Schleiermacher to Henrietta Herz.
[CLVI.] Stolpe, 3rd June, 1802.
Your letter was a most pleasant surprise to me, dear Jette, for I had not hoped for one so soon. But before I go further, let me say one word. I cannot help it, I am just like S——; here in the distance it is quite impossible for me to say you; I do not know why it has such a strange effect on me, nor can I as yet understand why I should find it more difficult to submit to it here than yonder. I think it must be because, when I was there, my whole manner of intercourse with you all, was tantamount to saying thou, though the lips may have said you; and perhaps, also, there was something piquant in the contrast which made the formal mode of address more tolerable. Here the auxiliary language ceases, and the appearance of cold reserve alone remains, which, however, can never in reality exist between you and me. Let me, then, say thou.1 You may do as you like, but I shall be surprised if you do not likewise feel that it is more hearty.
First of all, dear friend, be as cheerful as you possibly can. You know how far I am from expecting that any one can change his or her own nature. Seen from this side, your nature consists herein, that you only live in the future; therefore you are so fond of making plans, therefore you dislike so much to think of death. But, if the whole is not to be an empty circle, the second half of this nature must of necessity be prophetic, and like a prophetess you must see and feel the future in the present. Savour, therefore, now already the joy of all the good that your rare and benevolent activity will effect around you; enjoy now already the repose that you will feel in consequence of having managed so many difficult circumstances with proper judgment, and having remained faithful to yourself in spite of many privations; finally, enjoy now already the distant future which your friends will prepare for you.
Schleiermacher to E. von Willich.
[CLVII.] Stolpe, 15th June, 1802.
This time, dear friend, you have not rendered it difficult for Henrietta Herz to outspeed you; she might have lagged considerably and yet been before you. However, it is not my intention to begin with scolding, although you might ere this have sent your solitary friend a loving word.
Of my life here, there is not much to be said. Up to the present moment I have had to endure the double trouble of paying and receiving visits and of studying the church archives, which I think ought always to be the first business attended to by a clergyman. Next will begin the journeys to the annexed parishes. Human beings I have not as yet found many of, nor have I at all lived, except in the house of my first churchwarden, a merchant, who is called, par excellence, the rich. The family are very kind and friendly to me; they are good-hearted and upright people, but this is all that can be said about them. As yet I have not visited any one who does not belong to my congregation, and, nevertheless, I have not got through any work. Hitherto I have also been entirely cut off from everything literary, and have read nothing except Schelling’s Bruno, which I brought with me. Among the clergy here I do not think there is one literary man. I shall, therefore, be obliged to begin to read journals, and will soon go in search of Pastor Hake, the author of The Grey Portfolio, who lives about a mile from this. Perhaps there is something more in him than his very tolerable prose.
About professional matters I cannot either as yet say much. I seem to give satisfaction, but I have only preached three times, and do not reckon upon my success being permanent. To-morrow I am to begin catechization, and I hope that will do me good.