived you.

For the rest, I entreat you, my dear son, to exert yourself to the utmost to retain the favour of this excellent family, and, so to say, to make yourself necessary to them; for I look upon their house as a school which Providence has appointed for your instruction. In addition to this, I advise you as your father not to lock up your money in books, but to endeavour to accumulate a little fund for the hour of need. Finally, I hope that you will not be loth to receive these rules and suggestions from your old father, and also that you may very soon be able to give me the assurance that matters are going on again quite as usual. It is true that you give this to be understood in your letter in general terms; but I should like to hear some particular instances in support of it; for no one can have your well-being so much at heart as

Your affectionate and loving Father.

The Son to the Father.

[LII.] 11th July, 1791.

It is long since I have written to you, dearest father. In the meanwhile I have been in constant expectation of hearing from you again; but I seem quite deserted. No letter from you, none from Charlotte, none from my uncle. Now, however, I can hold out no longer, but must give you an account of yesterday, which was a most affecting and interesting day, and made me think much of you. It was the birthday of the Count, and was celebrated in a very beautiful manner. In the morning all his children went to him in procession to offer their gifts; each one had made a drawing, and from the absent ones letters were presented. Little Helvetius, a child of about two years and a half, who cannot yet speak distinctly, walked at the head of the procession and strewed roses before his father, crying out at the same time: “Dat for you, papa!” This good parent was much affected and very loving; he commended himself to his children, and begged them to be patient with the old man of fifty. I believe there was not one present in whose eyes tears did not gather. Afterwards breakfast—which had been entirely prepared by the young countesses, and at which they alone waited upon us—was partaken of in an arbour over which was the inscription: “Enter, O father, and let us devote this day to you.” A very pretty hymn was also sung, and it was all so homely, yet so edifying and so beautiful, that the day was spent most happily. The father and the whole family were so conscious of their happiness! Was it any wonder, best of fathers, that my thoughts were partly here and partly with you and our little dispersed flock? It is so sweet to love a father, and so sweet to tell him of our love; but not with the dead pen. Ah! when you are near him, there is a silent language which is more eloquent than words. But what a glorious feeling must it not be, to be a father and the head of a family; to know that you are loved, and to feel that in a certain measure you may look upon yourself as the creator of the happiness of many beloved souls. Oh! I read that yesterday in the Count’s face. Alas! when—when shall I read it in your countenance? At least I may see it in spirit, if I do but contribute my share. Dearest father, may you have much joy in me and in us all!

[LIII.] 20th July.

While sweetly occupied in tending a sick person who is very dear to me, and at a distance of six miles from Schlobitten, I received yesterday week the rich blessing of letters which I had so long been awaiting with fear and anxiety; and among them were two such dear letters from you, my excellent father. All had been very much retarded, but I enjoy them the more in consequence. My feeling in regard to the 5th of May did not, then, deceive me. You were with Charlotte, and you not only thought of me, but wrote to me. Hearty thanks for all your love, and for the new proof of it you have given in choosing me for godfather. With the tenderest brotherly affection I will love my little sister, and take care of her? Oh! dearest father, God grant that I may be able to do so without there being any necessity for it! A thousand times I wish you joy of this new increase to our circle, and God’s blessing upon the dear little creature. Kiss it for me, and commend me also to the dear mother; tell her that I congratulate her and wish her every happiness in future, and beg that she will allow me a place in her heart next her little one. It is, I believe, a rare happiness for a son to be the godfather of a little brother or sister, and I am quite proud of my dignity.

There are a great many things in your letter which require an answer, and I must at least make a beginning. As regards the unpleasant conflict with the Countess, I think, dear father, you have hit the truth of the case. With her great sense and tact she would, no doubt, have found other means of extricating herself, had she been cool; but that she was not, and I ought, therefore, to have been the more cautious. However, I felt pretty secure, in respect to the decisive step which I took, that matters would not be allowed to remain thus, and I must confess that subsequently the Countess acted very nobly. That no disagreeable remembrance of the past is cherished I feel certain. They all treat me exactly as before, and I might quote innumerable little traits in proof of this, were they such as would bear repetition through the medium of the pen. The Count has, indeed, said jokingly a couple of times, when he has seen me very happy: “So, now we are content, we are no longer wanting to throw up our situation;” but this pleasantry, I think, tells more in favour of my assertion than against it.

As regards keeping the promise which I have so boldly made, I confess matters begin to look rather doubtful; for, in the first place, I really devote a great deal of time to my duties and to the entertainment of this, by me, so highly valued family; and, secondly, it is very difficult here to obtain the loan of books. Even in Königsberg not one of the savants possesses a library, and this will probably oblige me to spend more money on books than I should otherwise have done. As yet I believe my whole expenditure under this head does not amount to more than ten dollars. Upon the whole, I see no prospect of laying by money, for I am too great an adept in destroying my clothes and linen; and I am bound to appear decently clad out of deference for the family. Up to the present time I have spent about one hundred and twenty dollars without knowing exactly how, and if I had not already received twenty-five dollars in presents, I believe that I should not even be able to make the two ends meet this year. Pecuniary cares are sad things.

[LIV.] 16th August.

Since I last took up my pen Count Wilhelm has been here from Königsberg, and during the whole of that time it was not possible for me to conclude this interminable letter. To Lotte and to my uncle I have, however, managed to write, more especially to console the latter in regard to the lamentation with which I ended my last letter; and in the meanwhile I have been thoroughly happy. You wished me to render myself indispensable to this family; how to accomplish this I confess I do not exactly know, but I feel that they have almost become necessary to me. They are all so good, and it is such an instructive and at the same time such a delightful school to live in. My heart is properly cultivated here, and is not left to wither under the burden of cold erudition, and my religious feelings are not deadened by theological inquiries. Here also I enjoy that domestic life for which, after all, man was created, and that warms my feelings. How different it would have been had I been attached to some school in Berlin and forced to lead a friendless life among cold-hearted beings constrained to live together. Willingly do I sacrifice for the difference the insignificant amount of increase of knowledge which I have perhaps lost by it. Moreover, I learn here patience and that pliancy which is inspired by the heart, and which has its source in gratitude for social happiness. I learn to know myself and others. I have before me models worthy of imitation, and I feel that I am becoming a better man. I am sure you thank God, with me, for His merciful guidance, and pray for a blessing upon me that I may wisely profit by it. Ah! and you add still further to my happiness by your love and your advice, which is always welcome.

God bless you, dear father, and all those who are dear to us. Forgive, not the length, but the long duration, of this letter from

Your faithful and obedient Son.

The Father to the Son.

[LV.] Anhalt, 23rd April, 1792.

My DEAR SON,

Your letter of the 13th March has given me heartfelt pleasure, and I hope therefore that you will continue to write to me more frequently, even should I not be able to answer every letter immediately. Sickness and manifold cares have been frequent guests with me throughout the winter, and under such circumstances I feel but little inclined for letter-writing. It seems that a fatiguing tour, alternating with daily preaching and other professional business, such as I was engaged on from the 29th February until the 3rd April, is more suited to my health, even at this advanced period of my age, than continuous repose; for, when stationary, I am subject to rheumatic attacks, and also more frequently afflicted with the cares which are inseparable from my position. On the other hand, however, I have more home joys; and thus, taking things altogether, I thank God for my lot, and say, with moved heart, So far the Lord has sustained me, and I am unworthy of the mercy and unfailing support I have received from Him. Dear son, endeavour to establish on this personal experience of your father’s, the principle, that next to faithfully fulfilling our duties and endeavouring to lead a righteous life, happiness in this world depends upon our being humble in our desires, and habituating ourselves to enjoy even the smallest good with gratitude towards God. Whoever has attained this blessed state of mind will also thankfully and trustingly accept from the same beneficent hand the last good gift, Death. To such a life of righteousness and happiness we attain through the thorough understanding of ourselves, through joy in others, and more especially through unfailing and all-surpassing love and veneration for the person of Jesus Christ, whose holiness passes our understanding, and who yet was not satisfied with himself.

