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The Mother to the eldest Son.
[CCCCXXIX.] Berlin, 24th Nov., 1826.
My dear boy. It seems to me that you have got so much into the habit of complaining of my not writing, that you even do so when there is no reason for it. You must have had several letters from me since my return, and the present has only been a little retarded by father’s birthday, for which we were getting ready a piece of work which we had undertaken in common, and for which there were besides a thousand other preparations to be made. It was a most happy day, and nothing was wanting but that my dear son should have been amongst us—a day rich in joy and manifold emotions; for I think, I may almost say, that never before did such a host of people crowd in to express their affectionate devotion to father. At half past eight o’clock in the morning we sang a choral hymn, and the children crowned him with a wreath of moss and ivy. After that he went to the college and lectured till ten. During his absence a bower of verdure was constructed in the large drawing room, in front of the looking-glass, and in this was placed a table on which was spread a number of pretty presents, interspersed with flowers. Above all, a beautiful carpet, embroidered for him by Emilie Braunschweig and Anna Redtel, and which was spread on the floor, deserves mention… . . By degrees so many young girls, and so many friends and acquaintances assembled, that both rooms were crowded, and up to two o’clock there was a constant coming and going… . . At eight o’clock in the evening a great surprise was prepared for father. We led him to the window, and here he saw a long procession of students with torches advancing up the avenue of the garden, accompanied by a band of wind-instruments—it was a beautiful sight! They placed themselves in a half-circle in front of the window and sang (Luther’s hymn), “A strong bulwark is our Lord.” Then came a deputation consisting of S——, O——. and K——. The latter was the spokesman; but he was so moved that he could say but little. S—— presented to father, in the name of all, a large, magnificently bound bible. You may conceive, my son, how affecting this scene was to us all. The three youths remained with us the rest of the evening, and pleased us very much; and, upon the whole, the company was very merry, without being boisterous. The second supper table was the pleasantest sight in my eyes, for it was almost exclusively occupied by a wreath of young maidens. At our table Reimer presided, with the large crystal punch-bowl before him, filled with cardinal, and performed his task extremely well. Several very nice toasts were proposed; one by father in honour of the students, to which S—— replied in a very good speech. I was seated between Nicolovius and Eichhorn, and was delightfully entertained. Your dear father was very cheerful the whole day. That you were often mentioned and remembered with the tenderest affection, I need hardly tell you. And now if you will take the trouble to note all the little circumstances, you may, with the help of your imagination, form to yourself a correct and animated picture of the events of the day. Many welcome letters were also received, and among the heartiest, one from Bernhard Jacobi and Cornelia, who call him father, and express the sincerest affection for him. To-morrow, Sunday, there will be a second celebration of father’s birthday… . . You see that we are living at present in the midst of joy and dissipation, but I hope that a nice long period of quiet will follow.
Nathanael has begun to learn Latin, and is to have an hour’s instruction from a student every day. It is a new epoch in the little fellow’s life, and he is greatly excited. Sometimes he wants to get out of bed at six o’clock already, because “he has so much to do.” … .
Farewell, my dearly beloved son, I press you to my heart with joyful hope. May the love of God, and the truth that is alone life-giving, ever take more complete possession of your heart, and expel from it all darkness and all apathy. Write soon to me and very explicitly, for I often long very much for you; and write also quite candidly, for I understand you thoroughly. Father sends his tenderest love.
Schleiermacher to his Step-Son.
[CCCCXXX.] Berlin, 6th February, 1827.
