Chapter XIV: Part THE SECOND (4)

Yet let not the youth believe that this is all he has to do; let not even the man believe it. In earthly relations we are at last accustomed to depend on ourselves, and, even there, knowledge, understanding, and character, will not always suffice; in heavenly things, on the contrary, we have never finished learning. The higher feeling within us, which often finds itself not even truly at home, is, besides, oppressed by so much from without, that our own power hardly administers all that is necessary for counsel, consolation, and help. But, to this end, that remedy is instituted for our whole life, and an intelligent, pious man is continually waiting to show the right way to the wanderers, and to relieve the distressed.

[Side-note: Catholic Sacraments.]

And what has been so well tried through the whole life, is now to show forth all its healing power with tenfold activity at the gate of Death. According to a trustful custom, inculcated from youth upwards, the dying man receives with fervour those symbolical, significant assurances, and there, where every earthly warranty fails, he is assured, by a heavenly one, of a blessed existence for all eternity. He feels himself perfectly convinced that neither a hostile element nor a malignant spirit can hinder him from clothing himself with a glorified body, so that, in immediate relation with the Godhead, he may partake of the boundless happiness which flows forth from Him.

Then in conclusion, that the whole may be made holy, the feet also are anointed and blessed. They are to feel, even in the event of possible recovery, a repugnance to touching this earthly, hard, impenetrable soil. A wonderful nimbleness is to be imparted to them, by which they spurn from under them the clod of earth which hitherto attracted them. And so, through a brilliant circle of equally holy acts, the beauty of which we have only briefly hinted at, the cradle and the grave, however far asunder they may chance to be, are bound in one continuous circle.

But all these spiritual wonders spring not, like other fruits, from the natural soil, where they can neither be sown, nor planted, nor cherished. We must supplicate for them from another region, a thing which cannot be done by all persons, nor at all times. Here we meet the highest of these symbols, derived from pious tradition. We are told that one man can be more favoured, blessed, and sanctified from above than another. But that this may not appear as a natural gift, this great boon, bound up with a heavy duty, must be communicated to others by one authorized person to another; and the greatest good that a man can attain, without his having to obtain it by his own wrestling or grasping, must be preserved and perpetuated on earth by spiritual heirship. In the very ordination of the priest, is comprehended all that is necessary for the effectual solemnizing of those holy acts, by which the multitude receive grace, without any other activity being needful on their part, than that of faith and implicit confidence. And thus the priest steps forth in the line of his predecessors and successors, in the circle of those anointed with him, representing the highest source of blessings, so much the more gloriously, as it is not he, the priest, whom we reverence, but his office; it is not his nod to which we bow the knee, but the blessing which he imparts, and which seems the more holy, and to come the more immediately from heaven, because the earthly instrument cannot at all weaken or invalidate it by its own sinful, nay, wicked nature.

How is this truly spiritual connexion shattered to pieces in Protestantism, by part of the above-mentioned symbols being declared apocryphal, and only a few canonical;--and how, by their indifference to one of these, will they prepare us for the high dignity of the others?

In my time I had been confided to the religious instruction of a good old infirm clergyman, who had been confessor of the family for many years. The _Catechism_, a _Paraphrase_ of it, and the _Scheme of Salvation_, I had at my fingers' ends, I lacked not one of the strongly proving biblical texts, but from all this I reaped no fruit; for as they assured me that the honest old man arranged his chief examination according to an old set form, I lost all pleasure and inclination for the business, spent the last week in all sorts of diversions, laid in my hat the loose leaves borrowed from an older friend, who had gotten them from the clergyman, and unfeelingly and senselessly read aloud all that I should have known how to utter with feeling and conviction.

[Side-note: Religious Apprehensions.]

But I found my good-will and my aspirations in this important matter still more paralyzed by a dry, spiritless routine, when I was now to approach the confessional. I was indeed conscious to myself of many failings, but of no great faults; and that very consciousness diminished them, since it directed me to the moral strength which lay within me, and which, with resolution and perseverance, was at last to become master over the old Adam. We were taught that we were much better than the catholics for this very reason: that we were not obliged to acknowledge anything in particular in the confessional, nay, that this would not be at all proper, even if we wished to do it. This last did not seem right to me; for I had the strangest religious doubts, which I would readily have had cleared up on such an occasion. Now as this was not to be done, I composed a confession for myself, which, while it well expressed my state of mind, was to confess to an intelligent man, in general terms, that which I was forbidden to tell him in detail. But when I entered the old choir of the Barefoot Friars, when I approached the strange latticed closets in which the reverend gentlemen used to be found for that purpose, when the sexton opened the door for me, when I now saw myself shut up in the narrow place face to face with my spiritual grandsire, and he bade me welcome with his weak nasal voice, all the light of my mind and heart was extinguished at once, the well-conned confession-speech would not cross my lips; I opened, in my embarrassment, the book which I had in hand, and read from it the first short form I saw, which was so general, that anybody might have spoken it with quite a safe conscience. I received absolution, and withdrew neither warm nor cold; went the next day with my parents to the Table of the Lord, and, for a few days, behaved myself as was becoming after so holy an act.