You complain of not being able to purchase books; I, on the contrary, wish you joy of this, for our views too often change with the books, and then we throw the old ones aside to get new ones. This passion for books has caused your father much distress, which is painfully renewed each time I have to pay old book debts. Be not either too much concerned about your delivery when preaching. This will come of itself. Should ever a mixed congregation, or a congregation of the lowest classes (which I desire for you more than one of the highest classes), fall to your lot, you will always, if you love your auditors, be able to come down to their level, and you will do so with pleasure. Dear son, be not displeased with my experiences and the lessons drawn from them; what can I do for you in my old age but place before you as a warning that of which I have many, many times repented? As such, I must mention that I was ever too careless about money, and therefore I implore you to cultivate economy, and to portion out your income accurately; above all, examine more carefully—that is to say, not only with your usual acuteness, but with a truly impartial eye—that which is generally termed generosity. At least make a beginning, and at the end of the year there will still be many a point connected with these matters that will cause you to be dissatisfied with yourself. You have a very nice income; and, in addition, everything free; and, although, as I suppose, your dress may be more expensive than would be judged from its appearance, you might strictly put by fifty dollars a-year, and what a comfort would not these savings be to you in case of one of those emergencies which no human foresight can forestall, and in struggling with which the most unflinching trust in your own strength and dignity will give way… . .

Charlotte is, thank God, more satisfied now that she has given herself up more entirely to those ideas and sentiments without which it is impossible to maintain tranquillity of mind in a choir-house. I have often exhorted her so to do, both personally and by letter, and I am sure that your tender affection for her will, even without any suggestion on my part, have warned you against disturbing the simplicity of her faith and life by any new-fangled ideas, however well meant. What can be more desirable than health and tranquillity of mind, even if the latter be but imagination? and I am not aware that any one has as yet been able to draw the true line of demarcation between the imaginary and the real.

You wish to hear something about mother and the dear little ones. The best and the truest thing I can tell you about them is that we are all well, and that we heartily rejoice in each other. The children all cling with great affection to their mother, who is indeed a mother in the true sense; but they are also fond of their old daddy, and are, in their turn, the joy of his heart. Love is the source and bond of pleasure and joy among us; and this and mutual confidence allow but few bad habits to take root in the children. The eldest assists her mother, spins, sews, and knits; with all this she runs about a good deal, but to reading she does not take. She has, indeed, already her girlish whims and peculiarities; but she is, nevertheless, a good child and a faithful soul. Little Caroline is a dear, vivacious, coaxing creature, who, with her fair locks, round face, and large blue eyes, takes all hearts by storm. Your goddaughter is fatter and more thriving than any of the others ever were, and with that she is very lively and good-humoured. When the weather is at all tolerable, it is very difficult to keep her in the house, and when it is fine, it is quite impossible; indeed, for some weeks past, the garden has been the favourite resort of all the children. For the rest, we leave the future in the hands of our dear Father in heaven.

I hope, my dear son, that you will at least endeavour to save so much as to enable you to pay us a visit here before I am called away, and as soon as the duties of your position will allow of it. Brother Fritz is often talked of among us, but that is all. Can you not recommend a pleasing and instructive child’s book for little Anna? And now accept the greetings of all, and the blessing of

Your loving Father.

The Son to the Father.

[LVI.] Schlobitten [no date].

… . Here we have, through the whole of April, had but one good day, and, as yet, May has also behaved but very indifferently, so that I have not once been able to indulge my little ones in the pleasure of receiving their lessons in the garden; and when I told them about my little sisters and brothers, they quite envied them. These last days you have, no doubt, spent with Lottchen, dear father, and this, I know, is the greatest pleasure she ever enjoys. The dear girl also assured me, in her last letter, that she was quite content, but in a tone that gave me to understand that she had not much hope of persuading me that this was really the case; and, indeed, I find it difficult to believe. It is true enough that we must not disturb the serenity of mind of any one, and that, if we look at the matter independently of every other consideration, no one has the right to say to another, My way of being happy is the true one, and every other is only fancy,—for, in reality, happiness depends entirely upon the feelings and the consciousness of the individual; but, it seems to me, that in this case the tranquillity of mind which the individual enjoys must in truth be his own; the sentiments from which it springs must be natural to him, and in perfect harmony with the whole character of his mind. But, in my opinion, this is not the case as regards our dear Charlotte; she is obliged to force herself into these sentiments, and such a strain the soul cannot long bear. The illusion—for such forced tranquillity of mind does not surely deserve any other name—must eventually be dispelled; and then, I fear, she will again have to struggle with discontent. In addition to this, even the most excellent persons, and persons who keep a strict guard on themselves, are sometimes exposed to so many disagreeable scenes in a choir-house, that it requires the firmest conviction “that one cannot be happy in any other way,” to allow of one’s feeling satisfied there. For this reason, I cannot help thinking that, for a continuance, it would be better for her if she were again removed into a domestic circle, but without breaking off her connection with the congregation, as to keep up this, I suppose, is necessary for her peace of mind. If I were able to contribute to this in any way, I frankly confess, dear father, that I would consider it a duty to do so; but, as I have it not in my power, you may be perfectly assured that I will not do the least towards inspiring her with any misgivings as to her condition in life, until she shall herself begin to feel them, nor will I disturb her in the enjoyment of whatever advantages it affords. No heart can send up more sincere wishes to God for blessings and guidance for another, than does mine for her; and I also pray that her feeling heart may never contract, but ever remain open to that true sisterly affection which she entertains for me.

I am very glad to have heard once more from Carl, after so long an interval, and am delighted that he has got through his apprenticeship, and is reconciled to his business. How he has developed himself, and what kind of a young man he has become, I shall not learn, I suppose, until we meet again.

A book for Annchen, I cannot recommend, dear father, for I know of none. Altogether there are but few children’s books that I approve of; and I think that a child ought to have nothing to do with books, until its understanding is eight or nine years old. Had we accomplished the great innovation of printing in the same letters as we write, which is in itself a very little matter, but which seems to me, in reference to the early part of a child’s education, of great importance, one might write with little trouble whatever one would desire a child to read, and adapt it to the whole tendency of its education, and thus the child would be prevented from reading more than was considered beneficial. This would have more important effects than many another innovation, which is believed to be a step towards the improvement of the human race, and about which a mighty fuss is made.

Remember me most kindly and gratefully to our good mother, and give the little ones many kisses from me. Let them continue to prattle about brother Fritz until at last he makes his appearance; and you, dear father, keep me ever in your fatherly affection, and be assured that no feeling of my heart is so strong as the filial love and gratitude with which I cling to you, and remain

Your faithful and dutiful Son.

The Father to the Son.

[LVII.] Anhalt, 3rd December, 1792.

