{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_12351/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_12351","id":"gutenberg_12351","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12351","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: German Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Category: Poetry","German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English","German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English","Germany"],"text":"VOLUME VII\n\n\nGEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL\n\nBETTINA VON ARNIM\n\nKARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN\n\nKARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW\n\nANASTASIUS GR\u00dcN\n\nNIKOLAUS LENAU\n\nEDUARD M\u00d6RIKE\n\nANNETTE ELISABETH VON DROSTE-H\u00dcLSHOFF\n\nFERDINAND FREILIGRATH\n\nMORITZ GRAF VON STRACHWITZ\n\nEMANUEL GEIBEL\n\nGEORG HERWEGH\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GERMAN CLASSICS\n\nMasterpieces of German Literature\n\nTRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH\n\n\n\nPATRONS' EDITION\nIN TWENTY VOLUMES\n\n\nILLUSTRATED\n\n\n\n\n\n\n1914\n\n\n\nTHE GERMAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY\n\nCONTRIBUTORS AND TRANSLATORS\n\n\nVOLUME VII\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOLUME VII\n\n\n#Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel#\n\nThe Life of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. By J. Loewenberg.\n\nIntroduction to the Philosophy of History. Translated by J. Sibree.\n\nThe Philosophy of Law. Translated by J. Loewenberg.\n\nIntroduction to the Philosophy of Art. Translated by J. Loewenberg.\n\n#Bettina von Arnim#\n\nThe Life of Bettina von Arnim. By Henry Wood.\n\nGoethe's Correspondence with a Child. Translated by Wallace Smith Murray.\n\n#Karl Lebrecht Immermann#\n\n Immermann and His Drama _Merlin_. By Martin Sch\u00fctze.\n\n Immermann's _M\u00fcnchhausen_. By Allen Wilson Porterfield.\n\n The Oberhof. Translated by Paul Bernard Thomas.\n\n#Karl Ferdinand Gutzkow#\n\n Gutzkow and Young Germany. By Starr Willard Cutting.\n\n Sword and Queue. Translated by Grace Isabel Colbron.\n\nGerman Lyric Poetry from 1830 to 1848. By John S. Nollen.\n\n#Anastasius Gr\u00fcn#\n\n A Salon Scene. Translated by Sarah T. Barrows.\n\n#Nikolaus Lenau#\n\n Prayer. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n Sedge Songs. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker.\n\n Songs by the Lake. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n The Postilion. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n To the Beloved from Afar. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n The Three Gipsies. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n My Heart. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n#Eduard M\u00f6rike#\n\n An Error Chanced. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n A Song for Two in the Night. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n Early Away. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork.\n\n The Forsaken Maiden. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n Weyla's Song. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n Seclusion. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The Soldier's Betrothed. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The Old Weathercock: An Idyll. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n Think of It, My Soul. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n Erinna to Sappho. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n        *        *        *        *        *\n\nMozart's Journey from Vienna to Prague. Translated by Florence Leonard\n\n#Annette Elizabeth von Droste-H\u00fclshoff#\n\n Pentecost. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The House in the Heath. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The Boy on the Moor. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n On the Tower. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The Desolate House. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The Jew's Beech-Tree. Translated by Lillie Winter\n\n#Ferdinand Freiligrath#\n\n The Duration of Love. Translated by M.G. in _Chambers' Journal_\n\n The Emigrants. Translated by C.T. Brooks\n\n The Lion's Ride. Translated by C.T. Brooks\n\n The Spectre-Caravan. Translated by J.C. Mangan\n\n Had I at Mecca's Gate been Nourished. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n Wild Flowers. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n The Dead to the Living. Translated by Bayard Taylor\n\n Hurrah, Germania! In _Pall Mall Gazette_, London\n\n The Trumpet of Gravelotte. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker\n\n#Moritz Graf von Strachwitz#\n\n Douglas of the Bleeding Heart. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork\n\n#Georg Herwegh#\n\nThe Stirrup-Cup. Translated by William G. Howard\n\n#Emanuel Geibel#\n\n The Watchman's Song. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman\n\n The Call of the Road. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman\n\n Autumn Days. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman\n\n The Death of Tiberius. Translated by A.I. du P. Coleman\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME VII\n\nArco. By Benno Becker\n\nGeorg Wilhelm Frederich Hegel. By Schlesinger\n\nRoyal Old Museum in Berlin. By Schinkel\n\nBettina von Arnim\n\nThe Goethe Monument. By Bettina von Arnim\n\nKarl Lebrecht Immermann. By C.T. Lessing\n\nThe Master of the Oberhof. By Benjamin Vautier\n\nThe Oberhof. By Benjamin Vautier\n\nThe Freemen's Tribunal. By Benjamin Vautier\n\nLisbeth. By Benjamin Vautier\n\nOswald, the Hunter. By Benjamin Vautier\n\nKarl Ferdinand Gutzkow\n\nThe Potsdam Guard. By Adolph von Menzel\n\nKing Frederick William I of Prussia. By R. Siemering\n\nKing Frederick William I and His \"Tobacco Collegium\". By Adolph von Menzel\n\nAnastasius Gr\u00fcn\n\nNikolaus Lenau\n\nEvening on the Shore. By Hans am Ende\n\nEduard M\u00f6rike. By Weiss\n\nAnnette von Droste-H\u00fclshoff\n\nThe Farm House. By Hans am Ende\n\nFerdinand Freiligrath. By J Hasenclever\n\nDusk on the Dead Sea. By Eugen Bracht\n\nDeath on the Barricade. By Alfred Rethel\n\nGeorge Herwegh\n\nEmanuel Geibel. By Hader\n\nJourneying. By Ludwig Richter\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE OF GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL\n\nBY J. LOEWENBERG, PH.D.\n\nAssistant in Philosophy, Harvard University\n\n\nAmong students of philosophy the mention of Hegel's name arouses at once\na definite emotion. Few thinkers indeed have ever so completely\nfascinated the minds of their sympathetic readers, or have so violently\nrepulsed their unwilling listeners, as Hegel has. To his followers Hegel\nis the true prophet of the only true philosophic creed, to his\nopponents, he has, in Professor James's words, \"like Byron's corsair,\nleft a name 'to other times, linked with one virtue and a thousand\ncrimes.'\"\n\nThe feelings of attraction to Hegel or repulsion from him do not emanate\nfrom his personality. Unlike Spinoza's, his life offers nothing to stir\nthe imagination. Briefly, some of his biographical data are as follows:\nHe was born at Stuttgart, the capital of W\u00fcrtemberg, August 27, 1770.\nHis father was a government official, and the family belonged to the\nupper middle class. Hegel received his early education at the Latin\nSchool and the Gymnasium of his native town. At both these institutions,\nas well as at the University of T\u00fcbingen which he entered in 1788 to\nstudy theology, he distinguished himself as an eminently industrious,\nbut not as a rarely gifted student. The certificate which he received\nupon leaving the University in 1793 speaks of his good character, his\nmeritorious acquaintance with theology and languages, and his meagre\nknowledge of philosophy. This does not quite represent his equipment,\nhowever, for his private reading and studies carried him far beyond the\nlimits of the regular curriculum. After leaving the University he spent\nseven years as family tutor in Switzerland and in Frankfurt-on-the-Main.\nSoon after, in 1801, we find him as _Privat-Docent_; then, in 1805, as\nprofessor at the University of Jena. His academic activities were\ninterrupted by the battle of Jena. For the next two years we meet him as\nan editor of a political journal at Bamberg, and from 1808 to 1816 as\nrector of the Gymnasium at Nuremberg. He was then called to a\nprofessorship of philosophy at Heidelberg. In 1818 he was called to\nBerlin to fill the vacancy left by the death of Fichte. From this time\non until his death in 1831, he was the recognized dictator of one of the\nmost powerful philosophic schools in the history of thought.\n\nIt is no easy task to convey an adequate idea of Hegel's philosophy\nwithin the limits of a short introduction. There is, however, one\ncentral thought animating the vast range of his whole philosophic system\nwhich permits of non-technical statement. This thought will be more\neasily grasped, if we consider first the well-known concept of\npermanence and change. They may be said to constitute the most\nfundamental distinction in life and in thought. Religion and poetry have\nalways dwelt upon their tragic meaning. That there is nothing new under\nthe sun and that we are but \"fair creatures of an hour\" in an\never-changing world, are equally sad reflections. Interesting is the\napplication of the difference between permanence and change to extreme\ntypes of temperament. We may speak loosely of the \"static\" and the\n\"dynamic\" temperaments, the former clinging to everything that is\ntraditional, conservative, and abiding in art, religion, philosophy,\npolitics, and life; the latter everywhere pointing to, and delighting\nin, the fluent, the novel, the evanescent. These extreme types, by no\nmeans rare or unreal, illustrate the deep-rooted need of investing\neither permanence or change with a more fundamental value. And to the\nvalue of the one or the other, philosophers have always endeavored to\ngive metaphysical expression.\n\n[Illustration: SCHLIESINGER GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL]\n\nSome thinkers have proclaimed change to be the deepest manifestation of\nreality, while others have insisted upon something abiding behind a\nworld of flux. The question whether change or permanence is more\nessential arose early in Greek philosophy. Heraclitus was the first one\nto see in change a deeper significance than in the permanence of the\nEleatics. A more dramatic opposition than the one which ensued between\nthe Heracliteans and the Eleatics can scarcely be imagined--both schools\nclaiming a monopoly of reason and truth, both distrusting the senses,\nand each charging the other with illusion. Now the significance of\nHegel's philosophy can be grasped only when we bear in mind that it was\njust this profound distinction between the permanent and the changing\nthat Hegel sought to understand and to interpret. He saw more deeply\ninto the reality of movement and change than any other philosopher\nbefore or after him.\n\nVery early in his life, judging by the recently published writings of\nhis youth, Hegel became interested in various phases of movement and\nchange. The vicissitudes of his own inner or outer life he did not\nanalyze. He was not given to introspection. Romanticism and mysticism\nwere foreign to his nature. His temperament was rather that of the\nobjective thinker. Not his own passions, hopes, and fears, but those of\nothers invited his curiosity. With an humane attitude, the young Hegel\napproached religious and historical problems. The dramatic life and\ndeath of Jesus, the tragic fate of \"the glory that was Greece and the\ngrandeur that was Rome,\" the discrepancies between Christ's teachings\nand the positive Christian religion, the fall of paganism and the\ntriumph of the Christian Church--these were the problems over which the\nyoung Hegel pondered. Through an intense study of these problems, he\ndiscovered that evil, sin, longing, and suffering are woven into the\nvery tissue of religious and historical processes, and that these\nnegative elements determine the very meaning and progress of history and\nreligion. Thereupon he began a systematic sketch of a philosophy in\nwhich a negative factor was to be recognized as the positive vehicle in\nthe development of the whole world. And thus his genius came upon a\nmethod which revealed to him an orderly unfolding in the world with\nstages of relative values, the higher developing from the lower, and all\nstages constituting an organic whole.\n\nThe method which the young Hegel discovered empirically, and which the\nmature rationalist applied to every sphere of human life and thought, is\nthe famous Dialectical Method. This method is, in general, nothing else\nthan the recognition of the necessary presence of a negative factor in\nthe constitution of the world. Everything in the world--be it a\nreligious cult or a logical category, a human passion or a scientific\nlaw--is, so Hegel holds, the result of a process which involves the\novercoming of a negative element. Without such an element to overcome,\nthe world would indeed be an inert and irrational affair. That any\nrational and worthy activity entails the encounter of opposition and the\nremoval of obstacles is an observation commonplace enough. A\npre\u00ebstablished harmony of foreseen happy issues--a fool's paradise--is\nscarcely our ideal of a rational world. Just as a game is not worth\nplaying when its result is predetermined by the great inferiority of the\nopponent, so life without something negative to overcome loses its zest.\nBut the process of overcoming is not anything contingent; it operates\naccording to a uniform and universal law. And this law constitutes\nHegel's most central doctrine--his doctrine of Evolution.\n\nIn order to bring this doctrine into better relief, it may be well to\ncontrast it superficially with the Darwinian theory of transformation.\nIn general, Hegel's doctrine is a concept of value, Darwin's is not.\nWhat Darwinians mean by evolution is not an unfolding of the past, a\nprogressive development of a hierarchy of phases, in which the later is\nsuperior and organically related to the earlier. No sufficient criterion\nis provided by them for evaluating the various stages in the course of\nan evolutionary process. The biologist's world would probably have been\njust as rational if the famous ape-like progenitor of man had chanced to\nbecome his offspring-assuming an original environment favorable for such\ntransformation. Some criterion besides the mere external and accidental\n\"struggle for existence\" and \"survival of the fittest\" must be furnished\nto account for a progressive evolution. Does the phrase \"survival of the\nfittest\" say much more than that those who happen to survive _are_ the\nfittest, or that their survival proves their fitness? But that survival\nitself is valuable: that it is better to be alive than dead; that\nexistence has a value other than itself; that what comes later in the\nhistory of the race or of the universe is an advance over what went\nbefore-that, in a word, the world is subject to an immanent development,\nonly a comprehensive and systematic philosophy can attempt to show.\n\nThe task of Hegel's whole philosophy consists in showing, by means of\none uniform principle, that the world manifests everywhere a genuine\nevolution. Unlike the participants in the biological \"struggle for\nexistence,\" the struggling beings of Hegel's universe never end in\nslaying, but in reconciliation. Their very struggle gives birth to a new\nbeing which includes them, and this being is \"higher\" in the scale of\nexistence, because it represents the preservation of two mutually\nopposed beings. Only where conflicts are adjusted, oppositions overcome,\nnegations removed, is there advance, in Hegel's sense; and only where\nthere is a passage from the positive through its challenging negative to\na higher form inclusive of both is there a case of real development.\n\nThe ordinary process of learning by experience illustrates somewhat\nHegel's meaning. An individual finds himself, for instance, in the\npresence of a wholly new situation that elicits an immediate, definite\nreaction. In his ignorance, he chooses the wrong mode of behavior. As a\nconsequence, trouble ensues; feelings are hurt, pride is wounded,\nmotives are misconstrued. Embittered and disappointed with himself, he\nexperiences great mental sorrow. But he soon learns to see the situation\nin its true light; he condemns his deed and offers to make amends. And\nafter the wounds begin to heal again, the inner struggles experienced\ncommence to assume a positive worth. They have led him to a deeper\ninsight into his own motives, to a better self-comprehension. And he\nfinally comes forth from the whole affair enriched and enlightened. Now\nin this formal example, to which any content may be supplied, three\nphases can be distinguished. First, we have the person as he meant to be\nin the presence of the new situation, unaware of trouble. Then, his\nwrong reaction engendered a hostile element. He was at war with himself;\nhe was not what he meant to be. And finally, he returned to himself\nricher and wiser, including within himself the negative experience as a\nvaluable asset in the advance of his development.\n\nThis process of falling away from oneself, of facing oneself as an enemy\nwhom one reconciles to and includes in one's larger self, is certainly\na familiar process. It is a process just like this that develops one's\npersonality. However the self may be defined metaphysically, it is for\nevery self-conscious individual a never-ceasing battle with conflicting\nmotives and antagonistic desires--a never-ending cycle of endeavor,\nfailure, and success through the very agency of failure.\n\nA more typical instance of this rhythmic process is Hegel's view of the\nevolution of religion. Religion, in general, is based on a dualism which\nit seeks to overcome. Though God is in heaven and man on earth, religion\nlongs to bridge the gulf which separates man and God. The religions of\nthe Orient emphasize God's infinity. God is everything, man is nothing.\nLike an Oriental prince, God is conceived to have despotic sway over\nman, his creature. Only in contemplating God's omnipotence and his own\nnothingness can man find solace and peace. Opposed to this religion of\nthe infinite is the finite religion of Greece.\n\nMan in Greece stands in the centre of a beautiful cosmos which is not\nalien to his spirit. The gods on high, conceived after the likeness of\nman, are the expression of a free people conscious of their freedom. And\nthe divinities worshiped, under the form of Zeus, Apollo,\nAphrodite--what are they but idealized and glorified Greeks? Can a more\ncomplete antithesis be imagined? But Christianity becomes possible after\nthis struggle only, for in Christianity is contained both the principle\nof Oriental infinity and the element of Hellenic finitude, for in a\nbeing who is both God and man--a God-man--the gulf between the infinite\nand finite is bridged. The Christian, like the Greek, worships\nman--Jesus; but this man is one with the eternal being of the Orient.\nBecause it is the outcome of the Oriental and Greek opposition, the\nChristian religion is, in Hegel's sense, a higher one. Viewing the\nOriental and the Hellenic religions historically in terms of the\nbiological \"struggle for existence,\" the extinction of neither has\nresulted. The Christian religion is the unity of these two struggling\nopposites; in it they are conciliated and preserved. And this for Hegel\nis genuine evolution.\n\nThat evolution demands a union of opposites seems at first paradoxical\nenough. To say that Christianity is a religion of both infinity and\nfinitude means nothing less than that it contains a contradiction.\nHegel's view, strange as it may sound, is just this: everything includes\na contradiction in it, everything is both positive and negative,\neverything expresses at once its Everlasting Yea and its Everlasting No.\nThe negative character of the world is the very vehicle of its progress.\nLife and activity mean the triumph of the positive over the negative, a\ntriumph which results from absorbing and assimilating it. The myth of\nthe Phoenix typifies the life of reason \"eternally preparing for\nitself,\" as Hegel says, \"a funeral pile, and consuming itself upon it;\nbut so that from its ashes it produces the new, renovated, fresh life.\"\nThat the power of negativity enters constitutively into the rationality\nof the world, nay, that the rationality of the world demands negativity\nin it, is Hegel's most original contribution to thought. His complete\nphilosophy is the attempt to show in detail that the whole universe and\neverything it contains manifests the process of uniformly struggling\nwith a negative power, and is an outcome of conflicting, but reconciled\nforces. An impressionistic picture of the world's eternal becoming\nthrough this process is furnished by the first of Hegel's great works,\nthe _Phenomenology of Spirit_. The book is, in a sense, a cross-section\nof the entire spiritual world. It depicts the necessary unfolding of\ntypical phases of the spiritual life of mankind. Logical categories,\nscientific laws, historical epochs, literary tendencies, religious\nprocesses, social, moral, and artistic institutions, all exemplify the\nsame onward movement through a union of opposites. There is eternal and\ntotal instability everywhere. But this unrest and instability is of a\nnecessary and uniform nature, according to the one eternally fixed\nprinciple which renders the universe as a whole organic and orderly.\n\nOrganic Wholeness! This phrase contains the rationale of the restless\nflow and the evanescent being of the Hegelian world. It is but from the\npoint of view of the whole that its countless conflicts, discrepancies,\nand contradictions can be understood. As the members of the body find\nonly in the body as a whole their _raison d'\u00eatre_, so the manifold\nexpressions of the world are the expressions of one organism. A hand\nwhich is cut off, as Hegel somewhere remarks, still looks like a hand,\nand exists; but it is not a real hand. Similarly any part of the world,\nsevered from its connection with the whole, any isolated historical\nevent, any one religious view, any particular scientific explanation,\nany single social body, any mere individual person, is like an amputated\nbodily organ. Hegel's view of the world as organic depends upon\nexhibiting the partial and abstract nature of other views. In his\n_Phenomenology_ a variety of interpretations of the world and of the\nmeaning and destiny of life are scrutinized as to their adequacy and\nconcreteness. When not challenged, the point of view of common sense,\nfor instance, seems concrete and natural. The reaction of common sense\nto the world is direct and practical, it has few questions to ask, and\nphilosophic speculations appear to it abstract and barren. But, upon\nanalysis, it is the common sense view that stands revealed as abstract\nand barren. For an abstract object is one that does not fully correspond\nto the rich and manifold reality; it is incomplete and one-sided.\n\nPrecisely such an object is the world of common sense. Its concreteness\nis ignorance. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt\nof by common sense. Its work-a-day world is not even a faint reflex of\nthe vast and complex universe. It sees but the immediate, the obvious,\nthe superficial. So instead of being concrete, it is, in truth, the very\nopposite. Nor is empirical science with its predilection for \"facts\"\nbetter off. Every science able to cope with a mere fragmentary aspect of\nthe world and from a partial point of view, is forced to ignore much of\nthe concrete content of even its own realm. Likewise, art and religion,\nthough in their views more synthetic and therefore more concrete, are\none-sided; they seek to satisfy special needs. Philosophy\nalone--Hegelian philosophy--is concrete. Its aim is to interpret the\nworld in its entirety and complexity, its ideal is to harmonize the\ndemands of common sense, the interests of science, the appeal of art,\nand the longing of religion into one coherent whole. This view of\nphilosophy, because it deals with the universe in its fulness and\nvariety, alone can make claim to real concreteness. Nor are the other\nviews false. They form for Hegel the necessary rungs on the ladder which\nleads up to his own philosophic vision. Thus the Hegelian vision is\nitself an organic process, including all other interpretations of life\nand of the world as its necessary phases. In the immanent unfolding of\nthe Hegelian view is epitomized the onward march and the organic unity\nof the World-Spirit itself.