In the sequel, however, there came over me that evil, which from the fact of our religion being complicated by various dogmas, and founded on texts of scripture which admit of several interpretations, attacks scrupulous men in such a manner, that it brings on a hypochondriacal condition, and raises this to its highest point, to fixed ideas. I have known several men who, though their manner of thinking and living was perfectly rational, could not free themselves from thinking about the sin against the Holy Ghost, and from the fear that they had committed it. A similar trouble threatened me on the subject of the communion, for the text that one who unworthily partakes of the Sacrament _eateth and drinketh damnation to himself_, had, very early, already made a monstrous impression upon me. Every fearful thing that I had read in the histories of the middle ages, of the judgments of God, of those most strange ordeals, by red-hot iron, flaming fire, swelling water, and even what the Bible tells us of the draught which agrees well with the innocent, but puffs up and bursts the guilty,--all this pictured itself to my imagination; and formed itself into the most frightful combinations, since false vows, hypocrisy, perjury, blasphemy, all seemed to weigh down the unworthy person at this most holy act, which was so much the more horrible, as no one could dare to pronounce himself worthy, and the forgiveness of sins, by which everything was to be at last done away, was found limited by so many conditions, that one could not with certainty dare appropriate it to oneself.

This gloomy scruple troubled me to such a degree, and the expedient which they would represent to me as sufficient, seemed so bald and feeble, that it gave the bugbear only a more fearful aspect, and, as soon as I had reached Leipzig, I tried to free myself altogether from my connexion with the church. How oppressive then must have been to me the exhortations of Gellert, whom, considering the generally laconic style with which he was obliged to repel our obtrusiveness, I was unwilling to trouble with such singular questions, and the less so as in my more cheerful hours I was myself ashamed of them; and at last left completely behind me this strange anguish of conscience, together with church and altar.

[Side-note: Decline of Gellert's Authority.]

Gellert, in accordance with his pious feelings, had composed for himself a course of ethics, which from time to time he publicly read, and thus in an honourable manner acquitted himself of his duty to the public. Gellert's writings had already, for a long time, been the foundation of German moral culture, and every one anxiously wished to see that work printed; but as this was not to be done till after the good man's death, people thought themselves very fortunate to hear him deliver it himself in his lifetime. The philosophical auditorium[4] was at such times crowded, and the beautiful soul, the pure will, and the interest of the noble man in our welfare, his exhortations, warnings, and entreaties, uttered in a somewhat hollow and sorrowful tone, made indeed an impression for the moment, but this did not last long, the less so, as there were many scoffers, who contrived to make us suspicious of this tender, and, as they thought, enervating manner. I remember a Frenchman travelling through the town, who inquired after the maxims and opinions of the man who attracted such an immense concourse. When we had given him the necessary information, he shook his head and said, smiling, _Laissez le faire, il nous forme des dupes._

And thus also did good society, which cannot easily endure anything estimable in its neighbourhood, know how to spoil on occasion the moral influence which Gellert might have had upon us. Now it was taken ill of him that he instructed the Danes of distinction and wealth, who were particularly recommended to him, better than the other students, and had a marked solicitude for them; now he was charged with selfishness and nepotism for causing a table d'hôte to be established for these young men at his brother's house. This brother, a tall, good-looking, blunt, unceremonious and somewhat rude man, had, it was said, been a fencing-master, and notwithstanding the too great lenity of his brother, the noble boarders were often treated harshly and roughly; hence the people thought they must again take the part of these young folks, and pulled about the good reputation of the excellent Gellert to such a degree, that, in order not to be mistaken about him, we became indifferent towards him, and visited him no more; yet we always saluted him in our best manner when he came riding along on his tame grey horse. This horse the Elector had sent him, to oblige him to take an exercise so necessary for his health;--a distinction which was not easily forgiven him.

And thus, by degrees, the epoch approached when all authority was to vanish from before me, and I was to become suspicious, nay, to despair, even of the greatest and best individuals whom I had known or imagined.

Frederick the Second still stood at the head of all the distinguished men of the century, in my thoughts, and it must therefore have appeared very surprising to me, that I could praise him as little before the inhabitants of Leipzig as formerly in my grandfather's house. They had felt the hand of war heavily, it is true, and therefore they were not to blame for not thinking the best of him who had begun and continued it. They therefore were willing to let him pass, as a distinguished, but by no means as a great man. "There was no art," they said, "in performing something with great means; and if one spares neither lands, nor money, nor blood, one may well accomplish one's purpose at last. Frederick had shown himself great in none of his plans, and in nothing that he had, properly speaking, undertaken. So long as it depended on himself, he had only gone on making blunders, and what was extraordinary in him, had only come to light when he was compelled to make these blunders good again. It was purely from this that he had obtained his great reputation, since every man wishes for himself that same talent of making good, in a clever way, the blunders which he frequently commits. If one goes through the Seven Years' War, step by step, it will be found that the king quite uselessly sacrificed his fine army, and that it was his own fault that this ruinous feud had been protracted to so great a length. A truly great man and general would have got the better of his enemies much sooner." In support of these opinions they could cite infinite details, which I did not know how to deny; and I felt the unbounded reverence which I had devoted to this remarkable prince, from my youth upwards, gradually cooling away.