My DEAR SON,

I received with much pleasure your letters of 9th May and 24th October, which arrived in the midst of the cares that have beset me for the last six months; and it is to the vexatious correspondence to which these cares have given rise, that you must in some measure attribute the little inclination which I have evinced to communicate with you. But do not allow yourself to be too much affected by this intelligence; for cares seem to be the apportioned lot of advancing age. Mine are not without good cause, for by the removal of the Silesian regiments I lose not less than one hundred and sixty-six dollars of my yearly income. However, I must add at once, for your comfort, that through the influence of the minister, Von Hoym, one hundred dollars have been granted to me as a compensation. I would not, indeed, have mentioned this matter to you had I not thought that you would most likely hear something about it from Lottchen or your uncle. Otherwise, I am, praise be to God, in good health, and I comfort myself with the hopes of better times coming, while I thank God for my domestic happiness, and for the joy which my children afford me. Your tender and lively affection for Lottchen is, more especially, gratifying to my heart, and your noble conduct in relation to her, and the reasons by which you justify the expenditure incurred for her support, make me look upon you with paternal satisfaction, as the worthy son of your deceased mother of blessed memory. Nevertheless, you have really gone too far, and you will hardly be able to carry out your determination to set aside fifty dollars for your journey; yet I cannot seriously reproach you, as I know, from experience, how difficult it is to restrain the heart on such occasions; and, therefore, I say no more than God bless you, dear Fritz! But only think what fun! the girl is so out of herself with joy at your gift, that she is already thinking of accumulating capital. She wishes to withdraw her maternal inheritance from the superior court (Oberamt), and calculates that, with the interest and the thirty dollars, this will make one hundred dollars, which she will place out on interest under the guardianship of the local authorities. Against this there is nothing to be said. The following maxim is quite in accordance with the spirit of the community: Eat porridge, and save as much as you can. For the rest, it gives me heartfelt pleasure (and I am sure you will feel the same) to see the good girl so active and seemingly quite in her element; and, indeed, six weeks ago, I found her happier and healthier than I have ever seen her before.

Carl, also, is very happy in the congregation, and I thank God that he is there. With tenderness of feeling he does not indeed seem gifted, but he is an honest, straightforward fellow, who will, no doubt, have to pay dearly for many an experience in life. You may convince yourself’ of this by reading the enclosed, which is written to his sister in answer to my invitation, and to the wish expressed by me to be allowed to press him to my heart on my arrival in Gnadenfrei.

Dearly bought experience reminds me, curiously enough, of your pleasant journey to Dantzic and of your festive evening there with the two girls, which I suppose was the first of the kind you have enjoyed since you were in Drossen and Berlin. Your mother, who, on account of your small handwriting, read out the passage to me, was, like myself, a pleased witness of the scene, and we did not fail to pay the tribute of a smile to your innocent youthful enjoyment, though we could not help expressing a hope that for some time to come you may always be so fortunate as to spend such festive days with girls who are betrothed or half betrothed, as you might otherwise in the merriment of the moment allow a word to escape you, which, being taken up more seriously, might cause your heart some pain.

Caroline has just come into the room and says, “Daddy, you must give my love to brother Fritz, and tell him he must come and see us; and then, daddy, tell me, how many times must I get up in the morning before he can be here.” Such questions I shall have addressed to me on many future occasions: but I cannot see how you can come away from your little ones, until you leave them entirely, even should you have the money requisite for the journey. In connection herewith you must allow me to inquire whether your salary has been increased, for, according to your letter to Lottchen, you seem to be in receipt of one hundred and eighty dollars. If this be so, you may easily lay by fifty dollars a year, and I advise you in that case to let them be drawn off at once and retained for you, as in this way you will guard yourself against the temptation of laying hands on them. For the rest trust in God. I do not indeed know what Mr. Sack’s intentions are in regard to you, but, if it be not at variance with your own wishes, I should prefer for you a living in the church to a professorship; but in that case you would have to lower your tone a little to come down to the level of a mixed audience, and when preparing your discourses you would have to keep constantly in mind that your hearers are people requiring instruction, improvement, consolation, and encouragement. I believe that, for such a purpose, the style, and the succinctness and perspicuity of the periods, are of more importance than the choice of subject. For instance, Blair’s Sermons, which have been translated by Mr. Sack, are certainly philosophical, and not written for a common audience; yet they are easy to be understood, and even in parts where they are not so the subject might have been treated more simply. In addition to this, you must ever remember that you are addressing persons who believe in a revelation, and that it is your duty to accommodate yourself to their understandings in like manner as the revelation is so accommodated; but at the same time it is necessary that you should convince yourself of the truth of revelation in order that you may speak as you think.

I wish you would write me your opinion of a little pamphlet, entitled Kritik aller Offenbarung, and that you would more especially lay to heart the conclusions at the end, which are so emphatically stated. The authorship has been attributed to Mr. Kant, but he has disclaimed it, and has mentioned some other name which I do not remember. Nevertheless, it seems to me as if the pamphlet may have come from his pen, it is so like everything that he has written. Should you visit Königsberg again, do not fail to call upon Mr. Kant and make inquiries about the book. When you have read it with attention, and have reflected upon it, and thus attained to a firm stand-point from which to judge the Bible, then do me the favour to read Köppen’s Bibel, ein Werk der Göttlichen Weisheit, and after this Müller’s Philosophical Essays. Do not suppose, dear son, that it is the love of indoctrinating others that leads me to recommend these works to you. No: my only wish is that you should not as yet adopt any fixed system, but that you should first read and examine, and then select the best.

To return once more to Königsberg: if you should go there again, pray do not neglect to hear the best preachers. As I have no such opportunities, I never hear any one but myself, and consequently never improve. During the last year I have been in correspondence with Consistorialrath Küster, of Magdeburg, who, thirty-two years ago, recommended me for appointment as army chaplain. He has published a book entitled Detached Notices of Life in Camp, which is accompanied by a recommendatory preface by Mr. Sack. The dear good man bothers me with requests for contributions of anecdotes and experiences collected during the thirty-two years of my official life, which I have but little time and inclination to communicate. You will read his Detached Notices with pleasure; they contain several anecdotes from the seven years’ war, and more especially connected with the attack on Hochkirchen, which are not generally known, and which may perhaps be new to your old Count also. Should I live some years longer and enjoy greater freedom from care, I may possibly comply with Mr. Küster’s request. A few months ago I felt myself moved to address a Christian exhortation to my absent military congregation; I sent the draught of it to Mr. Küster, who had it published at the expense of his congregation, and distributed 1,050 copies among the different regiments. I enclose one for you.

I shall now conclude, dear son, begging you in my name and in that of your mother, who sends her love, to gladden us with a letter as often as you can. I commend you to God and to His merciful guidance, and remain,

Your loving Father.

P. S.—I should like very much to read one of your latest sermons, but not written in a very small hand.

The Son to the Father.

[LVIII.] Schlobitten, 10th February, 1793.

DEAREST FATHER,

I have much reason to be ashamed of myself, for it is almost two months since I received your letter, and only now I am beginning the answer. If I were to enumerate all our pilgrimages from Schlobitten to Finkenstein, and from Finkenstein back to Schlobitten, besides a hundred other things, you would see what kind of a life I led in the meanwhile; yet you would not, as indeed I cannot, find therein any excuse for my not having written to you. I may, therefore, as well at once let out the real cause of my silence. It is your own letter, dear father, that has held me back from writing to you, instead of stimulating me to do so, and that because of the little annexe about the sermon. Somehow or other I have not been able to copy the latter, and I could not possibly sit down and commence a letter to you with the promise only that it should be done at some future period. I tried several times, but it would not do. Now, however, the sermon lies ready copied, or rather written, before me, and I write with a light heart. In fact, it was a strange and foolish feeling, but it held me enthralled. However, as the sermon was my stumbling-block, I will, without further reticence, unfold the whole tale connected with it, more particularly as in many respects this also belongs to the things that I am ashamed of. You expressed a wish to have one of my latest sermons. Had I overlooked that word, I might have copied one of my sermons from the commencement of last year; but not one of my later sermons had been committed to paper.

