[CXLIII.] 11th June, 1801.

If it were not so disagreeable to you, I would fain begin by seriously declaring myself to be a most harassed individual; for I am just now feeling it very keenly again, and if you would but seek for the sense of the word in the proper direction, you would find that I am right. It is all owing to the somewhat oppressive relation in which I stand to science and to art. It is true that I undertake nothing to which my genius does not instigate me, for that would be a most unnatural proceeding. I do not either find it difficult, according to my mode of producing works, to shape my thoughts into a rounded form for communication, and then to put this forward in a manner which, viewed from the stage that I have at present attained, seems to me satisfactory. This facility alone gives me the ever-renewed assurance that writing is my vocation and belongs to my life. If, therefore, I felt myself at liberty to produce again and again such works as I have hitherto written, in which I move exclusively within my own sphere, then there would be no question of my being harassed. But to make myself acquainted with the works and the thoughts of other people, within the provinces where mutual action and reaction is unavoidable—in short, mere reading and studying, costs me unutterable labour, partly because of my want of skill in setting about it, partly because nature helps me but very little, having more especially denied me a good memory. If it were only the ancients I had to do with, I should not be so badly off, for into their thoughts I penetrate with ease. I have also a natural liking for philological studies, and am very assiduous to them, as I ought to be; and I think that, after some years of practice, I shall be able to do something in this direction. But the modern writers, and more particularly the philosophers, must have been created to torture me. You would hardly believe what enormous trouble it costs me to take in such a book, even so far as to be able to render an account to myself of what the writer really means, what object he has in view, and what is his stand-point. And yet it is impossible for me to do as Fichte does, break off in the middle, and take it for granted that there is nothing in the book. Fichte’s own writings being among the best, belong also to those which I understand with the greatest facility; but the less excellent they are, the more they torment me. I still remember with sorrow that I spent and lost four weeks in mastering the Destiny of Man, so far as to be able to write the strange stuff about it that was published in the Athenæum; and of his “report, clear as the sun,” which I think will not in future be counted among his best things, I stand in a kind of holy awe. Then it has further to be taken into consideration, that for this very reason, I believe, and with right, that I am called to exercise the vocation of critic. For a man who takes so much trouble about books, and whom it costs so much labour to become acquainted with them, must have a right to give his opinion on their value.

You see, my friend, these are my troubles, and in less than ten years I do not count upon getting over them. At present, when I except some minor critical papers, relative to which I have unfortunately engaged my word, I feel myself quite comfortable, because I am only working at Plato. But, next year, I mean to write a critical inquiry into ethics, such as they have hitherto been understood, as an introduction to my own system of morals; and only fancy the immensity of reading that this will require, as I shall be obliged to begin the whole series of systems over again, and to work my way through them anew.

Apart from these matters, I do not easily allow myself to be troubled. Sorrows of the most serious kind are weighing upon me, sorrows connected with the fate of a beloved being, whose possession would complete my life, as mine would hers; sorrows for a friend—for I must give Friedrich Schlegel this name, although not in its widest sense—whose distresses have their inexhaustible source in his own soul; and many other sorrows of a similar nature, not to mention my cosmopolitan interests, which often cause me great excitement of mind: but all this has not the power of troubling me, or of disturbing the composure of my soul in the very slightest degree, and still less can personal annoyances do this, although of these, God knows, I have my share. And now you know how you are to understand my being troubled and harassed, and you will feel that you may bestow a little pity on me in consequence, without allowing the matter to distress you very much.

With Mrs. Herz I generally spend the hours from one to five every day; we dine together, read, chat, and walk. The greatest delight would be to spend a whole forenoon with her, but that we have not yet been able to accomplish. Yesterday we amused ourselves with an abusive criticism of the Monologues in the Deutsche Bibliothek. It seems to belong to the order of the world, or, at least, of our times, that the most sacred things, and the most ludicrous, should be found side by side; for I could not refrain from hearty laughter on reading this, and, on reflection, it even seemed to me quite natural that the Monologues should give rise to a joke of this kind. But how willingly I turned again to their more serious aspect, and how happy and reverent I then felt at once! That you were in my thoughts you may conceive, for are you not the best of what I owe to them, and as regards you, I know for certain, and I see it anew in your letters, you have understood their innermost meaning as clearly as it is given.