[Side-note: Behrisch.]

As the inhabitants of Leipzig had now destroyed for me the pleasant feeling of revering a great man, so did a new friend whom I gained at the time very much diminish the respect which I entertained for my present fellow-citizens. This friend was one of the strangest fellows in the world. He was named Behrisch, and was tutor to the young Count Lindenau. Even his exterior was singular enough. Lean and well-built, far advanced in the thirties, a very large nose, and altogether marked features; he wore from morning till night a scratch which might well have been called a peruke, but dressed himself very neatly, and never went out but with his sword by his side, and his hat under his arm. He was one of those men who have quite a peculiar gift of killing time, or rather, who know how to make something out of nothing, in order to pass time away. Everything that he did must be done with slowness, and a certain deportment which might have been called affected, if Behrisch had not even by nature had something affected in his manner. He resembled an old Frenchman, and also spoke and wrote French very well and easily. His greatest delight was to busy himself seriously about drolleries, and to follow up without end any silly notion. Thus he was constantly dressed in grey, and as the different parts of his attire were of different stuffs, and also of different shades, he could reflect for whole days as to how he should procure one grey more for his body, and was happy when he had succeeded in this, and could put to shame us who had doubted it, or had pronounced it impossible. He then gave us long severe lectures, about our lack of inventive power, and our want of faith in his talents.

For the rest, he had studied well, was particularly versed in the modern languages and their literature, and wrote an excellent hand. He was very well disposed to me, and I, having been always accustomed and inclined to the society of older persons, soon attached myself to him. My intercourse, too, served him for a special amusement, since he took pleasure in taming my restlessness and impatience, with which, on the other hand, I gave him enough to do. In the art of poetry he had what is called taste, a certain general opinion about the good and bad, the mediocre and tolerable; but his judgment was rather censorious, and he destroyed even the little faith in contemporary writers which I cherished within me, by unfeeling remarks, which he knew how to advance with wit and humour, about the writings and poems of this man and that. He received my own affairs with indulgence, and let me have my way, but only on the condition that I should have nothing printed. He promised me, on the other hand, that he himself would copy those pieces which he thought good, and would present me with them in a handsome volume. This undertaking now afforded an opportunity for the greatest possible waste of time. For before he could find the right paper, before he could make up his mind as to the size, before he had settled the breadth of the margin, and the form of handwriting, before the crow-quills were provided and cut into pens, and Indian ink was rubbed, whole weeks passed, without the least bit having been done. With just as much ado he always set about his writing, and really, by degrees, put together a most charming manuscript. The title of the poems was in German text, the verses themselves in a perpendicular Saxon hand, and at the end of every poem was an analogous vignette, which he had either selected somewhere or other, or had invented himself, and in which he contrived to imitate very neatly the hatching of the wood-cuts and tail-pieces which are used for such purposes. To show me these things as he went on, to celebrate beforehand in a comico-pathetical manner my good fortune in seeing myself immortalized in such exquisite handwriting, and that in a style which no printing-press could attain, gave another occasion for passing the most agreeable hours. In the meantime, his intercourse was always secretly instructive, by reason of his liberal acquirements, and, as he knew how to subdue my restless impetuous disposition, was also quite wholesome for me in a moral sense. He had, too, quite a peculiar abhorrence of roughness, and his jests were always quaint, without ever falling into the coarse or the trivial. He indulged himself in a distorted aversion from his countrymen, and described with ludicrous touches even what they were able to undertake. He was particularly inexhaustible in a comical representation of individual persons, as he found something to find fault with in the exterior of every one. Thus, when we lay together at the window, he could occupy himself for hours criticising the passers-by, and when he had censured them long enough, in showing exactly and circumstantially how they ought to have dressed themselves, ought to have walked, and ought to have behaved to look like orderly people. Such attempts, for the most part, ended in something improper and absurd, so that we did not so much laugh at how the man looked, but at how, perchance, he might have looked, had he been mad enough to caricature himself. In all such matters, Behrisch went quite unmercifully to work, without being in the slightest degree malicious. On the other hand, we knew how to teaze him, on our side, by assuring him that, to judge from his exterior, he must be taken, if not for a French dancing-master, at least for the academical teacher of the language. This reproval was usually the signal for dissertations an hour long, in which he used to set forth the difference, wide as the heavens, which there was between him and an old Frenchman. At the same time he commonly imputed to us all sorts of awkward attempts, that we might possibly have made for the alteration and modification of his wardrobe.