\n\nThe technical formulation of this view is contained in his _Logic_.\nThis book may indeed be said to be Hegel's master-stroke. Nothing less\nis attempted in it than the proof that the very process of reasoning\nmanifests the same principle of evolution through a union of opposites.\nHegel was well aware, as much as recent exponents of anti-intellectualism,\nthat through \"static\" concepts we transmute and falsify the \"fluent\"\nreality. As Professor James says \"The essence of life is its continuously\nchanging character; but our concepts are all discontinuous and\nfixed ... When we conceptualize we cut out and fix, and exclude everything\nbut what we have fixed. A concept means a _that-and-no-other_.\" But are\nour concepts static, fixed, and discontinuous? What if the very\nconcepts we employ in reasoning should exemplify the universal flow of\nlife? Hegel finds that indeed to be the case. Concepts we daily use,\nsuch as quality and quantity, essence and phenomenon, appearance and\nreality, matter and force, cause and effect, are not fixed and\nisolated entities, but form a continuous system of interdependent\nelements. Stated dogmatically the meaning is this: As concavity and\nconvexity are inseparably connected, though one is the very opposite\nof the other--as one cannot, so to speak, live without the other, both\nbeing always found in union--so can no concept be discovered that is\nnot thus wedded to its contradiction. Every concept develops, upon\nanalysis, a stubbornly negative mate. No concept is statable or\ndefinable without its opposite; one involves the other. One cannot\nspeak of motion without implying rest; one cannot mention the finite\nwithout at the same time referring to the infinite; one cannot define\ncause without explicitly defining effect. Not only is this true, but\nconcepts, when applied, reveal perpetual oscillation. Take the terms\n\"north\" and \"south.\" The mention of the north pole, for example,\nimplies at once the south pole also; it can be distinguished only by\ncontrast with the other, which it thus _includes_. But it is a north\npole only by _excluding_ the south pole from itself--by being itself\nand not merely what the other is not. The situation is paradoxical\nenough: Each aspect--the negative or the positive--of anything appears\nto exclude the other, while each requires its own other for its very\ndefinition and expression. It needs the other, and yet is independent\nof it. How Hegel proves this of all concepts, cannot here be shown.\nThe result is that no concept can be taken by itself as a\n\"that-and-no-other.\" It is perpetually accompanied by its \"other\" as\nman is by his shadow. The attempt to isolate any logical category and\nregard it as fixed and stable thus proves futile. Each category--to\nshow this is the task of Hegel's _Logic_--is itself an organism, the\nresult of a process which takes place within its inner constitution.\nAnd all logical categories, inevitably used in describing and\nexplaining our world, form one system of interdependent and\norganically related parts. Hegel begins with an analysis of a concept\nthat most abstractly describes reality, follows it through its\ncountless conflicts and contradictions, and finally reaches the\nhighest category which, including all the foregoing categories in\norganic unity, is alone adequate to characterize the universe as an\norganism. What these categories are and what Hegel's procedure is in\nshowing their necessary sequential development, can here not even be\nhinted at.\n\nThat the logical development of the categories of thought is the same as\nthe historical evolution of life--and _vice versa_--establishes for\nHegel the identity of thought and reality. In the history of philosophy,\nthe discrepancy between thought and reality has often been emphasized.\nThere are those who insist that reality is too vast and too deep for man\nwith his limited vision to penetrate; others, again, who set only\ncertain bounds to man's understanding, reality consisting, they hold, of\nknowable and unknowable parts; and others still who see in the very\nshifts and changes of philosophic and scientific opinion the delusion of\nreason and the illusiveness of reality. The history of thought certainly\ndoes present an array of conflicting views concerning the limits of\nhuman reason. But all the contradictions and conflicts of thought prove\nto Hegel the sovereignty of reason. The conflicts of reason are its own\nnecessary processes and expressions. Its dialectic instability is\ninstability that is peculiar to all reality. Both thought and reality\nmanifest one nature and one process. Hence reason with its \"dynamic\"\ncategories can comprehend the \"fluent\" reality, because it is flesh of\nits flesh and bone of its bone. Hegel's bold and oft quoted words \"What\nis rational is real; and what is real is rational,\" pithily express his\nwhole doctrine. The nature of rationality and the nature of reality are,\nfor Hegel, one and the same spiritual process, the organic process of\ntriumphing over and conquering conflicts and contradictions. Where\nreality conforms to this process it is rational (that which does not\nconform to it is not reality at all, but has, like an amputated leg,\nmere contingent existence); the logical formula of this process is but\nan abstract account of what reality is in its essence.\n\nThe equation of the real and the rational, or the discovery of one\nsignificant process underlying both life and reason, led Hegel to\nproclaim a new kind of logic, so well characterized by Professor Royce\nas the \"logic of passion.\" To repeat what has been said above, this\nmeans that categories are related to one another as historical epochs,\nas religious processes, as social and moral institutions, nay, as human\npassions, wills, and deeds are related to one another. Mutual conflict\nand contradiction appear as their sole constant factor amid all their\nvariable conditions. The introduction of contradiction into logical\nconcepts as their _sine qua non_ meant indeed a revolutionary departure\nfrom traditional logic. Prior to Hegel, logical reasoning was reasoning\nin accordance with the law of contradiction, i. e., with the assumption\nthat nothing can have at the same time and at the same place\ncontradictory and inconsistent qualities or elements. For Hegel, on the\ncontrary, contradiction is the very moving principle of the world, the\npulse of its life. _Alle Dinge sind an sich selbst widersprechend_, as\nhe drastically says. The deeper reason why Hegel invests contradiction\nwith a positive value lies in the fact that, since the nature of\neverything involves the union of discrepant elements, nothing can bear\nisolation and independence. Terms, processes, epochs, institutions,\ndepend upon one another for their meaning, expression, and existence; it\nis impossible to take anything in isolation. But this is just what one\ndoes in dealing with the world in art or in science, in religion or in\nbusiness; one is always dealing with error and contradiction, because\none is dealing with fragments or bits of life and experience. Hence--and\nthis is Hegel's crowning thought--anything short of the whole universe\nis inevitably contradictory. In brief, contradiction has the same sting\nfor Hegel as it has for any one else. Without losing its nature of\n\"contradictoriness,\" contradiction has logically this positive meaning.\nSince it is an essential element of every partial, isolated, and\nindependent view of experience and thought, one is necessarily led to\ntranscend it and to see the universe in organic wholeness.\n\nThus, as Hegel puts his fundamental idea, \"the truth is the whole.\"\nNeither things nor categories, neither histories nor religions, neither\nsciences nor arts, express or exhaust by themselves the whole essence of\nthe universe. The essence of the universe is the _life_ of the totality\nof all things, not their _sum_. As the life of man is not the sum of his\nbodily and mental functions, the whole man being present in each and all\nof these, so must the universe be conceived as omnipresent in each of\nits parts and expressions. This is the significance of Hegel's\nconception of the universe as an organism. The World-Spirit--Hegel's\nGod--constitutes, thinks, lives, wills, and is _all_ in unity. The\nevolution of the universe is thus the evolution of God himself.\n\nThe task of philosophy, then, as Hegel conceives it, is to portray in\nsystematic form the evolution of the World-Spirit in all its necessary\nramifications. These ramifications themselves are conceived as\nconstituting complete wholes, such as logic, nature, mind, society,\nhistory, art, religion, philosophy, so that the universe in its onward\nmarch through these is represented as a Whole of Wholes--_ein Kreis von\nKreisen_. In Hegel's complete philosophy each of these special spheres\nfinds its proper place and elaborate treatment.\n\nWhether Hegel has well or ill succeeded in the task of exhibiting in\neach and all of these spheres the one universal movement, whether or no\nhe was justified in reading into logic the same kind of development\nmanifested by life, or in making life conform to one logical\nformula--these and other problems should arouse an interest in Hegel's\nwritings. The following selections may give some glimpse of their\nspirit.\n\nIn conclusion, some bare suggestions must suffice to indicate the reason\nfor Hegel's great influence. Hegel has partly, if not wholly, created\nthe modern historical spirit. Reality for him, as even this inadequate\nsketch has shown, is not static, but is essentially a process. Thus\nuntil the history of a thing is known, the thing is not understood at\nall. It is the becoming and not the being of the world that constitutes\nits reality. And thus in emphasizing the fact that everything has a\n\"past,\" the insight into which alone reveals its significant meaning,\nHegel has given metaphysical expression and impetus to the awakening\nmodern historical sense. His idea of evolution also epitomizes the\nspirit of the nineteenth century with its search everywhere for geneses\nand transformations--in religion, philology, geology, biology. Closely\nconnected with the predominance of the historical in Hegel's philosophy\nis its explicit critique of individualism and particularism. According\nto his doctrine, the individual as individual is meaningless. The\nparticular--independent and unrelated--is an abstraction. The isolation\nof anything results in contradiction. It is only the whole that animates\nand gives meaning to the individual and the particular. This idea of\nsubordinating the individual to universal ends, as embodied particularly\nin Hegel's theory of the State, has left its impress upon political,\nsocial, and economic theories of his century. Not less significant is\nthe glorification of reason of which Hegel's complete philosophy is an\nexpression. Reason never spoke with so much self-confidence and\nauthority as it did in Hegel. To the clear vision of reason the universe\npresents no dark or mysterious corners, nay, the very negations and\ncontradictions in it are marks of its inherent rationality. But Hegel's\nrationalism is not of the ordinary shallow kind. Reason he himself\ndistinguishes from understanding. The latter is analytical, its function\nis to abstract, to define, to compile, to classify. Reason, on the other\nhand, is synthetic, constructive, inventive. Apart from Hegel's special\nuse of the term, it is this synthetic and creative and imaginative\nquality pervading his whole philosophy which has deepened men's insight\ninto history, religion, and art, and which has wielded its general\ninfluence on the philosophic and literary constellation of the\nnineteenth century.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nGEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY[1] (1837)\n\nTRANSLATED BY J. SIBREE, M.A.\n\n\nThe subject of this course of lectures is the Philosophical History of\nthe World. And by this must be understood, not a collection of general\nobservations respecting it, suggested by the study of its records and\nproposed to be illustrated by its facts, but universal history itself.\nTo gain a clear idea, at the outset, of the nature of our task, it seems\nnecessary to begin with an examination of the other methods of treating\nhistory. The various methods may be ranged under three heads:\n\n   I. Original History.\n  II. Reflective History.\n III. Philosophical History.\n\nI. Of the first kind, the mention of one or two distinguished names will\nfurnish a definite type. To this category belong Herodotus, Thucydides,\nand other historians of the same order, whose descriptions are for the\nmost part limited to deeds, events, and states of society, which they\nhad before their eyes and whose spirit they shared. They simply\ntransferred what was passing in the world around them to the realm of\nre-presentative intellect; an external phenomenon was thus translated\ninto an internal conception. In the same way the poet operates upon the\nmaterial supplied him by his emotions, projecting it into an image for\nthe conceptive faculty.\n\nThese original historians did, it is true, find statements and\nnarratives of other men ready to hand; one person cannot be an\neye-and-ear witness of everything. But, merely as an ingredient, they\nmake use only of such aids as the poet does of that heritage of an\nalready-formed language to which he owes so much; historiographers bind\ntogether the fleeting elements of story, and treasure them up for\nimmortality in the temple of Mnemosyne. Legends, ballad-stories, and\ntraditions must be excluded from such original history; they are but dim\nand hazy forms of historical apprehension, and therefore belong to\nnations whose intelligence is but half awakened. Here, on the contrary,\nwe have to do with people fully conscious of what they were and what\nthey were about. The domain of reality--actually seen, or capable of\nbeing so-affords a very different basis in point of firmness from that\nfugitive and shadowy element in which were engendered those legends and\npoetic dreams whose historical prestige vanishes as soon as nations have\nattained a mature individuality.\n\nSuch original historians, then, change the events, the deeds, and the\nstates of society with which they are conversant, into an object for the\nconceptive faculty; the narratives they leave us cannot, therefore, be\nvery comprehensive in their range. Herodotus, Thucydides, Guicciardini,\nmay be taken as fair samples of the class in this respect. What is\npresent and living in their environment is their proper material. The\ninfluences that have formed the writer are identical with those which\nhave molded the events that constitute the matter of his story. The\nauthor's spirit and that of the actions he narrates are one and the\nsame. He describes scenes in which he himself has been an actor, or at\nany rate an interested spectator. It is short periods of time,\nindividual shapes of persons and occurrences, single, unreflected\ntraits, of which he makes his picture. And his aim is nothing more than\nthe presentation to posterity of an image of events as clear as that\nwhich he himself possessed in virtue of personal observation, or\nlifelike descriptions. Reflections are none of his business, for he\nlives in the spirit of his subject; he has not attained an elevation\nabove it. If, as in C\u00e6sar's case, he belongs to the exalted rank of\ngenerals or statesmen, it is the prosecution of his own aims that\nconstitutes the history.\n\nSuch speeches as we find in Thucydides, for example, of which we can\npositively assert that they are not _bona fide_ reports, would seem to\nmake against our statement that a historian of his class presents us no\nreflected picture, that persons and people appear in his works in\n_propria persona_ ... Granted that such orations as those of\nPericles--that most profoundly accomplished, genuine, noble\nstatesman--were elaborated by Thucydides, it must yet be maintained that\nthey were not foreign to the character of the speaker. In the orations\nin question, these men proclaim the maxims adopted by their countrymen\nand formative of their own character; they record their views of their\npolitical relations and of their moral and spiritual nature, and publish\nthe principles of their designs and conduct. What the historian puts\ninto their mouths is no supposititious system of ideas, but an\nuncorrupted transcript of their intellectual and moral habitudes.\n\nOf these historians whom we must make thoroughly our own, with whom we\nmust linger long if we would live with their respective nations and\nenter deeply into their spirit--of these historians to whose pages we\nmay turn, not for the purposes of erudition merely, but with a view to\ndeep and genuine enjoyment, there are fewer than might be imagined.\nHerodotus, the Father, namely the Founder, of History, and Thucydides\nhave been already mentioned. Xenophon's _Retreat of the Ten Thousand_ is\na work equally original. C\u00e6sar's _Commentaries_ are the simple\nmasterpiece of a mighty spirit; among the ancients these annalists were\nnecessarily great captains and statesmen. In the Middle Ages, if we\nexcept the bishops, who were placed in the very centre of the political\nworld, the monks monopolize this category as na\u00efve chroniclers who were\nas decidedly isolated from active life as those elder annalists had been\nconnected with it. In modern times the relations are entirely altered.\nOur culture is essentially comprehensive, and immediately changes all\nevents into historical representations. Belonging to the class in\nquestion, we have vivid, simple, clear narrations--especially of\nmilitary transactions--which might fairly take their place with those of\nC\u00e6sar. In richness of matter and fulness of detail as regards strategic\nappliances and attendant circumstances, they are even more instructive.\nThe French \"Memoirs\" also fall under this category. In many cases these\nare written by men of mark, though relating to affairs of little note;\nthey not unfrequently contain such a large amount of anecdotal matter\nthat the ground they occupy is narrow and trivial. Yet they are often\nveritable masterpieces in history, as are those of Cardinal Retz, which,\nin fact, trench on a larger historical field. In Germany such masters\nare rare, Frederick the Great in his _Histoire de mon temps_ being an\nillustrious exception. Writers of this order must occupy an elevated\nposition, for only from such a position is it possible to take an\nextensive view of affairs--to see everything. This is out of the\nquestion for him who from below merely gets a glimpse of the great world\nthrough a miserable cranny.\n\nII. The second kind of history we may call the _Reflective._ It is\nhistory whose mode of representation is not really confined by the limits\nof the time to which it relates, but whose spirit transcends the\npresent. In this second order a strongly marked variety of species may\nbe distinguished.\n\n1. It is the aim of the investigator to gain a view of the entire\nhistory of a people, of a country, or of the world in short, what we\ncall universal history. In this case the working up of the historical\nmaterial is the main point. The workman approaches his task with his own\nspirit--a spirit distinct from that of the element he is to manipulate.\n\nHere a very important consideration is the principles to which the\nauthor refers the bearing and motives of the actions and events which he\ndescribes, as well as those which determine the form of his narrative.\nAmong us Germans this reflective treatment and the display of ingenuity\nwhich it affords assume a manifold variety of phases. Every writer of\nhistory proposes to himself an original method. The English and French\nconfess to general principles of historical composition, their viewpoint\nbeing more nearly that of cosmopolitan or national culture. Among us,\neach labors to invent a purely individual point of view; instead of\nwriting history, we are always beating our brains to discover how\nhistory ought to be written.\n\nThis first kind of Reflective history is most nearly akin to the\npreceding, when it has no further aim than to present the annals of a\ncountry complete. Such compilations (among which may be mentioned the\nworks of Livy, Diodorus Siculus, Johannes von M\u00fcller's _History of\nSwitzerland_) are, if well performed, highly meritorious. Among the best\nof the kind may be included such annalists as approach those of the\nfirst-class writers who give so vivid a transcript of events that the\nreader may well fancy himself listening to contemporaries and\neye-witnesses. But it often happens that the individuality of tone which\nmust characterize a writer belonging to a different culture is not\nmodified in accordance with the periods which such a record must\ntraverse. The spirit of the writer may be quite apart from that of the\ntimes of which he treats. Thus Livy puts into the mouths of the old\nRoman kings, consuls, and generals, such orations as would be delivered\nby an accomplished advocate of the Livian era, and which strikingly\ncontrast with the genuine traditions of Roman antiquity--witness, for\nexample, the fable of Menenius Agrippa. In the same way he gives us\ndescriptions of battles as if he had been an actual spectator; but their\nsalient points would serve well enough for battles in any period, for\ntheir distinctness contrasts, even in his treatment of chief points of\ninterest, with the want of connection and the inconsistency that prevail\nelsewhere. The difference between such a compiler and an original\nhistorian may be best seen by comparing Polybius himself with the style\nin which Livy uses, expands, and abridges his annals in those periods of\nwhich Polybius' account has been preserved. Johannes von M\u00fcller, in the\nendeavor to remain faithful in his portraiture to the times he\ndescribes, has given a stiff, formal, pedantic aspect to his history. We\nmuch prefer the narratives we find in old Tschudi; all is more na\u00efve and\nnatural than when appearing in the garb of a fictitious and affected\narchaism.\n\nA history which aspires to traverse long periods of time, or to be\nuniversal, must indeed forego the attempt to give individual\nrepresentations of the past as it actually existed. It must foreshorten\nits pictures by abstractions, and this includes not merely the omission\nof events and deeds, but whatever is involved in the fact that Thought\nis, after all, the most trenchant epitomist. A battle, a great victory,\na siege no longer maintains its original proportions, but is put off\nwith a mere allusion. When Livy, for instance, tells us of the war with\nthe Volsci, we sometimes have the brief announcement: \"This year war was\ncarried on with the Volsci.\"\n\n2. A second species of Reflective history is what we may call the\npragmatical. When we have to deal with the past and occupy ourselves\nwith a remote world, a present rises into being for the mind--produced\nby its own activity, as the reward of its labor. The occurrences are,\nindeed, various; but the idea which pervades them-their deeper import\nand connection--is one. This takes the occurrence out of the category of\nthe past and makes it virtually present. Pragmatical (didactic)\nreflections, though in their nature decidedly abstract, are truly and\nindefeasibly of the present, and quicken the annals of the dead past\nwith the life of today. Whether, indeed, such reflections are truly\ninteresting and enlivening depends on the writer's own spirit. Moral\nreflections must here be specially noticed--the moral teaching expected\nfrom history; the latter has not infrequently been treated with a direct\nview to the former. It may be allowed that examples of virtue elevate\nthe soul and are applicable in the moral instruction of children for\nimpressing excellence upon their minds. But the destinies of people and\nstates, their interests, relations, and the complicated tissue of their\naffairs, present quite another field. Rulers, statesmen, nations, are\nwont to be emphatically commended to the teaching which experience\noffers in history; yet what experience and history teach is this-that\npeoples and governments have never learned anything from history, nor\nhave they acted on principles deduced from it. Each period is involved\nin such peculiar circumstances, exhibits a condition of things so\nstrictly idiosyncratic, that its conduct must be regulated by\nconsiderations connected with itself, and itself alone. Amid the\npressure of great events a general principle gives no help.