In the autumn of 1811 Schleiermacher undertook a journey through Silesia, with a political object in view, as appears from his letters; but the precise nature of this object cannot now be ascertained. The following letters date from the period of his absence.
Henriette Schleiermacher to her Husband.
[CCCLXVI.] Berlin, Monday (No date).
Can you guess, my heart’s own, what I have been doing? I have been transporting Schlegel and hanging your picture opposite to my bed instead of his. Last night, as I was walking to and fro in the room, in somewhat melancholy mood, and full of various thoughts and of longing after you, my eyes fell upon Schlegel, and I felt quite enraged to think that a stranger’s picture was hanging there, and not yours; and I would willingly have effected the change at once.
Tuesday.
I was interrupted in my writing yesterday morning, and calculated upon going on in the evening, but Harscher remained until eleven o’clock, and then I was so fatigued, in consequence of having been disturbed by the children the previous night, that I heard you say quite distinctly, “wife, go to bed,” and I obeyed.
I am sometimes a little weak, my dear husband; at all times and in all places I miss you; and there are moments when I would fain creep into a corner and cry for you from my full heart. Yes, dearest life, without you there is no happiness for me, and it is a hard trial to me that your absence is so protracted. Do you also sometimes miss me a little? I know that I am but a worm; but love me, nevertheless, above all measure, and try not to find out as yet that you could very well do without me. Ah! I ought not to have seated myself here at your writing-desk, where we have so often been sitting, two on one chair, and where the feeling of my present desolateness overcomes me more than anywhere else. As far as outward matters are concerned, I can assure you that great care is taken that I shall not have time to give myself up to my longings. There is always something to be done, and so many little diversions are proposed, that there is neither time for injurious inertness nor beneficial repose… …
Friede got his first smacking to-day. He was as quiet as a mouse, and did not give any signs of pain, but to me it was dreadful pain. As for Elsbetchen, you do not know how sweet it was to see her looking for you in the bed, the first morning; it made me feel quite sad. You can hardly be surprised, dear husband, that that child exercises an immense power over me; only by looking at me, with her bright, cheerful, loving eyes, she can make me rapturously happy whenever she will.
Dearest Ernst, if God has so ordained it that we are to live long together, cheerfully and happy in the midst of our children, ah, then! surely all the good that we now enjoy will go on ever increasing!
There can be nothing more precious than a number of dear, well-favoured children; and I cannot tell you with what emotion I contemplate the picture of a sweet, quiet, domestic life, such as ours will be. It is a pious emotion, and my heart is at the same time full of hope that God will increase my powers, so that everything may become clearer and more living in me, and that my good will may express itself more effectually in action. Ah! and you always form the brightest point in the picture, round which everything else turns, and to which everything has reference. Only pray to God, that He will in no way destroy this life. From His hand only could a real destruction of it come; for the thousand evils which emanate from the world, and which many look upon as a destruction of their happiness, would to us only be a call to exert our powers in manifold ways. My dear husband, if God keep his hand over you and preserve your health, and preserve our sweet children to us, then whatever may be the day’s work allotted to me, I will ever at eve lay my head upon your bosom with a feeling of true contentment, and thank the Lord for my happiness by my happiness. I kiss your hands with tenderest love, my dearest life,
Your JETTE.
Schleiermacher to his Wife.
[CCCLXVII.] Hirschberg, 20th September, 1811.
I received your letter yesterday morning, just as we1 were going to take a drive. I only glanced cursorily at it then to see how matters stood, but afterwards read it properly through while seated close to the Kochelfall, and thanked God with tears, dearest wife, that you are mine. How could I make myself believe that I could do without you? The life that I am now leading seems to me so empty, although I know that I am working for a noble object, and although these days have been rich in enjoyments. But the sweetest part even of these was the remembrance of the time when I revelled in the contemplation of these natural beauties with you. And not only on these occasions, but at all times, I am ever living in thought with you and the dear children in our little home. It is to me like a bright, sunny spot in a beautiful landscape, in the background of which, however, a terrific thunder-storm is gathering. That the storm will prove utterly destructive, I do not anticipate, but much devastation it cannot fail to cause, and we must not hope to enjoy the bright effulgence of the setting sun, until it has passed over. It is the beautiful country that surrounds me, that has given this picturesque turn to my thoughts. Yesterday and to-day I have gone over again the most lovely parts of our tour in Silesia… . .
I cannot tell you how delighted I am with everything that you write. I had my doubts as to whether Elizabeth would look for me, and am, therefore, the more rejoiced to hear that she did. But she will necessarily have forgotten me before I return, and in her relation to me, this journey will be like a wound, which may indeed be easily healed, but which will, nevertheless, leave a scar. Her consciousness of me is interrupted, and will have to be created anew… . . We will look cheerfully and courageously towards the future, for you are right; ruin it cannot bring to us. Even from God, such cannot come—when you except that which comes by death, which is always equally near and equally distant—and the devil has no claim upon us.
Farewell, dear heart, I embrace you most tenderly,
Your ever-faithful ERNST.