[CXXIV.] 21st.

My eyes and the advanced hour of the night prevented me from going further yesterday; and to-day many thoughts, and memories, and also some wishes, but only a few, have passed through my mind, and I am surrounded by friendly proofs of the remembrance of my dear ones, and penetrated with a consolatory feeling of their friendship. Mrs. Herz and her sisters have given me very pretty presents, and Eleanore G—— has paid me a visit with her sister, and we have conversed earnestly together from the depths of our souls. My male friends, Alexander Dohna and Schlegel, are absent, and such are men that, perhaps, it does not occur to them that this is my birthday; but you, I know, are thinking of me with affection, and I trust that the same is the case with Carl. I wish you could thoroughly realize the tranquillity and cheerfulness that dwell in my soul. I rejoice at the past, enjoy the present, and look calmly towards the future, and whatever it may bring; and I can say with tolerable certainty that such will be the predominant state of my mind throughout my life, for it is based on the innermost nature of my being.

[CXXV.] 3rd December.

At length, dear sister, this epistle will be despatched. I have a few hours at command this morning, and of these I will honestly avail myself to finish my letter. Yours contains many interesting details, joyful and sorrowful, which I have not yet alluded to. The accounts of the death of Carl T—— and Mr. S—— were both new to me, and the former, more particularly, a painful surprise. Personally, I knew Carl but very slightly, but what I heard of him through Brinkmann, to whom, I will, in my next communicate the event, inspired me with great esteem. In my eyes there was also another interest connected with him which, most likely, you will not feel so strongly. Here, I have daily opportunities of observing how every department of government is overfilled with unworthy individuals, without real knowledge and capacity, and, more especially, without character, and who, by the mere fact of their having served a certain number of years, and in consequence of the willingness with which each one pushes on his equal, attain to the highest positions in the State. Under these circumstances, I cannot but feel doubly sorry that a young man who, according to what I have heard, possessed these missing qualities in so high a degree, should be so early snatched away from the world. For his mother, who loved all her children so tenderly, I am deeply pained.

To meet again persons whom you used to know in your paternal home, must always be to you a notable event. On me this makes quite a different impression. Dates and names from those times float very vaguely in my memory, and it is only as a dream that I remember those early days of my childhood. In some measure, this is probably owing to my being a few important years younger than you, but also to my memory being more defective than yours, and in addition to this, to two causes which are not in general taken sufficiently into account. In the first instance, my sight was never good, and, as it is becoming gradually more impaired, I am also becoming gradually less capable of retaining old impressions received through it. Sounds I remember much better than forms. This was the case in regard to B——. The name I soon recollected, but his personal appearance I could not by any means recall to mind. Even in regard to our deceased mother, the same is the case. It is only occasionally that I can conjure up a vivid image of her, but her voice sounds in my ears as often as I think of her. Our dear father, however, I can bring more distinctly before my mind’s eye, because I saw him at a later period. You can hardly conceive how fully I enter into the feelings with which you remember the dear, excellent man. To my remembrance also he is recalled on a thousand occasions, so that in so far I need not the books from his library which I have constantly before my eyes. How frequently I think of him in connection with my conduct in society or with my professional duties, and how happy I feel when I can say to myself that he would be pleased with me on occasions when others misconstrue my actions or shake their heads! This is very frequently the case, and yet I know how very different he and I were. Yes, yes, dear sister, could we all three but be together, that would be glorious! Personal presence is a sweet means of tightening every bond, and of rendering every treasured memory more vivid. Should Carl’s removal to Breslau take place, which I do not doubt, there is great hope of our being able to realize this… . .

During the summer Professor Bartholdi, from Stettin, a man to whom I am very much attached, but whom I have perhaps never mentioned to you, was here for a few weeks. I made his acquaintance when I was staying here previous to my going to Landsberg, and at that time already I felt vaguely that there was much in common between us. On my return from Landsberg we drew nearer to each other; shortly afterwards he was removed to Stettin, but each visit that he has paid to this place since then has rendered our intimacy more frank and hearty. In this excellent man I find everything that I miss in Schlegel, and he exactly suits those points in me on which I differ from Schlegel. It is a pity that he is such a lazy letter-writer; we have never yet entered into a correspondence. However, this has not impaired our friendship; for when we meet we feel at once at home with each other.

You have not for a long time spoken of my living friends in the congregation, and more especially of Albertini. I have already been planning that on my return from Silesia I would take the route through Lusatia and visit again all the dear old places there. Here I am again on the topic of the journey, and yet I had determined that I would not say another word about it. You paint it and all its accompaniments in such beautiful colours, and I add to their brightness in imagination. I shall certainly do my utmost to realize this sweet hope.

[CXXVI.] Berlin, 21st December, 1799.

If I am to fulfil your wish, dearest sister, as I desire, and let you have a letter before the close of this year, it is high time that I should begin to write; for during the holidays I shall be very much occupied, and just now I shall be quiet for a couple of days. I cannot, indeed, say that at this moment I am quiet, for my mind is in a state of great agitation, but it is a pleasurable agitation, which I may communicate to you. It is joy at the return of Alexander Dohna, who came back yesterday from his long tour, and whom I saw again for the first time about an hour ago… … . In addition to this, Alexander has brought me, at last, a letter from my fondly-beloved Wedike, who still cleaves to me with the same old friendship, and to whom I shall also soon pour out my heart in a long letter—I have so much to tell him. This must also be done before the close of the old year; for at the end of the year I like to pay all my letter debts and money debts. In each case it is generally attended with difficulty, for time as well as money is most scarce towards this period. As regards money, I believe it is the case with everybody, without exception; and as regards time, it is more especially the case with us clergymen, because we have then to make up our yearly lists, &c. &c., and this year I have, in addition, to train a new clerk. But these will be glorious days to crown the year, which in so many respects has been an unfavourable one to me.

You, dear Lotte, seem to me at present to live again a little more within yourself than you did some time ago. Your thoughts and feelings, like mine, move, if I may so express it, in a circle—sometimes more, sometimes less, turned outwards; and it is no doubt very good for us both that this occurs independently of our will, for thus only it is permissible, at least so it seems to me; for no outward circumstances can give me a right to withdraw from persons with whom I have once been placed in communication, or to cease to sympathize with them. It is true that this will in the long run affect the nerves of even the strongest among us; but that I do not consider a very great misfortune. Bark and iron may remedy that, and what these fail to do will be effected by the changes which are sure to ensue in our mental states. I always think that it is the duty of the body to suffer with the mind, and that a body that does not do so will also refuse its services to the mind, when it is called upon not to suffer, but to be active. This is my consolation when I am not so healthy as I could wish to be, and I then always find that, after all, I am healthier than I have any right to expect.

My eyes are at present rather better, and if we have not much snow I trust that I shall not have to suffer severely in this respect this winter.