The direction of my poetizing, which I only carried on the more zealously as the transcript went on becoming more beautiful and more careful, now inclined altogether to the natural and the true; and if the subjects could not always be important, I nevertheless always endeavoured to express them clearly and pointedly, the more so as my friend often gave me to understand, what a great thing it was to write down a verse on Dutch paper, with the crow-quill and Indian ink; what time, talent, and exertion it required, which ought not to be squandered on anything empty and superfluous. At the same time, he commonly used to open a finished parcel and circumstantially to explain what ought not to stand in this or that place, or congratulate us that it actually did not stand there. He then spoke, with great contempt, of the art of printing, mimicked the compositor, ridiculed his gestures and his hurried picking out of letters here and there, and derived from this manœuvre all the calamities of literature. On the other hand, he extolled the grace and the noble posture of a writer, and immediately sat down himself to exhibit it to us, while he rated us at the same time for not demeaning ourselves at the writing-table precisely after his example and model. He now returned to the contrast with the compositor, turned a begun letter upside down, and showed how unseemly it would be to write anything from the bottom to the top, or from the right to the left, with other things of like kind with which whole volumes might have been,filled.

With such harmless fooleries we lavished away our precious time, while it could have occurred to none of us, that anything would chance to proceed out of our circle, which would awaken a general sensation and bring us into not the best repute.

[Side-note: Professor Clodius.]

Gellert may have taken little pleasure in his _Practicum_, and if, perhaps, he took pleasure in giving some directions as to prose and poetical style, he did it most privately only to a few, among whom we could not number ourselves. Professor Clodius thought to fill the gap which thus arose in the public instruction. He had gained some renown in literature, criticism, and poetry, and as a young, lively, obliging man, found many friends both in the university and in the city. Gellert himself referred us to the lectures now commenced by him, and, as far as the principal matter was concerned, we remarked little difference. He, too, only criticised details, corrected likewise with red ink, and one found oneself in company with mere blunders, without a prospect as to where the right was to be sought. I had brought to him some of my little labours, which he did not treat harshly. But just at this time they wrote to me from home, that I must without fail furnish a poem for my uncle's wedding. I felt myself far from that light and frivolous period in which a similar thing would have given me pleasure, and since I could get nothing out of the actual circumstance itself, I determined to trick out my work in the best manner, with extraneous ornament. I therefore convened all Olympus to consult about the marriage of a Frankfort lawyer; and seriously enough, to be sure, as well became the festival of such an honourable man. Venus and Themis had quarrelled for his sake; but a roguish prank which Amor played the latter, gained the suit for the former, and the gods decided in favour of the marriage.

My work by no means displeased me. I received from home a handsome letter in its praise, took the trouble to have another fair copy, and hoped to extort some applause from my professor also. But here I had missed my aim. He took the matter severely, and as he did not notice the tone of parody, which nevertheless lay in the notion, he declared the great expenditure of divine means for such an insignificant human end, in the highest degree reprehensible; inveighed against the use and abuse of such mythological figures, as a false habit originating in pedantic times; found the expression now too high, now too low, and in divers particulars had indeed not spared the red ink, though he asserted that he had yet done too little.

Such pieces were read out and criticised anonymously, it is true; but we used to watch each other, and it remained no secret that this unfortunate assembly of the gods was my work. Yet since his critique, when I took his point of view, seemed to be perfectly just, and those divinities more nearly inspected were in fact only hollow shadow-forms; I cursed all Olympus, flung the whole mythic Pantheon away, and from that time Amor and Luna have been the only divinities which at all appear in my little poems.

[Side-note: Ridicule of Clodius.]

Among the persons whom Behrisch had chosen as the butts of his wit, Clodius stood just at the head; nor was it hard to find a comical side in him. As a little, rather stout, thick-set figure, he was violent in his motions, somewhat impetuous in his utterances, and restless in his demeanour. In all this he differed from his fellow-citizens, who, nevertheless, willingly put up with him on account of his good qualities and the fine promise which he gave.

He was usually commissioned with the poems which had become necessary on festal occasions. In the so-called _Ode_, he followed the manner used by Ramler, whom, however, it alone suited. But Clodius, as an imitator, had especially marked the foreign words by means of which the poems of Ramler come forth with a majestic pomp, which, because it is conformable to the greatness of his subject and the rest of his poetic treatment, produces a very good effect on the ear, feelings, and imagination. In Clodius, on the contrary, these expressions had a heterogeneous air, since his poetry was in other respects not calculated to elevate the mind in any manner.

Now we had often been obliged to see such poems printed and highly lauded in our presence, and we found it highly offensive, that he who had sequestered the heathen gods from us, now wished to hammer together another ladder to Parnassus out of Greek and Roman word-rungs. These oft-recurring expressions stamped themselves firmly on our memory, and in a merry hour, when we were eating some most excellent cakes in the Kitchen-gardens (_Kohlgärten_), it all at once struck me to put together these words of might and power, in a poem on the cake-baker Hendel. No sooner thought than done! And let it stand here, too, as it was written on the wall of the house with a lead-pencil.