You have now heard the confession of my sin, dear father; listen also to the defence of it. Idleness is, indeed, to a certain extent, at the bottom of it, but not idleness in general, only a lazy dislike of writing, further increased by bad eyes and various other matters. I cannot commence writing down a sermon, until I have thoroughly arranged it in my thoughts, even to the smallest detail; for otherwise I run the risk of anticipating some things or of putting them in the wrong places. Now, during the last half of the past year, circumstances would not allow of my carrying out this mental process consecutively and at the proper times; but I was frequently obliged to compose my sermons by bits at a time, and the whole corpus of thought was often not put together until the Saturday evening. It is true that even then there might have been time to commit to paper a sermon previously so thoroughly digested; but it would have required close sitting at it, and for this I was partly too lazy, while partly I refrained for fear of injuring my eyes, and also on account of my memory, which is very easily confused in reference to things that I write off in this way, though in reference to what I read I cannot accuse it of the same weakness. In consequence, I abstained altogether from writing the sermons; but I can assure you that, nevertheless, they gave me much more trouble than any I have ever composed. I first made a very careful disposition of my subject, and then sought various modes of expression for each thought. Next I took first one part of the discourse, and then another, and another, and preached it in thought; and then returned again to the first, probably changing the terms in some measure, and thus I delivered my sermons bit by bit, several times over, and also committed to memory the entire plan.

In sending you one of these sermons I have not been able to select the best, but have been obliged to choose the one I could best remember; and in committing it to paper I have proceeded so honestly that I have even abstained from improving passages which I was sure I had delivered in a certain manner, because they had struck me as faulty at the time. Many defects will force themselves on your notice, which have originated in the mode of proceeding that I have described; and also several obscure and not sufficiently definite modes of expression, which were, however, always elucidated afterwards by means of marked repetitions, when I perceived that I had not expressed the matter as well as it had been decreed in the ingle nook. You will also perceive that the style of the exordium is much more perfect than that of any other part. This probably arises from the fact that it is so much easier for the memory to retain and render such detached pieces exactly as they have been committed to it, for I have never devoted particular care to this part of my sermons. Altogether I have delivered seven sermons composed in this manner, the subjects of which I subjoin. 1. On Easter Monday: On the duties imposed by the certainty of a resurrection. 2. After Easter: On the history of Thomas, and rational belief. 3. On true fear of God. 4. A communion sermon on the true unity of Christians, from John xvii. 20-22. 5. The one that I am sending to you. 6. On the necessity of not clinging too much to earthly happiness; the text taken from the Gospel lesson for the Second Sunday in Advent. 7. On the coming of Christ as putting an end to the nonage of man; the subject taken from the Epistle for the Sunday after Christmas.

I have given you this list, because I wish to make some observations on the discourses. The subjects seem simple and easy, yet there is a certain peculiar heaviness about all the sermons, and those that I have not written have it even in a much greater degree than the one you will receive. I do not know whether this is owing to my being too anxious to exhaust my subject, or at least to treat it so that every objection that might be raised should find an explicit or implicit answer, or whether it be owing to an unconscious desire in myself to look at the subject from a new side. Perhaps also it may arise from the fact that I am too much influenced by my own most urgent needs at the moment, and by the ideas that these give birth to. It is very probable that this last-mentioned cause has a great share in it, and that this is the reason why the sermon which I am about to send you has less of this defect than the others, the subject having been suggested to me by the Countess Friederike, on occasion of her brother’s departure with his regiment. Yet even this one is peculiar, both as to form and substance; in short, it seems to me that my first sermons were much more like real sermons than those I now deliver. I earnestly beg, dear father, that you will give me some advice on this subject, or at all events some comfort; for, as matters stand, I am in danger of becoming more and more perplexed each time I compose a new sermon.

It is not the fact of my not committing them to paper that is the cause of the heaviness of which I complain, for other sermons which I have written have the same defect; nor is it the mode of expression. It seems rather to be owing to the arrangement or the character of the thoughts. For this reason I derive little consolation from the example of Blair, because his most distinguishing feature is style, which is, indeed, as lucid as it is beautiful. In my sermons I find a peculiar want of distinctness in the thoughts. Last summer I sent my uncle four of the older ones with my strictures upon them, but he has not dwelt as much upon their merits and defects as I could have desired.

[LIX.] 14th February.

Had I not felt bound to preface my letter with an excuse, or at least an explanation, and had not the sermons been so intimately connected with this, I should before this have alluded to a subject which then quite absorbed my thoughts, and which still often recurs to me; I mean the wretched death of the King of France. I do not know how it has happened, that up to the present moment I have never written to you on these subjects; now, however, they occupy my mind too much to pass them over in silence. Being accustomed openly to communicate to you all my thoughts, I am not afraid of confessing that upon the whole I heartily sympathize with the French Revolution; although, as you will know from my character, without my telling you, I do not of course approve of all the human passions and exaggerated ideas that have been mixed up with it, however plausibly these may be represented as a natural consequence of the previous state of things; nor am I either seized by the unhappy folly of wishing to imitate it and of desiring the whole world to be remodelled according to that standard. I have honestly and impartially loved the Revolution, but this last act has filled my whole soul with sorrow, as I consider the good king quite innocent, and I utterly abhor every kind of barbarity. But I have been almost as much vexed at the manner in which many people judge the event as I have been by the event itself. Many condemn the act merely because it is an anointed head that has fallen; others excuse the act as a political necessity, and merely condemn the absence of all decorum, and so on. I have often lifted up my voice in reference to these opinions like the voice of the preacher in the wilderness, and the results have been the same. When I endeavour to explain to these people that no policy in the world can justify men in committing murder, and that it is infamous to condemn a man who is convicted of no guilt, they will not listen to me; but when I represent to them the unsoundness of their reasoning, and maintain that if punishment of death be in itself justifiable, and Louis had in reality been guilty of any crime which is by law punishable in this manner, his being anointed ought not to interfere with the sentence: when I say that the observance of a certain decorum is in fact but a trifling matter, and that it is of no consequence who cut off his hair, then they cross themselves and bless themselves, and I dare say set me down as utterly devoid of feeling. Such has been my fate in relation to French affairs more than a thousand times. I cannot refrain from correcting the onesidedness and partiality of people, as far as my knowledge goes, and my conscience dictates, and from giving them now and then a little practical advice in reference to the audiatur et altera pars, and thus I get into the black books of all, and poor I,—who have very seldom an opinion on any particular subject, and much less belong upon the whole to any party,—I am looked upon by the democrats as a defender of despotism, and a friend of routine, while the party of the headlongs regard me as a politician who turns his coat according to the wind, and keeps back his opinion from prudential motives; the royalists deem me a Jacobin, and prudent people consider me a thoughtless fellow with a tongue too long for my mouth. In theology my fate was for a long time the same; and I recollect having once, within a quarter of an hour, and in one and the same room, been called by one, a Christian after the manner of Lavater; by another, a naturalist at least; by a third, a strict orthodox dogmatist; and by a fourth … . (The concluding passages are not extant.)

