The Wife to the Husband.

[CCCCXXI.] Sassnitz, 29th July.

My dear, dear husband, yesterday was a day of joy and jubilation to me, for it brought me your letter. Thank God! that it contains nothing seriously distressing, though a melancholy tone runs through part of it. The more important events, the results of which may be so serious, are in the hands of God, and I will not allow my thoughts to dwell on them, and will foster no anxiety in regard to them… … My dear heart, I knew beforehand that it would be a severe trial to us both to be so long separated! … . We arrived here on Friday last in pretty good time and in pretty good weather. Bedsteads and bedding I brought with me from Götemitz; so that by writing more explicitly, I might have saved you the anxiety you suffered under on that account. But the confusion was great until the bedsteads were put up, and everything brought in order. The miller’s room is smaller than I expected, but the people are very kind and willing to serve. The house in which we are to sleep has indeed been whitewashed, but, nevertheless, the inhabitants had left enough of their own atmosphere behind them to make it very disagreeable for us the first nights and mornings, until habit, which reconciles us to everything, had come to our assistance; and now that we have had the clay floors covered with clean straw, over which we have spread linen sheets, we are tolerably comfortable. I console myself with the reflection that the air in the sleeping-house is more disagreeable than unwholesome; and the whole day long we are in the delicious, invigorating, open air. The situation of the village is very favourable. Against the west winds, that prevail during this season, it is quite sheltered by the forest-clad hills; and we take the most delightful walks, in spite of the cold, windy weather. The first evening, as you may have perceived by my last letter, was a very trying one to me. I felt so very desolate; anxiety about the children weighed heavily upon me, and I spent the greater part of the night in prayer to God to keep his hand over us, and to lead everything to a happy issue… . . Provisions have as yet never failed us; on the contrary, we have had good and wholesome food every day, though of course, no variety, and everything is very plain; but this is so much the better… . . We have been taking a very nice walk, and been sitting in the wood, where I read aloud a letter which you wrote to me to Silesia, when I was in like manner separated from you and alone with the children during the war. I look forward with great pleasure to reading the subsequent letters also. I have brought the whole packet with me. What love and tenderness breathes from that letter! It has given me new spirit. Thank God that you need have no such anxiety about us at present, and that we can now calculate exactly when we are to meet again. I hope to God that I shall be able to bring back all the children in good health. The little ones are full of life and joy. Farewell for to-day, they are just bringing in our supper, which consists of sour milk, and potatoes with their coats on.

Schleiermacher to his Wife.

[CCCCXXII.] Saturday, 31st July.

… . My Saturday evening with the students has again been somewhat spoilt. The weather was so fine that I gave orders that tea should be brought to us in the garden; but instead of coming at eight it did not come until nine, and to make matters worse, they had not put anything round the flame of the lamp, so that it went out every minute; and at last, after many vain endeavours, we were obliged to adjourn to the house in order to obtain boiling water. One of the globes of the garden chandelier was also destroyed on the occasion. That I must light the candles myself every evening, has become quite a matter of course, and so likewise that I must rest content with lukewarm water, because I get tired of repeating that they must let me have fresh cool water. But do not take these matters seriously, dear heart, but laugh at them; for they do not in the least affect me, and even such things as vex me when you are present, I bear with the greatest equanimity now that I am alone. The fact is, it seems to me that as you are not here, it is no matter how wrong things go; but when you are here everything must be excellent and perfect.

I have a burdensome duty to perform to-day, that is, to be present at the election of a rector, where I shall probably see H. Krause, whom I have hitherto so studiously avoided. However, when you find that no one will imitate your mode of proceeding in such matters, you are at last obliged to give up. I did not know how to excuse myself without either telling a falsehood or saying something very bitter, and while I hesitated I lost the opportune moment.

The Wife to the Husband.

[CCCCXXIII.] Sassnitz, Wednesday, 4th August.