"O Hendel, dessen Ruhm vom _Süd_ zum _Norden_ reicht,
Vernimm den _Päan_ der zu deinen Ohren steigt
Du bäckst was _Gallien_ und _Britten_ emsig suchen,
Mit _schöpfrischen Genie, originelle_ Kuchen.
Des Kaffee's _Ocean_, der sich vor dir ergiesst,
Ist süsser als der Saft der vom _Hymettus_ fliesst.
Dein Haus ein _Monument_, wie wir den Künsten lohnen
Umhangen mit _Trophän_, erzählt den _Nationen_:
Auch ohne _Diadem_ fand Hendel hier sein Glück
Und raubte dem _Cothurn_ gur manch Achtgroschenstück.
Glänzt deine _Urn_ dereinst in majestäts'chen _Pompe_,
Dann weint der _Patriot_ un deinem _Katacomhe._
Doch leb! dein _Torus_ sey von edler Brut ein _Nest_,
Steh'hoch wie der _Olymp_, wie der _Parnassus_ fest!
Kein _Phalanx_ Griechenland mit Römischen _Ballisten_
Vermög _Germanien_ und Hendel zu verwüsten.
Dein _Wohl_ is unser _Stolz_, dein _Leiden_ unser _Schmerz
Und_ Hendel's _Tempel ist der Musensöhne Herz._"[5]

This poem stood a long time among many others which disfigured the walls of that room, without being noticed, and we, who had sufficiently amused ourselves with it, forgot it altogether amongst other things. A long time afterwards, Clodius came out with his _Medon_, whose wisdom, magnanimity and virtue we found infinitely ridiculous, much as the first representation of the piece was applauded. That evening, when we met together in the wine-house, I made a prologue in doggerel verse, in which Harlequin steps out with two great sacks, places them on each side of the _proscenium_, and after various preliminary jokes, tells the spectators in confidence, that in the two sacks moral æsthetic** dust is to be found, which the actors will very frequently throw into their eyes. One, to wit, was filled with good deeds, that cost nothing, and the other with splendidly expressed opinions, that had no meaning behind them. He reluctantly withdrew, and sometimes came back, earnestly exhorted the spectators to attend to his warning and shut their eyes, reminded them that he had always been their friend, and meant well with them, with many more things of the kind. This prologue was acted in the room, on the spot, by friend Horn, but the jest remained quite among ourselves, not even a copy had been taken, and the paper was soon lost. However, Horn, who had performed the Harlequin very prettily, took it into his head to enlarge my poem to Hendel by several verses, and then to make it refer to _Medon._ He read it aloud to us, and we could not take any pleasure in it, for we did not find the additions even ingenious, while the first poem, being written for quite a different purpose, seemed to us disfigured. Our friend, out of humour at our indifference, or rather censure, may have shown it to others, who found it new and amusing. Copies were now made of it, to which the reputation of Clodius's _Medon_ gave at once a rapid publicity. Universal disapproval was the consequence, and the originators (it was soon found out that the poem had proceeded from our clique) were severely censured: for nothing of the sort had been seen since Cronegk's and Rost's** attacks upon Gottsched. We had besides already secluded ourselves, and now found ourselves quite in the case of the owl with respect to the other birds. In Dresden, too, they did not like the affair, and it had for us serious, if not unpleasant consequences. For some time, already, Count Lindenau had not been quite satisfied with his son's tutor. For, although the young man was by no means neglected, and Behrisch kept himself either in the chamber of the young Count, or at least close to it, when the instructors gave their daily lessons, regularly frequented the lectures with him, never went out in the day-time without him, and accompanied him in all his walks; yet the rest of us were always to be found in Apel's house, and joined them whenever they went on a pleasure ramble; this already excited some attention. Behrisch, too, accustomed himself to our society, and at last, towards nine o'clock in the evenings, generally transferred his pupil into the hands of the _valet de chambre_, and went in quest of us to the wine-house, whither, however, he never used to come but in shoes and stockings, with his sword by his side, and commonly his hat under his arm. The jokes and fooleries, which he generally started, went on _ad infinitum._ Thus, for instance, one of our friends had a habit of going away precisely at ten, because he had a connexion with a pretty girl, with whom he could converse only at that hour. We did not like to lose him; and one evening, when we sat very happily together, Behrisch secretly determined that he would not let him off this time. At the stroke of ten, the other arose and took leave. Behrisch called after him and begged him to wait a moment, as he was just going with him. He now began, in the most amusing manner, first to look after his sword, which stood just before his eyes, and in buckling it on behaved awkwardly, so that he could never accomplish it. He did this, too, so naturally, that no one took offence at it. But when, to vary the theme, he at last went further, so that the sword came now on the right side, now between his legs, an universal laughter arose, in which the man in a hurry, who was likewise a merry fellow, chimed in, and let Behrisch have his own way till the happy hour was past, when, for the first time, there followed general pleasure and agreeable conversation till deep into the night.

[Side-note: Eccentricities of Behrisch.]