The Father to the Son.

[LX.] Anhalt, 18th April, 1793.

Dear Son,

Although I am to start the day after to-morrow on a new journey, I will, nevertheless, answer your letter at once, as I feel better just now. For two months I was very unwell; a disturbance of the digestive organs and a settled cold in the head were the causes of the indisposition, which has now, however, been almost entirely removed by judicious treatment.

First of all, I must touch upon your sermon, which seems to me pretty good as regards subject and thoughts, but pleases me less as regards the form. In reference to the first two points, I think your ideas have too much of a local colouring, and that you have not sufficiently held in mind that you were addressing a mixed auditory. The poor peasant also wishes to be edified, and his wish ought not to be overlooked. Would it not have been better if you had shown in the first division—1. Whence the sorrows of man arise. 2. How they can be averted. And 3. How those which cannot be averted must be borne, trusting in God? The pregnant thought introduced in the exordium, about the fatal love of enjoyment, joined to discontent with what we have, and the habit of building projects on evanescent wishes and prevailing passions, might have afforded subject matter for the first division. Grateful remembrance of the past and enjoyment of the present, faithful observance of indispensable duties, and the pleasure arising from this, might have formed the topic of the second division. And then active faith in God, illustrated by examples drawn from Scripture, more especially the most exalted one of Jesus Christ, would, in connexion with what you have given, have afforded abundant themes for the third.

Of the heaviness in form and style you are yourself conscious; and you are of opinion that it is beauty of expression that most distinguishes Blair. But are not the terms in which it is expressed the body of the thought? It seems to me that if these be perfectly clear, and perfectly adapted to the subject matter and to the circumstances of those to whom they are addressed, then the representation cannot fail to be pleasing. In this pleasing art of representation, you are yourself very successful in narrative, and I have before me at this moment a most excellent specimen of the kind in Zöllner’s letters from Silesia. Once more, therefore, I recommend Blair to your notice, and if you be really anxious to render your mode of presentment more popular, your perspicacity will soon enable you to discover the sources of the opposite defect. I am quite aware of the difficulties in your way; but I believe, nevertheless, that if you have the will you have the power of conquering them very soon. Far be it from me to recommend to you in addition the declamatory tone of Blair, which is so particularly striking, as Mr. Sack very correctly points out in the fifth sermon in the first volume. This sermon shows very distinctly how, when conviction fails him, declamation is made to take its place; but on the other hand it also shows his great anxiety not to trespass against the established doctrine; and to my mind, it is, indeed, the duty of every Christian teacher, even when he cannot convince himself of the objective truth of the established doctrine, at least to explain the subjective truth believed in by his auditors as rationally, as scripturally correct, as he can, making it tend to their consolation, their improvement, and their hopes in a better future.

For the rest, I firmly believe, dear son, that each of the three causes to which you attribute the heaviness of your compositions may bear a share in it. First, as regards the desire to exhaust the subject, ever remember that you are not carrying on a disputation, but that you are delivering an edifying discourse, and save your powers of exhaustion for your private conversations; for these latter also, secondly, reserve the desire to look at the subject from a new side. The third cause I have already touched upon; but in regard to this you are excused, in as far as concerns the sermon forwarded to me, in consequence of Countess Friederike’s proposal. Let me beg you (I am sure you will grant my request with pleasure) to send me as soon as possible the following three sermons contained in your list, viz.: 1. On the duties imposed by the certainty of a resurrection. 2. On the history of St. Thomas, and rational belief. 3. On the coming of Christ as putting an end to the nonage of man. When I have seen these I shall have an opportunity of exchanging opinions upon the subject with you, and with whom could such intercommunication be more agreeable to me? Do not either forget to let me have your opinion on Die Kritik aller Offenbarung. I do not think that it can be considered a breach of your promise if you first read the book alone, and afterwards with your friend. I am sorry, dear son, that as regards politics, you have none but the most commonplace persons to contend with. Are there then so few persons in your neighbourhood that have any philosophical or historical culture, since they cannot see that although the French revolution may, in as far as regards the causes that led to it, prove very instructive to rulers as well as nations, it cannot possibly be conducted according to the ideal standard which has been raised, at least as long as men remain what they now are? Our ideas of moral and political perfection can as little be realized in this world as Plato’s republic, or the peace dreams of the Abbé St. Pierre and Henry IV., or as the French system of liberty and equality, while at the same time experience proves that civilization has ever progressed in a revolutionary manner, and moved in a circle, but never in a straight line.

I hope that by this time many of your former antagonists have learnt to blush at their assertions. I believe that nothing more conducive to their cure could be recommended to such idealists than Vogel’s European Republic, and Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. You might also ask your democrats if they really think it possible that a republic of such dimensions as France could ever prove permanent. At least I know no instance in history, and indeed there is none, except it be that of a few small cantons in Switzerland.

And now, dear son, I must take leave of you for some time, hoping, however, that you will not again leave me so long without a letter. God grant you health, and bless you and

Your fondly attached Father.

The Son to the Father.

[LXI.] Schlobitten, 7th May, 1793.

The change of residence, dearest father, of which you perceived a certain foreboding in me, will take place sooner than I expected, for I am about to leave this immediately my affairs can be settled. Yesterday evening, a dispute arose between me and the Count, during which he became very much excited, and spoke very decidedly of my dismissal. Of course, the word of a nobleman and soldier cannot so easily be retracted as that of a simple citizen, called forth by a lady, as in my case, two years ago. On the other hand, it would not have been dignified in me to beg him take it back; and had I done so, I should, inevitably, have placed myself in a very dependent and unpleasant position, in which I should have been obliged to keep silent on a great many subjects. On the other hand, even if the Count had wished to retract, he could not but fear that, in doing so, he would be giving too much scope to my desire for independence and to my apparently arbitrary conduct. Both parties were thus in a position that rendered it desirable that, the word having once been uttered, it should not be retracted. This morning he sent for me, and I found everything connected with the matter already settled. With repeated assurances of friendship and esteem, he averred that the word had escaped him involuntarily yesterday while in a state of excitement. Hereupon I gave him to understand, in as delicate a manner as I possibly could, that I had taken this excitement into consideration, and therefore had made no answer; and at the same time I hinted that, for a long time, there had been no harmony between us, and that he had seemed displeased with me. He would not allow this; but the turn the conversation thus took, soon brought out mutual subjects of complaint. However, though the characters of the children, the method of instruction, &c., were alluded to, it was in a calm and friendly manner, and the conversation was carried on by both parties, with a mixture of frankness and delicacy suitable to the occasion. He pointed out several arrangements that had been proposed by him, but which I had treated with utter disregard. I endeavoured to defend my own consistency, and in my turn pointed out how seldom I had been consulted on such occasions, and how rarely opportunities had been afforded me to explain my counter-reasons, and also how impossible it is in reference to such a matter as education, to justify yourself to your own conscience if you have acted from a spirit of concession and not from conviction; and at last it came to this, that the principal mistake was, that we had not come to a clear understanding from the very commencement, and had not placed ourselves on a proper footing in relation to each other.

I believe that this little occurrence will be of service to both parties in future. The financial part of the affair was, as I have said above, quite settled. The Count told me that he had ordered my salary to be paid up to the month of September, and my travelling expenses to be defrayed. Of course, had he wished to haggle with me, I should never have thought of demanding this, nor would I have accepted it had there remained the slightest trace of rancune in him, or had he made the offer de mauvaise grace. As it was, however, I would not refuse it, for my refusal might justly have been regarded as inspired by vexation and foolish pride; but neither was I very profuse in thanks, as indeed I never am, and more especially when money only is in question. I merely said, smiling, that he was acting very much to his own detriment.