\n\nIt is useless to revert to similar circumstances in the past. The pallid\nshades of memory struggle in vain with the life and freedom of the\npresent. Looked at in this light nothing can be shallower than the\noft-repeated appeal to Greek and Roman examples during the French\nRevolution; nothing is more diverse than the genius of those nations and\nthat of our times. Johannes von M\u00fcller, in his _Universal History_ as\nalso in his _History of Switzerland_, had such moral aims in view. He\ndesigned to prepare a body of political doctrines for the instruction of\nprinces, governments, and peoples (he formed a special collection of\ndoctrines and reflections, frequently giving us in his correspondence\nthe exact number of apothegms which he had compiled in a week); but he\ncannot assert that this part of his labor was among the best he\naccomplished. It is only a thorough, liberal, comprehensive view of\nhistorical relations (such for instance, as we find in Montesquieu's\n_L'Esprit des Lois_) that can give truth and interest to reflections of\nthis order. One Reflective history, therefore, supersedes another. The\nmaterials are patent to every writer; each is prone to believe himself\ncapable of arranging and manipulating them, and we may expect that each\nwill insist upon his own spirit as that of the age in question.\nDisgusted by such reflective histories, readers have often returned with\npleasure to narratives adopting no particular point of view--which\ncertainly have their value, although, for the most part, they offer only\nmaterial for history. We Germans are content with such; but the French,\non the other hand, display great genius in reanimating bygone times and\nin bringing the past to bear upon the present condition of things.\n\n3. The third form of Reflective history is the _Critical_. This deserves\nmention as preeminently the mode, now current in Germany, of treating\nhistory. It is not history itself that is here presented. We might more\nproperly designate it as a History of History--a criticism of historical\nnarratives and an investigation of their truth and credibility. Its\npeculiarity, in point of fact as well as intention, consists in the\nacuteness with which the writer extorts from the records something\nwhich was not in the matters recorded. The French have given us much\nthat is profound and judicious in this class of composition, but have\nnot endeavored to make a merely critical procedure pass for substantial\nhistory; their judgments have been duly presented in the form of\ncritical treatises. Among us, the so-called \"higher criticism,\" which\nreigns supreme in the domain of philology, has also taken possession of\nour historical literature; it has been the pretext for introducing all\nthe anti-historical monstrosities that a vain imagination could suggest.\nHere we have the other method of making the past a living reality; for\nhistorical data subjective fancies are substituted, whose merit is\nmeasured by their boldness--that is, the scantiness of the particulars\non which they are based and the peremptoriness with which they\ncontravene the best established facts of history.\n\n4. The last species of Reflective history announces its fragmentary\ncharacter on its very face. It adopts an abstract position; yet, since\nit takes general points of view (such, for instance, as the History of\nArt, of Law, of Religion), it forms a transition to the Philosophical\nHistory of the World. In our time this form of the history of ideas has\nbeen especially developed and made prominent. Such branches of national\nlife stand in close relation to the entire complex of a people's annals;\nand the question of chief importance in relation to our subject is,\nwhether the connection of the whole is exhibited in its truth and\nreality, or is referred to merely external relations. In the latter\ncase, these important phenomena (art, law, religion, etc.), appear as\npurely accidental national peculiarities. It must be remarked, if the\nposition taken is a true one, that when Reflective history has advanced\nto the adoption of general points of view, these are found to constitute\nnot a merely external thread, a superficial series, but are the inward\nguiding soul of the occurrences and actions that occupy a nation's\nannals. For, like the soul-conductor, Mercury, the Idea is, in truth,\nthe leader of peoples and of the world; and Spirit, the rational and\nnecessitated will of that conductor, is and has been the director of\nthe events of the world's history. To become acquainted with Spirit in\nthis, its office of guidance, is the object of our present undertaking.\n\nIII. The third kind of history is the _Philosophical_. No explanation\nwas needed of the two previous classes; their nature was self-evident.\nIt is otherwise with the last, which certainly seems to require an\nexposition or justification. The most general definition that can be\ngiven is, that the philosophy of history means nothing but the\nthoughtful consideration of it. Thought is, indeed, essential to\nhumanity. It is this that distinguishes us from the brutes. In\nsensation, cognition, and intellection, in our instincts and volitions,\nas far as they are truly human, thought is a constant element. To insist\nupon thought in this connection with history may, however, appear\nunsatisfactory. In this science it would seem as if thought must be\nsubordinate to what is given, to the realities of fact--that this is its\nbasis and guide; while philosophy dwells in the region of self-produced\nideas, without reference to actuality. Approaching history thus\nprepossessed, speculation might be supposed to treat it as a mere\npassive material, and, so far from leaving it in its native truth, to\nforce it into conformity with a tyrannous idea, and to construe it, as\nthe phrase is, _a priori_. But as it is the business of history simply\nto adopt into its records what is and has been-actual occurrences and\ntransactions; and since it remains true to its character in proportion\nas it strictly adheres to its data, we seem to have in philosophy a\nprocess diametrically opposed to that of the historiographer. This\ncontradiction, and the charge consequently brought against speculation,\nshall be explained and confuted. We do not, however, propose to correct\nthe innumerable special misrepresentations, whether trite or novel, that\nare current respecting the aims, the interests, and the modes of\ntreating history and its relation to philosophy.\n\nThe only thought which philosophy brings with it to the contemplation\nof history, is the simple conception of Reason; that Reason is the\nsovereign of the world; that the history of the world, therefore,\npresents us with a rational process. This conviction and intuition is a\nhypothesis in the domain of history as such; in that of philosophy it is\nno hypothesis. It is there proved by speculative cognition that\nReason--and this term may here suffice us, without investigating the\nrelation sustained by the universe to the Divine Being--is substance, as\nwell as Infinite Power; its own Infinite Material is that underlying all\nthe natural and spiritual life which it originates, as also the Infinite\nForm--that which sets this material in motion. On the one hand, Reason\nis the substance of the universe--viz., that by which and in which all\nreality has its being and subsistence. On the other hand, it is the\ninfinite energy of the universe; since Reason is not so powerless as to\nbe incapable of producing anything but a mere ideal, a mere\nintention--having its place outside reality, nobody knows where;\nsomething separate and abstract in the heads of certain human beings. It\nis the _infinite complex of things_, their entire essence and truth. It\nis its own material which it commits to its own active energy to work\nup--not needing, as finite action does, the conditions of an external\nmaterial of given means from which it may obtain its support and the\nobjects of its activity. It supplies its own nourishment and is the\nobject of its own operations. While it is exclusively its own basis of\nexistence and absolute final aim, it is also the energizing power\nrealizing this aim, developing it not only in the phenomena of the\nnatural, but also of the spiritual universe--the history of the world.\nThat this \"Idea\" or \"Reason\" is the _true_, the _eternal_, the\nabsolutely _powerful_ essence; that it reveals itself in the world, and\nthat in that world nothing else is revealed but this and its honor and\nglory--is the thesis which, as we have said, has been proved in\nphilosophy and is here regarded as demonstrated.\n\nIn entering upon this course of lectures, I may fairly presume, at\nleast, the existence in those of my hearers who are not acquainted with\nphilosophy, of a belief in Reason, a desire, a thirst for acquaintance\nwith it. It is, in fact, the wish for rational insight, not the ambition\nto amass a mere heap of acquirements, that should be presupposed in\nevery case as possessing the mind of the learner in the study of\nscience. If the clear idea of Reason is not already developed in our\nminds, in beginning the study of universal history, we should at least\nhave the firm, unconquerable faith that Reason does exist there, and\nthat the world of intelligence and conscious volition is not abandoned\nto chance, but must show itself in the light of the self-cognizant Idea.\nYet I am not obliged to make such a preliminary demand upon your faith.\nWhat I have said thus provisionally, and what I shall have further to\nsay, is, even in reference to our branch of science, not to be regarded\nas hypothetical, but as a summary view of the whole, the result of the\ninvestigation we are about to pursue--a result which happens to be known\nto _me_, because I have traversed the entire field. It is only an\ninference from the history of the world that its development has been a\nrational process, that the history in question has constituted the\nrational necessary course of the World-Spirit--that Spirit whose nature\nis always one and the same, but which unfolds this, its one nature, in\nthe phenomena of the world's existence. This must, as before stated,\npresent itself as the ultimate result of history; but we have to take\nthe latter as it is. We must proceed historically--empirically. Among\nother precautions we must take care not to be misled by professed\nhistorians who (especially among the Germans, and those enjoying a\nconsiderable authority) are chargeable with the very procedure of which\nthey accuse the philosopher--introducing _a priori_ inventions of their\nown into the records of the past. It is, for example, a widely current\nfiction that there was an original primeval people, taught directly by\nGod, endowed with perfect insight and wisdom, possessing a thorough\nknowledge of all natural laws and spiritual truth; that there have been\nsuch or such sacerdotal peoples; or, to mention a more specific claim,\nthat there was a Roman Epos, from which the Roman historians derived the\nearly annals of their city, etc....\n\nI will mention only two phases and points of view that concern the\ngenerally diffused conviction that Reason has ruled, and is still ruling\nin the world, and consequently in the world's history; because they give\nus, at the same time, an opportunity for more closely investigating the\nquestion that presents the greatest difficulty, and for indicating a\nbranch of the subject which will have to be enlarged on in the sequel.\n\n1. One of these points is that passage in history which informs us that\nthe Greek Anaxagoras was the first to enunciate the doctrine that\n[GREEK: nous],--Understanding in general, or Reason, governs the world.\nIt is not intelligence as self-conscious Reason--not a spirit as such\nthat is meant; and we must clearly distinguish these from each other.\nThe movement of the solar system takes place according to unchangeable\nlaws. These laws are Reason, implicit in the phenomena in question; but\nneither the sun nor the planets which revolve around it according to\nthese laws can be said to have any consciousness of them.\n\nA thought of this kind--that nature is an embodiment of Reason, that is,\nunchangeably subordinate to universal laws--appears nowise striking or\nstrange to us. We are accustomed to such conceptions and find nothing\nextraordinary in them; and I have mentioned this extraordinary\noccurrence partly to show how history teaches that ideas of this kind,\nwhich may seem trivial to us, have not always been in the world; that,\non the contrary, such a thought makes an epoch in the annals of human\nintelligence. Aristotle says of Anaxagoras, as the originator of the\nthought in question, that he appeared as a sober man among the drunken.\nSocrates adopted the doctrine from Anaxagoras, and it forthwith became\nthe ruling idea in philosophy--except in the school of Epicurus, who\nascribed all events to chance. \"I was delighted with the sentiment,\"\nPlato makes Socrates say, \"and hoped I had found a teacher who would\nshow me Nature in harmony with Reason, who would demonstrate in each\nparticular phenomenon its specific aim, and, in the whole, the grand\nobject of the universe. I would not have surrendered this hope for a\ngreat deal. But how very much was I disappointed, when, having zealously\napplied myself to the writings of Anaxagoras, I found that he adduces\nonly external causes, such as atmosphere, ether, water, and the like.\"\nIt is evident that the defect which Socrates complains of respecting\nAnaxagoras' doctrine does not concern the principle itself, but the\nshortcoming of the propounder in applying it to nature in the concrete.\nNature is not deduced from that principle; the latter remains, in fact,\na mere abstraction, inasmuch as the former is not comprehended and\nexhibited as a development of it--an organization produced by and from\nReason. I wish, at the very outset, to call your attention to the\nimportant difference between a conception, a principle, a truth limited\nto an abstract form, and its determinate application and concrete\ndevelopment. This distinction affects the whole fabric of philosophy;\nand among other bearings of it there is one to which we shall have to\nrevert at the close of our view of universal history, in investigating\nthe aspect of political affairs in the most recent period.\n\nWe have next to notice the rise of this idea that Reason directs the\nworld, in connection with a further application of it well known to\nus--in the form, viz., of the religious truth that the world is not\nabandoned to chance and external contingent causes, but that a\nProvidence controls it. I stated above that I would not make a demand on\nyour faith in regard to the principle announced. Yet I might appeal to\nyour belief in it, in this religious aspect, if as a general rule, the\nnature of philosophical science allowed it to attach authority to\npresuppositions. To put it in another shape--this appeal is forbidden,\nbecause the science of which we have to treat proposes itself to furnish\nthe proof, not indeed of the abstract truth of the doctrine, but of its\ncorrectness as compared with facts. The truth, then, that a Providence\n(that of God) presides over the events of the world consorts with the\nproposition in question; for Divine Providence is wisdom, endowed with\nan infinite power, which realizes its aim, viz., the absolute rational\ndesign of the world. Reason is thought conditioning itself with perfect\nfreedom. But a difference--rather a contradiction--will manifest itself\nbetween this belief and our principle, just as was the case in reference\nto the demand made by Socrates in the case of Anaxagoras' dictum. For\nthat belief is similarly indefinite; it is what is called a belief in a\ngeneral providence, and is not followed out into definite application,\nor displayed in its bearing on the grand total--the entire course of\nhuman history. But to explain history is to depict the passions of\nmankind, the genius, the active powers, that play their part on the\ngreat stage; and the providentially determined process which these\nexhibit constitutes what is generally called the \"plan\" of Providence.\nYet it is this very plan which is supposed to be concealed from our\nview, which it is deemed presumption even to wish to recognize. The\nignorance of Anaxagoras as to how intelligence reveals itself in actual\nexistence was ingenuous. Neither in his consciousness, nor in that of\nGreece at large, had that thought been further expanded. He had not\nattained the power to apply his general principle to the concrete, so as\nto deduce the latter from the former; it was Socrates who took the first\nstep in comprehending the union of the concrete with the universal.\nAnaxagoras, then, did not take up a hostile position toward such an\napplication; the common belief in Providence does; at least it opposes\nthe use of the principle on a large scale, and denies the possibility of\ndiscerning the plan of Providence. In isolated cases this plan is\nsupposed to be manifest. Pious persons are encouraged to recognize in\nparticular circumstances something more than mere chance, to acknowledge\nthe guiding hand of God; for instance, when help has unexpectedly come\nto an individual in great perplexity and need. But these instances of\nprovidential design are of a limited kind, and concern the\naccomplishment of nothing more than the desires of the individual in\nquestion. But in the history of the world, the individuals we have to do\nwith are peoples, totalities that are States. We cannot, therefore, be\nsatisfied with what we may call this \"peddling\" view of Providence, to\nwhich the belief alluded to limits itself. Equally unsatisfactory is the\nmerely abstract, undefined belief in a Providence, when that belief is\nnot brought to bear upon the details of the process which it conducts.\nOn the contrary our earnest endeavor must be directed to the recognition\nof the ways of Providence, the means it uses, and the historical\nphenomena in which it manifests itself; and we must show their\nconnection with the general principle above mentioned. But in noticing\nthe recognition of the plan of Divine Providence generally, I have\nimplicitly touched upon a prominent question of the day, viz., that of\nthe possibility of knowing God; or rather--since public opinion has\nceased to allow it to be a matter of question--the doctrine that it is\nimpossible to know God. In direct contravention of what is commanded in\nholy Scripture as the highest duty--that we should not merely love, but\nknow God--the prevalent dogma involves the denial of what is there\nsaid--namely, that it is the Spirit, _der Geist_, that leads into truth,\nknows all things, penetrates even into the deep things of the Godhead.\nWhile the Divine Being is thus placed beyond our knowledge and outside\nthe limit of all human things, we have the convenient license of\nwandering as far as we list, in the direction of our own fancies. We are\nfreed from the obligation to refer our knowledge to the Divine and True.\nOn the other hand, the vanity and egoism which characterize our\nknowledge find, in this false position, ample justification; and the\npious modesty which puts far from itself the knowledge of God can well\nestimate how much furtherance thereby accrues to its own wayward and\nvain strivings. I have been unwilling to leave out of sight the\nconnection between our thesis--that Reason governs and has governed the\nworld--and the question of the possibility of a knowledge of God,\nchiefly that I might not lose the opportunity of mentioning the\nimputation against philosophy of being shy of noticing religious truths,\nor of having occasion to be so; in which is insinuated the suspicion\nthat it has anything but a clear conscience in the presence of these\ntruths. So far from this being the case, the fact is that in recent\ntimes philosophy has been obliged to defend the domain of religion\nagainst the attacks of several theological systems. In the Christian\nreligion God has revealed Himself--that is, He has given us to\nunderstand what He is, with the result that He is no longer a concealed\nor secret existence. And this possibility of knowing Him, thus afforded\nus, renders such knowledge a duty. God wishes for His children no\nnarrow-hearted souls or empty heads, but those whose spirit is of itself\nindeed, poor, but rich in the knowledge of Him, and who regard this\nknowledge of God as the only valuable possession. That development of\nthe thinking spirit, which has resulted from the revelation of the\nDivine Being as its original basis, must ultimately advance to the\nintellectual comprehension of what was presented, in the first instance,\nto feeling and imagination. The time must eventually come for\nunderstanding that rich product of active Reason which the history of\nthe world offers to us. It was for a while the fashion to profess\nadmiration for the wisdom of God, as displayed in animals, plants, and\nisolated occurrences. But if it be allowed that Providence manifests\nitself in such objects and forms of existence, why not also in universal\nhistory? This is deemed too great a matter to be thus regarded. But\ndivine wisdom, i. e., Reason, is one and the same in the great as in the\nlittle; and we must not imagine God to be too weak to exercise his\nwisdom on the grand scale. Our intellectual striving aims at realizing\nthe conviction that what was intended by eternal wisdom is actually\naccomplished in the domain of existent, active Spirit, as well as in\nthat of mere Nature. Our mode of treating the subject is, in this\naspect, a Theodicaea--a justification of the ways of God--which Leibnitz\nattempted metaphysically in his method, i. e., in indefinite abstract\ncategories--so that the ill that is found in the world may be\ncomprehended, and the thinking Spirit reconciled with the fact of the\nexistence of evil. Indeed, nowhere is such a harmonizing view more\npressingly demanded than in universal history; and it can be attained\nonly by recognizing the positive existence, in which that negative\nelement is a subordinate and vanquished nullity. On the one hand, the\nultimate design of the world must be perceived, and, on the other, the\nfact that this design has been actually realized in it, and that evil\nhas not been able permanently to establish a rival position. But this\nconviction involves much more than the mere belief in a superintending\n[GREEK: nous] or in \"Providence.\" \"Reason,\" whose sovereignty over the\nworld has been maintained, is as indefinite a term as \"Providence,\"\nsupposing the term to be used by those who are unable to characterize it\ndistinctly, to show wherein it consists, so as to enable us to decide\nwhether a thing is rational or irrational. An adequate definition of\nReason is the first desideratum; and whatever boast may be made of\nstrict adherence to it in explaining phenomena, without such a\ndefinition we get no farther than mere words. With these observations we\nmay proceed to the second point of view that has to be considered in\nthis Introduction.\n\n2. The inquiry into the essential destiny of Reason, as far as it is\nconsidered in reference to the world, is identical with the question\n_What is the ultimate design of the world?_ And the expression implies\nthat that design is destined to be realized. Two points of consideration\nsuggest themselves: first, the _import_ of this design--its abstract\ndefinition; secondly, its _realization_.\n\nIt must be observed at the outset that the phenomenon we\ninvestigate--universal history--belongs to the realm of \"spirit.\" The\nterm \"World\" includes both physical and psychical nature. Physical\nnature also plays its part in the world's history, and attention will\nhave to be paid to the fundamental natural relations thus involved. But\nSpirit, and the course of its development, is our substantial object.\nOur task does not require us to contemplate nature as a rational system\nin itself--though in its own proper domain it proves itself such-but\nsimply in its relation to _Spirit_. On the stage on which we are\nobserving it--universal history--Spirit displays itself in its most\nconcrete reality. Notwithstanding this (or rather for the very purpose\nof comprehending the general principles which this, its form of concrete\nreality, embodies) we must premise some abstract characteristics of the\nnature of Spirit.\n\nWe have therefore to mention here\n\n  (1) The abstract characteristics of the nature of\n  Spirit.\n\n  (2) What means Spirit uses in order to realize its\n  Idea.\n\n  (3) Lastly, we must consider the shape which the\n  perfect embodiment of Spirit assumes--the\n  State.\n\n(1) The nature of Spirit may be understood by a glance at its direct\nopposite--Matter. As the essence of Matter is gravity, so, on the other\nhand, we may affirm that the substance, the essence of Spirit is freedom.