[CXXVII.] 27th December.

The holidays have gone by, I do not know how, without my being able to write to you. I have had a great many professional duties to attend to which have wearied me somewhat; as many more still await me; and there were, besides, several other things to do, which could not be postponed, as, for instance, the letter to Brinkmann, which was despatched by a courier. But now I will be all the more diligent, and will begin by answering as many of your questions as I can.

I have had a long conversation with Alexander relative to his sister. At present there is nothing to be done, and we must, therefore, hope the more trustfully that God will direct everything for the best. It is one of the differences between you and me, which necessarily spring from our position and our principles, that such a state of passive submission is most agreeable to your feelings, and that you prefer in every case to do nothing for fear of spoiling what you might attempt; while I, on the contrary, prefer to be active, and do not repine even when I do happen to spoil something, provided I feel that I have done, according to the best of my knowledge, what I considered to be my duty.

About the affairs of the old Count, in which I took an active part while he was here, I can tell you nothing further; they had reference to some matters abroad, and I have not yet heard what the issue has been. Indeed, it is nothing that can in any way interest us, and I only mentioned it at the time because it gave me a good deal of disagreeable occupation and caused the old Count much annoyance. For contrary reasons, that is to say, because they are too interesting, and would require too much detail and are too complicated, I cannot at present write you the particulars about my friend Schlegel. The complications relate, as you suspect, to economical, literary, and many other matters besides. According to his last letters, he is going on well and feels happy; but this does not comfort me, for it is only momentary and will prevent him from doing what he ought to do. In another sense, indeed, but with full right, I may say of him what you say of A——, that he has caused me pains and pleasures which no other person could have produced; and should it ever happen, that the differences of principle and thought which lie deep in our souls, attain greater development and become as evident as the great and notable resemblance between us on many other points — should this ever, as is not at all unlikely, considering Schlegel’s innate vehemence of temper, lead to a temporary interruption of our intimacy—I would, nevertheless, continue to love him with all my heart, and to acknowledge gratefully the important influence he has exercised over me. It is just now two years since he came to live with me, and our closer intimacy began, and you may conceive how many emotions this awakens in me… . .

[CXXVIII.] 2nd March, 1800.

My friend Schlegel is very happy at present with his brother in Jena, and his letters afford me much pleasure on account of the cheerful tone that prevails in them.

The number of my friends has been increased by the addition of one whose acquaintance I made through Schlegel on a certain occasion, but only by correspondence. A letter from him to Schlegel arrived the evening before the latter left. He deputed me to answer it, and the subject, of which there was a question, led to the communication of so many of our most intimate ideas, that we have grown more familiar with each other through correspondence, than many are after long personal intercourse. You will not require to have this explained—you who know through manifold experience how quickly and happily hearts and minds sometimes meet. He is a young man of considerable intellect and acquirements, and I knew him beforehand by name from a book which he has written, and also from having heard Schlegel speak of him. He has, however, entirely withdrawn from the literary world as well as the world in general, and lives with his wife, whom he has lately married, and two children whom he is educating, in great retirement and with the utmost simplicity, in the country, a few miles from hence, where I intend to pay him a visit of a few days in the summer. His name is Hülsen,¹ and I recommend him in advance to your remembrance. I shall take care that I do not treat you again as I did in the case of my Stettin friend, with whom I entertained amicable relations for several years without your knowing anything about it.

[CXXIX.] Berlin, 29th March, 1800.

To-day we have celebrated our dear Alexander Dohna’s birthday by taking tea together at our common friend’s, Henrietta Herz. We were all very happy, and in like manner as we rejoiced in possessing in him so good and so dear a friend, he rejoiced in us. From his parents, and sisters, and brothers he received the most affectionate letters, full of love and gratitude—feelings which have been rendered particularly lively this year, because by his presence at home he so considerably promoted the happiness and the domestic peace of all, while at the same time he had opportunities of rendering himself specially useful to each in particular.

There is something very peculiar and very patriarchal in the manner in which the eldest son is treated in these great families. Sisters and brothers look up to him as to a second father; the mother honours in him her future protector, and the father considers himself bound to give him an account of everything. As for Alexander, he deserves it all, for he is a most excellent man.

[CXXX.] 5th May, 1800.

I know, dear sister, that you, like myself, devote a special remembrance to this day. Ah! it well deserves it, however often we may on other occasions turn our thoughts to our dear father, for it was ever a special day of joy and pleasure to us. Ever since that year in Anhalt when we celebrated the day by singing, under the direction of Sch—, the hymn “Praise the Lord,” it has been to me a most important day. The way in which we celebrated it in our early childhood I no longer recollect. To-day I have been thinking a good deal of the last letter in honour of this anniversary, which I wrote to my good father, and of his last two letters to me (in which he spoke to me as man to man, and which formed the commencement of a renewed and more tender friendship between us), and of how in the midst of my joy at them the sorrowful tidings came to me. This kind of feeling you cannot have experienced, nor am I able to explain it to you. This year you were very near being able to celebrate the day with Carl, as you used to do years ago, and as you may perhaps do many a year to come; but formerly you used always to expect our father likewise.

[CXXXI.] 26th May.

… . Eight days previously I made an excursion into the country with Herz, who had ordered it for me instead of medicine. We stayed with a Chamberlain von Wülknitz, a common acquaintance of ours, whose wife I have known ever since I was in Halle, and here I made the interesting acquaintance of General B——. The change in the position of this man does not as yet, at least, seem to cause him ennui; but I saw nothing in him to inspire esteem. He spoke of the king, whose favour he has so grossly abused, without the least affection, and also talked much of philosophy and morality, avoiding with the most consummate hypocritical art to dwell with emphasis on the feigned sentiments. With me he conversed a good deal about education, speaking in the usual tone of a nobleman who wishes it to be conspicuous that he intends to bring up his children to rise above the morals and the prejudices of their class.

Another equally interesting acquaintance I made a few days ago—that of the popular author Friedrich Richter, called Jean Paul. You have never mentioned in your letters having read any of his works, but his name must be known to you, and you will no doubt remember that I once sent you some passages extracted from his Hesperus, which seemed to please you at the time. Unfortunately, I saw him for the first time at a large and mixed party, on which occasion neither of us pleased the other. Of all the good that he had heard of me, he said, he could neither see nor hear anything, and I on my side did not find in him that expression of sentiment and childlike simplicity which I expected. However, they say that in intimate intercourse he is very different; the same exactly is the case with me, and it will therefore depend upon whether we shall have opportunities of seeing each other under such circumstances.

[CXXXII.] Berlin, 20th December, 1800.

Your wish, dear Lotte, that I should not write to you until after the receipt of your last letter, has been but too thoroughly fulfilled. The excuses I may have to offer for this very long silence, if in reality there be any, will appear of themselves when I tell you how I have spent my time in the interval. My greatest fear is that you may have been anxious about my health, and the suffering this anxiety may have cost you, even the most legitimate excuses cannot recall.