[LXII.] 10th May.

You will readily believe, dear father, that I have done little more in these days than reflect upon the past occurrences, and endeavour to reconcile myself to my new position. In reference to the former, I really believe that, with the exception of a few instances, in which I have yielded weakly, I have acted consistently and with propriety in my vocation; and though all the causes which have given rise to discontent, and which could not but eventually lead to some catastrophe or other, seem to me quite natural; I feel that I have no reason to reproach myself, nor to nourish bitterness or anger against any one else. As I could never succeed in obtaining a regular discussion of the points in dispute, it being the principle of the Count and Countess to avoid explanations, nothing was left for me but to go upon another tack. The temperament of the Count lays him open to sudden impulses, and urges him to carry out his new ideas at once. Such new ideas came not unfrequently when he was present for a short while at the lessons of the children, and were then propounded in the presence of the latter, and I was called upon to put them into practice at once. If, on such occasions, I met him with a firm, cold, and decisive refusal, I was, indeed, sure to remain victor, but also to disturb his temper; and in consequence, I only acted in this way when I deemed it absolutely necessary, and otherwise endeavoured to modify his innovations so as to render them innocuous until an opportunity should occur for silently dropping them again. Had I on every such occasion appealed to the Countess, I should have been better able to resist; but it seemed to me that I could hardly be bound to have recourse to an expedient of such doubtful morality. You see, therefore, that it was the πρῶτον ψεῦδος which, from the very commencement of our relationship, was not sufficiently distinctly established, because, partly from inexperience, partly from a feeling of trust, I yielded too entirely. It seems, however, from something the Count said, in the course of our last conversation, that I should not have succeeded better at first in any other way.

In reference to the second point, viz., reconciling myself to the change in my position, you may conceive that, for many reasons, it will be very painful to me to leave Schlobitten. You know how many happy days I have spent here, and how much I love and esteem the greater number of the people; and it would be in vain to tell you what I feel in thinking of the many happy hours, in the enjoyment of which I shall no more share, of the many beautiful places I shall no more see, of all the kind and excellent people from whom I am to part—such things cannot be described, it would only be a waste of paper. But this assurance I can give you, that the thought of the parting so entirely absorbs me, that the uncertainty of the condition in which I shall be placed makes no impression. One thing only renders me uneasy, and that is, that for some time I shall not be able to maintain myself; but even this, I do not feel very keenly. But no one here knows what I suffer at the thought of parting, for I have never been much in the habit of giving expression to my feelings. This is another fault that will interfere with my success in the world, but which lies too deep in my character to be eradicated. I hate idle talk; to those who cannot see what is passing in me, I shall never trumpet it forth; when I talk about my feelings it is to the absent, who are not in a position to judge of them by my manner.

[LXIII.] 14th May.

The mail leaves to-day, and I shall, therefore, be obliged to despatch this letter. There is still much that I should have liked to have written, but it cannot be. I also wished to begin a letter to Lottchen, that I might make her acquainted with the last days of my life at Schlobitten; but I could not get on, my heart was too full. I find it difficult to reconcile myself to the whole affair, and hope that you may find it easier. As regards the future, I can only trust that Heaven will provide for me. If I were sure of soon obtaining another place, I would like nothing better than to use the money that I shall take away with me, for a journey into Silesia; but if I do not speedily obtain such certainty, I hardly know whether it would be advisable.

I shall remain here until the return of the Count from a short journey; then I shall go for a few days to Schlodien on a visit to Mr. B——, who has given me a very pressing invitation; and I shall, probably, not put myself into the post-waggon until after the holidays. By that time you will most likely be at home again, little thinking of the sudden change that has taken place with me. I suppose this letter will likewise find you at home, as your second journey does not usually take so much time as the first; if so, pray give my best regards to our kind mother, and many brotherly kisses to the little ones. Do not be too anxious about me; but let me retain your heart, and include in your prayers

Your loving and dutiful Son.

[LXIV.] Drossen, 19th June, 1793.

DEAREST FATHER,

Since the day before yesterday I am again in this place, and as a child in the house of my kind uncle. That the news of my departure from Schlobitten has saddened you, I can well understand. On me it produced the same effect, and most heartily do I wish that I could have remained there the couple of years which must still elapse before I can hope to get a permanent situation; however, I am conscious of having done everything I could, in as far as my judgment and my opinions would allow, to prevent this separation. From your letter to my uncle, I see that you think that the appeal to the Countess, which I mentioned as the only possible resource, might have been had recourse to. I admit that, in some cases, the expedient might be very innocent; but, under the prevailing circumstances at Schlobitten, it was different. I could not have appealed to her without the children being aware of it, and that I deemed wrong. Even as it was, they often perceived that their father and I did not agree; but what they saw in this case was an open feud and a mere difference of opinion; an appeal to their mother would, on the contrary, have assumed the appearance of a secret machination, and I always held it to be my first duty to set them an example of truthfulness and integrity, and rather to act a little imprudently, than to do anything that might appear to them artful and disingenuous. This was too great a stake to risk against the doubtful success of the appeal.

There is another point in my conduct which you do not approve; and I have laughed most heartily at the comparison between my mode of action and that of the Anhalters. In the matter of thanking, I am very peculiar. Any one with whom I am on a footing of intimacy, I have no objections to thank, but not otherwise than by showing him the impression which his affectionate interest has made upon me, or by making him acquainted with the advantage that I have derived from his gift; all other ways of expressing thanks seem so bald and shallow, that I cannot get the words over my lips, and particularly when there is a question of money, which has always less claim upon gratitude than any other gift, because it is one that presupposes the least degree of true, individual interest. Then it has further to be considered that, although I would never have laid claim to this amount of payment, it was, nevertheless, no more than was due to me from the Count, as it was his violence that caused our parting so abruptly. Besides, as such scenes always become known far and near, many persons in whom I was interested, but who were not thoroughly acquainted with all the circumstances of my position, and therefore always suspected me of deferring and bowing more than was seemly, and whom I had no hope of seeing again to explain matters, might thereby be induced to form a still more unfavourable opinion of me.

I remained at Schlobitten very nearly a fortnight after the unhappy catastrophe, during which time I was treated with marked friendliness by those who loved me best, and by all the rest with great politeness. You may imagine how sorry I was to part from the dear place and the kind people, and how often my thoughts revert to them. In Schlodien I stayed about the same length of time with pastor B——, and thoroughly enjoyed the society of several excellent people, whom I had not until then been able to see frequently. And why should I not confess it to you! I know that I have taken with me the sincere love and esteem of all good people whom I learnt to know there, and this is most gratifying to me. On my way through Landsberg I stopped there a week and preached for Mr. S——. But let this be enough of myself, for of my future prospects I can tell you nothing. On my arrival here I found a letter from Charlotte, who gives me a detailed account of your stay with her, and your meeting with Carl. To judge from yours and Lottchen’s descriptions, he must be much more than I expected of him, and I am in consequence very desirous of making his acquaintance. Upon the whole, this letter has given me an intense longing after a similar meeting with you all, and if nothing else were required, I would take my staff and walk from here to Niesky, and from Niesky to Gnadenfrei, and from Gnadenfrei to Anhalt. Alas! when shall I be able to accomplish this! If this were the period at which you generally visit the neighbourhood of Gnadenfrei, I would in full earnest think of putting this plan into execution; but you will not, I think, be going there until autumn? So much for what I should like to do; as for what I really shall do, I cannot, as I have already said, give you any information, but must once more seriously consult with my uncle. From Prussia I wrote to Mr. Sack, informing him openly and honestly of all the circumstances, and I am now awaiting his answer, anxious to know whether he will consider me to blame, or not. I do not venture to hope the latter. I have requested him to help me, if he can, to obtain some other situation of the kind; and from the bottom of my heart I wish that he may succeed, for I shall feel it very irksome to be without employment.