\nAll will readily assent to the doctrine that Spirit, among other\nproperties, is also endowed with freedom; but philosophy teaches that\nall the qualities of Spirit exist only through freedom; that all are but\nmeans for attaining freedom; that all seek and produce this and this\nalone. It is a result of speculative philosophy that freedom is the sole\ntruth of Spirit. Matter possesses gravity in virtue of its tendency toward\na central point. It is essentially composite, consisting of parts that\n_exclude_ one another. It seeks its unity; and therefore exhibits itself\nas self-destructive, as verging toward its opposite--an indivisible point.\nIf it could attain this, it would be Matter no longer; it would have\nperished. It strives after the realization of its Idea; for in unity it\nexists ideally. Spirit, on the contrary, may be defined as that which has\nits centre in itself. It has not a unity outside itself, but has already\nfound it; it exists in and with itself. Matter has its essence out of\nitself; Spirit is self-contained existence (Bei-sich-selbst-seyn). Now\nthis is freedom, exactly. For if I am dependent, my being is referred to\nsomething else which I am not; I cannot exist independently of something\nexternal. I am free, on the contrary, when my existence depends upon\nmyself. This self-contained existence of Spirit is none other than\nself-consciousness-consciousness of one's own being. Two things must be\ndistinguished in consciousness; first, the fact _that I know_;\nsecondly, _what I know_. In self-consciousness these are merged in\none; for Spirit knows itself. It involves an appreciation of its own\nnature, as also an energy enabling it to realize itself; to make itself\nactually what it is potentially. According to this abstract definition it\nmay be said of universal history that it is the exhibition of Spirit in\nthe process of working out the knowledge of that which it is potentially.\nAnd as the germ bears in itself the whole nature of the tree and the taste\nand form of its fruits, so do the first traces of Spirit virtually contain\nthe whole of that history. The Orientals have not attained the knowledge\nthat Spirit--Man _as such_--is free; and because they do not know\nthis, they are not free. They only know that one is free; but on this\nvery account, the freedom of that one is only caprice; ferocity--brutal\nrecklessness of passion, or a mildness and tameness of the desires, which\nis itself only an accident of nature--is mere caprice like the former.\nThat _one_ is therefore only a despot, not a _free man_. The\nconsciousness of freedom first arose among the Greeks, and therefore they\nwere free; but they, and the Romans likewise, knew only that _some_ are\nfree, not man as such. Even Plato and Aristotle did not know this. The\nGreeks, therefore, had slaves, and their whole life and the maintenance\nof their splendid liberty was implicated with the institution of\nslavery--a fact, moreover, which made that liberty, on the one hand,\nonly an accidental, transient and limited growth, and on the other, a\nrigorous thraldom of our common nature--of the Human. The Germanic\nnations, under the influence of Christianity, were the first to attain\nthe consciousness that man is free; that it is the freedom of Spirit\nwhich constitutes its essence. This consciousness arose first in\nreligion, the inmost region of Spirit; but to introduce the principle\ninto the various relations of the actual world involves a more extensive\nproblem than its simple implantation--a problem whose solution and\napplication require a severe and lengthened process of culture. In\nproof of this we may note that slavery did not cease immediately on the\nreception of Christianity. Still less did liberty predominate in States;\nor governments and constitutions adopt a rational organization, or\nrecognize freedom as their basis. That application of the principle to\npolitical relations, the thorough molding and interpenetration of the\nconstitution of society by it, is a process identical with history\nitself. I have already directed attention to the distinction here\ninvolved, between a principle as such and its application--that is, its\nintroduction and fulfilment in the actual phenomena of Spirit and life.\nThis is a point of fundamental importance in our science, and one which\nmust be constantly respected as essential. And in the same way as this\ndistinction has attracted attention in view of the Christian principle\nof self-consciousness--freedom, it also shows itself as an essential one\nin view of the principle of freedom generally. The history of the world\nis none other than the progress of the consciousness of freedom--progress\nwhose development, according to the necessity of its nature, it is our\nbusiness to investigate.\n\nThe general statement given above of the various grades in the\nconsciousness of freedom-which we applied in the first instance to the\nfact that the Eastern nations knew only that one is free, the Greek and\nRoman world only that _some_ are free, while we know that all men\nabsolutely (man as man) are free--supplies us with the natural division\nof universal history, and suggests the mode of its discussion. This is\nremarked, however, only incidentally and anticipatively; some other\nideas must be first explained.\n\nThe destiny of the spiritual world, and--since this is the substantial\nworld, while the physical remains subordinate to it, or, in the language\nof speculation, has no truth as against the spiritual--the final cause\nof the world at large we allege to be the consciousness of its own\nfreedom on the part of Spirit, and, _ipso facto_, the reality of that\nfreedom. But that this term \"freedom\" is, without further\nqualification, an indefinite, incalculable, ambiguous term, and that,\nwhile what it represents is the _ne plus ultra_ of attainment, it is\nliable to an infinity of misunderstandings, confusions, and errors, and\nto become the occasion for all imaginable excesses--has never been more\nclearly known and felt than in modern times. Yet, for the present, we\nmust content ourselves with the term itself without further definition.\nAttention was also directed to the importance of the infinite difference\nbetween a principle in the abstract and its realization in the concrete.\nIn the process before us the essential nature of freedom--which involves\nabsolute necessity--is to be displayed as coming to a consciousness of\nitself (for it is in its very nature, self-consciousness) and thereby\nrealizing its existence. Itself is its own object of attainment and the\nsole aim of Spirit. This result it is at which the process of the\nworld's history has been continually aiming, and to which the sacrifices\nthat have ever and anon been laid on the vast altar of the earth,\nthrough the long lapse of ages, have been offered. This is the only aim\nthat sees itself realized and fulfilled, the only pole of repose amid\nthe ceaseless change of events and conditions, and the sole efficient\nprinciple that pervades them. This final aim is God's purpose with the\nworld; but God is the absolutely perfect Being, and can, therefore, will\nnothing other than Himself--His own will. The nature of His will--that\nis His nature itself--is what we here call the idea of freedom,\ntranslating the language of religion into that of thought. The question,\nthen, which we may next put, is What means does this principle of\nfreedom use for its realization? This is the second point we have to\nconsider.\n\n(2) The question of the means by which freedom develops itself to a\nworld conducts us to the phenomenon of history itself. Although freedom\nis, primarily, an undeveloped idea, the means it uses are external and\nphenomenal, presenting themselves in history to our sensuous vision. The\nfirst glance at history convinces us that the actions of men proceed\nfrom their needs, their passions, when the occasion seems to call for\nit--is that what we call principle, aim, destiny, or the nature and idea\nof Spirit, is something merely general and abstract. Principle--Plan of\nExistence--Law--is a hidden, undeveloped essence which, as such--however\ntrue in itself--is not completely real. Aims, principles, etc., have a\nplace in our thoughts, in our subjective design only, but not as yet in\nthe sphere of reality. That which exists for itself only is a\npossibility, a potentiality, but it has not emerged into existence. A\nsecond element must be introduced in order to produce actuality--viz.,\nactuation, realization; and its motive power is the will--the activity\nof man in the widest sense. It is only by this activity that that Idea,\nas well as abstract characteristics generally, are realized, actualized;\nfor of themselves they are powerless. The motive power that puts them in\noperation and gives them determinate existence, is the need, instinct,\ninclination, and passion of man. That some conception of mine should be\ndeveloped into act and existence, is my earnest desire; I wish to assert\nmy personality in connection with it; I wish to be satisfied by its\nexecution. If I am to exert myself for any object, it must in some way\nor other be _my_ object. In the accomplishment of such or such designs I\nmust at the same time find _my_ satisfaction; although the purpose for\nwhich I exert myself includes a complication of results, many of which\nhave no interest for me. This is the absolute right of personal\nexistence--to find _itself_ satisfied in its activity and labor. If men\nare to interest themselves for anything, they must, so to speak, have\npart of their existence involved in it and find their individuality\ngratified by its attainment. Here a mistake must be avoided. We intend\nblame, and justly impute it as a fault, when we say of an individual\nthat he is \"interested\" (in taking part in such or such\ntransactions)--that is, seeks only his private advantage. In\nreprehending this we find fault with him for furthering his personal\naims without any regard to a more comprehensive design, of which he\ntakes advantage to promote his own interest or which, with this view,\nhe even sacrifices. But he who is active in promoting an object is not\nsimply \"interested,\" but interested in that object itself. Language\nfaithfully expresses this distinction. Nothing therefore happens,\nnothing is accomplished, unless the individuals concerned seek their own\nsatisfaction in the issue. They are particular units of society--that\nis, they have special needs, instincts, and interests generally,\npeculiar to themselves. Among these needs are not only such as we\nusually call necessities--the stimuli of individual desire and\nvolition--but also those connected with individual views and\nconvictions; or--to use a term expressing less decision--leanings of\nopinion, supposing the impulses of reflection, understanding, and\nreason, to have been awakened. In these cases people demand, if they are\nto exert themselves in any direction, that the object should commend\nitself to them, that, in point of opinion-whether as to its goodness,\njustice, advantage, profit they should be able to \"enter into it\"\n(_dabei sein_). This is a consideration of special importance in our\nage, when people are less than formerly influenced by reliance on\nothers, and by authority; when, on the contrary, they devote their\nactivities to a cause on the ground of their own understanding, their\nindependent conviction and opinion.\n\nWe assert then that nothing has been accomplished without interest on\nthe part of the actors; and--if interest be called passion, inasmuch as\nthe whole individuality, to the neglect of all other actual or possible\ninterests and claims, is devoted to an object with every fibre of\nvolition, concentrating all its desires and powers upon it--we may\naffirm absolutely that nothing great in the world has been accomplished\nwithout passion. Two elements, therefore, enter into the object of our\ninvestigation--the first the Idea, the second the complex of human\npassions; the one the warp, the other the woof of the vast arras-web of\nuniversal history. The concrete mean and union of the two is liberty,\nunder the conditions of morality in a State. We have spoken of the idea\nof freedom as the nature of Spirit, and the absolute goal of history.\nPassion is regarded as a thing of sinister aspect, as more or less\nimmoral. Man is required to have no passions. Passion, it is true, is\nnot quite the suitable word for what I wish to express. I mean here\nnothing more than human activity as resulting from private interests,\nspecial, or if you will, self-seeking designs--with this qualification,\nthat the whole energy of will and character is devoted to their\nattainment, and that other interests (which would in themselves\nconstitute attractive aims), or, rather, all things else, are sacrificed\nto them. The object in question is so bound up with the man's will that\nit entirely and alone determines the \"hue of resolution\" and is\ninseparable from it; it has become the very essence of his volition. For\na person is a specific existence--not man in general (a term to which no\nreal existence corresponds); but a particular human being. The term\n\"character\" likewise expresses this idiosyncrasy of will and\nintelligence. But character comprehends all peculiarities whatever, the\nway in which a person conducts himself in private relations, etc., and\nis not limited to his idiosyncrasy in its practical and active phase. I\nshall, therefore, use the term \"passion,\" understanding thereby the\nparticular bent of character, as far as the peculiarities of volition\nare not limited to private interest but supply the impelling and\nactuating force for accomplishing deeds shared in by the community at\nlarge. Passion is, in the first instance, the subjective and therefore\nthe formal side of energy, will, and activity--leaving the object or aim\nstill undetermined. And there is a similar relation of formality to\nreality in merely individual conviction, individual views, individual\nconscience. It is always a question of essential importance--what is the\npurport of my conviction, what the object of my passion--in deciding\nwhether the one or the other is of a true and substantial nature.\nConversely, if it is so, it will inevitably attain actual existence--be\nrealized.\n\nFrom this comment on the second essential element in the historical\nembodiment of an aim, we infer--glancing at the institution of the State\nin passing--that a State is well constituted and internally powerful when\nthe private interest of its citizens is one with the common interest of\nthe State, when the one finds its gratification and realization in the\nother--a proposition in itself very important. But in a State many\ninstitutions must be adopted, and much political machinery invented,\naccompanied by appropriate political arrangements--necessitating long\nstruggles of the understanding before what is really appropriate can be\ndiscovered--involving, moreover, contentions with private interest and\npassions and a tedious discipline of the latter in order to bring about\nthe desired harmony. The epoch when a State attains this harmonious\ncondition marks the period of its bloom, its virtue, its vigor, and its\nprosperity. But the history of mankind does not begin with a conscious\naim of any kind, as is the case with the particular circles into which\nmen form themselves of set purpose. The mere social instinct implies a\nconscious purpose of security for life and property; and when society has\nbeen constituted this purpose becomes more comprehensive. The history of\nthe world begins with its general aim--the realization of the idea of\nSpirit--only in an implicit form (_an sich_), that is, as nature--a\nhidden, most profoundly hidden, unconscious instinct; and the whole\nprocess of history (as already observed) is directed to rendering this\nunconscious impulse a conscious one. Thus appearing in the form of\nmerely natural existence, natural will--that which has been called the\nsubjective side--physical craving, instinct, passion, private interest,\nas also opinion and subjective conception, spontaneously present\nthemselves at the very commencement. This vast congeries of volitions,\ninterests, and activities, constitute the instruments and means of the\nWorld-Spirit for attaining its object, bringing it to consciousness and\nrealizing it. And this aim is none other than finding itself--coming to\nitself--and contemplating itself in concrete actuality. But that those\nmanifestations of vitality on the part of individuals and peoples, in\nwhich they seek and satisfy their own purposes, are, at the same time,\nthe means and instruments of a higher and broader purpose of which they\nknow nothing-which they realize unconsciously might be made a matter of\nquestion-rather has been questioned, and, in every variety of form,\nnegatived, decried, and contemned as mere dreaming and \"philosophy.\" But\non this point I announced my view at the very outset and asserted our\nhypothesis--which, however, will appear in the sequel in the form of a\nlegitimate inference--and our belief that Reason governs the world and\nhas consequently governed its history. In relation to this independently\nuniversal and substantial existence all else is subordinate, subservient\nto it, and the means for its development. The union of universal\nabstract existence generally with the individual--the subjective--that\nthis alone is truth belongs to the department of speculation and is\ntreated in this general form in logic. But in the process of the world's\nhistory itself--as still incomplete--the abstract final aim of history\nis not yet made the distinct object of desire and interest. While these\nlimited sentiments are still unconscious of the purpose they are\nfulfilling, the universal principle is implicit in them and is realizing\nitself through them. The question also assumes the form of the union of\nfreedom and necessity, the latent abstract process of Spirit being\nregarded as necessity, while that which exhibits itself in the conscious\nwill of men, as their interest, belongs to the domain of freedom. As the\nmetaphysical connection (i. e., the connection in the Idea) of these\nforms of thought, belongs to logic, it would be out of place to analyze\nit here. The chief and cardinal points only shall be mentioned.\n\nPhilosophy shows that the Idea advances to an infinite antithesis--that,\nnamely, between the Idea in its free, universal form, in which it exists\nfor itself, and the contrasted form of abstract introversion, reflection\non itself, which is formal existence-for-self, personality, formal\nfreedom, such as belongs to Spirit only. The universal Idea exists thus\nas the substantial totality of things on the one side, and as the\nabstract essence of free volition on the other. This reflection of the\nmind on itself is individual self-consciousness--the polar-opposite of\nthe Idea in its general form and therefore existing in absolute\nlimitation. This polar-opposite is consequently limitation,\nparticularization for the universal absolute being; it is the side of\nthe definite existence, the sphere of its formal reality, the sphere of\nthe reverence paid to God. To comprehend the absolute connection of this\nantithesis is the profound task of metaphysics. This limitation\noriginates all forms of particularity of whatever kind. The formal\nvolition (of which we have spoken) wills itself and desires to make its\nown personality valid in all that it purposes and does; even the pious\nindividual wishes to be saved and happy. This pole of the antithesis,\nexisting for itself, is--in contrast with the Absolute Universal\nBeing--a special separate existence, taking cognizance of speciality\nonly and willing that alone. In short, it plays its part in the region\nof mere phenomena. This is the sphere of particular purposes, in\neffecting which individuals exert themselves on behalf of their\nindividuality--give it full play and objective realization. This is also\nthe sphere of happiness and its opposite. He is happy who finds his\ncondition suited to his special character, will, and fancy, and so\nenjoys himself in that condition. The history of the world is not the\ntheatre of happiness. Periods of happiness are blank pages in it, for\nthey are periods of harmony--periods when the antithesis is in abeyance.\nReflection of self--the freedom above described--is abstractly defined\nas the formal element of the activity of the absolute Idea. The\nrealizing activity of which we have spoken is the middle term of the\nsyllogism, one of whose extremes is the universal essence, the _Idea_,\nwhich reposes in the penetralia of Spirit; and the other, the complex of\nexternal things--objective matter. That activity is the medium by which\nthe universal latent principle is translated into the domain of\nobjectivity.\n\nI will endeavor to make what has been said more vivid and clear by\nexamples. The building of a house is, in the first instance, a\nsubjective aim and design. On the other hand we have, as means, the\nseveral substances required for the work--iron, wood, stones. The\nelements are made use of in working up this material--fire to melt the\niron, wind to blow the fire, water to set the wheels in motion in order\nto cut the wood, etc. The result is that the wind, which has helped to\nbuild the house, is shut out by the house; so also are the violence of\nrains and floods and the destructive powers of fire, so far as the house\nis made fire-proof. The stones and beams obey the law of gravity--press\ndownward--and so high walls are carried up. Thus the elements are made\nuse of in accordance with their nature, and yet are made to co\u00f6perate\nfor a product by which their operation is limited. It is thus that the\npassions of men are gratified; they develop themselves and their aims in\naccordance with their natural tendencies and build up the edifice of\nhuman society, thus fortifying a position for Right and Order _against\nthemselves_.\n\nThe connection of events above indicated involves also the fact that, in\nhistory, an additional result is commonly produced by human actions\nbeyond what they aim at and obtain what they immediately recognize and\ndesire. They gratify their own interest; but something further is\nthereby accomplished, latent in the actions in question, though not\npresent to their consciousness and not included in their design. An\nanalogous example is offered in the case of a man who, from a feeling of\nrevenge--perhaps not an unjust one, but produced by injury on the\nother's part--burns that other man's house. A connection is immediately\nestablished between the deed itself, taken abstractly, and a train of\ncircumstances not directly included in it. In itself it consisted in\nmerely bringing a small flame into contact with a small portion of a\nbeam. Events not involved in that simple act follow of themselves. The\npart of the beam which was set afire is connected with its remote\nportions, the beam itself is united with the woodwork of the house\ngenerally, and this with other houses, so that a wide conflagration\nensues which destroys the goods and chattels of many other persons\nbesides those belonging to the person against whom the act of revenge\nwas first directed, perhaps even costs not a few men their lives. This\nlay neither in the deed intrinsically nor in the design of the man who\ncommitted it. But the action has a further general bearing. In the\ndesign of the doer it was only revenge executed against an individual in\nthe destruction of his property, but it is, moreover, a crime, and that\ninvolves punishment also. This may not have been present to the mind of\nthe perpetrator, still less in his intention; but his deed itself, the\ngeneral principles it calls into play, its substantial content, entail\nit. By this example I wish only to impress on you the consideration\nthat, in a simple act, something further may be implicated than lies in\nthe intention and consciousness of the agent. The example before us\ninvolves, however, the additional consideration that the substance of\nthe act, consequently, we may say, the act itself, recoils upon the\nperpetrator--reacts upon him with destructive tendency. This union of\nthe two extremes--the embodiment of a general idea in the form of direct\nreality and the elevation of a speciality into connection with universal\ntruth--is brought to pass, at first sight, under the conditions of an\nutter diversity of nature between the two and an indifference of the one\nextreme toward the other. The aims which the agents set before them are\nlimited and special; but it must be remarked that the agents themselves\nare intelligent thinking beings. The purport of their desires is\ninterwoven with general, essential considerations of justice, good,\nduty, etc.; for mere desire--volition in its rough and savage\nforms--falls not within the scene and sphere of universal history. Those\ngeneral considerations, which form at the same time a norm for directing\naims and actions, have a determinate purport; for such an abstraction\nas \"good for its own sake,\" has no place in living reality. If men are\nto act they must not only intend the Good, but must have decided for\nthemselves whether this or that particular thing is a good. What special\ncourse of action, however, is good or not, is determined, as regards the\nordinary contingencies of private life, by the laws and customs of a\nState; and here no great difficulty is presented. Each individual has\nhis position; he knows, on the whole, what a just, honorable course of\nconduct is. As to ordinary, private relations, the assertion that it is\ndifficult to choose the right and good--the regarding it as the mark of\nan exalted morality to find difficulties and raise scruples on that\nscore--may be set down to an evil or perverse will, which seeks to evade\nduties not in themselves of a perplexing nature, or, at any rate, to an\nidly reflective habit of mind--where a feeble will affords no sufficient\nexercise to the faculties--leaving them therefore to find occupation\nwithin themselves and to expand themselves on moral self-adulation.