That I would find it difficult to write, as long as the Dohnas were here, you yourself anticipated. I did not think so, however, and was always intending to write, but never got so far. I lived a great deal with them. During part of the time that the Dohnas were here, my friend Bartholdy was also here, and I had therefore skilfully to divide my time between them, and could keep none for myself. A little earlier in point of time occurred the appearance of W——, a veritable apparition, of which I must speak to you more at length, because it was so very interesting to me. He entered my room unannounced one morning, and without my being in the least apprised of his coming. I recognised him almost immediately, more by his figure and the tone of his voice than by his face. We were soon seated confidentially side by side on the sofa, questioning each other about the past. We found each other tremendously altered; he me—as he assured me and I willingly believe—more lively, more joyous, more youthful, and in better health than I was ten years ago at Halle; I found him more decrepit and worn out than I ventured to express… . . Picture to yourself all this, and then the remembrances of the past which were awakened, remembrances of eleven long years, and of the time in Halle, one of the strangest periods of my existence—like chaos before the world was created—and you will readily comprehend that W——‘s appearance filled me with deep sadness. His image and everything connected with his visit has since then remained indelibly fixed on my mind.

Such were, briefly, the most pleasant events that occurred during the period of my silence. But at the same time the disagreeable ones commenced, viz., a new colleague, quite unacquainted with the routine of office, to whom I am obliged to show everything, and for whom I am obliged to do a thousand things; disputes with the Poor Directory concerning my new dwelling; … the moving, which took place a few days previous to the departure of the Dohnas; the packing and arrangement of books and papers. This latter business is to me, as you will easily conceive, full of seductions; few things are laid aside without being looked into, and it is a great pleasure to me to read myself back into one or other period of the past, thereby losing a goodly portion of the present. As an excuse for my silence, however, I admit that this fortnight does not count much. My principal plea is the following. Instigated by various circumstances, and various rumours about me, which had been put into circulation, I formed the resolution, after Michaelmas, to publish a small volume of sermons, and the publisher, with whom I had made the necessary arrangements, expressed to me, after the Dohnas had left, his desire to send the sermons to press before the commencement of this month. Now, as it is my habit never to write my sermons before they are preached, but only to note down the heads, I was obliged to set seriously to work, and as often as I thought of writing to you, I said to myself, you may as well finish this sermon first. In this manner the post-day went by; then I thought there would be time enough to begin a new sermon, and the same postponement was repeated several times. Nevertheless, I did not finish my work until the middle of the month, the state of my health having contributed not a little to the delay.

Since I have been in my new dwelling I have been suffering from a peculiar evil, the causes of which my doctors are not able to trace. My hands and feet swell, but after some hours the swelling subsides again, and this takes place several times a day like a regular ebb and flood. For some time Herz has been giving me strong sudorifics, the most disagreeable cure I have ever experienced. For fear of taking cold, I am obliged each time to remain fifteen hours at least in bed, without being able to sleep or to occupy myself in any way; and this process I have had to undergo three times a week during a period when each hour had its work cut out for it. At first the remedy seemed to do me good, but I have had a relapse, and something new is to be tried. This cure, the weakness which each application of it caused, and the anxiety as to what this strange state would end in, not only rendered my labours very burdensome, but also at times so depressed my spirits that, had I even forced myself to write letters, they would have proved as little satisfactory to the receivers as to the writer. At present, I have made up my mind to await patiently what the end may be. If the evil should increase, and some serious malady declare itself, then more serious remedies also must be had recourse to.

My birthday went off more quietly and sadly than usual. In the morning I received little presents from Henrietta Herz and Alexander Dohna, and a friendly letter from Eleanore G——, and later, letters from Landsberg, from B——, and from my dear uncle; and from my kind aunt a waistcoat embroidered by herself. This present is doubly valuable in my eyes, because I know that needlework is very irksome to her, and that she generally avoids all unnecessary work of the kind. My dinner I took with the Herzes, where I met Alexander, and the rest of the day I spent at home, partly at work, partly absorbed in various thoughts and feelings. I meant to write also, the paper was spread out before me, but the pen dropped from my hand each time I took it up. The sadness which had taken possession of me was mostly caused by the position of Eleanore G——, of whose unhappiness in her marriage I had a few days previously again received a most painful impression. To this was added thoughts and anxieties about other friends, and questionings and surmises about my own future; and although the belief in an overruling Providence never leaves me, yet I cannot help feeling deep sadness at the thought that this or that beloved friend is doomed to a life of constant trials and sufferings. You will understand me, and I need not, therefore, expatiate any further on this.

Your letter and your affectionate gift I received on the 30th. May the purse prove a good omen, and may it never be empty. For the drawing, pray present my friendly thanks to the lady artist. Yes, yes, dear Lotte, this harmony between us on so many very important points, and our intimate knowledge of each other, constitute a union of soul, for which nothing, I think, could compensate us, and of which we will become more conscious the longer it lasts.

[CXXXIII.] 27th December.

That the holidays obliged me to make a pause will not surprise you. I had not, indeed, to preach as much as usual, but I could not avoid the many invitations which robbed me of all time for writing. They were, moreover, of the most uninteresting kind: this is an annoyance from which, thank God, you are exempt in the congregation. Now that I find myself again at my writing-table, I do not know where to begin, so much have I still to tell and to answer. If this epistle is to be despatched in the old century (the hope of posting it to-day I have already given up), I must touch, in a few words only, on each topic, but I hope you will, nevertheless, understand me, and be able to fill up the particulars in imagination. That which I would fain dwell on most fully is not this or that event, but the great joy which I feel at the development of your inner being, as it now appears in its ultimate shape. There are many sentiments from which you no longer shrink back as formerly; and whatever remains in you of mental coyness is of a different kind. The state of mind to which I allude was, no doubt, necessary and natural in you, but it is equally necessary and natural that it should eventually cease to exist. You and I are chosen examples of the different ways by which human hearts are guided to the same goal, and in spite of their dwelling in the most opposite climes, if I may so express it, that is, you in the congregation, and I in the world. Through abstinence of the heart, you have gained that strength which now takes the form of increased self-confidence, while I have attained it through constant efforts and emotions. In the congregation you are all, so to say, endowed with feminine constitutions, which, even physically, are cured and strengthened by repose and quiet, whereas, he who has a manly constitution, and requires strong exercise, feels the necessity of going into the world, where his mind reaches the same goal by an opposite road. Your increasing openness towards me, which I value more than I can express, is mostly owing to your no longer fearing so much as formerly to touch upon your own inward existence. The same is the case with your reserve towards those that surround you; you treat them as you used to treat yourself, and you are right, for the greater number of them are in the very state you used to be. Had I time, this might lead me to many reflections on the congregation, in which, I believe, you would concur, if not entirely, yet, in a great measure. I am almost tempted to beg you to wait another ten years for further explanations, for, at the end of that period you will find them in connected order, embodied in a novel, which I mean to write some day, and which shall contain everything that I believe I understand about men and women, and human life altogether. You perceive that the prospect I hold out to you of enjoying my written works is a very distant one; my earlier works will probably be of a scientific nature, and not suited for you.