Unfortunately Behrisch, and we through him, had a certain other propensity for some girls who were better than their reputation; by which our own reputation could not be improved. We had often been seen in their garden, and we directed our walks thither, even when the young Count was with us. All this may have been treasured up, and at last communicated to his father; enough, he sought, in a gentlemanly manner, to get rid of the tutor, to whom the event proved fortunate. His good exterior, his knowledge and talents, his integrity, which no one could call in question, had won him the affection and esteem of distinguished persons, on whose recommendation he was appointed tutor to the hereditary prince of Dessau; and at the court of a prince, excellent in every respect, found a solid happiness.

The loss of a friend like Behrisch was of the greatest consequence to me. He had** spoiled, while he cultivated me, and his presence was necessary, if the pains he had thought good to spend upon me were in any degree to bring forth fruit for society. He knew how to engage me in all kinds of pretty and agreeable things, in whatever was just appropriate, and to bring out my social talents. But as I had gained no self-dependence in such things, so when I was alone again, I immediately relapsed into my confused and crabbed disposition, which always increased, the more discontented I was with those about me, since I fancied that they were not contented with me. With the most arbitrary caprice, I took offence at what I might have reckoned as an advantage to me; thus alienated many with whom I had hitherto stood on a tolerable footing; and, on account of the many disagreeable consequences which I had drawn on myself and others, whether by doing or leaving undone, by doing too much or too little, was obliged to hear the remark from my well-wishers, that I lacked experience. The same thing was told me by every person of sound sense who saw my productions, especially when these referred to the external world. I observed this as well as I could, but found in it little that was edifying, and was still forced to add enough of my own to make it only tolerable. I had often pressed my friend Behrisch, too, that he would make plain to me what experience might be? But, because he was full of nonsense, he put me off with fair words from one day to another, and at last, after great preparations, disclosed to me, that true experience was properly when one experiences how an experienced man must experience in experiencing his experience. Now when we scolded him outrageously, and called him to account for this, he assured us that a great mystery lay hidden behind these words, which we could not comprehend until we had experienced ... and so on without end;--for it cost him nothing to talk on in that way by the quarter of an hour since the experience would always become more experienced and at last come to true experience. When we were falling into despair at such fooleries, he protested that he had learned this way of making himself intelligible and impressive from the latest and greatest authors, who had made us observe how one can rest a restful rest, and how silence, in being silent, can constantly become more silent.

[Side-note: What is Experience?]

By chance an officer, who came among us on furlough, was praised in good company as a remarkable sound-minded and experienced man, who had fought through the Seven Years' War, and had gained universal confidence. It was not difficult for me to approach him, and we often went walking with each other. The idea of experience had almost become fixed in my brain, and the craving to make it clear to me passionate. Open-hearted as I was, I disclosed to him the uneasiness in which I found myself. He smiled, and was kind enough to tell me, as an answer to my question, something of his own life, and generally of the world immediately about us; from which, indeed, little better was to be gathered than that experience convinces us that our best thoughts, wishes and designs are unattainable, and that he who fosters such vagaries and advances them with eagerness, is especially held to be an inexperienced man.

[Side-note: What is Experience?]

Yet, as he was a gallant, good fellow, he assured me that he had himself not quite given up these vagaries, and felt himself tolerably well off with the little faith, love, and hope which remained. He then felt obliged to tell me a great deal about war, about the sort of life in the field, about skirmishes and battles, especially so far as he had taken part in them; when these vast events, by being considered in relation to a single individual, gained a very marvellous aspect. I then led him on to an open narration of the late situation of the court, which seemed to me quite like a tale. I heard of the bodily strength of Augustus the Second, of his many children and his vast expenses, then of his successor's love of art and of making collections, of Count Brühl and his boundless love of magnificence, which in detail appeared almost absurd, of his numerous banquets and gorgeous amusements, which were all cut off by Frederick's invasion of Saxony. The royal castles now lay in ruins, Brühl's splendours were annihilated, and, of the whole, a glorious land, much injured alone remained.

When he saw me astonished at that mad enjoyment of fortune, and then grieved by the calamity that followed, and informed me that one expects from an experienced man exactly this, that he shall be astonished at neither the one nor the other, nor take too lively an interest in them, I felt a great desire still to remain awhile in the same inexperience as hitherto; in which desire he strengthened me, and very urgently entreated me, for the present at least, always to cling to agreeable experiences, and to try to avoid those that were disagreeable as much as possible, if they should intrude themselves upon me. But once, when the discussion was again about experience in general, and I related to him those ludicrous phrases of my friend Behrisch, he shook his head, smiling, and said, "There, one sees how it is with words which are only once uttered! These sound so comical, nay, so silly, that it would seem almost impossible to put a rational meaning into them; and yet, perhaps, the attempt might be made."

And when I pressed him, he replied in his intelligent, cheerful manner, "If you will allow me, while commenting on and completing your friend, to go on after his fashion, think he meant to say, that experience is nothing else than that one experiences what one does not wish to experience; which is what it amounts to for the most part, at least in this world."