But why should my slowness of apprehension have made you fear that I should take one-sided views only. On the contrary, it is this very slowness that is my best security against one-sidedness; for it has its source in the maxim, that every detail is but a part of a whole, and that we must first have mastered the several parts in order to understand the whole; it is, therefore, nothing more than a patient waiting for a perfect comprehension, and a sincere dislike of all one-sided conclusions, and of a precipitate and super-sapient valuation of human character, based upon a knowledge of individual features only. Do not therefore fear my mental revolvings and solutions when I imagine that I have discovered contradictions in you; I shall not be able to abstain from these; but, depend upon it, it is good that it should be so. There is no true knowledge but that which has been acquired by our own labour; and the same holds good as to knowledge of men; and it would be unpardonable laziness were I to put questions to you directly a cursory thought glances through my head. On the contrary, before doing this, I will look well on all sides, so as either to destroy the impression, or to make it more distinct; but when I think that I have completed it, then I will ask you whether it is correct. You will soon learn to know how I proceed in these matters, and I think you will not disapprove! But why do you presuppose that I shall imagine that I see contradictions in you? I am not at all likely to do so. In reference to real and true men and women, I always start with the supposition that whatever is in them belongs to their nature, and I am so slow to admit the opposite conviction, that I am, indeed, often accused of being too indifferent, or too indulgent in regard to their so-called defects.

[CXLIV.] June, 1801.

… . Besides meeting all the nice people whom you expect to see in Rügen, and dwelling amid those wonderful natural scenes for which you have so much taste, it will also be a delight and a happiness to be in a place where you spent your early youth, and to which the first memories of your life are attached. Such a place there is not for me. Since I was eight years old I have never been three consecutive years in one place, until I came to Berlin, and these constant changes of locality and of society have obliterated many traces of my past life. Therefore, also, I have no love for my native city, and for my native land I have only the same affection as strangers feel for it, as a beautiful and smiling country. To one locality only in it I feel really attached, though I spent no more than a few months there; but these were very remarkable months, for during that period occurred the first movements in my inner life. As I have a sister living there who is very dear to me, this also often makes me long to be there again, and I should like very much to go this summer, if it were possible.

About Muhrbek also, you will, I dare say, tell me more when you have seen him. Among other things I should like very much to know what he thinks of the latest phenomena in the world of philosophy, I mean the Schelling-Novalismus, as Fichte calls it, or the Spinozismus, as Schelling calls it. I am afraid these two men will soon scandalize the world by an open contest, which I hope they will at all events carry on with dignity and moderation! I expect many good results from it. What Schelling has just put forward (in the last number of his Journal for Speculative Physics) may not, perhaps, belong to the domain of philosophia prima; it is, however, very original, and very beautiful, and I hope much good from it. I think that the limits of philosophy will at length come under discussion, and if nature be placed beyond these bounds, then there will be room for mysticism beyond the limits of philosophy on the other side. Fichte, with his acquired virtuosoship in idealism will, indeed, feel very uncomfortable during the operation; but where is the harm? In what you say of Nicolai, you are quite right. There is a good deal in it that is quite a failure. Fichte and Friedrich, and in some measure, also the elder Schlegel, cannot refrain, on such occasions, from saying or doing something that people can lay hold of, and whereby the cause gains nothing. They are generally so much in love with such passages that they do not see how greatly they injure their own objects by it.

Farewell, and be happy! How I spend my time here you know; this summer I enjoy fewer long walks and other such pleasures than ever. But there is not much lost by it in this place, and Plato keeps me seriously at work. In addition to this, the perturbations in the orbit of philosophy cause many thoughts to flit through my brain, and I feel that in some way or other I shall put in my oar; but then again I determine to take my time. The world, and more especially the philosophers, are still in my debt for much that I have given them, though they have not accepted it.