[CXXXIV.] Evening.

Here I come again to chat a little more with you; and, in order that you may see how I spend my time, I will begin by telling you where I have been in the meanwhile. First, I was a couple of hours at Henrietta Herz’s, reading Greek with her, which language she is now studying. You know that she has no children; her household is in such excellent order that it only requires her attention a couple of hours daily, and, in consequence, she devotes a great part of her time to extending her knowledge quietly in various directions. In modern languages she has long ago acquired uncommon fluency, and she is acquainted with all the good and beautiful works produced in them. I therefore advised her to make herself acquainted with the Greek language also, which is, in so many respects, the greatest masterwork of the human mind. At first it gave her great trouble, because the character of the idiom is so very peculiar, and it requires to be studied in a particular way; at present, however, she is already able to read many fine works with me, and I am always loth to miss the hours we have appointed for this occupation. Afterwards, I went for an hour to the Resource, the only place where I meet a number of my colleagues, and also some of the gentlemen of the magistracy, who are some day, if they be so pleased, to elect me to be one of the preachers in the city. There I read the literary and scientific journals, and then played a game at billiards, which may seem ridiculous to you, who know how blind I am, but in which I, nevertheless, get on passably, and with no detriment to my eyes. Thence I came home; and, during tea-time, I have been cogitating upon what subject I shall try to impress upon my hearers to-morrow, which will be the last Sunday in the year, and in the century. This I have now determined; the tea, the milk-bread, and the smoked sausage have been discussed; and I have turned round the great chair, in which I always sit, from my little dining-table to my big work-table, at which I am generally occupied until midnight. Such is the usual order of my life; I am seldom absent a whole evening, but I never allow a day to pass without taking exercise and seeing other persons, both being essential for the health of my body and my soul. All my friends have certain hours at which I like best to visit them; to Eleanore G—— I frequently run in for an hour in the afternoon, when she is either quite alone, or has only the children² with her, and when there is a good opportunity of speaking a sensible word with her; but, besides this, I generally spend one evening there every week. To the Eichmanns I go in preference to dinner, for, after dinner, the children return to school, and one may then have an hour’s quiet chat… . . Henrietta Herz I like best to visit between dinner and tea-time, for, during these hours, I am not likely to meet any one there but the more intimate friends of the house; but if we are taken by surprise by strangers, I either take my leave at once, or, if they please me, I remain some time longer; to the larger parties at the Herzes I only allow myself to be invited from time to time. Professor Spalding I always visit in the evening, and so likewise some other young linguists, of whom I am very fond; but this only takes place once a month. In addition to those mentioned, there are a couple of other houses where I spend half an hour or so occasionally, when passing by. At home I work in the evening from seven or eight o’clock until twelve or one, and my usual evening meal is such as I have described above. This is the rule in winter. In summer, when the Herzes are in the Thiergarten and the Eichmanns at Charlottenburg, then, indeed, it is different.

I have not felt anger against Mrs. Veit, but the extraordinary change in her destiny, and the strange and culpable light in which I know her conduct will be viewed by the world, grieves me very much, and is a source of deep anxiety to me, because she and Schlegel are so dear to my heart. In our opinion, who are so thoroughly acquainted with all the circumstances, she had very good and sufficient reasons for leaving this place. Schlegel’s brother and sister-in-law invited her to their house, and she is now staying with them in Jena. Friedrich is also staying at Jena, and you may suppose what the world thinks of this and of the whole connection. They would, indeed, ere this, have contracted holy and legal bonds, as they are in truth most deeply attached to each other, were it not rendered impossible by the only condition on which her husband will consent to a divorce, viz., that she shall give up to him her youngest boy, who still requires her maternal care and the sensible education which she gives him.

This may go on for a while, but when the elder Schlegel, who has for a long time lived in anything but harmony with his wife, separates from the latter, I do not know what is to become of the poor lady. These are unhappy complications which arise out of the incongruities in our laws, and our manners and morals, and which even the best among us cannot always avoid. Besides, Schlegel, not quite without his own faults, has many enemies in the literary world, who have not failed to take advantage of this connection, the true history of which is hardly known to any one, and thus poor Mrs. Veit’s reputation is bandied about in all kinds of satirical and polemical pamphlets, sometimes under her own, sometimes under a fictitious name. It is a most unfortunate affair, and from the bottom of my heart I pity the two people, who are exposed to so many humiliations only because they have acted more simply and uprightly than the world is accustomed to see people act.

You see that I have also a great deal to suffer with and for my friends, as is but just, and as a feeling heart must expect to do. At present Henrietta Herz is the one that gives me the least anxiety, yet I foresee that as regards her also, times and events may occur which will likewise cause me much sorrow. In certain respects Schlegel is also a cause of direct annoyance to me. There are, namely, people who, although I am not as yet in the least mixed up with the literary and scientific world, extend their literary animosity against him to me, merely because I am his personal friend; but I take no notice of them, I go on my way unconcerned, and trust that they will soon get tired of the game.

[CXXXV.] 29th.

Whatever more I may be able to write, must be put into this letter. Yesterday I had to preach twice, and in the evening I was at the G——s, and to-morrow, which is post-day, I may not be able to find a minute… . .

The approval with which my lines to Maria have met, is undoubtedly very flattering to me, or rather would be so, if I could believe that it embraced the mode of expression as well as the sentiment; but as an encouragement I cannot consider it. I have so little talent for metrical composition, that I am quite incapable of producing even two lines of the kind at command, however much time and trouble I may expend upon them, but am obliged to wait patiently until it comes of itself, and that happens very rarely. Schlegel has, indeed, repeatedly maintained that poetry belonged to my nature, but I have a very lively conviction of the contrary; and though it may happen to me, from time to time, to compose a few verses, that is not, therefore, poetry. In W——‘s little poem, on the contrary, I have discovered, to my great delight and surprise, not only the natural eloquence of feeling, but real talent for poetic representation. I should have liked to have read what you wrote to him. I hope soon to be able to inform you that I have placed myself anew in permanent relations with him.