[1] "Die Laune des Verliebten," translated as _The Lover's Caprice_, see p. 241

Footnote 2: "_Exposition_," in a dramatic sense, properly means a statement of the events which take place before the action of the play commences.--_Trans._]

[3] The real meaning of the passage is that the idiom "Possen reissen," used also with the university word "Suite," so that one can say "Suiten reissen."--_Trans_.

[4] The lecture-room. The word is also used in university language to denote a professor's audience.

[5] The humour of the above consists, not in the thoughts, but in the particular words employed. These have no remarkable effect in English, as to us the words of Latin origin are often as familiar as those which have Teutonic roots, and these form the chief peculiarity of the style. We have therefore given the poem in the original language, with the peculiar words (as indicated by Goethe) in italics, and subjoin a literal translation. It will be observed that we have said that the peculiarity consists _chiefly_, not _solely_, in the use of the foreign words, for there are two or three instances of unquestionably German words, which are italicised on account of their high-sounding pomp.

"Oh Hendel, whose fame extends from _south_ to _north_, hear the _Pæan_ which ascends to thine ears. Thou bakest that which _Gauls_ and _Britons_ industriously seek, (thou bakest) with _creative genius original_ cakes. The _ocean_ of coffee which pours itself out before thee, is sweeter than the juice which flows from _Hymettus._ Thy house, a _monument_, how we reward the arts, hung round with _trophies_, tells the _nations_: 'Even without a _diadem_, Hendel formed his fortune here, and robbed the _Cothurnus_ of many an eight-groschen-piece.' When thine _urn_ shines hereafter in majestic _pomp_, then will the _patriot_ weep at thy _catacomb._ But live! let thy bed (_torus_) be the _nest_ of a noble brood, stand high as _Olympus_, and firm as _Parnassus._ May no _phalanx_ of Greece with Roman _ballistæ_ be able to destroy _Germania_ and Hendel. Thy _weal_ is our _pride_, thy _suffering_ our _pain_, and Hendel's _temple_ is the _heart_ of the _sons of the Muses._"--_Trans._

EIGHTH BOOK.

[Side-note: Oeser.]

Another man, although infinitely different from Behrisch in every respect, might yet be compared with him in a certain sense; I mean OESER, who was also one of those men who dream away their lives in a comfortable state of being busy. His friends themselves secretly acknowledged that, with very fine natural powers, he had not spent his younger years in sufficient activity; for which reason, he never went so far as to practise his art with perfect technicality. Yet a certain diligence appeared to be reserved for his old age, and, during the many years which I knew him, he never lacked invention or laboriousness. From the very first moment he had much attracted me; even his residence, strange and portentous, was highly charming to me. In the old castle Pleissenburg, at the right-hand corner, one ascended a repaired, cheerful, winding staircase. The saloons of the Academy of Design, of which he was director, were found to the left, and were light and roomy; but he himself could only be reached through a narrow, dark passage, at the end of which one first sought the entrance into his apartments, having just passed between the whole suite of them and an extensive granary. The first apartment was adorned with pictures from the later Italian school, by masters whose grace he used highly to commend. As I, with some noblemen, had taken private lessons of him, we were permitted to draw here, and we often penetrated into his adjoining private cabinet, which contained at the same time his few books, collections of art and natural curiosities, and whatever else might have most interested him. Everything was arranged with taste, simply, and in such a manner that the little space held a great deal. The furniture, presses, and portfolios were elegant, without affectation or superfluity. Thus also the first thing which he recommended to us, and to which he always recurred, was simplicity in everything that art and manual labour united are called upon to produce. As a sworn foe of the scroll-and-shell style, and of the whole taste for quaintness, he showed us in copper-plates and drawings old patterns of the sort, contrasted with better decorations and simpler forms of furniture, as well as with other appurtenances of a room; and, because everything about him corresponded with these maxims, his words and instructions made a good and lasting impression on us. Besides this, he had an opportunity to let us see his opinions in practice, since he stood in good consideration both with private and with official persons, and was asked for advice when there were new buildings and alterations. He seemed in general to be more fond of preparing anything on occasion, for a certain end and use, than of undertaking and completing things which exist for themselves and require a greater perfection; he was therefore always ready and at hand when the publishers needed larger and smaller copper-plates for any work; thus the vignettes to Winckelmann's first writings were etched by him. But he often made only very sketchy drawings, to which Geyser knew very well how to adapt himself. His figures had throughout something general, not to say ideal. His women were pleasing and agreeable, his children _naïve_ enough; only he could not succeed with the men, who, in his spirited but always cloudy and at the same time foreshortening manner, had for the most part the look of _Lazzaroni._ Since he designed his composition less with regard to form than to light, shade, and masses, the general effect was good; as indeed all that he did and produced was attended by a peculiar grace. As he at the same time neither could nor would control a deep-rooted propensity to the significant and the allegorical--to that which excites a secondary thought, so his works always furnished something to reflect upon, and were complete through a conception, even where they could not be so from art and execution. This bias, which is always dangerous, frequently led him to the very bounds of good taste, if not beyond them. He often sought to attain his views by the oddest notions, and by whimsical jests; nay, his best works always have a touch of humour. If the public were not always satisfied with such things, he revenged himself by a new and even stranger drollery. Thus he afterwards exhibited in the ante-room of the great concert-hall, an ideal female figure, in his own style, who was raising a pair of snuffers to a taper, and he was extraordinarily delighted when he was able to cause a dispute on the question: whether this singular muse meant to snuff the light or to extinguish it? when he roguishly allowed all sorts of bantering by-thoughts to peep forth.