\n\nIt is quite otherwise with the comprehensive relations with which\nhistory has to do. In this sphere are presented those momentous\ncollisions between existing, acknowledged duties, laws, and rights, and\nthose contingencies which are adverse to this fixed system, which assail\nand even destroy its foundations and existence, and whose tenor may\nnevertheless seem good--on the large scale, advantageous--yes, even\nindispensable and necessary. These contingencies realize themselves in\nhistory; they involve a general principle of a different order from that\non which depends the permanence of a people or a State. This principle\nis an essential phase in the development of the creating Idea, of Truth\nstriving and urging toward (consciousness of) itself. Historical\nmen--world-famous individuals--are those in whose aims such a general\nprinciple lies.\n\nC\u00e6sar, in danger of losing a position--not perhaps at that time of\nsuperiority, yet at least of equality with the others who were at the\nhead of the State, and of succumbing to those who were just on the point\nof becoming his enemies--belongs essentially to this category. These\nenemies--who were at the same time pursuing their own personal aims--had\non their side the form of the constitution, and the power conferred by\nan appearance of justice. C\u00e6sar was contending for the maintenance of\nhis position, honor, and safety; and, since the power of his opponents\nincluded the sovereignty over the provinces of the Roman Empire, his\nvictory secured for him the conquest of that entire Empire; and he thus\nbecame--though leaving the form of the constitution--the autocrat of the\nState. What secured for him the execution of a design, which in the\nfirst instance was of negative import--the autocracy of Rome--was,\nhowever, at the same time an independently necessary feature in the\nhistory of Rome and of the world. It was not, then, his private gain\nmerely, but an unconscious impulse that occasioned the accomplishment of\nthat for which the time was ripe. Such are all great historical men,\nwhose own particular aims involve those large issues which are the will\nof the World-Spirit. They may be called heroes, inasmuch as they have\nderived their purposes and their vocation, not from the calm, regular\ncourse of things, sanctioned by the existing order, but from a concealed\nfount--one which has not attained to phenomenal, present existence--from\nthat inner Spirit, still hidden beneath the surface, which, impinging on\nthe outer world as on a shell, bursts it in pieces, because it is\nanother kernel than that which belonged to the shell in question. They\nare men, therefore, who appear to draw the impulse of their life from\nthemselves, and whose deeds have produced a condition of things and a\ncomplex of historical relations which appear to be only their own\ninterest and their own work.\n\nSuch individuals had no consciousness of the general Idea they were\nunfolding, while prosecuting their aims; on the contrary, they were\npractical, political men. But, at the same time, they were thinking men,\nwho had an insight into the requirements of the time--_what was ripe\nfor development_. This was the very truth for their age, for their\nworld--the species next in order, so to speak, and which was already\nformed in the womb of time. It was theirs to know this nascent\nprinciple, the necessary, directly sequent step in progress, which their\nworld was to take, to make this their aim, and to expend their energy in\npromoting it. World-historical men--the heroes of an epoch--must,\ntherefore, be recognized as its clear-sighted ones; their deeds, their\nwords are the best of that time. Great men have formed purposes to\nsatisfy themselves, not others. Whatever prudent designs and counsels\nthey might have learned from others would be the more limited and\ninconsistent features in their career; for it was they who best\nunderstood affairs, from whom others learned, and approved, or at least\nacquiesced in, their policy. For that Spirit which had taken this fresh\nstep in history is the inmost soul of all individuals, but in a state of\nunconsciousness which the great men in question aroused. Their fellows,\ntherefore, follow these soul-leaders; for they feel the irresistible\npower of their own inner Spirit thus embodied. If we go on to cast a\nlook at the fate of these world-historical persons, whose vocation it\nwas to be the agents of the World-Spirit, we shall find it to have been\nno happy one. They attained no calm enjoyment; their whole life was\nlabor and trouble; their whole nature was naught else but their\nmaster-passion. When their object is attained they fall off like empty\nhusks from the kernel. They die early, like Alexander; they are\nmurdered, like C\u00e6sar; transported to St. Helena, like Napoleon. This\nfearful consolation--that historical men have not enjoyed what is called\nhappiness, and of which only private life (and this may be passed under\nvarious external circumstances) is capable--this consolation those may\ndraw from history who stand in need of it; and it is craved by envy,\nvexed at what is great and transcendent, striving, therefore, to\ndepreciate it and to find some flaw in it. Thus in modern times it has\nbeen demonstrated _ad nauseam_ that princes are generally unhappy on\ntheir thrones; in consideration of which the possession of a throne is\ntolerated, and men acquiesce in the fact that not themselves but the\npersonages in question are its occupants. The free man, we may observe,\nis not envious, but gladly recognizes what is great and exalted, and\nrejoices that it exists.\n\nIt is in the light of those common elements which constitute the\ninterest and therefore the passions of individuals that these historical\nmen are to be regarded. They are great men, because they willed and\naccomplished something great--not a mere fancy, a mere intention, but\nwhatever met the case and fell in with the needs of the age. This mode\nof considering them also excludes the so-called \"psychological\" view,\nwhich, serving the purpose of envy most effectually, contrives so to\nrefer all actions to the heart, to bring them under such a subjective\naspect, that their authors appear to have done everything under the\nimpulse of some passion, mean or grand, some morbid craving, and, on\naccount of these passions and cravings, to have been immoral men.\nAlexander of Macedon partly subdued Greece, and then Asia; therefore he\nwas possessed by a morbid craving for conquest. He is alleged to have\nacted from a craving for fame, for conquest; and the proof that these\nwere the impelling motives is that he did what resulted in fame. What\npedagogue has not demonstrated of Alexander the Great, of Julius C\u00e6sar,\nthat they were instigated by such passions, and were consequently\nimmoral men? From this the conclusion immediately follows that he, the\npedagogue, is a better man than they, because he has not such\npassions--a proof of which lies in the fact that he does not conquer\nAsia, or vanquish Darius and Porus, but, while he enjoys life himself,\nlets others enjoy it too. These psychologists are particularly fond of\ncontemplating those peculiarities of great historical figures which\nappertain to them as private persons. Man must eat and drink; he\nsustains relations to friends and acquaintances; he has passing\nimpulses and ebullitions of temper. \"No man is a hero to his\nvalet-de-chambre,\" is a well-known proverb; I have added--and Goethe\nrepeated it ten years later--\"but not because the former is no hero, but\nbecause the latter is a valet.\" He takes off the hero's boots, assists\nhim to bed, knows that he prefers champagne, etc. Historical personages\nwaited upon in historical literature by such psychological valets come\npoorly off; they are brought down by these their attendants to a level\nwith, or, rather, a few degrees below the level of, the morality of such\nexquisite discerners of spirits. The Thersites of Homer who abuses the\nkings is a standing figure for all times. Blows--that is, beating with a\nsolid cudgel--he does not get in every age, as in the Homeric one; but\nhis envy, his egotism, is the thorn which he has to carry in his flesh;\nand the undying worm that gnaws him is the tormenting consideration that\nhis excellent views and vituperations remain absolutely without result\nin the world. But our satisfaction at the fate of Thersitism also, may\nhave its sinister side.\n\nA world-famous individual is not so unwise as to indulge a variety of\nwishes to divide his regards. He is devoted to the one aim, regardless\nof all else. It is even possible that such men may treat other great,\neven sacred interests, inconsiderately--conduct which is deserving of\nmoral reprehension. But so mighty a form must trample down many innocent\nflowers and crush to pieces many an object in its path.\n\nThe special interest of passion is thus inseparable from the active\ndevelopment of a general principle; for it is from the special and\ndeterminate, and from its negation, that the universal results.\nParticularity contends with its like, and some loss is involved in the\nissue. It is not the general idea that is implicated in opposition and\ncombat, and that is exposed to danger. It remains in the background,\nuntouched and uninjured. This may be called the cunning of reason--that\nit sets the passions to work for itself, while that which develops its\nexistence through such impulsion pays the penalty and suffers loss. For\nit is _phenomenal_ being that is so treated, and, of this, a portion is\nof no value, another is positive and real. The particular is, for the\nmost part, of too trifling value as compared with the general;\nindividuals are sacrificed and abandoned. The Idea pays the penalty of\ndeterminate existence and of corruptibility, not from itself, but from\nthe passions of individuals.\n\nBut though we might tolerate the idea that individuals, their desires,\nand the gratification of them, are thus sacrificed, and their happiness\ngiven up to the empire of chance, to which it belongs, and that, as a\ngeneral rule, individuals come under the category of means to an\nulterior end, there is one aspect of human individuality which we should\nhesitate to regard in that subordinate light, even in relation to the\nhighest, since it is absolutely no subordinate element, but exists in\nthose individuals as inherently eternal and divine--I mean morality,\nethics, religion. Even when speaking of the realization of the great\nideal aim by means of individuals, the subjective element in them--their\ninterest and that of their cravings and impulses, their views and\njudgments, though exhibited as the merely formal side of their\nexistence--was spoken of as having an infinite right to be consulted.\nThe first idea that presents itself in speaking of means is that of\nsomething external to the object, yet having no share in the object\nitself. But merely natural things--even the commonest lifeless\nobjects--used as means, must be of such a kind as adapts them to their\npurpose; they must possess something in common with it. Human beings,\nleast of all, sustain the bare external relation of mere means to the\ngreat ideal aim. Not only do they, in the very act of realizing it, make\nit the occasion of satisfying personal desires whose purport is diverse\nfrom that aim, but they share in that ideal aim itself, and are, for\nthat very reason, objects of their own existence--not formally merely,\nas the world of living beings generally is, whose individual life is\nessentially subordinate to that of man and its properly used up as an\ninstrument. Men, on the contrary, are objects of existence to\nthemselves, as regards the intrinsic import of the aim in question. To\nthis order belongs that in them which we would exclude from the category\nof mere means--morality, ethics, religion. That is to say, man is an\nobject of existence in himself only in virtue of the Divine that is in\nhim--the quality that was designated at the outset as Reason, which, in\nview of its activity and power of self-determination, was called\nfreedom. And we affirm--without entering at present on the proof of the\nassertion--that religion, morality, etc., have their foundation and\nsource in that principle, and so are essentially elevated above all\nalien necessity and chance. And here we must remark that individuals, to\nthe extent of their freedom, are responsible for the depravation and\nenfeeblement of morals and religion. This is the seal of the absolute\nand sublime destiny of man--that he knows what is good and what is evil;\nthat his destiny is his very ability to will either good or evil--in one\nword, that he is the subject of moral imputation, imputation not only of\nevil, but of good, and not only concerning this or that particular\nmatter, and all that happens _ab extra_, but also the good and evil\nattaching to his individual freedom. The brute alone is simply innocent.\nIt would, however, demand an extensive explanation--as extensive as the\nanalysis of moral freedom itself--to preclude or obviate all the\nmisunderstandings which the statement that what is called innocence\nimports the entire unconsciousness of evil--is wont to occasion.\n\nIn contemplating the fate which virtue, morality, even piety experience\nin history, we must not fall into the Litany of Lamentations, that the\ngood and pious often, or for the most part, fare ill in the world, while\nthe evil-disposed and wicked prosper. The term prosperity is used in a\nvariety of meanings--riches, outward honor, and the like. But in\nspeaking of something which in and for itself constitutes an aim of\nexistence, that so-called well or ill faring of these or those isolated\nindividuals cannot be regarded as an essential element in the rational\norder of the universe. With more justice than happiness--or a fortunate\nenvironment for individuals--it is demanded of the grand aim of the\nworld's existence that it should foster, nay, involve the execution and\nratification of good, moral, righteous purposes. What makes men morally\ndiscontented (a discontent, by the way, on which they somewhat pride\nthemselves), is that they do not find the present adapted to the\nrealization of aims which they hold to be right and just--more\nespecially, in modern times, ideals of political constitutions; they\ncontrast unfavorably things as they are, with their idea of things as\nthey ought to be. In this case it is not private interest nor passion\nthat desires gratification, but reason, justice, liberty; and, equipped\nwith this title, the demand in question assumes a lofty bearing and\nreadily adopts a position, not merely of discontent, but of open revolt\nagainst the actual condition of the world. To estimate such a feeling\nand such views aright, the demands insisted upon and the very dogmatic\nopinions asserted must be examined. At no time so much as in our own,\nhave such general principles and notions been advanced, or with greater\nassurance. If, in days gone by, history seems to present itself as a\nstruggle of passions, in our time--though displays of passion are not\nwanting--it exhibits, partly a predominance of the struggle of notions\nassuming the authority of principles, partly that of passions and\ninterests essentially subjective but under the mask of such higher\nsanctions. The pretensions thus contended for as legitimate in the name\nof that which has been stated as the ultimate aim of Reason, pass\naccordingly for absolute aims--to the same extent as religion, morals,\nethics. Nothing, as before remarked, is now more common than the\ncomplaint that the ideals which imagination sets up are not realized,\nthat these glorious dreams are destroyed by cold actuality. These ideals\nwhich, in the voyage of life, founder on the rocks of hard reality may\nbe in the first instance only subjective and belong to the idiosyncrasy\nof the individual, imagining himself the highest and wisest. Such do not\nproperly belong to this category. For the fancies which the individual\nin his isolation indulges cannot be the model for universal reality,\njust as universal law is not designed for the units of the mass. These\nas such may, in fact, find their interests thrust decidedly into the\nbackground. But by the term \"Ideal\" we also understand the ideal of\nReason--of the good, of the true. Poets--as, for instance,\nSchiller--have painted such ideals touchingly and with strong emotion,\nand with the deeply melancholy conviction that they could not be\nrealized. In affirming, on the contrary, that the Universal Reason does\nrealize itself, we have indeed nothing to do with the individual,\nempirically regarded; that admits of degrees of better and worse, since\nhere chance and speciality have received authority from the Idea to\nexercise their monstrous power; much, therefore, in particular aspects\nof the grand phenomenon, might be criticized. This subjective\nfault-finding--which, however, only keeps in view the individual and its\ndeficiency, without taking notice of Reason pervading the whole--is\neasy; and inasmuch as it asserts an excellent intention with regard to\nthe good of the whole, and seems to result from a kindly heart, it feels\nauthorized to give itself airs and assume great consequence. It is\neasier to discover a deficiency in individuals, in States, and in\nProvidence, than to see their real import and value. For in this merely\nnegative fault-finding a proud position is taken--one which overlooks\nthe object without having entered into it, without having comprehended\nits positive aspect. Age generally makes men more tolerant; youth is\nalways discontented. The tolerance of age is the result of the ripeness\nof a judgment which, not merely as the result of indifference, is\nsatisfied even with what is inferior, but, more deeply taught by the\ngrave experience of life, has been led to perceive the substantial,\nsolid worth of the object in question. The insight, then, to which--in\ncontradistinction to those ideals--philosophy is to lead us, is, that\nthe real world is as it ought to be--that the truly good, the universal\ndivine Reason, is not a mere abstraction, but a vital principle capable\nof realizing itself. This Good, this Reason, in its most concrete form,\nis God. God governs the world; the actual working of His government, the\ncarrying out of His plan, is the history of the world. This plan\nphilosophy strives to comprehend; for only that which has been developed\nas the result of it possesses _bona fide_ reality. That which does not\naccord with it is negative, worthless existence. Before the pure light\nof this divine Idea--which is no mere Ideal--the phantom of a world\nwhose events are an incoherent concourse of fortuitous circumstances,\nutterly vanishes. Philosophy wishes to discover the substantial purport,\nthe real side of the divine idea, and to justify the so much despised\nreality of things; for Reason is the comprehension of the divine work.\nBut as to what concerns the perversion, corruption, and ruin of\nreligious, ethical, and moral purposes and states of society generally,\nit must be affirmed that, in their essence, these are infinite and\neternal, but that the forms they assume may be of a limited order, and\nconsequently may belong to the domain of mere nature and be subject to\nthe sway of chance; they are therefore perishable and exposed to decay\nand corruption. Religion and morality--in the same way as inherently\nuniversal essences--have the peculiarity of being present in the\nindividual soul, in the full extent of their Idea, and therefore truly\nand really; although they may not manifest themselves in it _in extenso_\nand are not applied to fully developed relations. The religion, the\nmorality of a limited sphere of life, for instance that of a shepherd or\na peasant, in its intensive concentration and limitation to a few\nperfectly simple relations of life has infinite worth--the same worth as\nthe religion and morality of extensive knowledge and of an existence\nrich in the compass of its relations and actions. This inner focus, this\nsimple region of the claims of subjective freedom, the home of\nvolition, resolution, and action, the abstract sphere of\nconscience--that which comprises the responsibility and moral value of\nthe individual--remains untouched and is quite shut out from the noisy\ndin of the world's history--including not merely external and temporal\nchanges but also those entailed by the absolute necessity inseparable\nfrom the realization of the idea of freedom itself. But, as a general\ntruth, this must be regarded as settled, that whatever in the world\npossesses claims as noble and glorious has nevertheless a higher\nexistence above it. The claim of the World-Spirit rises above all\nspecial claims.\n\nThese observations may suffice in reference to the means which the\nWorld-Spirit uses for realizing its Idea. Stated simply and abstractly,\nthis mediation involves the activity of personal existences in whom\nReason is present as their absolute, substantial being, but a basis, in\nthe first instance, still obscure and unknown to them. But the subject\nbecomes more complicated and difficult when we regard individuals not\nmerely in their aspect of activity, but more concretely, in conjunction\nwith a particular manifestation of that activity in their religion and\nmorality--forms of existence which are intimately connected with Reason\nand share in its absolute claims. Here the relation of mere means to an\nend disappears, and the chief bearings of this seeming difficulty in\nreference to the absolute aim of Spirit have been briefly considered.\n\n(3) The third point to be analyzed is, therefore: What is the object to\nbe realized by these means--that is, What is the form it assumes in the\nrealm of reality? We have spoken of means; but, in carrying out of a\nsubjective, limited aim, we have also to take into consideration the\nelement of a material either already present or which has to be\nprocured. Thus the question would arise: What is the material in which\nthe Ideal of Reason is wrought out? The primary answer would be:\nPersonality itself, human desires, subjectivity generally. In human\nknowledge and volition as its material element Reason attains positive\nexistence. We have considered subjective volition where it has an object\nwhich is the truth and essence of reality--viz., where it constitutes a\ngreat world-historical passion. As a subjective will, occupied with\nlimited passions, it is dependent, and can gratify its desires only\nwithin the limits of this dependence. But the subjective will has also a\nsubstantial life, a reality, in which it moves in the region of\nessential being and has the essential itself as the object of its\nexistence. This essential being is the union of the subjective with the\nrational will; it is the moral whole, the _State_, which is that form of\nreality in which the individual has and enjoys his freedom, but on the\ncondition of his recognizing, believing in, and willing that which is\ncommon to the whole. And this must not be understood as if the\nsubjective will of the social unit attained its gratification and\nenjoyment through that common will, as if this were a means provided for\nits benefit, as if the individual, in his relations to other\nindividuals, thus limited his freedom, in order that this universal\nlimitation, the mutual constraint of all, might secure a small space of\nliberty for each. Rather, we affirm, are law, morality, government, and\nthese alone, the positive reality and completion of freedom. Freedom of\na low and limited order is mere caprice, which finds its exercise in the\nsphere of particular and limited desires.