It is a wonderful thing in life, that however little prospect there may be of it, all old acquaintances are ever drawing near to us again, and thus the early times of our youth are linked by the fresh colours of memory to our later years. In regard to how many persons, has not this already happened to me, and I reckon upon its happening with many others still. Should a time ever come when I shall be able to go to Silesia, as I so much desire, then you must come with me to Breslau; for I hope that by that time the reasons which would now deter you, will have ceased to exist. In respect to these matters your labourers have, indeed, strange notions. I suppose it arises from the fact that so many of them having been born and educated in the congregation, they are unable to judge of circumstances, and, therefore, conceive false ideas of the effects which certain things produce on the mind and character. However, these things no longer make me angry or cross. I have got over that, as is but natural now that I have attained a certain amount of knowledge of the human mind. He who understands the inner grounds and internal connection of actions cannot be greatly affected by the individual actions, because they will never come unexpectedly. In this manner I have attained to a degree of calmness and patience which often causes surprise… . .

My reading, as you will perceive, progresses very slowly; even the most remarkable productions in literature are a long time before the world, ere I find an opportunity of enjoying them. Neither Schiller’s Wallenstein, nor Wieland’s Aristippus, for instance, have I read as yet, although they have attracted the attention of the whole reading world. This is partly owing to the fact that reading takes me much more time than it does the most other people. In order to understand a thing thoroughly and as I wish to understand it, I am obliged to read the whole two or three times over, and particular passages sometimes still oftener, otherwise I do not obtain a clear conception of the matter.

For the same reason, though this is of less importance, I go very rarely to the play. I do not like to see a piece which I have not read previously, because in that case I lose a great deal of it; I like best of all to take the book with me to the theatre, and to look through it during the pauses between the acts. Concerts, of which there are many here in winter, I have other reasons for not frequenting. On the one hand, they are very dear; on the other, I have very little taste for virtuoso music, even for virtuoso singing. Nota bene: I have not even as yet heard Haydn’s Creation; but in a week it will be executed here by the royal choir, and perhaps I may then go to hear it. Opinions about it here differ very much. Some people are in ecstacies, others think that it is overloaded with meretricious ornament. The text is not known to me, but in general the text of such works is very bad. The music which I like the best, and which I hear the oftenest, is that of the singing academy, where nothing but church music in the grand style is given, which often reminds me of the festal music and the alternating choruses in the halls of the congregation.

… . I hope very soon to send you a remittance of money, sooner than I shall be able to write a regular letter again. Whatever you may require in the meanwhile, get from Carl, with whom I have made arrangements about this little matter. Your first draught upon him was by far too modest. Why did you not ask for the double at once? I am so afraid that it did not suffice. And now I must conclude, though fully conscious that you will miss many things in this letter; but they shall all be given later. If you take everything into consideration, and more especially the sermons, you will not, I am sure, be angry with me. Of course you shall have a copy of these as soon as they are printed; the other work has not been finished, owing to no fault of mine, but because the requisite materials were not sent to me from England; now it will probably be protracted until the end of next year. I hope you will let me hear from you again soon. Is it possible that you can think that you ever write too often, too circumstantially, or too frankly for me? You cannot surely be in earnest! You know how much I should like to write to you the longest epistles ever penned. Adieu, much happiness, that is to say, good health in the new year and the new century!

YOUR FRITZ.

[CXXXVI.] Berlin, 12th February, 1801.

Knowing how anxious you are about my health, I ought to have written before; indeed, the will has not been wanting, and I only wish that I were not obliged to tell you of the vexatious mishap which has deterred me, and which, alas! touches you even more than me. The fact is, I wished to send you the promised money at the same time, and no sooner had I got it together than by some fatality I lost it. It was probably taken out of my pocket in a crowd that I was obliged to traverse on my way to get the money changed into currency, which I wished to do as you had had difficulties about it on former occasions. I had a kind of presentiment of evil, and therefore preferred taking it myself to be changed, instead of sending my servant, as usual. It is more than a fortnight since this happened, and I have endeavoured in vain to find out a means of speedily filling up the vacuum created, and am therefore at last obliged to send you an empty letter. If I only knew how this disagreeable news will affect you, and whether you will have any resource in the meanwhile! I will not wait until I have again gathered together fifty dollars, but will send you a smaller sum, as soon as I can, to help you out of the most immediate straits. We ought never to attempt to do things too well; I have been seriously punished for it this time. You may conceive that this occurrence gave me but little desire to write, and altogether upset me very much. It is the first time anything of the kind ever happened to me; and if it were I alone that had to suffer from it, I would not so much care; for in my household I can always manage for a time to spend less money than usual, and I should not therefore feel the loss as much as you will, and should also be able to find help for myself sooner than I shall be able to find it for you. I must force myself away from this unpleasant subject, or I shall go on for ever writing about it, and after all that would not alter the matter.

About my health, dearest, be without anxiety. Whatever may have been the cause that produced it, the swelling has entirely disappeared; but although it seems to have been Herz’s remedies that have affected this, he still maintains that he did not in the least understand the case. I always suspected that it was dropsy, but as dropsy in the fleshy parts of the body is seldom dangerous, I did not feel alarmed for my life. That I shall die of a chronic malady, and more likely of this than of any other is, however, very probable, considering my constitution, which although weak, is so decidedly anti-inflammatory that I never get any illness of which fever is one of the symptoms, even when all around me are suffering from such. Neither the influenza nor the catarrhal fever, by which, at least every seventh person in Berlin above the actual working class, is laid prostrate at the present moment, has been able to lay hold of me. You have therefore but little reason to fear that you shall ever receive, unexpectedly, melancholy intelligence relative to me; nevertheless I have taken the necessary precautions in case anything of the kind should happen, and I have always in my desk a paper containing my dispositions, which I alter from time to time. This is a precautionary measure which every person ought to consider it a duty to adopt, and more especially every person who possesses papers. As regards this point, I shall probably soon be placed in a great predicament, for there is every reason to expect that Alexander will speedily be removed to one of the provinces as director of the domains, and if this takes place I do not know another man whom I could ask to take charge of my papers, and to bequeath them to a woman would be to impress upon my life, even at the very last, the stamp of that paradoxicalness of which I am already often enough accused. Besides which, it could be no other woman than Henrietta Herz; for to Eleanore G—— it might cause much annoyance.

That you cannot, without having witnessed it, picture to yourself the kind of relation in which I stand to Mrs. Herz, seems strange to me. It is that of hearty and confidential friendship, in regard to which there is no question of man or woman. Is that so difficult to conceive? Why no other feeling has ever been mixed up with, and never will be mixed up with it—that is another question; but even that is not difficult to explain. She has never produced an impression on me that could in any way disturb the tranquillity of my mind. Any one who understands the expression of the inner life, will at once recognize in her a passionless nature; and even were I likely to submit to the influences of mere externals, her appearance possesses no charms in my eyes, although her face is undeniably beautiful, and her colossal, queenlike figure is so very much the opposite of mine, that even supposing that we were both free, and that we loved each other and wished to marry, the match would seem to me from this point of view alone so ridiculous and absurd, that only very weighty reasons could induce me to waive the objection. Of the nature and character of our intercourse, I dare say I have already told you enough; but if there be anything more that you wish to know, pray, ask freely, for it makes me quite uncomfortable to think that you cannot picture this to yourself.