But the building of the new theatre, in my time, made the greatest noise; in which his curtain, when it was still quite new, had certainly an uncommonly charming effect. Oeser had taken the Muses out of the clouds, upon which they usually hover on such occasions, and set them upon the earth. The statues of Sophocles and Aristophanes, around whom all the modern dramatic writers were assembled, adorned a vestibule to the Temple of Fame. Here, too, the goddesses of the arts were likewise present, and all was dignified and beautiful. But now comes the oddity! Through the open centre was seen the portal of the distant temple, and a man in a light jerkin was passing between the two above-mentioned groups, and without troubling himself about them, directly up to the temple; he was seen from behind, and was not particularly distinguished. Now this man was to represent Shakspeare, who, without predecessors or followers, without concerning himself about models, went to meet immortality in his own way. This work was executed on the great floor over the new theatre. We often assembled round him there, and in that place I read aloud to him the proof-sheets of _Musarion._

[Side-note: Influence of Oeser.]

As to myself, I by no means advanced in the practice of the art. His instructions worked upon our mind and our taste; but his own drawing was too undefined to guide me, who had only glimmered along by the objects of art and of nature, to a severe and decided practice. Of the faces and bodies he gave us rather the aspect than the forms, rather the postures than the proportions. He gave us the conceptions of the figures, and desired that we should impress them vividly upon our minds. That might have been beautifully and properly done, if he had not had mere beginners before him. If, on this account, a pre-eminent talent for instruction may be well denied him, it must, on the other hand, be acknowledged that he was very discreet and politic, and that a happy adroitness of mind qualified him very peculiarly for a teacher in a higher sense. The deficiencies under which each one laboured he clearly saw; but he disdained to reprove them directly, and rather hinted his praise and censure indirectly and very laconically. One was now compelled to think over the matter, and soon came to a far deeper insight. Thus, for instance, I had very carefully executed, after a pattern, a nosegay on blue paper, with white and black crayon, and partly with the stump, partly by hatching it up, had tried to give effect to the little picture. After I had been long labouring in this way, he once came behind me and said: "More paper!" upon which he immediately withdrew. My neighbour and I puzzled our heads as to what this could mean: for my bouquet, on a large half-sheet, had plenty of space around it. After we had reflected a long while, we thought, at last, that we had hit his meaning, when we remarked that, by working together the black and the white, I had quite covered up the blue ground, had destroyed the middle tint, and, in fact, with great industry, had produced a disagreeable drawing. As to the rest, he did not fail to instruct us in perspective, and in light and shade, sufficiently indeed, but always so that we had to exert and torment ourselves to find the application of the principles communicated. Probably his view with regard to us who did not intend to become artists, was only to form the judgment and taste, and to make us acquainted with the requisites of a work of art, without precisely requiring that we should produce one. Since, moreover, patient industry was not my talent, for nothing gave me pleasure except what came to me at once, so by degrees I became discouraged, if not lazy, and as knowledge is more comfortable than doing, I was quite content to follow wherever he chose, after his own fashion, to lead us.

At this time the _Lives of the Painters_, by D'Argenville, was translated into German; I obtained it quite fresh, and studied it assiduously enough. This seemed to please Oeser, and he procured us an opportunity of seeing many a portfolio out of the great Leipzig collections, and thus introduced us to the history of the art. But even these exercises produced in me an effect different from that which he probably had in mind. The manifold subjects which I saw treated by artists awakened the poetic talent in me, and as one easily makes an engraving for a poem, so did I now make poems to the engravings and drawings, by contriving to present to myself the personages introduced in them, in their previous and subsequent condition, and sometimes to compose a little song which might have suited them; and thus accustomed myself to consider the arts in connexion with each other. Even the mistakes which I made, so that my poems were often descriptive, were useful to me in the sequel, when I came to more reflection, by making me attentive to the differences between the arts. Of the little things many were in the collection which Behrisch had arranged; but there is nothing left of them now.

The atmosphere of art and taste in which Oeser lived, and into which one was drawn, provided one visited him frequently, was the more and more worthy and delightful, because he was fond of remembering departed or absent persons, with whom he had been, or still continued to be, on good terms; for if he had once given any one his esteem, he remained unalterable in his conduct towards him, and always showed himself equally friendly.