My dear son, I have long been wishing to write to you, but what I had to say could not be despatched in a few words, and I could not find time to write explicitly. First of all I wish to tell you once more my opinion of your ever-recurring complaints about yourself, which follow quick upon the most pleasant subjects. You occupy yourself too much with yourself, and dwell too much upon yourself. Man as an individual is much too insignificant an object to satisfy any one, and you remind me in your way of a couple of sentimental lovers, who begin by wishing to be all in all to each other, but who soon become extremely burdensome to each other in the midst of their very vapid and tiresome life. Your case is indeed in so far different, that whereas they begin with the most exalted opinion of each other, you, on the contrary, are ever trying to acquire such an opinion of yourself. You desire to possess the consciousness of being noble and excellent, and because you cannot attain to it, you put yourself to the torture. But who demands this perfection of you? At your age people are not generally noble and excellent characters, but are preparing to become so. But this inward operation, when it does take place, cannot and must not be watched, for watching would only impede it, just as bread never rises if they go on opening the oven door while it is baking, or perhaps even taking it out of the oven to look at it, or cutting off a bit to try. How a man has developed himself can only be ascertained subsequently by his acts; and at present you have no means whatsoever for making any valid experiment in regard to this. But one experiment you may make, and that is, to ascertain whether you are capable of taking such a deep interest in any matter as is the source of all true capacity. It is your wish to work in and for the state, and I have no doubt you desire to accomplish something great; you live in the midst of times when the most important matters of this kind are going on, when new states are being constituted and old ones are falling to pieces, and when old forms are getting into the most striking contradiction with themselves. But I can discover no evidence of your having made it your business to understand the connection between the various events, and to penetrate deeply into their causes. Questions connected with the internal administration of the various states are also at present discussed so publicly, that the newspapers are full of them. Were you to take an interest in these, you would soon cease to give so much attention to yourself, and a new life would gradually be unfolded in you. Should you not be able to feel an interest in these matters, then, my dear son, you are certainly not destined to play an important part in either of these directions; for without a great interest no man can work in a large-minded way, nor can he attain to a high position except by despicable means, and such you will never have recourse to. You will therefore, in that case, remain in the subordinate sphere of the profession you have selected; but even under these circumstances you will require some other scientific or artistic pursuit, to enable you to practise some independent activity along with the mechanical activity of your position. I can therefore only wish for you that your studies or your life may soon suggest some such pursuit.
The Mother to the Son.
[CCCCXXXI.] 7th February, 1827.
I cannot let father write, my own dear son, without adding a few lines… . . Your father has undoubtedly described your state most correctly; your complaints are very foolish… . . If you could tell me one day of yourself, as you have told me about L——, that he could actually become quite enthusiastically interested in a lawsuit, that would be a feast for father’s ears. When I recall to mind the tendency which manifested itself in everything you undertook as a boy, while constantly under my eye, this gives me a clue to the reason why you derive so little nourishment for your soul from the business of your profession… … Ah! this precociousness, this early awakening of the idea, is doubtless very detrimental, when not connected with some decided taste, which from the beginning imparts a soul, as it were, to what is otherwise quite mechanical, and thus prevents any disgust from being felt. I am sure you entirely agree with me on this subject, and I can only wish for you, that God may grant you that true inward power of will, which, when resting upon a higher will, cannot fail to become creative, and which may therefore enable you to correct and to supplement such defects and failings as nature or early education may have left in your character… . .
In the months of July and August, 1827, Schleiermacher’s wife took her friend Mrs. F—— and the daughter of the latter to Karlsbad, for the benefit of their health, and was subsequently joined by Schleiermacher, when both proceeded to Biala, in Galicia, to fetch their little adoptive daughter. The following letters date from this period:—
Schleiermacher to Charlotte von Kathen.
[CCCCXXXII.] Berlin, 26th July, 1827.
… . Our dear Forstner will no doubt tell you all about me and my little people; and when you hear from him how constantly I am engaged in conflicts which I cannot avoid without doing violence to my conscience, you will, I am sure, feel sorry that the last part of my life should be spent amid so much turmoil, and that I should be obliged to waste so much time on these matters, which, according to all appearances, might be used to much better purpose. However, I do not repine, but think, on the contrary, that it is all for the best; and when my book of life is made up, I shall have greater reason for thankfulness than most people. From what I have heard from several quarters, things seem this time to have been very nigh coming to a crisis. As for myself, I rarely know how these matters stand, and generally do not hear the worst until it has blown over. May it ever remain so; for it is my endeavour to do nothing that I may have to repent of afterwards, and for the rest I leave the result to God… . .
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