I am very glad to hear that you have petitioned to be appointed to the South Prussian regiments, as this may afford some compensation for the loss which you are now suffering; and I sincerely hope that I may soon hear that the step you have taken has been successful. I also wish that I may, ere long, be able to give you good tidings of myself; and in the meanwhile, I console myself with the thought—who knows what this is good for! Each period of my life up to the present time has seemed to me like a school, and looking at it from this point of view I cannot help thinking that it was time that my stay at Schlobitten should cease; for all that I could learn there I believe I had already learnt. It is good, therefore, that I should now enter a new school, and should it even not prove agreeable, I must hope that it will prove instructive. I will always consider myself as being guided by the eternal Father like a little child; for his guidance can only have one aim, that of improving me and making me more perfect. May you have the same faith, dear father, and in an equal degree, for then it will be stronger than your anxiety about me in my present unsettled state. God bless you and preserve your health. Give my hearty love to my dear mother and our little ones, and believe me,

Your loving Son.

[LXV.] Drossen, 21st Sept. 1793.

DEAREST FATHER,

We had long in vain been expecting a letter from you, and when Lottchen wrote about a fortnight ago, that it was also very long since she had heard, we began to be very uneasy lest anything should have happened to you, and the intelligence of your illness did not therefore come quite unexpectedly upon me. I even felt it a relief to be taken out of the painful state of uncertainty, and I thank God, that you are so far restored.

As regards myself, I do not know whether I mentioned in my last a projected trip to Berlin. I was there four weeks during the month of August, having gone partly to ascertain what impression my departure from Schlobitten had made upon Mr. Sack and others, partly to see whether some door to employment would not open for me. Mr. Sack was from the very beginning quite friendly. He asked me what I had determined as to the future; if I would devote myself to the clerical or to the scholastic profession; and what I would deem most desirable for the present. In reply to the first question I said that I could not as yet decide, and that I did not indeed consider it right or prudent to come to an immediate decision which would shut me out either from the one or the other of these careers. In answer to the second point, I said that I did not care much what I did, as it was merely to be temporary, my only objections being to a situation which should take me away from town, because I was anxious to make up for what I had lost in point of studies, or to one in a less distinguished family, because this would make me feel the difference between that and Schlobitten too keenly.

I was often admitted to Mr. Sack’s family circle and felt very happy there; and I also spent a day very pleasantly in the country with Kirchenrath Mierotto. At last I made up my mind to secure a place in the post-waggon, and went to Mr. Sack to take leave of him; but he said that I must positively remain a week longer, for he had heard that there were one or two vacancies in Mr. Gedike’s seminary, and if I would accept either of these he would at once write to Gedike, who would probably ask me to call upon him. In the meantime he proposed that I should preach some day, as he had not yet heard me. I preached on a week day, because it was my intention to start on the next Sunday, and he professed himself satisfied with the edifying tone of the sermon, and also in a great measure with its explicitness; and I have since heard that he also praised me to the other court-preachers. Mr. Gedike sent for me, made me give a double lesson in the Friedrich-Werder Gymnasium, and promised to let me hear from him again. Yesterday, the promised communication arrived; and accordingly I have to start for Berlin in a few days. Those who hold these situations have to give eight or ten lessons in the week, and in addition to write a couple of essays every quarter. It is in fact an institution for training future schoolmasters, and is placed under the exclusive direction of Mr. Gedike. The salary is very small, only 120 dollars, and no free lodging, but it may be eked out by giving private lessons, and Sack as well as Gedike have promised that I shall not lack opportunities. They have also encouraged me to write, but as yet I can neither put my mind nor my hand to it. For the present I have not a dwelling of my own in Berlin, but shall put up with Reinhard, until I can hire a lodging for myself. That I shall have a very hard time of it at first, and that my little savings will be swallowed up at once, is very evident; nevertheless, I do not see what else can be done, and I live in the hope that everything will turn out for the best.

In the meanwhile another, though rather distant, prospect has been opened to me. Since my Berlin trip I have been to Landsberg to enjoy the society of my good friends, Schumann’s daughter and her husband; and on that occasion old Schumann told me that he would require an adjunctum in the spring, and that he would propose me for the office. It is true he has not the right of proposal, yet it is not impossible that his wishes may be taken into consideration; and should I obtain this place of adjunct, cum spe succedendi, all my desires will be satisfied, and I will willingly cede all further claims. The living affords a sufficient maintenance, the place is very agreeable, the surrounding country most beautiful, and I shall have one family there to which I am much attached and who love me in return. But I will not allow myself to think much of it, as it is still so very uncertain.

[LXVI.] 22nd September, 1793.

I could not get further yesterday, and to-day I have preached for my uncle; I have, moreover, to get up a long dissertation for Gedike, to take leave of friends, and to pack, and all this must be done to-day and to-morrow. Early in the morning of the day after, I mean to start, and then to wait patiently until I see what my destiny decrees. As regards the pursuits which have hitherto occupied my time, I must admit that they have been very desultory. I have done a little of everything, as is, indeed, but proper in the case of one who is not yet clear as to his vocation. It is about three months since I returned from Prussia; of these I spent one in Berlin and one week in Landsberg: in the eight weeks that remain, more might, indeed, have been done than I have done; but it is a fact of which I become daily more convinced, that one does not do more in the way of study because one has no regular business, than one might do if one had such occupation; for no one can endure this solitary pondering and delving more than a few hours a day, and I fancy that in Berlin I shall be able, in spite of the four hours’ lessons I shall have to give, to do as much for myself as I do here, and that without boasting of great industry.

In connection with my office I shall now have to attend to philologica, and in private I must take care not to get behindhand in philosophical and theological studies. Gedike wished, indeed, to persuade me to devote myself exclusively to the scholastic profession; but, in this instance, also, I have kept my retreat open, and have endeavoured to excuse myself by alluding to the very few places that are accessible to people of our confession. I will preach frequently while in Berlin, and holding this in view, I am very glad that the three court-preachers, to whom I have talked upon the matter, have all spoken eulogistically of my talents. Such is my plan; whether, in addition, I shall attempt to write something, is still very doubtful. I do not think that I shall ever be either a great or a prolific writer.

The books which you have recommended are as yet only known to me par renommé. Garve’s work, more especially, I have long wished to become acquainted with, as I am particularly fond of this writer; and as I know the book is in Brinkmann’s library in Berlin, I suppose I shall be allowed to lay hands on it, as soon as I can find time. In one of your former letters already you seemed displeased at my misgivings about Brinkmann. I have since conversed with him repeatedly in Berlin; and although, as I supposed, he has altered in some respects, having, for instance, almost become a complete sceptic, he has, nevertheless, retained many of his peculiarities, and has assumed less than I expected of the to me so hateful Berlin tone and manners. Otherwise I did not make many new acquaintances during my four weeks’ stay in Berlin, nor did I meet all my old ones. I was particularly disappointed at not seeing the eldest son of the Schlobitten family, who had just left for South Prussia with the minister Von Voss. From his brother, who is studying in Königsberg, I found a letter awaiting me, written in a very friendly tone, and since then I have had a letter from Pastor B——, in which the Count sends me his kind remembrances. As yet they have not got another tutor, which distresses me, on account of the poor children. I trust that when I return to Berlin I shall obtain further news of the family, and am very anxious to have it, because I am still heartily attached to them. Thence also I will write to Lottchen, as soon as I am somewhat settled.