Schleiermacher to his sister Charlotte.

[CXLV.] Berlin, 10th November, 1801.

It is true, dearest, I cannot lack material for communication, after having been such an immense time without writing to you. The cause of this long silence you have partly learnt from the little note that accompanied the money, which I hope has come safely to hand, and its further causes you will be able to glean from my narrative. I will, therefore, not stop to make any further preliminary observations, but will at once give you the intelligence of the death of our dear Friederike, because, though it is not the first event in order of time, it is one of which I cannot yet think without deep sadness. The enclosed letters, which I have copied expressly for you, in order that you should not lose any of the details connected with this interesting subject, will tell you all.

What Alexander writes about Friederike’s tranquillity of soul and cheerful composure, Louis has repeated to me with deep emotion, and the great veneration, which both brothers evince for their sister, has rendered them still dearer to me. With Alexander I find fault, and I have told him so, because though he witnessed her composure of mind, he, nevertheless, endeavoured to prevent them from speaking to her of death. She must at last have remarked it, and have thought that they avoided it because it was too affecting to them. This over-refinement in their treatment of each other is a real drawback in the upper and cultivated classes! How many precious words might not the departed have spoken! And what could be more interesting than to know how such a being contemplated the end of life, and what she felt in reference to it. Louis deplores with me that it should have been so. To me it seems a great and sublime as well as a loveable trait that, in as far as her physical state would allow of it, she continued her usual mode of life to the last. A few days only before her death she was still employed on some delicate needlework, and occupied herself with reading instructive books. And now, I will speak no more of her for the present, but leave you, as well as myself, to our own feelings. Peace be with this loveable, glorious soul!

From another side also my life begins to assume a value which it has not had previously, and even a certain brilliancy, if I may say so. Though it is but little that I have hitherto been able to be and to do in regard to the public, I am, nevertheless, beginning to exercise an influence on the opinions of the cultivated and more superior minds among them; I am esteemed by the so-called philosophers, and from far and near I draw pious souls towards me in all sincerity. I may say that I have worked a blessing to many, and if I retain strength and health to finish some important works which I have in hand, I foresee that I shall acquire still greater influence as regards these matters, and also in respect to various sciences; and that I shall, in a few years, be numbered among the more renowned individuals, whose words carry a certain weight. However agreeable this would be to me, not only because it would flatter my natural vanity, but also because it would secure to me a pleasant sphere of activity in the world, I should nevertheless count it as nothing compared to the prospect of a quiet, cheerful domestic life; and I would not hesitate, were it necessary in order to be able to enjoy the latter, to consent even to such a change in my position as would entirely exclude me from a wider field of influence, and in a great measure impede my scientific progress. Except in domestic life, all that we enjoy and all that we attempt, is but vain illusion. That alone endures which we effect quietly within the domestic circle; and to the few beings that constitute this we may really be much, and for them we may do much.

That the elder Schlegel was here the greater part of the summer, you know. In the month of August he returned to Jena, but is already back again, and intends to remain the whole winter. He also draws largely on my sympathies. I do not know whether I ever mentioned to you the sad state of things between him and his wife? … . How much this pains me, how deeply I pity Wilhelm, I cannot tell you. Upon the whole there is no such difficult matter in the world as marrying. When I look at all my friends, far and near, it makes my heart sad to think of how few happy marriages there are among them.

Schleiermacher to E. von Willich.

[CXLVI.] 13th December, 1801.

You have learnt from Jette, dear friend, the cause that has hitherto prevented me from writing to you, and which upon the whole leaves me little time to devote either to present or absent friends. I mean the long-wished-for presence of the man who is, in many respects, so exceedingly dear to me. As far as regards himself personally, I have found him quite unchanged, both as to his points of attraction for me and his points of divergence from me; but in power of thought, in comprehensiveness of knowledge, in art and science, he has made still further progress. His thoughts and opinions have taken more distinct shape, into the nature and essence of poetry he has more particularly penetrated deeply, and in the next few years we shall, no doubt, obtain from him a series of essays on various subjects, which will all be more or less masterly. He has written a tragedy to the construction of which various objections will, no doubt, be raised; but all the details are so thoroughly and purely tragic, and the whole is composed in so grand a style, that in spite of these theoretical objections it will not fail to make an impression on simple minds. It is based upon an old Spanish romance, and is in course of publication.