… . Since I wrote last, we have been very dissipated. Mrs. W——, H—— and some of his daughters came to see us one beautiful afternoon; they were very friendly, and we endeavoured to do the honours as well as possible. With them came Carl Kathen on horseback, and the appearance of this youth, who is equally beloved by old and young, called forth shouts of joy. He had promised to pay us a visit, and the children almost tore him to pieces with their demonstrations of delight. A bed was made for him in the room at the mill. On the Saturday he persuaded us to undertake an excursion to Stubbenkammer. The weather was most lovely when we started, and we were all in high glee. On the heights we met a good many people, but we did not allow ourselves to be disturbed, but sat down under the green trees and eat potatoes and chocolate, which I had brought with me, without heeding the world around us; but a storm with heavy showers, soon poured its attentions upon us. We were obliged to leave our verdant bower; the sickly ones sought shelter in a house, the stronger ones remained before the door; and there we remained chained to one spot from two o’clock until six, while the rain poured down incessantly. At this hour it began to clear, and we set ourselves in movement, homewards. But, alas, the sunshine was but short! In a little while it began again to pour so heavily that our cloaks were not proof against it. Fearing that we might catch cold, I ordered the coachman to go round by Sagard, whereby also we avoided the bad road through the forest, which was quite dangerous after the rain. When it stopped raining we enjoyed a wonderfully beautiful spectacle; the sun shone forth just before it set, and shed through the surrounding mist, light and hues such as I have never seen before. My heart was very heavy on account of Gertrude, not knowing how she would bear it; and the next day we were all indeed somewhat upset, physically, and Gertrude was paler than usual. Ah, my dear old man, you may conceive that such moments are more trying to me here, than when living in the midst of our daily comforts, in the neighbourhood of the doctor and with all necessary means within reach. However, God holds his hand wonderfully over us, and the second day already we were all right again, and Gertrude the same as before. This morning early we had the joy of receiving your letter, and at the same time a message from Lotte Kathen, to say that she and her daughters and Wilhelm were in Bobbin, and intended to come hither in the afternoon. You may imagine the delight this caused. They were here from three o’clock until seven. We took coffee in “Schleiershall,” and then went to inspect our bathing-place, which was pronounced lovely by everybody, and afterwards we took a sail for about half an hour, which proved very interesting, as the wind suddenly shifted to the east, and caused the waves to rise very high, and our boat was thus kept constantly in a kind of dancing movement. To-morrow we are invited to take coffee at Stubbenkammer with Aunt B——, whom I have not yet seen. You see, that without our doing anything towards it ourselves, we cannot quite avoid dissipation even here. As for lessons, they are not to be thought of; even the days that we remain quietly at home, very little work of any kind is done, and neither time nor the locality will admit of it. I rise at seven and waken up the rest. The children are always very tired, and it is no easy matter to get them out of bed. After breakfast we read a chapter in the Bible and some hymns of Albertini’s; and then remain quietly together until ten o’clock, occupied with our needles. Often, however, various household matters also have to be attended to during this time. At ten I go down to the bathing-place and perform the part of bath-woman, helping one after the other to get into the water and out again. When all have had their dip, I send them forth to run about and get warm, keep Lina Kathen alone with me, take a good rest, and then myself descend into the azure waves, which, I can assure you, is much finer in idea than in reality. By this time the dinner-hour has arrived. After dinner we take a short rest, then drink coffee, then work a little, while one of the party reads aloud, and then walk until sunset, take our supper, and put the little ones to bed. It is then about nine o’clock; but we grown-up people remain up until ten, and then either in total darkness or in beautiful moonshine we leave the mill and wander a pretty good bit of way along the footpath, through the village to our “Ruhheim” (home of rest). This evening I have sent M—— to bed before me; and that she may not be too miserable when she is disturbed, I must now leave off and wish you good night, my own dear husband, you, my best and most faithful friend, you, greatest of God’s blessings bestowed upon me.

[CCCCXXIV.] Thursday Forenoon.