[CXXXVII.] 13th February.

I should like to despatch this letter to-morrow, and yet I have so much to do before that, and also so much remaining to tell, and to answer, that I do not see how I can possibly get through it. And now at the last moment, I have been requested to execute a very pressing commission; I am to take a lodging for the elder Schlegel, who will arrive here in a few days. I am very inexpert in such matters, and the weather is so bad that I could not think of asking a lady to undertake the business for me; I see myself therefore daily perambulating the finest quarters of the city in snow and wind, not knowing what to do. It is true I look forward with pleasure to Schlegel’s coming, for his society will give me a new impulse, which I require, as I am again suffering under the effects of not seeing a sufficient variety of persons; but what a much greater joy would it not be if it were my dear Friedrich who was coming! Yet, perhaps his presence would be too much for me. He belongs too much to my sorrows, and I have already one object here who causes me sorrow each time I see her. This is Eleanore G——.

You are right in saying that you and I feel the sorrows of others more than our own; indeed, I can hardly remember the time when I have been very much affected by anything that touched myself alone, although there is in my position taken altogether, much that would render me uneasy were it that of a friend. One advantage, however, I have herein over you—as upon the whole men are colder and slower to be moved than women—and that is, that I do not torture myself so much when there is nothing to be done. I suffer with my friends, but after a time I say to myself: well then, they must just bear it, as I should be obliged to bear it, were it me. This is particularly the case when there is a question of suffering from outward circumstances. There are, indeed, evils which do not at all inspire me with pity; for instance, unfavourable rumours, slander, physical pains; in regard to the latter the only regret that I feel is that they interrupt existence, that while they last man neither does anything nor becomes anything, and I have much more pity with a person who has the bad habit of sleeping too much than with one who suffers from toothache, or colic, or any other such evil. But when the heart is so immediately the sufferer, as in the case of Eleanore G——, and also in a measure in Schlegel’s case, then mine also suffers much. Yet it has happened to me to be looked upon as cold-hearted and unfeeling, because I have such a peculiar standard by which I measure misfortune.

With the kind L——, I have felt much sympathy, on account of her little Herrmann. In general, however, such cases do not affect me; I place myself in imagination three months forward in time, after the lapse of which period people seldom think of the event with any great intensity of feeling. That Hülsen has lost his wife, I suppose I have written to you. This I consider the greatest misfortune that can befall a human being, and my sorrow for him is as keen now as it was at first. In relation to what I once said to you about the loss of friends—I believe in the chapter letter to which you allude—I have lately extracted from a little book a passage which is taken right out of my heart. I am tempted to insert it here for your benefit, for it is a long time since I have communicated to you anything of the kind:

“With truth I may say that my friends do not die away from me; I take their life into my own and their action upon me never ceases: but to me their dying is death. The life of friendship is a lovely series of accords, the common key note of which dies away when the friend departs from the world. Inwardly, indeed, it leaves an echo that resounds for a long while, and the music therefore continues: but the accompanying harmony is lost, to which I was the key note, and this harmony was mine, as that which is in me was his. My action in him has ceased, therefore is a part of life lost. In dying, every living being deals out death, and he who has lost many friends by death, dies at last by their hand, because excluded from all action upon those who constituted its world, and thrown back upon itself, the spirit consumes itself.”³

The passage is somewhat obscure, as is indeed the whole of the little book, but if it can but be understood, that will suffice. For the rest, dearest, I believe, I read even less than you do of general literature. I have so many serious studies on hand that I can find no time for it, and even the most remarkable publications of the day I learn to know only by letting my friends narrate to me the most important parts. But then I hope that my studies will in time, if I live long enough, bear good fruits.

[CXXXVIII.] 14th.

That you also were unable to write on my birthday is another of those strange coincidences which we have repeatedly remarked. I was in an indescribably sad and tender-hearted mood. Partly I suppose this may have been owing to the state of my health, but if I know myself at all, it cannot have been solely ascribable to that. In fact, the mood still continues, for if I would give myself up to it, I might be constantly in the same state. With old papers, and consequently with old times, I was also much occupied, not only on my birthday but during all the latter days of the year. Indeed it belongs to the order of the day with me on such occasions, and very naturally so, because during this period of the year I place all the letters received in the course of it, in the portfolios to which they belong. This time I was more particularly absorbed in Schlegel’s letters, which I filed regularly for the first time, because the earlier ones remained for a long while in Henrietta Herz’s hands. I pondered deeply on the strange and various turns which this connection has taken, and on the influence which it has exercised over me in manifold directions, and no doubt will continue to exercise; it will ever remain one of the most remarkable epochs of my life.

During the last night of the century my thoughts were much with you and with the congregation in general; indeed they always are during the first hour of the new year and on the first Easter morning, being drawn towards you by the remembrance of the beautiful and most appropriate manner in which the festivals are celebrated among you. Of your illuminations, the effect of which was not, I dare say, impaired by the moonlight, I drew in my mind a most agreeable picture. Here the night was not celebrated with any solemnity; there was neither ringing of bells nor firing of cannon, and the most people made the transit while drinking, gambling, or dancing, for on all sides I heard of balls and punch parties. I had only to preach in the afternoon of New Year’s Day, and was therefore able to go in the morning to the Cathedral, which was much fuller than usual, and where the whole court was present. Mr. Stosch, one of the chaplains in ordinary, is one of our best preachers, but on such days it is rare that any man satisfies the expectations raised, and he was not more fortunate than others. After the sermon the hymn Te Deum laudamus, as altered by Niemeyer, was sung, and then again I thought with a sigh of the congregation. As the Te Deum is so rarely performed, nobody knew how to sing it; they were always waiting for the organ, and the voluntaries at the end of the verses, as also the repetitions, so confused the people that they were generally a verse behindhand or beforehand. Christmas joys I had none this year; at the distribution of Christmas gifts I have, indeed, never been present while in this place, but I was generally at the Eichmanns’ early enough to see the children in their first exultation. This year, however, I did not go. How I wish I could have been in the Institute with you and S——! Such simple and natural pleasures are dearer to me than any of those that other people run after with so much eagerness. The sight of women and children rejoicing in the gifts which they bestow and receive, would, I am sure, always have a cheering effect upon me, while the pleasures of art and even the contemplation of nature mostly tend to increase my melancholy. A large party always makes me feel light-headed, and a concert, an opera, or a play sometimes makes me good for nothing for a whole week, while a simple song sung at the piano has the most beneficial effect upon me. In consequence, I have not partaken of any such gaieties during the winter, but I mean to go to the last performance at the opera and to hear Haydn’s “Creation,” which you also praise. Judging by what I have heard about it, I fancy, however, that I shall not like it. That you have now a piano in your room I consider a great advantage.

