In the summer of 1824 the health of several of the children rendered sea-bathing desirable. In consequence the mother went with all the children (with the exception of the eldest son, who was attending the gymnasium) and their governess to the island of Rügen, where she selected the remote and most romantically situated fishing hamlet of Sassnitz, in the district of Stubnitz, for their place of residence—an undertaking fraught with no little difficulty, as no preparations for the reception of strangers existed there, and two cottages had to be given up by their rural inhabitants before the guests could find room. Nevertheless, his “wife’s idyl,” as Schleiermacher called it, was carried through cheerfully, and it seems that this first visit of strangers to Sassnitz led to others, in consequence of which the little village has now almost risen to the importance of a regular bathing place.
Schleiermacher joined his family towards the close of their visit to Rügen, and spent a few days with them at Sassnitz. During the interval the following letters were interchanged between husband and wife.
Schleiermacher to his Wife.
[CCCCXVII.] Berlin, July 16th, 1824.
My dear heart, I shall say nothing about how my thoughts have accompanied you and the dear little tribe, and how they still accompany you… . . I fancied that when you were gone I should feel as in my former days of bachelorhood. But that was very foolish; for I know and feel it every moment, that you and all of them belong to me, and even my outward life becomes quite different through this consciousness. God be with you, and let you enjoy much that is good and beautiful. Give my best love to all the dear Götemitz people, and more especially to our sister Lotte. I hope I shall soon receive accounts from you. Greet and kiss all my little folks. On Sunday it will be the anniversary of the day at the Brunnenau. Will you remember it, I wonder? No, I think not; dates are not your strong point.
[CCCCXVIII.] Tuesday evening.
… . This forenoon we buried the old B——. Nicolovius was present, and shed a few tears when I pronounced the prayer at the grave, because it reminded him of his wife. He begins again to see everything in black, and is very anxious as to what evil may be brewing at Johannisberg, where, as I suppose you have heard, all kinds of ministers have been in conference with Metternich. Indeed, it appears that he even fears that I may be persecuted from that quarter… … While taking my solitary tea, I have been working a little, and also giving audience to various thoughts. They ended with the wish, that becomes ever more earnest, that I may be allowed to devote a greater part of the latter end of my life to you all, and to working for posterity, than I have been able to do hitherto. This wish has taken very strong hold of me just now, but for the present I will conclude with one that lies nearer still, viz., that I may soon learn where you are, in order that I may be able to form a more vivid picture of your condition. This evening, I think I may with pretty much certainty send my “good night” to Götemitz… …
[CCCCXIX.] Wednesday evening.
To-day I have dined quite alone with Lotte. In the afternoon came your note announcing your safe passage across the water. Thank God for this; but now that you have arrived at the port of your destination, I begin to see more clearly how long our separation is likely to last.
This evening, immediately after tea, Bettina came to take leave. She was exceedingly civil, and said many clever things… . . Old Hennefuss1 has seen you at an inn with all the children. I suppose it was when you sought refuge from the storm… . .
[CCCCXX.] Monday, 26th July.
… . M——‘s letter, about which I could not write more fully the other day, has, in fact, made me quite melancholy. I do not see how you will be able to exist where you are with any degree of comfort. Supposing even that the discomfort of the clay floor can be mitigated by the aid of planks and bedsteads, how will you all be able to manage in the daytime in the miller’s one little room? And how is any reading or writing to go on there? I am very much afraid that when you are not in the woods, or on the seashore, you will be wretchedly situated, and I am longing intensely for your first letter from Sassnitz. A little taste of camp-life I had no objection to your having, and I even rejoiced at the thought that many little anxieties would be overcome in that way, and that you would learn to see that less warm covering and greater freedom in running about in the open air was quite compatible with safety in regard to health; but these privations seem to me too great. However, I trust entirely to you, and feel sure that you will do all for the best… . . Here, everything is as usual. I have not yet seen Lotte to-day, and do not know whether she is to dine with me tête-à-tête. After dinner, I am to attend an academical conference, and after that, I think I shall go to see the French Hercules, of whom S—— spoke so very highly last Friday when I went from the Spanish Society to the Spanish equestrians. I still feel the necessity of some diversion during the tea-time. To sit upon the sofa and swallow down two or three cups of tea, and then go back to the writing-desk, makes me too melancholy.
Yesterday I witnessed a very touching scene. I arrived rather early at the Werder Church, where I was to preach for Küster, and thus heard the end of Palmier’s French sermon, and afterwards saw him and the other pastors of the church and the elders fall upon each other’s neck in the sacristy, and weep bitter tears. They were taking leave of the church, where they might have remained in peace and quiet for another century, had it not come within range of the destructive building mania, and an edifice that is far too small has been assigned to them in exchange. This arbitrary mode of proceeding—this absence of all consideration for the feelings of others, is very revolting; and I was obliged to exert myself very much to prevent the impression that this scene had made upon me from disturbing me in the delivery of my sermon… …
God be with you, dear heart, and with all our loved ones, and do write the oftener, the more uncertain the delivery of the letters is, that is to say, as often as the circumstances amid which you live will allow; and keep in your heart your old faithful husband.