When I except Plato, he and I shall, therefore, for a time proceed along different paths as regards our literary labours. In writing poetry he will prepare the production of his somewhat poetical, theoretical philosophy, while I shall embody my practical philosophy in various works, several of which will, at least as far as the mode of expression is concerned, approach towards a poetical form.

That Friedrich’s presence here should cause your coming to be deferred, is indeed a disagreeable circumstance; but should you find a good opportunity later, nothing will have been lost by the delay. I could not at all events enjoy you both at the same time, as you are not acquainted with each other, and Friedrich by no means belongs to those with whom one can rapidly establish friendly relations.

I am curious to know what you will think of my sermons when you have read them—you and the Countess; for you know how much value I place on feminine judgment. Of opinions publicly expressed a few only have as yet come to my knowledge, and these were very laudatory; but that which I seek for in such, viz., profound and detailed criticism, I found not therein. One of the reviewers declares war against me because of the mention I have made of my never writing down my sermons, and treats the matter as if to do this were the first and most sacred duty of the preacher. Should similar attacks occur oftener, I shall be glad to seize the opportunity of expressing myself fully on this point, in regard to which I hold very heterodox opinions. I should like to chat a good while longer with you about my occupations and my various needs; but time will not allow of this, it is already midnight, and I must at least write one other letter to-night.

[CXLVII.] January, 1802.

… . The fear that you express in regard to us both was, I trust, merely a passing vibration. It is not science that has drawn me towards you, and, therefore, it is not either science that is to bind me to you. You ought to be concerned only with the mode in which I cultivate it, in as far as this is connected with my character. That you will understand this mode and love me on account of it, I believe; for my heart craves for this sympathy on your part, and I am sure you can and will grant it when we shall have had fuller communication on the subject. I am very glad that you judge my sermons entirely in regard to their power of edification; and your testimony to the fact of my attaining this object is of great value to me. Is the Countess of the same opinion? However, they are also discourses, if the word be taken in its ancient acceptation, in which the lucidity of the reasoning and the numerus are the principal points—that is to say, in as far as the subject allows of it, according to my present views. But they are not discourses in the modern sense: that demands a certain amount of metaphor, which is almost quite unknown to the ancients, and also a certain poetical something, which is, nevertheless, not to be poetry. By the critics they have as yet only been praised, but this is of little importance to me.

About the Athenæum, about Schlegel, and about art, we will speak when you are here. Upon the whole I now reserve a great deal for verbal discussion. In many respects I like the Joan of Arc better than the most of Schiller’s other tragedies, because it is more full of life, freer, more poetical; but the real Joan was, however, very different. I have read all the historical facts about her that are known, and it seems to me that something very superior might have been made of the subject.

Schleiermacher to his Sister Charlotte.

[CXLVIII.] Berlin, 19th January, 1802.

It is the long-expected and long-wished-for visit of Friedrich Schlegel that has prevented me from answering your last letter, dear Lotte, and from fulfilling my promise to write to you before the close of the last year. From the 2nd of December until yesterday he lived, or at least dwelt, with me. Had I known beforehand that he would stay so long, I should, of course, have arranged matters differently, and not have allowed myself to be withheld from writing to you. But after the first fortnight already he intended to depart every post-day, and yet he remained, because he could not bring his business to a conclusion. In consequence, I was constantly delaying my letter-writing and other matters, partly in order to enjoy his company as much as possible during the time, and partly in order to be able to write afterwards more in peace and quiet. It is, also, this visit that has made it impossible for me to send you any money. It was rather expensive to me in consequence of its being protracted so much longer than I expected, and also because Schlegel, most unfortunately for himself, has no end of little necessities and self-indulgent habits.