[CXXXIX.] Berlin, 21st June, 1801.

I thought it would be so, dear Lotte, when one post day after the other went by without my being able to write. I felt sure, as has proved to be quite correct, that a letter would come from you before I had despatched or even commenced mine, and I have spared myself no reproaches. Yet they were nothing compared to what I feel now that I see that my silence led you to hope that I was about to pay you a visit, a hope which I see no possibility of realizing this year, and the disappointment of which must be so bitter and painful to you. I did expect that in the meanwhile Carl would have written a few words at least to let you know how matters stood. Many things concurred to prevent my writing. First of all, since the commencement of this year I have really been industrious to a degree which I believe I never before attained; but the obligation was there and I could not but comply, that is to say, what I consider obligation, a necessity induced by my given promise and by various friendly relations. Even a great part of the time which used to be devoted to social intercourse I have spent, together with friends and acquaintances, in studies connected with this work. All this has been very trying to my eyes, as I have had to look constantly from one book into another, from Greek to Latin, then again to German print, and between whiles into manuscripts in various handwritings, while at the same time the pen has never been out of my hand, and I have had to make annotations in various cahiers. After having worked and written myself tired in this way, I was inclined to nothing less than to sit down to write again, and to you I had so much to say and wished to write in peace and quiet; for letters which were dashed off in ten minutes I wrote not a few of. As to peace and quiet, there were other reasons besides why I could not find these. From all sides unpleasant thoughts and feelings rushed in upon me: Carl, with his affair which seems never to come to a termination; Eleanore G———, with her ever-renewed and seemingly never-ending sorrows; Schlegel and his unpleasant position, which has been aggravated in a manner peculiarly painful to me; and many minor cares oppressed my heart and mind: and besides waiting for time and leisure, I waited with childlike trust until something should occur to give a favourable turn to some one or other of these cases. However, nothing has occurred; but as I can at present allow myself a little respite from work and may devote an hour now and then to writing, I will boldly commence a goodly epistle, but which, I foresee, will not contain all that I would fain communicate!

Let me begin by reversing the order of things, and touching upon your letter which I received this afternoon just as I was starting for a walk. Would to God that what you tell me therein about yourself were more consolatory!

23rd, Evening.

I left off here the day before yesterday, because I became overwhelmed by a flood of thoughts and feelings from which I could not extricate myself. At the same time I felt a greater longing than ever to satisfy your wish that we should meet before this year draws to a close, and I pondered in vain to find out some possible means of effecting this. Probably you know from experience how much such pondering exhausts one; and you will not therefore be surprised, more especially as I had had a fatiguing day of preaching, that I was obliged to seek refreshment in sleep, which, even on such occasions, rarely fails to come at my call.

Yesterday I could scarcely command a couple of hours in the forenoon for work; I dined with our old uncle Reinhard, and in the evening I was at Mrs. G———‘s, where was assembled the greater part of her family, who all treat me with much friendliness and kindness; and be it understood, the ground I had to traverse to reach her house, taking into the account a few errands which I executed on the way, comprised no less than a mile and a half. I mention this to show you how, even when a person lives a very retired life, many a day may, so to say, be lost in this great city. To-day I have made up for what I neglected yesterday, and shall now allow myself a little further gossip with you.

Your change of room I feel to be a really mournful and heartrending event, and an event, moreover, which tempts me to be very angry with the people yonder. Do they not know what pain such a change inflicts upon a human soul like yours? And what necessity was there for routing you out of your dear little nook? And what right have they to torment you in this way? But might you not, though they could not understand the other reasons, at all events, have objected to the removal to the upper story on account of your health? And to be put among uncultivated people! Can there possibly be a reasonable ground for such a change? That you should be removed from the Institute is comprehensible, as on account of your sickliness it might be better for the children that it should be so, but this! Only a short time ago I was reading how, in the month of November last, you were celebrating the anniversary of your taking possession of that room, and were rejoicing at having lived three consecutive years in the same spot. Thus we are often deprived of a thing when we are the most thankfully conscious of the happiness it bestows. It has made me quite sad. How long may it not last before you find up yonder a being whom you can admit into your heart, or who will be able to derive any benefit from your character and from the treasures of your soul? The piano you will also have to do without, for, I dare say, they have not got one up there. In reference to your mode of life, such a change is just as great as when any of us who are living in the world are removed to a strange city; and I feel in regard to it as I should if my superiors had forced me, or could force me, to accept a living in a very small place among uncultivated people. But I had better stop, for at present I can talk of nothing else; and, after all, talking will not make things better.

[CXL.] 1st July.

During the last days I have done my utmost to realize your presentiment regarding my visit to you, and this is the reason why I have not written. As long as there was the slightest hope, the undertaking appeared before me in such lively colours that I could not help believing in it; but now I see the determined impossibility before me. I have made every effort and have waited to secure every chance, but neither time nor money will allow of it; and now I will, therefore, endeavour to write on uninterruptedly, so that my letter at least may soon be with you. I will not even wait for the money which you want, for a couple of weeks may elapse before this is forthcoming; but whether I shall be able to write on all the subjects that you would like to hear of, that is a question.

I believe that I mentioned to you that I had fallen out with Sack on account of the manner in which he expressed his views of my connection with Schlegel, and that in consequence I had not seen him since the beginning of last year. The Eichmanns told me at the beginning of the winter already that he had written me a long letter explanatory of all the differences between us; but this epistle did not come to hand. On the contrary, instead of receiving this friendly epistle, I had very distinct proofs of his having endeavoured to injure me in the opinion of the minister, or at least of his having talked very incautiously, and done various imprudent things that might have injured me. Such things do not, however, make a very great impression upon me. Therefore, far from feeling any anger against him, I continued as before to show him every politeness in my power; and among others I sent him a copy of the sermons that I had published. This drove matters to a head, and the epistle that had been held back five months came at last, accompanied by a note, which was to serve as introduction, and which contained an acknowledgment of the copy of sermons.

The letter began with complaints at my strange choice of friends, whereby probably he meant Henrietta Herz and Schlegel,⁴ though he did not name them; next he proceeded to complain of my philosophical system, in doing which he attributed to me, in consequence of a perfect misunderstanding of some of my expressions, a system which he characterized as opposed to all religion, and which is in reality not at all my system. On this were based the further conclusions, that it could not possibly be any desire of my heart, but merely interested motives and fear of the world, that made me remain in the clerical profession; that, however edifying my sermons might be, those persons who learnt to know me more intimately, or who were acquainted with my system (according to which all this was mere superstition), could derive no blessing from them; that he could not reconcile all this with his former opinion of me, &c. &c.