Our delightful plan has, alas! come to nothing. The east wind, which blew pretty high yesterday, rose in the night to a perfect hurricane, accompanied by floods of rain. It was a fearful night. We were all awake, and M—— struck a light. Our sleeping-house is quite close to the sea-shore, whereas the mill-house is the last house at the other end of the village, and contiguous to the forest. When in bed we hear the sea roaring. However, in spite of the weather, we are all in good spirits; and M—— has even to-day, for the first time, given a French lesson. Nathanael is particularly well off here. When we are not out walking, on which occasions he is always of the party, I never see him except from afar, for the miller, a gentle, friendly man, has taken such a fancy to the child, that he has him always at his side. The door of the room we inhabit opens into the spacious mill, and there he sits the whole day long gazing at the great water wheel; or he follows the miller about in his various avocations, fancying that he is of great assistance to him. He is more especially happy when he is in the workshop, in one corner of the mill, where the miller planes and chisels, and where the child works away most zealously with a little tool that has been given to him, at a big rake which is being got ready for the harvest. As the miller is a quiet and sensible man, and Nathanael is so obedient that I feel sure he will never go near any place he is forbidden to go to, I am quite easy about him, and think that the boy cannot be in better company, or be better amused. He seems never to feel tired for one moment. Hildis also is on very friendly terms with the people of the mill (the family consists of a good old dame of seventy, her man, who seems, however, to be in reality master, and a maid-servant), and likes to be with Hanne in the kitchen… . . I rejoice that I may now say with truth, that it would not be in the least difficult for me, nor cause me one moment’s unhappiness, were I to be obliged to live with you and the children in a little hovel… . . I am longing very much for your next letter, and now conclude this with a hearty wish that I could breathe all the love of my soul into this letter for you, my dear, dear father. Ever your own HENRIETTE.

Schleiermacher to his Wife.

[CCCCXXV.] Sunday, 8th August.

I have just returned home from the early morning service. What life there used to be in my room at this hour! You, with all the little ones, and sometimes another dear face or two. Now all is silent round me; and when I send my thoughts over to you I do not know whether to seek you on the way to church, or whether you may again be obliged to rest contented with reading a sermon. If the weather be not better with you than it is here, you will not have much Sunday enjoyment. When you were at Stubbenkammer, dear Jette, did you think of old times? Of our first meeting, twenty years ago? And of how, in the midst of the wholesome suffering I was undergoing, I was seized by a strange presentiment in Rügen? How the love of your whole circle embraced me; how your bridal happiness cheered my heart, and how I was drawn towards you by paternal affection? And how, during my second stay in the island, love unconsciously took another character in my heart? Then also we spent a delightful day at Stubbenkammer. The bench near the Brunnenau, where you gave me your “Yes,” is, I suppose, no longer there; and, perhaps, the bathing houses are also gone. I still remember that I emerged from my bathing-room a little later than you came out of yours, and that I found you engaged in fastening up your hair, which then fell around your neck in richer tresses than now. Afterwards, we took a walk together through the meadow, and my feelings would no longer be restrained, but spoke out when we had seated ourselves upon the bench… . .

Schleiermacher to Charlotte von Kathen.

[CCCCXXVI.] Berlin, 9th August, 1824.

I have long been wishing, dear sister, to write to you from my solitude, to thank you and your dear Kathen for all the sisterly and brotherly love you have evinced towards my dear ones, and to show you that I am ever in spirit with you and with them. And now, you have anticipated me, and surprised me with your most valued enclosure. What can be more delightful to a clergyman than to find that his prose has called forth poetry in a soul harmoniously attuned to his! How I have rejoiced in your calm and pious inward life while reading your effusions! Your image presented itself bright and pure before my mind’s eye, and the old times, when we first learned to know each other, returned, as it were, once more. I think we are both just the same as we were then. You have, as little as I, lost taste and interest for anything that we valued then; but the relation to the only ONE, who is the centre of all, has, I believe, become more prominent in both of us. This, I dare say, you have seen in the third collection of my sermons, which I was not aware that you did not possess. I do not know how I have happened to neglect sending them to you. I hope that the same is not the case with the fourth collection. In fact, I am still opposed to the publication of the sermons in a printed form, because all sermons, and mine more especially, are only intended to be heard. But when I see them bring forth such fruits as your lyrics, then I feel that I should like to have all those printed, in delivering which I have felt myself most excited.

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Footnotes

1. A remarkable old man, whose child-like piety and deep wisdom will ever be remembered by all who knew him. He believed himself to be in daily personal communion with various good persons who had departed this life, and even with the Saviour himself, and had besides other visions. He was a mechanician by trade, and an industrious workman, and in no way connected with magnetism. He and Schleiermacher were much attached to each other. ↩