That it was a great pleasure to me to have this long-missed friend with me, you may conceive. Several of the objects of his visit were, indeed, not attained, in spite of its long duration; for instance, we did not devote near as much time as we had intended to conversation and study relating to our common labours; but knowing him as I do, and consequently foreseeing that he would most likely be induced to take part in all kinds of recreations and to enter into all kinds of connections, I had calculated upon this, and was not therefore rendered anxious by it. One thing only I regret, and that is, that the loss of time to me has been so much greater than the enjoyment I have had in Friedrich’s society. During the two years and a half that I have not seen him, his whole nature has become more strongly developed; the tendency of his mind is more evident, he is more decided as to what he will and must effectuate in the world, and so likewise all the traits in his character, which attract me and repel me, stand out more distinctly and decidedly. Henrietta Herz felt more attracted towards him, and was on a more friendly footing with him than formerly, to which, indeed, various circumstances have contributed. The unpleasant feelings associated with the critical period of his connection with her friend, have now passed by; he has, for a length of time, been faithfully attached to this friend, and really makes her very happy, and has lifted her up into a higher sphere of existence than she previously enjoyed; and he is earnestly bent upon legitimizing his connection with her, in the eyes of the world, in the only manner which stands open to them.

What he thought of me, I cannot exactly tell. But I know that he always looked upon me as being, in my way, already completed and unchangeable. He seemed also to have a very correct and clear conception of our points of divergence, and to be conscious of those points in himself which I could not approve of. Many of my acquaintance, who are sincerely anxious for my weal, but who do not know me very intimately, and who misunderstand many things in Schlegel, and take an exaggerated view of such of his qualities as displease them, have also on this occasion felt great alarm lest my close intimacy with him might eventually affect me injuriously, and might untune my mind and lead to changes in my views. But I cannot conceive how any one can entertain such fears, relative to a person, whom they believe to possess any degree of firmness or inner worth, and I leave it to time to prove to them that I am still the same that I ever was.

During this period I have also had the pleasure not only of receiving a letter from Hülsen, who had not written to me since the distressing loss of his wife, but also of making his personal acquaintance. As is generally the case, I found him somewhat different from the picture I had formed to myself from his letters, but the difference was in his favour; he was more cheerful, more childlike, more earthly. The first thing that I said to myself on the subject, and the best that I can say even now, is, that I had always read his letters with too solemn an accent. Our first meeting was very strange. One evening, as I was going to spend an hour with the elder Schlegel, I met, outside his street-door, a tall, dark figure, wrapped in a large cloak, who was awkwardly and vainly fumbling for the bell. I rang the bell, and we went upstairs together without exchanging a word. When we had arrived on the landing, he asked me if Professor Schlegel lived there. I answered in the affirmative, ushered him into the anteroom, and pointed out to him Schlegel’s door, without, however, entering with him, as I wanted first to speak to Schlegel’s host. After a while, when I went in, Schlegel named me by name, and asked me whether I had come together with Hülsen. Hereupon we both exclaimed in one breath, “What, this is Hülsen!” and, “What, this is Schleiermacher!” and then we fell into each other’s arms. After having gazed at each other in silence a few moments, it was as though we had been in the habit of seeing each other daily for years. Hülsen only remained here a few days; he kept me at a distance, and only for one half-hour the first evening in the street had I him entirely to myself; yet it is much to have seen him face to face, and I hope we shall manage to meet once more this year. His grief has by this time lost its poignancy, but the emotion with which he now speaks of his wife will never subside; his life is still out of joint, he has not yet found another fixed point, another object. Our correspondence will, I hope, continue to be very lively. Next Wednesday I expect a similar pleasure, and for this reason I will, in every case, despatch this letter before then. Willich, whom you know from my visit to Prenzlau, is coming with his pupil, a young Count Schwerin, to stay with me a couple of days. This is the real complement of Schlegel’s visit, for Willich possesses all that which I miss in Schlegel. The subjects on which I remain silent to the latter are exactly those on which I can speak most freely to the former; and, on the other hand, in all those directions in which Schlegel imparts instruction to me, and stands far above me, I can impart instruction to Willich.