\n\nSubjective volition, passion, is that which sets men in activity, that\nwhich effects \"practical\" realization. The Idea is the inner spring of\naction; the State is the actually existing, realized moral life. For it\nis the unity of the universal, essential will, with that of the\nindividual; and this is \"morality.\" The individual living in this unity\nhas a moral life and possesses a value that consists in this\nsubstantiality alone. Sophocles in his _Antigone_ says, \"The divine\ncommands are not of yesterday, nor of today; no, they have an infinite\nexistence, and no one could say whence they came.\" The laws of morality\nare not accidental, but are the essentially rational. It is the very\nobject of the State that what is essential in the practical activity of\nmen and in their dispositions should be duly recognized; that it should\nhave a manifest existence and maintain its position. It is the absolute\ninterest of Reason that this moral whole should exist; and herein lies\nthe justification and merit of heroes who have founded States, however\nrude these may have been. In the history of the world, only those\npeoples can come under our notice which form a State; for it must be\nunderstood that the State is the realization of freedom, i. e., of the\nabsolute final aim, and that it exists for its own sake. It must further\nbe understood that all the worth which the human being possesses--all\nspiritual reality--he possesses only through the State. For his\nspiritual reality consists in this, that his own essence, Reason, is\nobjectively present to him, that it possesses objective immediate\nexistence for him. Thus only is he fully conscious; thus only is he a\npartaker of morality, of a just and moral social and political life. For\ntruth is the unity of the universal and subjective will; and the\nuniversal is to be found in the State, in its laws, and in its universal\nand rational arrangements. The State is the Divine Idea as it exists on\nearth. We have in it, therefore, the object of history in a more\ndefinite shape than before--that in which freedom obtains objectivity\nand lives in the enjoyment of this objectivity. For law is the\nobjectivity of Spirit, volition in its true form. Only that will which\nobeys law is free; for it obeys itself--it is independent and,\ntherefore, free. When the State or our country constitutes a community\nof existence, when the subjective will of man submits to laws, the\ncontradiction between liberty and necessity vanishes. The rational has\nnecessary existence, as being the reality and substance of things, and\nwe are free in recognizing it as law and following it as the substance\nof our own being. The objective and the subjective will are then\nreconciled and present one identical homogeneous whole. For the\nmorality (_Sittlichkeit_) of the State is not of that ethical\n(_moralische_) reflective kind, in which one's own conviction bears\nsway; the latter is rather the peculiarity of the modern time, while the\ntrue antique morality is based on the principle of abiding by one's duty\n(to the State at large). An Athenian citizen did what was required of\nhim, as it were from instinct; but if I reflect on the object of my\nactivity I must have the consciousness that my will has been called into\nexercise. But morality is duty--substantial right, a \"second nature,\" as\nit has been justly called; for the first nature of man is his primary,\nmerely animal, existence.\n\nThe development _in extenso_ of the idea of the State belongs to the\nphilosophy of jurisprudence; but it must be observed that in the\ntheories of our time various errors are current respecting it, which\npass for established truths and have become fixed prejudices. We will\nmention only a few of them, giving prominence to such as have a\nreference to the object of our history.\n\nThe error which first meets us is the direct opposite of our principle\nthat the State presents the realization of freedom--the opinion--that\nman is free by nature, but that in society, in the State, to which\nnevertheless he is irresistibly impelled, he must limit this natural\nfreedom. That man is free by nature is quite correct in one sense,\nnamely, that he is so according to the idea of humanity; but we imply\nthereby that he is such only in virtue of his destiny--that he has an\nundeveloped power to become such; for the \"nature\" of an object is\nexactly synonymous with its \"idea.\" But the view in question imports\nmore than this. When man is spoken of as \"free by nature,\" the mode of\nhis existence as well as his destiny is implied; his merely natural and\nprimary condition is intended. In this sense a \"state of nature\" is\nassumed in which mankind at large is in the possession of its natural\nrights with the unconstrained exercise and enjoyment of its freedom.\nThis assumption is not raised to the dignity of the historical fact; it\nwould indeed be difficult, were the attempt seriously made, to point\nout any such condition as actually existing or as having ever occurred.\nExamples of a savage state of life can be pointed out, but they are\nmarked by brutal passions and deeds of violence; while, however rude and\nsimple their, conditions, they involve social arrangements which, to use\nthe common phrase, \"restrain freedom.\" That assumption is one of those\nnebulous images which theory produces, an idea which it cannot avoid\noriginating, but which it fathers upon real existence without sufficient\nhistorical justification.\n\nWhat we find such a state of nature to be, in actual experience, answers\nexactly to the idea of a merely natural condition. Freedom as the ideal\nof that which is original and natural does not exist as original and\nnatural; rather must it first be sought out and won, and that by an\nincalculable medial discipline of the intellectual and moral powers. The\nstate of nature is, therefore, predominantly that of injustice and\nviolence, of untamed natural impulses, of inhuman deeds and feelings.\nLimitation is certainly produced by society and the State, but it is a\nlimitation of the mere brute emotions and rude instincts, as also, in a\nmore advanced stage of culture, of the premeditated self-will of caprice\nand passion. This kind of constraint is part of the instrumentality by\nwhich only the consciousness of freedom and the desire for its\nattainment, in its true--that is, its rational and ideal form--can be\nobtained. To the ideal of freedom, law and morality are indispensably\nrequisite; and they are, in and for themselves, universal existences,\nobjects, and aims, which are discovered only by the activity of thought,\nseparating itself from the merely sensuous and developing itself in\nopposition thereto, and which must, on the other hand, be introduced\ninto and incorporated with the originally sensuous will, and that\ncontrarily to its natural inclination. The perpetually recurring\nmisapprehension of freedom consists in regarding that term only in its\nformal, subjective sense, abstracted from its essential objects and\naims; thus a constraint put upon impulse, desire, passion--pertaining to\nthe particular individual as such--a limitation of caprice and\nself-will is regarded as a fettering of freedom. We should, on the\ncontrary, look upon such limitation as the indispensable proviso of\nemancipation. Society and the State are the very conditions in which\nfreedom is realized.\n\nWe must notice a second view, contravening the principle of the\ndevelopment of moral relations into a legal form. The patriarchal\ncondition is regarded, either in reference to the entire race of man or\nto some branches of it, as exclusively that condition of things in which\nthe legal element is combined with a due recognition of the moral and\nemotional parts of our nature, and in which justice, as united with\nthese, truly influences the intercourse of the social units. The basis\nof the patriarchal condition is the family relation, which develops the\nprimary form of conscious morality, succeeded by that of the State as\nits second phase. The patriarchal condition is one of transition, in\nwhich the family has already advanced to the position of a race of\npeople, where the union, therefore, has already ceased to be simply a\nbond of love and confidence and has become one of plighted service.\n\nWe must first examine the ethical principle of the Family, which may be\nreckoned as virtually a single person, since its members have either\nmutually surrendered their individual personality and consequently their\nlegal position toward one another, with the rest of their particular\ninterests and desires, as in the case of the parents, or, in the care of\nchildren who are primarily in that merely natural condition already\nmentioned, have not yet attained such an independent personality. They\nlive, therefore, in a unity of feeling, love, confidence, and faith in\none another, and, in a relation of mutual love, the one individual has\nthe consciousness of himself in the consciousness of another; he lives\nout of self; and in this mutual self-renunciation each regains the life\nthat had been virtually transferred to the other--gains, in fact, the\nother's existence and his own, as involved with that other. The ultimate\ninterests connected with the necessities and external concerns of life,\nas well as the development that has to take place within their circle,\ni. e., of the children, constitute a common object for the members of the\nfamily. The spirit of the family--the _Penates_--form one substantial\nbeing, as much as the spirit of a people in the State; and morality in\nboth cases consists in a feeling, a consciousness, and a will, not\nlimited to individual personality and interest, but embracing the common\ninterests of the members generally. But this unity is, in the case of\nthe family, essentially one of feeling, not advancing beyond the limits\nof the merely natural. The piety of the family relation should be\nrespected in the highest degree by the State; by its means the State\nobtains as its members individuals who are already moral (for as mere\npersons they are not) and who, in uniting to form a State, bring with\nthem that sound basis of a political edifice--the capacity of feeling\none with a whole. But the expansion of the family to a patriarchal unity\ncarries us beyond the ties of blood-relationship--the simply natural\nelements of that basis; and outside of these limits the members of the\ncommunity must enter upon the position of independent personality. A\nreview of the patriarchal condition, _in extenso_, would lead us to give\nspecial attention to the theocratical constitution. The head of the\npatriarchal clan is also its priest. If the family in its general\nrelations is not yet separated from civic society and the State, the\nseparation of religion from it has also not yet taken place; and so much\nthe less since the piety of the hearth is itself a profoundly subjective\nstate of feeling.\n\nWe have considered two aspects of freedom--the objective and the\nsubjective; if, therefore, freedom is asserted to consist in the\nindividuals of a State, all agreeing in its arrangements, it is evident\nthat only the subjective aspect is regarded. The natural inference from\nthis principle is, that no law can be valid without the approval of all.\nIt is attempted to obviate this difficulty by the decision that the\nminority must yield to the majority; the majority therefore bears sway;\nbut long ago J.J. Rousseau remarked that, in that case, there would no\nlonger be freedom, for the will of the minority would cease to be\nrespected. At the Polish Diet each individual member had to give his\nconsent before any political step could be taken; and this kind of\nfreedom it was that ruined the State. Besides, it is a dangerous and\nfalse prejudice that the people alone have reason and insight, and know\nwhat justice is; for each popular faction may represent itself as the\npeople, and the question as to what constitutes the State is one of\nadvanced science and not of popular decision.\n\nIf the principle of regard for the individual will is recognized as the\nonly basis of political liberty, viz., that nothing should be done by or\nfor the State to which all the members of the body politic have not\ngiven their sanction, we have, properly speaking, no constitution. The\nonly arrangement found necessary would be, first, a centre having no\nwill of its own, but which should take into consideration what appeared\nto be the necessities of the State, and, secondly, a contrivance for\ncalling the members of the State together, for taking the votes, and for\nperforming the arithmetical operations of reckoning and comparing the\nnumber of votes for the different propositions, and thereby deciding\nupon them. The State is an abstraction, having even its generic\nexistence in its citizens; but it is an actuality, and its simply\ngeneric existence must embody itself in individual will and activity.\nThe want of government and political administration in general is felt;\nthis necessitates the selection and separation from the rest of those\nwho have to take the helm in political affairs, to decide concerning\nthem, and to give orders to other citizens, with a view to the execution\nof their plans. If, for instance, even the people in a democracy resolve\non a war, a general must head the army. It is only by a constitution\nthat the abstraction--the State--attains life and reality; but this\ninvolves the distinction between those who command and those who obey.\nYet obedience seems inconsistent with liberty, and those who command\nappear to do the very opposite of that which the fundamental idea of the\nState, viz., that of freedom, requires. It is, however, urged that\nthough the distinction between commanding and obeying is absolutely\nnecessary, because affairs could not go on without it, and indeed, this\nseems only a compulsory limitation, external to and even contravening\nfreedom in the abstract--the constitution should be at least so framed\nthat the citizens may obey as little as possible and the smallest\nmodicum of free volition be left to the commands of the superiors; that\nthe substance of that for which subordination is necessary, even in its\nmost important bearings, should be decided and resolved on by the\npeople, by the will of many or of all the citizens; though it is\nsupposed to be thereby provided that the State should be possessed of\nvigor and strength as a reality--an individual unity. The primary\nconsideration is, then, the distinction between the governing and the\ngoverned, and political constitutions in the abstract have been rightly\ndivided into monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; this gives occasion,\nhowever, for the remark that monarchy itself must be further divided\ninto despotism and monarchy proper; that in all the divisions to which\nthe leading idea gives rise, only the generic character is to be made\nprominent, it being not intended thereby that the particular category\nunder review should be exhausted as a form, order, or kind in its\nconcrete development. But it must especially be observed that the above\nmentioned divisions admit of a multitude of particular modifications--not\nonly such as lie within the limits of those classes themselves but also\nsuch as are mixtures of several of these essentially distinct classes\nand which are consequently misshapen, unstable, and inconsistent forms.\nIn such a collision, the concerning question is: What is the best\nconstitution--that is, by what arrangement, organization, or mechanism\nof the power of the State can its object be most surely attained? This\nobject may indeed be variously understood; for instance, as the calm\nenjoyment of life on part of the citizens, or as universal happiness.\nSuch aims have suggested the so-called ideals of constitutions, and,\nas a particular branch of the subject, Ideals of the education of\nprinces (F\u00e9nelon), or of the governing body, the aristocracy at large\n(Plato); for the chief point they treat of is the condition of those\nsubjects who stand at the head of affairs, and in these ideals the\nconcrete details of political organization are not at all considered.\nThe inquiry into the best constitution is frequently treated as if not\nonly the theory were an affair of subjective independent conviction,\nbut as if the introduction of a constitution recognized as the best,\nor as superior to others, could be the result of a resolve adopted in\nthis theoretical manner, as if the form of a constitution were a matter\nof free choice, determined by nothing else but reflection. Of this\nartless fashion was that deliberation--not indeed of the Persian people,\nbut of the Persian grandees, who had conspired to overthrow the\npseudo-Smerdis and the Magi, after their undertaking had succeeded\nand when there was no scion of the royal family living--as to what\nconstitution they should introduce into Persia; and Herodotus gives an\nequally na\u00efve account of this deliberation.\n\nIn the present day, the constitution of a country and people is not\nrepresented as so entirely dependent on free and deliberate choice. The\nfundamental, but abstractly and therefore imperfectly, entertained\nconception of freedom, has resulted in the republic being very generally\nregarded--in theory--as the only just and true political constitution.\nEven many who occupy elevated official positions under monarchical\nconstitutions, so far from being opposed to this idea are actually its\nsupporters; only they see that such a constitution, though the best,\ncannot be realized under all circumstances, and that, while men are what\nthey are, we must be satisfied with less freedom, the monarchical\nconstitution, under the given circumstances and the present moral\ncondition of the people, being even regarded as the most advantageous.\nIn this view also the necessity of a particular constitution is made to\ndepend on the condition of the people as though the latter were\nnon-essential and accidental. This representation is founded on the\ndistinction which the reflective understanding makes between an idea and\nthe corresponding reality. This reflection holding to an abstract and\nconsequently untrue idea, not grasping it in its completeness, or--which\nis virtually, though not in point of form, the same--not taking a\nconcrete view of a people and a State. We shall have to show, further,\non, that the constitution adopted by a people makes one substance, one\nspirit, with its religion, its art, and its philosophy, or, at least,\nwith its conceptions, thoughts and culture generally--not to expatiate\nupon the additional influences _ab extra_, of climate, of neighbors, of\nits place in the world. A State is an individual totality, of which you\ncannot select any particular side, although a supremely important one,\nsuch as its political constitution, and deliberate and decide respecting\nit in that isolated form. Not only is that constitution most intimately\nconnected with and dependent on those other spiritual forces, but the\nform of the entire moral and intellectual individuality, comprising all\nthe forces it embodies, is only a step in the development of the grand\nwhole, with its place pre-appointed in the process--a fact which gives\nthe highest sanction to the constitution in question and establishes its\nabsolute necessity. The origin of a State involves imperious lordship on\nthe one hand, instinctive submission on the other. But even\nobedience--lordly power, and the fear inspired by a ruler--in itself\nimplies some degree of voluntary connection. Even in barbarous states\nthis is the case; it is not the isolated will of individuals that\nprevails; individual pretensions are relinquished, and the general will\nis the essential bond of political union. This unity of the general and\nthe particular is the Idea itself, manifesting itself as a State, and\nwhich subsequently undergoes further development within itself. The\nabstract yet necessitated process in the development of truly\nindependent states is as follows: They begin with regal power, whether\nof patriarchal or military origin; in the next phase, particularity and\nindividuality assert themselves in the form of aristocracy and\ndemocracy; lastly, we have the subjection of these separate interests to\na single power, but one which can be absolutely none other than one\noutside of which those spheres have an independent position, viz., the\nmonarchical. Two phases of royalty, therefore, must be distinguished--a\nprimary and a secondary. This process is necessitated to the end that\nthe form of government assigned to a particular stage of development\nmust present itself; it is therefore no matter of choice, but is the\nform adapted to the spirit of the people.\n\nIn the constitution the main feature of interest is the self-development\nof the rational, that is, the political condition of a people, the\nsetting free of the successive elements of the Idea, so that the several\npowers in the State manifest themselves as separate, attain their\nappropriate and special perfection, and yet, in this independent\ncondition, work together for one object and are held together by\nit--i. e., form an organic whole. The State is thus the embodiment of\nrational freedom, realizing and recognizing itself in an objective form.\nFor its objectivity consists in this--that its successive stages are not\nmerely ideal, but are present in an appropriate reality, and that in\ntheir separate and several workings they are absolutely merged in that\nagency by which the totality, the soul, the individuate unity, is\nproduced, and of which it is the result.\n\nThe State is the Idea of Spirit in the external manifestation of human\nwill and its freedom. It is to the State, therefore, that change in the\naspect of history indissolubly attaches itself; and the successive\nphases of the idea manifest themselves in it as distinct political\nprinciples. The constitutions under which world-historical peoples have\nreached their culmination, are peculiar to them, and therefore do not\npresent a generally applicable political basis. Were it otherwise the\ndifferences of similar constitutions would consist only in a peculiar\nmethod of expanding and developing that generic basis, whereas they\nreally originate in diversity of principle. From the comparison\ntherefore of the political institutions of the ancient world-historical\npeoples, it so happens that, for the most recent principle of a\nconstitution for the principle of our own times, nothing, so to speak,\ncan be learned. In science and art it is quite otherwise--that is, the\nancient philosophy is so decidedly the basis of the modern that it is\ninevitably contained in the latter and constitutes its basis. In this\ncase the relation is that of a continuous development of the same\nstructure, whose foundation-stone, walls, and roof have remained what\nthey were. In art, the Greek itself, in its original form, furnishes us\nthe best models, but in regard to political constitution it is quite\notherwise; here the ancient and the modern have not their essential\nprinciple in common. Abstract definitions and dogmas respecting just\ngovernment--importing that intelligence and virtue ought to bear\nsway--are, indeed, common to both, but nothing is so absurd as to look\nto Greeks, Romans, or Orientals, for models for the political\narrangements of our time. From the East may be derived beautiful\npictures of a patriarchal condition, of paternal government, and of\ndevotion to it on the part of peoples; from Greeks and Romans,\ndescriptions of popular liberty. Among the latter we find the idea of a\nfree constitution admitting all the citizens to a share in deliberations\nand resolves respecting the affairs and laws of the commonwealth. In our\ntimes, too, this is its general acceptation; only with this\nmodification, that--since our States are so large, and there are so many\nof \"the many,\" the latter (direct action being impossible) should by the\nindirect method of elective substitution express their concurrence with\nresolves affecting the common weal--that is, that for legislative\npurposes generally the people should be represented by deputies. The\nso-called representative constitution is that form of government with\nwhich we connect the idea of a free constitution; and this notion has\nbecome a rooted prejudice. On this theory people and government are\nseparated. But there is a perversity in this antithesis, an\nill-intentioned ruse designed to insinuate that the people are the\ntotality of the State. Besides, the basis of this view is the principle\nof isolated individuality--the absolute validity of the subjective\nwill--a dogma which we have already investigated. The great point is\nthat freedom, in its ideal conception, has not subjective will and\ncaprice for its principle, but the recognition of the universal will,\nand that the process by which freedom is realized is the free\ndevelopment of its successive stages. The subjective will is a merely\nformal determination--a _carte blanche_--not including what it is that\nis willed. Only the rational will is that universal principle which\nindependently determines and unfolds its own being and develops its\nsuccessive elemental phases as organic members. Of this Gothic-cathedral\narchitecture the ancients knew nothing.