The Son to the Father.

[LXVII.] Berlin, 8th April, 1794.

DEAREST FATHER,

Uncle Stubenrauch writes me that he has excused my long silence to you. The Landsberg affair was for a long time in such a state that I thought every post day would bring a decision, and in consequence I was constantly postponing to write, until now the postponement has run to such a length that I am quite frightened at it; and I feel that I have in reality been very neglectful. My excuses, therefore, dwindle in my own eyes into mere explanations. The affair in question is at length decided, and now advances so fast towards completion, that I have hardly time to think. Within the last eight days I have received the royal rescript, and have been examined and ordained, and I have orders to start for the place of my destination at the latest on the 12th. The wish that you expressed to me through Carl, I thought then already it would be impossible for me to fulfil, as I quite anticipated the present hurry, as soon as the matter should be decided; nevertheless I have moved omnes lapides, but in vain. This has really given me much pain, for in spite of my scepticism I could not help picturing the whole thing to myself in such delightful colours. On the other hand, however, I am not without some consolation. First, my visit must have been very short, and for this reason we could not even have made arrangements for our dear Charlotte to participate in our pleasure; and, secondly, I should have been obliged to incur considerable debt in order to carry out the plan. Besides, Mr. Sack has assured me, that should I be able to make arrangements for such a journey while I am at Landsberg, the authorities would place no difficulties in the way of its execution.

There are many things to be answered in your last letter, dear father, and besides these there are many more that I wish to talk over with you; but you will not find it difficult to forgive me for breaking off now, if you have only forgiven my preceding long silence. As soon as the holidays’ work has been got through at Landsberg, I will write to you thence and make amends for lost time. Many kind remembrances and hearty congratulations to our dear mother on her recovery, and many kisses to the little ones. Once more, dearest father, pardon me; and let your prayers and your fatherly wishes accompany in his new career,

Your dutiful Son.

[LXVIII.] [The beginning of this letter is wanting.]

… . I do not expect that this running to hear me will continue; perhaps it will be the fashion a few weeks longer, and then it will cease like all fashions; but from my heart I do wish that God’s blessing may be upon my sermons, so that they may be sources of true edification and speak to the heart, as, I trust, they will ever come from the heart. To you I need not say how deeply I am moved at the thought of being numbered among those to whom so important an office is entrusted, nor need I assure you that I do not now, and never shall, look upon it merely as a means of livelihood.

In your last letter you mention Kant’s Religion within the Limits of Reason. I have not yet read the book myself, but the opinions I have heard of it are very contradictory. Some see in it philosophical proof in favour of Christianity; others maintain nothing less than that it undermines the Christian religion; others represent it as written in derision of this religion; and others, among whom is Professor Garve, look upon it as an unsuccessful attempt to reconcile with his present system the ideas which Kant imbibed in his early youth, and which (owing to what I consider very exaggerated notions of the strength of youthful impressions) he has not been able entirely to throw off and to explain in accordance with reason. Of my other readings and occupations I must speak to you more another time, dear father. Many kind remembrances to our good mother, and hearty brotherly greetings to Carl, should this letter find him still with you, and also to our little ones. I commend myself to your fatherly love, and remain

Your dutiful and most affectionate Son.

The Father to the Son.

[LXIX.] Anhalt, 3rd July, 1794.

MY DEAR SON,

You cannot doubt that ever since I received your last letter, two months ago, I have wished you joy of your new appointment, and prayed for God’s blessing upon you… . . After the description that you gave me of your position in Berlin, I am still more thankful to God for your having been removed to Landsberg, but I also rejoice in my heart that you conducted yourself with so much discretion in that city. The literary tears which you say you were so near shedding on leaving Berlin, do not surprise me; but I dare say you will be able to get books on loan in Berlin which may be brought to you by carrier; but beware of purchasing books, as long as you can avoid it. When the garrison returns to Landsberg, you will also be able to obtain many a good book from its library. I should like to read a condensed view of the Platonic system written by yourself; Spinoza’s system I know pretty well from Jacobi, and doubt that the former has been equally consistent. Tell me, also, something about your inquiries into the political philosophy of the ancients, of which I know nothing. But nothing astonishes me so much as that the learned are still so little agreed about Kant’s philosophy, although I am free to confess that I do not myself understand it; and I am also greatly surprised at the opinions of his Religion within the Limits of Reason, which you mention in your letter, and which seem to me not to be at all applicable to such a worthy and highly moral old man as Kant must be according to what I have heard of him. I hope that when you have read the book you will feel convinced that he could not have had other than good motives in writing it; indeed the high moral tone of mind of which all his works give evidence is a guarantee of this.

Above all, I wish to know if you are happy and content in Landsberg, how much your revenue amounts to, what are your occupations, who are your associates, on what footing you stand with Mr. Schumann, and whether you live in his house; also something about the family B——; and whether you have not procured some more furniture, for two tables and three chairs are very little indeed. Alas! would that I could help you, but it is impossible; all my feathers have been plucked, and what remains I suppose Carl must have.

As far as I remember, the country around Landsberg must be pleasing. Ah! how I should like to pay you a visit; but where is the money to come from? At present I see no possibility of realizing this wish, although your uncle seems to think it very easy. It could only be in case Providence should bestow some unexpected piece of good fortune on me, and then you know I have duties towards my younger children and their mother; and I also wish to die as an honest man, and as yet I am not quite free from debt. Under these circumstances, and at my advanced age, it would be folly to undertake a journey which would cost me at least one hundred dollars. I prefer following the old rule—ibant quo poterant; and, for the rest, I console myself with the hope that my absent children will make up by their letters for the pleasure I lose in not seeing them, and with the feeling that they are, and ever will be, the joy of my old age.

By this time you will probably have received from Lottchen the nice long letter, part of which she read to me when we met at Kottwitzen’s. Oh! this most honourable and worthy hospitality, how many joys has it not afforded us, for which may God reward him. He is a man of a most noble heart, with an intellect by no means common, and much refinement of feeling. I wish you knew him. He is indeed somewhat visionary in regard to his personal connection with the Saviour; but he is thoroughly honest, and his expansive heart makes him dear to all who know him.

I also wish to have from yourself a detailed account of the many fine and interesting things you saw and heard in Berlin: in giving me this you will be realizing to yourself once more the pleasure that you enjoyed, and this is not a little matter. Did you make the acquaintance of Mr. Gentz and his translations of Mallet du Pan and Burke?

Will you have opportunities in Landsberg of gratifying the taste for music which you have acquired, to my great satisfaction? Do not wonder at these numerous questions—it is materials for letters I am providing you with. Let me know also what books are your favourites; and, if you can, send me your first sermon. I am reading at present in my leisure hours, and mostly in common with your mother, Bahrdt’s Handbook of Morals for the Middle Classes, an excellent book, but in summer I have little time for such reading. Do write soon, and a long letter. You have not yet answered my inquiries about your health. We all send you the heartiest greetings, and with the tenderest love your old father embraces you.

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