But while I remember it, dear Lotte, let me mention what the thought of Willich puts me in mind of, as I shall have a great deal of talk with him about sermons. Carl writes me that, in accordance with my desire, he sent you a copy of mine in August already. How is it that you do not allude to them even with one word? If they do not please you, you ought, at all events, to say so; and many things in them ought, I think, to meet with your approval when you take into consideration that they are written for the world. I have, however, others in my mind which will be more to your taste and to mine.

[CXLIX.] 8th February.

… . Willich has been here since the 3rd, and will remain until the 19th. That I derive more enjoyment from his presence than from Schlegel’s you may easily guess. He lives entirely with me and Mrs. Herz. The mornings we usually spend at home, except when he goes out to see some of the curiosities of the city; and either each works by himself, or we read some interesting book together; and as we both take tea for breakfast, we have a nice hour’s chat round the flame of the spirit-lamp, until about nine o’clock. If we dine at home we generally spend the evening with the Herzes, or vice versâ. There, also, we converse on interesting subjects, or read some good work (thus, the last two evenings we have been reading the beautiful novel, which is the last completed work of the late Hardenberg, whose poem, Longing for Death, I once copied out for you); at other times, we meet there an assembly of such persons belonging to the Berlin world as we like the best. At home we read together those works of Schlegel which have the most interest for Willich, or I read to him some of my written thoughts, or some of Hülsen’s or Wedike’s letters. The theatre, I dare say, he will visit repeatedly, and during that time I may get through my most urgent business. Hitherto I have only been once to the play with him, to see Maria Stuart again. Just now he is playing me an evil trick, for he is ill. If, as I hope, there be nothing worse behind it, he has, at all events, a catarrhal fever, and I sit up the greater part of the night to nurse him. His Wilhelm is a good youth, and does not in the least disturb us. He has made friends with the Veits’ eldest son, and seems to be very happy.

I have now made two attempts to inform you what I have been about; and this being accomplished, I may tell you how constantly your concerns have been in my mind. Your letter has made me very sad from the moment I received it up to the present time; and when in the midst of the most joyous mood a change has suddenly come over my spirit, and a veil of sadness has spread itself over my whole being, Henrietta Herz has not known whether to attribute it to thoughts of you or of the painful position of Eleanore G——. Hitherto it has most frequently been thoughts of you, and not only of your state of health, but of the view which you take of it.

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Footnotes

1. Though Schleiermacher was at first disagreeably impressed by Schlegel’s Lucinda, love of his friend, and also a certain love of opposition which was not foreign to his nature, and which was, in this case, roused by what he considered the unjust storm of reprobation which the work called forth, eventually induced him to write a defence of it in the series of letters here alluded to. I am neither acquainted with Schlegel’s book nor with Schleiermacher’s defence of it; but, in reference to both, a recent German reviewer observes, that the astonishment felt at seeing a healthy and pure mind, such as Schleiermacher’s, finding pleasure in the Lucinda, is exceeded by the admiration experienced at beholding the purified reflection of the work furnished by the pure mind.—TRANS. ↩

2. The person here alluded to was Eleanore Grunow, and according to the writer quoted above, it appears from her share in the letters, as it does indeed from Schleiermacher’s letters to her in the present work, that she was distinguished above all his other female friends for the talent which he himself possessed in so pre-eminent a degree, and which he valued so highly in women, viz., the power of observing with extraordinary minuteness, and depicting with distinctness and lucidity, the state of her feelings and the experiences of her inner life.—TRANS. ↩

3. This is in allusion to the use of the pronoun thou, which Schleiermacher henceforward adopts in writing to Willich, and to the custom among the Germans of interlacing their arms and touching each others’ glasses when drinking brotherhood, as it is termed.—TRANS. ↩