\n\nAt an earlier stage of the discussion we established the two elemental\nconsiderations: First, the _idea_ of freedom as the absolute and final\naim; secondly, the _means_ for realizing it, i. e., the subjective side\nof knowledge and will, with its life, movement, and activity. We then\nrecognized the State as the moral whole and the reality of freedom, and\nconsequently as the objective unity of these two elements. For although\nwe make this distinction in two aspects for our consideration, it must\nbe remarked that they are intimately connected, and that their\nconnection is involved in the idea of each when examined separately. We\nhave, on the one hand, recognized the Idea in the definite form of\nfreedom, conscious of and willing itself, having itself alone as its\nobject, involving at the same time the pure and simple Idea of Reason\nand, likewise, what we have called Subject, self-consciousness, Spirit,\nactually existing in the world. If, on the other hand, we consider\nsubjectivity, we find that subjective knowledge and will is thought. But\nby the very act of thoughtful cognition and volition, I will the\nuniversal object--the substance of absolute Reason. We observe,\ntherefore, an essential union between the objective side--the Idea, and\nthe subjective side--the personality that conceives and wills it. The\nobjective existence of this union is the State, which is therefore the\nbasis and centre of the other concrete elements of the life of a\npeople--of art, of law, of morals, of religion, of science. All the\nactivity of Spirit has only this object--the becoming conscious of this\nunion, i. e., of its own freedom. Among the forms of this conscious union\n_religion_ occupies the highest position. In it Spirit-rising above the\nlimitations of temporal and secular existence--becomes conscious of the\nAbsolute Spirit, and, in this consciousness of the Self-Existent Being,\nrenounces its individual interest; it lays this aside in devotion--a\nstate of mind in which it refuses to occupy itself any longer with the\nlimited and particular. By sacrifice man expresses his renunciation of\nhis property, his will, his individual feelings. The religious\nconcentration of the soul appears in the form of feeling; it\nnevertheless passes also into reflection; a form of worship (_cultus_)\nis a result of reflection. The second form of the union of the objective\nand subjective in the human spirit is art; this advances farther into\nthe realm of the actual and sensuous than religion. In its noblest walk\nit is occupied with representing, not, indeed, the Spirit of God, but\ncertainly the Form of God; and, in its secondary aims, that which is\ndivine and spiritual generally. Its office is to render visible the\ndivine, presenting it to the imaginative and intuitive faculty. But the\ntrue is the object not only of conception and feeling, as in\nreligion--and of intuition, as in art--but also of the thinking faculty;\nand this gives us the third form of the union in question--philosophy.\nThis is consequently the highest, freest, and wisest place. Of course we\nare not intending to investigate these three phases here; they have only\nsuggested themselves in virtue of their occupying the same general\nground as the object here considered the _State._\n\n\n\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHY OF LAW (1832)\n\nBY GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL\n\nTRANSLATED BY J. LOEWENBERG, PH.D. Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard\nUniversity\n\nTHE STATE\n\nIDEA AND AIM OF THE STATE\n\n\nThe State is the realization of the ethical idea. It is the ethical\nspirit as revealed, self-conscious, substantial will. It is the will\nwhich thinks and knows itself, and carries out what it knows, and in so\nfar as it knows. The unreflected existence of the State rests on custom,\nand its reflected existence on the self-consciousness of the individual,\non his knowledge and activity. The individual, in return, has his\nsubstantial freedom in the State, as the essence, purpose, and product\nof his activity.\n\nThe true State is the ethical whole and the realization of freedom. It\nis the absolute purpose of reason that freedom should be realized. The\nState is the spirit, which lives in the world and there realizes itself\nconsciously; while in nature it is actual only as its own other or as\ndormant spirit. Only as present in consciousness, knowing itself as an\nexisting object, is it the State. The State is the march of God through\nthe world, its ground is the power of reason realizing itself as will.\nThe idea of the State should not connote any particular State, or\nparticular institution; one must rather consider the Idea only, this\nactual God, by itself. Because it is more easy to find defects than to\ngrasp the positive meaning, one readily falls into the mistake of\nemphasizing so much the particular nature of the State as to overlook\nits inner organic essence. The State is no work of art. It exists in the\nworld, and thus in the realm of caprice, accident, and error. Evil\nbehavior toward it may disfigure it on many sides. But the ugliest man,\nthe criminal, the invalid, and the cripple, are still living human\nbeings. The affirmative, life, persists in spite of defects, and it is\nthis affirmative which alone is here in question.\n\nIn the State, everything depends upon the unity of the universal and the\nparticular. In the ancient States the subjective purpose was absolutely\none with the will of the State. In modern times, on the contrary, we\ndemand an individual opinion, an individual will and conscience. The\nancients had none of these in the modern sense; the final thing for them\nwas the will of the State. While in Asiatic despotisms the individual\nhad no inner self and no self-justification, in the modern world man\ndemands to be honored for the sake of his subjective individuality.\n\nThe union of duty and right has the twofold aspect that what the State\ndemands as duty should directly be the right of the individual, since\nthe State is nothing but the organization of the concept of freedom. The\ndeterminations of the individual will are given by the State\nobjectivity, and it is through the State alone that they attain truth\nand realization. The State is the sole condition of the attainment of\nthe particular end and good.\n\nPolitical disposition, called patriotism--the assurance resting in truth\nand the will which has become a custom--is simply the result of the\ninstitutions subsisting in the State, institutions in which reason is\nactually present.\n\nUnder patriotism one frequently understands a mere willingness to\nperform extraordinary acts and sacrifices. But patriotism is essentially\nthe sentiment of regarding, in the ordinary circumstances and ways of\nlife, the weal of the community as the substantial basis and the final\nend. It is upon this consciousness, present in the ordinary course of\nlife and under all circumstances, that the disposition to heroic effort\nis founded. But as people are often rather magnanimous than just, they\neasily persuade themselves that they possess the heroic kind of\npatriotism, in order to save themselves the trouble of having the truly\npatriotic sentiment, or to excuse the lack of it.\n\nPolitical sentiment, as appearance, must be distinguished from what\npeople truly will. What they at bottom will is the real cause, but they\ncling to particular interests and delight in the vain contemplation of\nimprovements. The conviction of the necessary stability of the State in\nwhich alone the particular interests can be realized, people indeed\npossess, but custom makes invisible that upon which our whole existence\nrests; it does not occur to any one, when he safely passes through the\nstreets at night, that it could be otherwise. The habit of safety has\nbecome a second nature, and we do not reflect that it is the result of\nthe activity of special institutions. It is through force this is\nfrequently the superficial opinion-that the State coheres, but what\nalone holds it together is the fundamental sense of order, which is\npossessed by all.\n\nThe State is an organism or the development of the idea into its\ndifferences. These different sides are the different powers of the State\nwith their functions and activities, by means of which the universal is\nconstantly and necessarily producing itself, and, being presupposed in\nits own productive function, it is thus always actively present. This\norganism is the political constitution. It eternally springs from the\nState, just as the State in turn maintains itself through the\nconstitution. If these two things fall asunder, if both different sides\nbecome independent of each other, then the unity which the constitution\nproduces is no longer operative; the fable of the stomach and the other\norgans may be applied to it. It is the nature of an organism that all\nits parts must constitute a certain unity; if one part asserts its\nindependence the other parts must go to destruction. No predicates,\nprinciples, and the like suffice to express the nature of the State; it\nmust be comprehended as an organism.\n\nThe State is real, and its reality consists in the interest of the whole\nbeing realized in particular ends. Actuality is always the unity of\nuniversality and particularity, and the differentiation of the universal\ninto particular ends. These particular ends seem independent, though\nthey are borne and sustained by the whole only. In so far as this unity\nis absent, no thing is real, though it may exist. A bad State is one\nwhich merely exists. A sick body also exists; but it has no true\nreality. A hand, which is cut off, still looks like a hand and exists,\nbut it has no reality. True reality is necessity. What is real is\ninternally necessary.\n\nTo the complete State belongs, essentially, consciousness and thought.\nThe State knows thus what it wills, and it knows it under the form of\nthought.\n\nThe essential difference between the State and religion consists in that\nthe commands of the State have the form of legal duty, irrespective of\nthe feelings accompanying their performance; the sphere of religion, on\nthe other hand, is in the inner life. Just as the State, were it to\nframe its commands as religion does, would endanger the right of the\ninner life, so the church, if it acts as a State and imposes punishment,\ndegenerates into a tyrannical religion.\n\nIn the State one must want nothing which is not an expression of\nrationality. The State is the world which the spirit has made for\nitself; it has therefore a determinate and self-conscious course. One\noften speaks of the wisdom of God in nature, but one must not believe\nthat the physical world of nature is higher than the world of spirit.\nJust as spirit is superior to nature, so is the State superior to the\nphysical life. We must therefore adore the State as the manifestation of\nthe divine on earth, and consider that, if it is difficult to comprehend\nnature, it is infinitely harder to grasp the essence of the State. It is\nan important fact that we, in modern times, have attained definite\ninsight into the State in general and are much engaged in discussing and\nmaking constitutions; but that does not advance the problem much. It is\nnecessary to treat a rational matter in the light of reason, in order to\nlearn its essential nature and to know that the obvious does not always\nconstitute the essential.\n\nWhen we speak of the different functions of the powers of the State, we\nmust not fall into the enormous error of supposing each power to have an\nabstract, independent existence, since the powers are rather to be\ndifferentiated as elements in the conception of the State. Were the\npowers to be in abstract independence, however, it is clear that two\nindependent things could never constitute a unity, but must produce war,\nand the result would be destruction of the whole or restoration of unity\nby force. Thus, in the French Revolution, at one time the legislative\npower had swallowed up the executive, at another time the executive had\nusurped the legislative power.\n\n\nTHE CONSTITUTION\n\nThe constitution is rational, in so far as the State defines and\ndifferentiates its functions according to the nature of its concept.\n\nWho shall make the constitution? This question seems intelligible, yet\non closer examination reveals itself as meaningless, for it presupposes\nthe existence of no constitution, but only a mere mass of atomic\nindividuals. How a mass of individuals is to come by a constitution,\nwhether by its own efforts or by those of others, whether by goodness,\nthought, or force, it must decide for itself, for with a disorganized\nmob the concept of the State has nothing to do. But if the question does\npresuppose an already existing constitution, then to make a constitution\nmeans only to change it. The presupposition of a constitution implies,\nhowever, at once, that any modification in it must take place\nconstitutionally. It is absolutely essential that the constitution,\nthough having a temporal origin, should not be regarded as made. It (the\nprinciple of constitution) is rather to be conceived as absolutely\nperpetual and rational, and therefore as divine, substantial, and above\nand beyond the sphere of what is made.\n\nSubjective freedom is the principle of the whole modern world--the\nprinciple that all essential aspects of the spiritual totality should\ndevelop and attain their right. From this point of view one can hardly\nraise the idle question as to which form is the better, monarchy or\ndemocracy. One can but say that the forms of all constitutions are\none-sided that are not able to tolerate the principle of free\nsubjectivity and that do not know how to conform to the fully developed\nreason.\n\nSince spirit is real only in what it knows itself to be, and since the\nState, as the nation's spirit, is the law permeating all its affairs,\nits ethical code, and the consciousness of its individuals, the\nconstitution of a people chiefly depends upon the kind and the character\nof its self-consciousness. In it lies both its subjective freedom and\nthe reality of the constitution.\n\nTo think of giving a people a constitution _a priori_, though according\nto its content a more or less rational one--such a whim would precisely\noverlook that element which renders a constitution more than a mere\nabstract object. Every nation, therefore, has the constitution which is\nappropriate to it and belongs to it.\n\nThe State must, in its constitution, permeate all situations. A\nconstitution is not a thing just made; it is the work of centuries, the\nidea and the consciousness of what is rational, in so far as it is\ndeveloped in a people. No constitution, therefore, is merely created by\nthe subjects of the State. The nation must feel that its constitution\nembodies its right and its status, otherwise the constitution may exist\nexternally, but has no meaning or value. The need and the longing for a\nbetter constitution may often indeed be present in individuals, but that\nis quite different from the whole multitude being permeated with such an\nidea--that comes much later. The principle of morality, the inwardness\nof Socrates originated necessarily in his day, but it took time before\nit could pass into general self-consciousness.\n\n\nTHE POWER OF THE PRINCE\n\nBecause sovereignty contains in ideal all special privileges, the common\nmisconception is quite natural, which takes it to be mere force, empty\ncaprice, and synonymous with despotism. But despotism means a state of\nlawlessness, in which the particular will as such, whether that of\nmonarch or people (_ochlocracy_), is the law, or rather instead of the\nlaw. Sovereignty, on the contrary, constitutes the element of ideality\nof particular spheres and functions under lawful and constitutional\nconditions.\n\nThe sovereignty of the people, conceived in opposition to the\nsovereignty residing in the monarch, stands for the common view of\ndemocracy, which has come to prevail in modern times. The idea of the\nsovereignty of the people, taken in this opposition, belongs to a\nconfused idea of what is commonly and crudely understood by \"the\npeople.\" The people without its monarch and without that whole\norganization necessarily and directly connected with him is a formless\nmass, which is no longer a State. In a people, not conceived in a\nlawless and unorganized condition, but as a self-developed and truly\norganic totality--in such a people sovereignty is the personality of the\nwhole, and this is represented in reality by the person of the monarch.\n\nThe State must be regarded as a great architectonic edifice, a\nhieroglyph of reason, manifesting itself in reality. Everything\nreferring merely to utility, externality, and the like, must be excluded\nfrom its philosophic treatment. That the State is the self-determining\nand the completely sovereign will, the final decision being necessarily\nreferred to it--that is easy to comprehend. The difficulty lies in\ngrasping this \"I will\" as a person. By this it is not meant that the\nmonarch can act arbitrarily. He is bound, in truth, by the concrete\ncontent of the deliberations of his council, and, when the constitution\nis stable, he has often nothing more to do than to sign his name--but\nthis name is important; it is the point than which there is nothing\nhigher.\n\nIt may be said that an organic State has already existed in the\nbeautiful democracy of Athens. The Greeks, however, derived the final\ndecision from entirely external phenomena, from oracles, entrails of\nsacrificial animals, and from the flight of birds. Nature they\nconsidered as a power which in this wise made known and gave expression\nto what was good for the people. Self-consciousness had at that time not\nyet attained to the abstraction of subjectivity; it had not yet come to\nthe realization that an \"I will\" must be pronounced by man himself\nconcerning the decisions of the State. This \"I will\" constitutes the\ngreat difference between the ancient and the modern world, and must\ntherefore have its peculiar place in the great edifice of the State.\nUnfortunately this modern characteristic is regarded as merely external\nand arbitrary.\n\nIt is often maintained against the monarch that, since he may be\nill-educated or unworthy to stand at the helm of the State, its fortunes\nare thus made to depend upon chance. It is therefore absurd to assume\nthe rationality of the institution of the monarch. The presupposition,\nhowever, that the fortunes of the State depend upon the particular\ncharacter of the monarch is false. In the perfect organization of the\nState the important thing is only the finality of formal decision and\nthe stability against passion. One must not therefore demand objective\nqualification of the monarch; he has but to say \"yes\" and to put the dot\nupon the \"i.\" The crown shall be of such a nature that the particular\ncharacter of its bearer is of no significance. Beyond his function of\nadministering the final decision, the monarch is a particular being who\nis of no concern. Situations may indeed arise in which his particularity\nalone asserts itself, but in that case the State is not yet fully\ndeveloped, or else is ill constructed. In a well-ordered monarchy the\nlaw alone has objective power to which the monarch has but to affix the\nsubjective \"I will.\"\n\nMonarchs do not excel in bodily strength or intellect, and yet millions\npermit themselves to be ruled by them. To say that the people permit\nthemselves to be governed contrary to their interests, aims, and\nintentions is preposterous, for people are not so stupid. It is their\nneed, it is the inner power of the idea, which, in opposition to their\napparent consciousness, urges them to this situation and retains them\ntherein.\n\nOut of the sovereignty of the monarch flows the prerogative of pardoning\ncriminals. Only to the sovereignty belongs the spiritual power to undo\nwhat has been done and to cancel the crime by forgiving and forgetting.\n\nPardon is the remission of punishment, but does not abolish right. Right\nremains, and the pardoned is a criminal as he was before the pardon. The\nact of mercy does not mean that no crime has been committed. This\nremission of punishment may be effected in religion, for by and in\nspirit what has been done can be made un-done. But in so far as\nremission occurs in the world, it has its place only in majesty and is\ndue only to its arbitrary decision.\n\n\nTHE EXECUTIVE\n\nThe main point upon which the function of the government depends is the\ndivision of labor. This division is concerned with the transition from\nthe universal to the particular and the individual; and the business is\nto be divided according to the different branches. The difficulty lies\nin harmonizing the superior and the inferior functions. For some time\npast the main effort has been spent in organizing from above, the lower\nand bulky part of the whole being left more or less unorganized; yet it\nis highly important that it should become organic, for only thus is it a\npower and a force; otherwise it is but a heap or mass of scattered\natoms. Authoritative power resides only in the organic state of the\nparticular spheres.\n\nThe State cannot count on service which is capricious and voluntary (the\nadministration of justice by knights-errant, for instance), precisely\nbecause it is capricious and voluntary. Such service presupposes acting\naccording to subjective opinion, and also the possibility of neglect and\nof the realization of private ends. The opposite extreme to the\nknight-errant in reference to public service would be the State-servant\nwho was attached to his task solely by want, without genuine duty and\nright.\n\nThe efficiency of the State depends upon individuals, who, however, are\nnot entitled to carry on the business of the State through natural\nfitness, but according to their objective qualification. Ability, skill,\ncharacter, belong to the particular nature of the individual; for a\nparticular office, however, he must be specially educated and trained.\nAn office in the State can, therefore, be neither sold nor bequeathed.\n\nPublic service demands the sacrifice of independent self-satisfaction\nand the giving up of the pursuit of private ends, but grants the right\nof finding these in dutiful service, and in it only. Herein lies the\nunity of the universal and the particular interests which constitutes\nthe concept and the inner stability of the State.\n\nThe members of the executive and the officials of the State form the\nmain part of the middle class which represents the educated intelligence\nand the consciousness of right of the mass of a people. This middle\nclass is prevented by the institutions of sovereignty from above and the\nrights of corporation from below, from assuming the exclusive position\nof an aristocracy and making education and intelligence the means for\ncaprice and despotism. Thus the administration of justice, whose object\nis the proper interest of all individuals, had at one time been\nperverted into an instrument of gain and despotism, owing to the fact\nthat the knowledge of the law was hidden under a learned and foreign\nlanguage, and the knowledge of legal procedure under an involved\nformalism.\n\nIn the middle class, to which the State officials belong, resides the\nconsciousness of the State and the most conspicuous cultivation: the\nmiddle class constitutes therefore the ground pillar of the State in\nregard to uprightness and intelligence. The State in which there is no\nmiddle class stands as yet on no high level.\n\n\nTHE LEGISLATURE\n\nThe legislature is concerned with the interpretation of the laws and\nwith the internal affairs of the State, in so far as they have a\nuniversal content. This function is itself a part of the constitution\nand thus presupposes it. Being presupposed, the constitution lies, to\nthat degree, outside the direct province of the legislature, but in the\nforward development of the laws and the progressive character of the\nuniversal affairs of government, the constitution receives its\ndevelopment also.