In regard to most of the things that he put forward, I felt as if I had dropped from the clouds, as I had never suspected that I could be so thoroughly misunderstood. The letter was now and then very bitter in tone, and was garnished with occasional side hits; but, upon the whole, it was, no doubt, well meant. I answered him, therefore, in a very gentle and friendly tone; pointed out to him, in as few words and as delicately as possible, that he had entirely misunderstood my philosophical expressions; took no notice of the oblique hits, which had, more particularly, reference to literary matters; and only justified myself very circumstantially in all matters regarding my character, because, in my eyes, this is the most important point. He had mentioned his own letter to his children and to the Eichmanns, and had even shown it to his brother-in-law, Spalding; but of my answer he said not a word to any one, until I begged them expressly to inquire whether he had duly received it. Then only he mentioned it to Spalding, and promised to show it to him. I showed my answer, before I despatched it, to Alexander and to Henrietta Herz—to the latter, because I could not, and would not, avoid naming her and speaking of her—and afterwards I read both the letters to Mrs. Eichmann and her mother, who were here at the time, and indicated a desire to hear them; and all these parties expressed their approbation. What impression the letter made upon Sack himself I know not, except that he said cursorily to Spalding, that he was not quite satisfied with it.

It is a great satisfaction to me that the Eichmanns and Spalding have throughout this affair been so very friendly, and that they have entirely approved of my conduct. Even Sack’s children constantly inquire about me in the most amiable manner, are pleased when they meet me, and some of them always go to church when I preach in the town, be it ever so far off.

And now for a piece of agreeable intelligence. In the first half of the month of May I made a little excursion to Prenzlau. The Herzes were going thither, to pay a visit to a sister who is married there, and, as they invited me, I availed myself of the opportunity to make a little journey. When it came to the point Herz could not go, as he had some patients who were dangerously ill; but as none of us care about these matters of prudery, I went with Mrs. Herz and her youngest sister—my little daughter as I call her.

My chief reason for undertaking the journey was to learn to know a certain pastor W———, and a young theologian by name Von Willich, both of whom I had heard of through the Herzes and other friends, and who had also heard a great deal about me, and were as anxious to make my personal acquaintance as I was to make theirs. In Willich I have found a sincere friend, who loves me much, who takes great part in everything that concerns my inner and my outer life, and understands it all; and in whom I, on my side, find so much that is good and beautiful, that we have become heartily attached to each other. I was there only three days, but then we were together almost the whole of the time. Willich was generally in the house until late at night, and was there again early in the morning, and such a variety of subjects were touched upon and discussed, that we learnt to know each other, and, therefore, to like each other, in less time than is usual with me; for I am not apt to give myself away, do not immediately try to appear in a brilliant and favourable light before people, and am very cautious in my first judgment of others and very reserved in communication with them on slight acquaintance. Mrs. Herz thinks that in general I am too reserved, and perhaps you may like to hear what she has written to me relative to this particular case. You still say that you cannot form to yourself any conception of the relation that exists between us; perhaps a few written lines of hers will help you to understand it.

I must tell you first that Henrietta Herz remained a fortnight longer in Prenzlau than I did, and that I returned home alone by the mail, which leaves late in the evening; that we spent the last hours together at her sister’s, and that Wolf and a few other friends of the house, who do not belong to our conclave, drank punch and sang songs (among others Schiller’s Ode to Joy), and that during the singing Willich and I communed in silence with each other. Soon after Mrs. Herz wrote to me thus: “Something has happened that I thought was impossible; you have become dearer to me than ever; not that I have discovered anything new or beautiful in you, for I have long known all that is in my friend; but the ease and openness with which you met Willich, the amiable good-will which you evinced to show yourself to him exactly as you are, has rendered you much, much dearer to me. All this is, indeed, part of your nature, but it so often remains concealed; you think: ‘It is time enough; we shall remain long together;’ but in this case there was no time to lose, and you used the precious hours gloriously. But, in truth, you have not wasted the sweet gift; Willich is full of you, and he has given a rich return for what he received. My heart was very full when you went away; I had watched with heartfelt joy and emotion the manner in which you and Willich met each other during the song, and if I did not join in the chorus it was because it was impossible for me to utter a tone or a word, the emotion which I experienced was so great; but willingly would I have pressed the hands of both to my heart, and given to the one friendship such as I had already bestowed upon the other. They all went away and left me.” (The rest of the party accompanied me to the post-office, Mrs. Herz remaining behind, because she was not well, and was obliged to avoid the night-air.) “I was glad to find myself alone, for I could thus think of you undisturbed. I felt happier than I had been for a long time; with true devotion I felt all that is good and beautiful—with devotion and deep, rich emotion. The others returned, Willich seated himself beside me, he was equally moved, and in holy stillness we remembered you. He whispered to me that it was long since he had felt so religious as during these moments; I rejoiced at the concord, but did not speak.”

How deeply I, on my side, was touched by this, you will readily understand; and, indeed, I can quite conceive that to witness the birth of such a friendship must be peculiarly impressive. I value Willich very highly; he has not Friedrich Schlegel’s great, deep, and all-comprehensive intellect; but he is in many respects nearer to my heart, and his sentiments in and regarding life are more similar to my

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Footnotes

1. Hülsen was born of humble parents in Mark Brandenburg, and fled from home to avoid military service. His youth was spent in the most painful poverty; and only in mature age he found the means of devoting himself to study and to the development of his intellect. Bold and paradoxical by nature, he first brought himself into notice by a severe and satirical essay, written in answer to a prize question issued by the Academy of Berlin. Subsequently, Hülsen married a lady of noble birth, a woman of superior mind and great refinement, and with her fortune purchased a farm in Holstein, where he devoted himself to agriculture and science, and spent the rest of his life in contented retirement.—TRANS. ↩

2. The children of a friend; she had none of her own. ↩

3. This passage occurs towards the end of the section headed “Prospects,” in the Monologues, published at that time anonymously by Schleiermacher. ↩

4. The following are the noble, manly words in which he answered this point in his letter to Sack (published in Studien und Kritiken for 1850).—TRANS. “Never will I be the friend of a man of disreputable principles; but never either will I, out of fear of the world, withdraw the consolation of my friendship from any one who has innocently incurred its ban; never will I, on account of my profession, allow myself to be guided in my actions by the false appearances which determine others, instead of by the true nature of the circumstances. Were this maxim to be allowed sway, we ecclesiastics would be outlaws in the domain of sociability; for every calumny against a friend, provided it were invented with sufficient cleverness to secure belief, would banish us from his society. Far from submitting to this, the aim which I propose to myself is to lead a life so uniformly blameless, that in time I may bring it so far, that no unfavourable light shall fall upon me on account of any undeserved evil repute in which my friends may stand; but that, on the contrary, my friendship may shed a favourable light on their reputation.” ↩