\n\nThe constitution must alone be the firm ground on which the legislature\nstands; hence it must not be created for purposes of legislation. But\nthe constitution not only is, its essence is also to _become_--that is,\nit progresses with the advance of civilization. This progress is an\nalteration which is imperceptible, but has not the form of an\nalteration. Thus, for example, the emperor was formerly judge, and went\nabout the empire administering justice. Through the merely apparent\nadvance of civilization it has become practically necessary that the\nemperor should gradually yield his judicial function to others, and thus\ncame about the transition of the judicial function from the person of\nthe prince to a body of judges; thus the progress of any condition is an\napparently calm and imperceptible one. In this way and after a lapse of\ntime a constitution attains a character quite different from what it had\nbefore.\n\nIn the legislative power as a whole are operative both the monarchical\nelement and the executive. To the former belongs the final decision; the\nlatter as advisory element possesses concrete knowledge, perspective\nover the whole in all its ramifications, and acquaintance with the\nobjective principles and wants of the power of the State. Finally, in\nthe legislature the different classes or estates are also active. These\nclasses or estates represent in the legislature the element of\nsubjective formal freedom, the public consciousness, the empirical\ntotality of the views and thought of the many.\n\nThe expression \"The Many\" [Greek: oi polloi] characterizes the empirical\ntotality more correctly than the customary word \"All.\" Though one may\nreply that, under this \"all,\" children, women, etc., are obviously meant\nto be excluded, yet it is more obvious that the definite expression\n\"all\" should not be used when something quite indefinite is in question.\n\nThere are, in general, current among the public so unspeakably many\ndistorted and false notions and phrases about the people, the\nconstitution, and the classes, that it would be a vain task to mention,\nexplain, and correct them. The prevalent idea concerning the necessity\nand utility of an assembly of estates amounts to the assumption that the\npeople's deputies, nay, the people itself, best understand what would\npromote the common weal, and that they have indubitably the good will to\npromote it. As for the first point, the case is just the reverse. The\npeople, in so far as this term signifies a special part of the citizens,\nstands precisely for the part that does not know what it wills. To know\nwhat one wills, and, what is more difficult, to know what the absolute\nwill, viz., reason, wills, is the fruit of deep knowledge and insight;\nand that is obviously not a possession of the people. As for the\nespecially good will, which the classes are supposed to have for the\ncommon good, the usual point of view of the masses is the negative one\nof suspecting the government of a will which is evil or of little good.\n\nThe attitude of the government toward the classes must not be\nessentially a hostile one. Belief in the necessity of this hostile\nrelation is a sad mistake. The government is not one party in opposition\nto another, so that both are engaged in wresting something from each\nother. When the State is in such a situation it is a misfortune and not\na mark of health. Furthermore, the taxes, for which the classes vote,\nare not to be looked upon as gifts, but are consented to for the best\ninterests of those consenting. What constitutes the true meaning of the\nclasses is this--that through them the State enters into the subjective\nconsciousness of the people and thus the people begin to share in the\nState.\n\nIn despotic countries, where there are only princes and people, the\npeople assert themselves, whenever they act, as a destructive force\ndirected against the organization, but the masses, when they become\norganically related to the State, obtain their interests in a lawful and\norderly way. When this organic relation is lacking, the self-expression\nof the masses is always violent; in despotic States the despot shows,\ntherefore, indulgence for his people, and his rage is always felt by\nthose surrounding him. Moreover, the people of a despotic State pay\nlight taxes, which in a constitutional State are increased through the\nvery consciousness of the people. In no other country are taxes so heavy\nas they are in England.\n\nThere exists a current notion to the effect that, since the private\nclass is raised in the legislature to a participation in the universal\ncause, it must appear in the form of individuals--either that\nrepresentatives are chosen for the function, or that every individual\nexercises a vote. This abstract atomic view prevails neither in the\nfamily nor in civic society, in both of which the individual appears\nonly as a member of a universal. The State, however, is in essence an\norganization of members, and these members are themselves spheres; in it\nno element shall show itself as an unorganized mass. The many, as\nindividuals, whom one chooses to call the people, are indeed a\ncollection, but only as a multitude, a formless mass, whose movement and\naction would be elemental, irrational, savage, and terrible.\n\nThe concrete State is the whole, organized into its particular spheres,\nand the member of the State is a member of such a particular class.\nOnly in this objective determination can the individual find recognition\nin the State. Only in his co\u00f6perate capacity, as member of the community\nand the like, can the individual first find a real and vital place in\nthe universal. It remains, of course, open to him to rise through his\nskill to any class for which he can qualify himself, including even the\nuniversal class.\n\nIt is a matter of great advantage to have among the delegates\nrepresentatives of every special branch of society, such as trade,\nmanufacture, etc.--individuals thoroughly familiar with their branch and\nbelonging to it. In the notion of a loose and indefinite election this\nimportant matter is left to accident; every branch, however, has the\nsame right to be represented as every other. To view the delegates as\nrepresentatives has, then, an organic and rational meaning only if they\nare not representatives of mere individuals, of the mere multitude, but\nof one of the essential spheres of society and of its large interests.\nRepresentation thus no longer means substitution of one person by\nanother, but it means, rather, that the interest itself is actually\npresent in the representative.\n\nOf the elections by many separate individuals it may be observed that\nthere is necessarily an indifference, especially in large States, about\nusing one's vote, since one vote is of such slight importance; and those\nwho have the right to vote will not do so, no matter how much one may\nextol the privilege of voting. Hence this institution turns into the\nopposite of what it stands for. The election becomes the business of a\nfew, of a single party, of a special interest, which should, in fact, be\nneutralized.\n\nThrough the publicity of the assembly of classes public opinion first\nacquires true thoughts and an insight into the condition and the notion\nof the State and its affairs, and thus develops the capacity of judging\nmore rationally concerning them; it learns, furthermore, to know and\nrespect the routine, talents, virtues, and skill of the authorities and\nofficers of the State. While publicity stimulates these talents in\ntheir further development and incites their honorable display, it is\nalso an antidote for the pride of individuals and of the multitude, and\nis one of the greatest opportunities for their education.\n\nIt is a widespread popular notion that everybody already knows what is\ngood for the State, and that it is this common knowledge which finds\nexpression in the assembly. Here, in the assembly, are developed\nvirtues, talents, skill, which have to serve as examples. To be sure,\nthe ministers may find these assemblies onerous, for ministers must\npossess large resources of wit and eloquence to resist the attacks which\nare hurled against them. Nevertheless, publicity is one of the best\nmeans of instruction in the interests of the State generally, for where\npublicity is found the people manifest an entirely different regard for\nthe State than in those places where there are no assemblies or where\nthey are not public. Only through the publication of every one of their\nproceedings are the chambers related to the larger public opinion; and\nit is shown that what one imagines at home with his wife and friends is\none thing, and what happens in a great assembly, where one feat of\neloquence wrecks another, is quite a different thing.\n\n\nPUBLIC OPINION\n\nPublic opinion is the unorganized way in which what a people wants and\nthinks is promulgated. That which is actually effective in the State\nmust be so in an organic fashion. In the constitution this is the case.\nBut at all times public opinion has been a great power, and it is\nparticularly so in our time, when the principle of subjective freedom\nhas such importance and significance. What shall now prevail, prevails\nno longer through force, little through use and custom, but rather\nthrough insight and reasons.\n\nPublic opinion contains, therefore, the eternal substantial principles\nof justice, the true content, and the result of the whole constitution,\nlegislation, and the universal condition in general. The form\nunderlying public opinion is sound common sense, which is a fundamental\nethical principle winding its way through everything, in spite of\nprepossessions. But when this inner character is formulated in the shape\nof general propositions, partly for their own sake, partly for the\npurpose of actual reasoning about events, institutions, relations, and\nthe recognized wants of the State, there appears also the whole\ncharacter of accidental opinion, with its ignorance and perversity, its\nfalse knowledge and incorrect judgment.\n\nIt is therefore not to be regarded as merely a difference in subjective\nopinion when it is asserted on the one hand--\n\n\"Vox populi, vox dei\";\n\nand on the other (in Ariosto, for instance)--[2]\n\n  \"Che'l Volgare ignorante ogn' un riprenda\n    E parli pi\u00fc di quel che meno intenda.\"\n\nBoth sides co-exist in public opinion. Since truth and endless error are\nso directly united in it, neither one nor the other side is truly in\nearnest. Which one is in earnest, is difficult to decide--difficult,\nindeed, if one confines oneself to the direct expression of public\nopinion. But as the substantial principle is the inner character of\npublic opinion, this alone is its truly earnest aspect; yet this insight\ncannot be obtained from public opinion itself, for a substantial\nprinciple can only be apprehended apart from public opinion and by a\nconsideration of its own nature. No matter with what passion an opinion\nis invested, no matter with what earnestness a view is asserted,\nattacked, and defended, this is no criterion of its real essence. And\nleast of all could public opinion be made to see that its seriousness is\nnothing serious at all.\n\nA great mind has publicly raised the question whether it is permissible\nto deceive a people. The answer is that a people will not permit itself\nto be deceived concerning its substantial basis, the essence, and the\ndefinite character of its spirit, but it deceives itself about the way\nin which it knows this, and according to which it judges of its acts,\nevents, etc.\n\nPublic opinion deserves, therefore, to be esteemed as much as to be\ndespised; to be despised for its concrete consciousness and expression,\nto be esteemed for its essential fundamental principle, which only\nshines, more or less dimly, through its concrete expression. Since\npublic opinion possesses within itself no standard of discrimination, no\ncapacity to rise to a recognition of the substantial, independence of it\nis the first formal condition of any great and rational enterprise (in\nactuality as well as in science). Anything great and rational is\neventually sure to please public opinion, to be espoused by it, and to\nbe made one of its prepossessions.\n\nIn public opinion all is false and true, but to discover the truth in it\nis the business of the great man. The great man of his time is he who\nexpresses the will and the meaning of that time, and then brings it to\ncompletion; he acts according to the inner spirit and essence of his\ntime, which he realizes. And he who does not understand how to despise\npublic opinion, as it makes itself heard here and there, will never\naccomplish anything great.\n\n\nFREEDOM OF THE PRESS\n\nThe freedom of public utterance (of which the press is one means, having\nadvantage over speech in its more extended reach, though inferior to it\nin vivacity), the gratification of that prickling impulse to express and\nto have expressed one's opinion, is directly controlled by the police\nand State laws and regulations, which partly hinder and partly punish\nits excesses. The indirect guarantee lies in its innocuousness, and\nthis again is mainly based on the rationality of the constitution, the\nstability of the government, and also on the publicity given to the\nassemblies of the classes. Another security is offered by the\nindifference and contempt with which insipid and malicious words are, as\na rule, quickly met.\n\nThe definition of the freedom of the press as freedom to say and write\nwhat one pleases, is parallel to the one of freedom in general, viz., as\nfreedom to do what one pleases. Such views belong to the uneducated\ncrudity and superficiality of na\u00efve thinking. The press, with its\ninfinite variety of content and expression, represents what is most\ntransient, particular, and accidental in human opinion. Beyond the\ndirect incitation to theft, murder, revolt, etc., lies the art of\ncultivating the expression which in itself seems general and indefinite\nenough, but which, in a measure, conceals a perfectly definite meaning.\nSuch expressions are partly responsible for consequences of which, since\nthey are not actually expressed, one is never sure how far they are\ncontained in the utterances and really follow from them. It is this\nindefiniteness of the content and form of the press which prevents the\nlaws governing it from assuming that precision which one demands of\nlaws. Thus the extreme subjectivity of the wrong, injury, and crime\ncommitted by the press, causes the decision and sentence to be equally\nsubjective. The laws are not only indefinite, but the press can, by the\nskill and subtlety of its expressions, evade them, or criticise the\njudgment of the court as wholly arbitrary. Furthermore, if the utterance\nof the press is treated as an offensive deed, one may retort that it is\nnot a deed at all, but only an opinion, a thought, a mere saying.\nConsequently, impunity is expected for opinions and words, because they\nare merely subjective, trivial, and insignificant, and, in the same\nbreath, great respect and esteem is demanded for these opinions and\nwords--for the opinions, because they are mine and my mental property,\nand for the words, because they are the free expression and use of that\nproperty. And yet the basic principle remains that injury to the honor\nof individuals generally, abuse, libel, contemptuous caricaturing of the\ngovernment, its officers and officials, especially the person of the\nprince, defiance of the laws, incitement to revolt, etc., are all\noffenses and crimes of different grades.\n\nHowever, the peculiar and dangerous effect of these acts for the\nindividuals, the community, and the State depends upon the nature of the\nsoil on which they are committed, just as a spark, if thrown upon a heap\nof gunpowder, has a much more dangerous result than if thrown on the\nmere ground, where it vanishes and leaves no trace. But, on the whole, a\ngood many such acts, though punishable by law, may come under a certain\nkind of nemesis which internal impotence is forced to bring about. In\nentering upon opposition to the superior talents and virtues, by which\nimpotence feels oppressed, it comes to a realization of its inferiority\nand to a consciousness of its own nothingness, and the nemesis, even\nwhen bad and odious, is, by treating it with contempt, rendered\nineffectual. Like the public, which forms a circle for such activity, it\nis confined to a harmless malicious joy, and to a condemnation which\nreflects upon itself.\n\n\nMEANING OF WAR\n\nThere is an ethical element in war. It must not be regarded as an\nabsolute ill, or as merely an external calamity which is accidentally\nbased upon the passions of despotic individuals or nations, upon acts of\ninjustice, and, in general, upon what ought not to be. The recognition\nof the finite, such as property and life, as accidental, is necessary.\nThis necessity is at first wont to appear under the form of a force of\nnature, for all things finite are mortal and transient. In the ethical\norder, in the State, however, nature is robbed of its force, and the\nnecessity is exalted to a work of freedom, to an ethical law. The\ntransient and negative nature of all things is transformed in the State\ninto an expression of the ethical will. War, often painted by edifying\nspeech as a state in which the vanity of temporal things is\ndemonstrated, now becomes an element whereby the ideal character of the\nparticular receives its right and reality. War has the deep meaning that\nby it the ethical health of the nations is preserved and their finite\naims uprooted. And as the winds which sweep over the ocean prevent the\ndecay that would result from its perpetual calm, so war protects the\npeople from the corruption which an everlasting peace would bring upon\nit. History shows phases which illustrate how successful wars have\nchecked internal unrest and have strengthened the entire stability of\nthe State.\n\nIn peace, civic life becomes more extended, every sphere is hedged in\nand grows immobile, and at last all men stagnate, their particular\nnature becoming more and more hardened and ossified. Only in the unity\nof a body is health, and, where the organs become stiff, there is death.\nEternal peace is often demanded as an ideal toward which mankind should\nmove. Thus Kant proposed an alliance of princes, which should settle the\ncontroversies of States, and the Holy Alliance probably aspired to be an\ninstitution of this kind. The State, however, is individual, and in\nindividuality negation is essentially contained. A number of States may\nconstitute themselves into a family, but this confederation, as an\nindividuality, must create an opposition and so beget an enemy. Not only\ndo nations issue forth invigorated from their wars, but those nations\ntorn by internal strife win peace at home as a result of war abroad. War\nindeed causes insecurity in property, but this real insecurity is only a\nnecessary commotion. From the pulpits much is preached concerning the\ninsecurity, vanity, and instability of temporal things, and yet every\none, though he may be touched by his own words, thinks that he, at\nleast, will manage to hold on to his possessions. Let the insecurity\nfinally come, in the form of Hussars with glistening sabres, and show\nits earnest activity, and that touching edification which foresaw all\nthis now turns upon the enemy with curses. In spite of this, wars will\nbreak out whenever necessity demands them; but the seeds spring up anew,\nand speech is silenced before the grave repetitions of history.\n\nThe military class is the class of universality. The defense of the\nState is its privilege, and its duty is to realize the ideality\ncontained in it, which consists in self-sacrifice. There are different\nkinds of bravery. The courage of the animal, or the robber, the bravery\nwhich arises from a sense of honor, the chivalrous bravery, are not yet\nthe true forms of it. In civilized nations true bravery consists in the\nreadiness to give oneself wholly to the service of the State, so that\nthe individual counts but as one among many. Not personal valor, but the\nimportant aspect of it, lies in self-subordination to the universal\ncause.\n\nTo risk one's life is indeed something more than mere fear of death, but\nthis is only negative; only a positive character--an aim and\ncontent--gives meaning to bravery. Robbers and murderers in the pursuit\nof crime, adventurers in the search of their fanciful objects, etc.,\nalso possess courage, and do not fear death. The principle of the modern\nworld--the power of thought and of the universal--has given to bravery a\nhigher form; the higher form causes the expression of bravery to appear\nmore mechanical. The brave deeds are not the deeds of any particular\nperson, but those of the members of a whole. And, again, since hostility\nis directed, not against separate individuals, but against a hostile\nwhole, personal valor appears as impersonal. This principle it is which\nhas caused the invention of the gun; it is not a chance invention that\nhas brought about the change of the mere personal form of bravery into\nthe more abstract.\n\n\nINTERNATIONAL RELATIONS\n\nJust as the individual is not a real person unless related to other\npersons, so the State is no real individuality unless related to other\nStates. The legitimate power of a State, and more especially its\nprincely power, is, from the point of view of its foreign relations, a\nwholly internal affair. A State shall, therefore, not interfere with the\ninternal affairs of another State. On the other hand, for a complete\nState, it is essential that it be recognized by others; but this\nrecognition demands as a guarantee that it shall recognize those States\nwhich recognize it, and shall respect their independence. Hence its\ninternal affairs cannot be a matter of indifference to them.\n\nWhen Napoleon, before the peace of Campoformio, said, \"The French\nRepublic requires recognition as little as the sun needs to be\nrecognized,\" his words suggest nothing but the strength of existence,\nwhich already carries with it the guarantee of recognition, without\nneeding to be expressed.\n\nWhen the particular wills of the State can come to no agreement their\ncontroversy can be decided only by war. What offense shall be regarded\nas a breach of a treaty, or as a violation of respect and honor, must\nremain indefinite, since many and various injuries can easily accrue\nfrom the wide range of the interests of the States and from the complex\nrelations of their citizens. The State may identify its infinitude and\nhonor with every one of its single aspects. And if a State, as a strong\nindividuality, has experienced an unduly protracted internal rest, it\nwill naturally be more inclined to irritability, in order to find an\noccasion and field for intense activity.\n\nThe nations of Europe form a family according to the universal principle\nof their legislation, their ethical code, and their civilization. But\nthe relation among States fluctuates, and no judge exists to adjust\ntheir differences. The higher judge is the universal and absolute Spirit\nalone--the World-Spirit.\n\nThe relation of one particular State to another presents, on the largest\npossible scale, the most shifting play of individual passions,\ninterests, aims, talents, virtues, power, injustice, vice, and mere\nexternal chance. It is a play in which even the ethical whole, the\nindependence of the State, is exposed to accident. The principles which\ncontrol the many national spirits are limited. Each nation as an\nexisting individuality is guided by its particular principles, and only\nas a particular individuality can each national spirit win objectivity\nand self-consciousness; but the fortunes and deeds of States in their\nrelation to one another reveal the dialectic of the finite nature of\nthese spirits. Out of this dialectic rises the universal Spirit, the\nunlimited World-Spirit, pronouncing its judgment--and its judgment is\nthe highest--upon the finite nations of the world's history; for the\nhistory of the world is the world's court of justice.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART (1820-21)\n\nBY GEORG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL\n\nTRANSLATED BY J. LOEWENBERG, PH.D. Assistant in Philosophy, Harvard\nUniversity\n\nTHE MEANING OF ART\n\n\nThe appropriate expression for our subject is the \"Philosophy of Art,\"\nor, more precisely, the \"Philosophy of Fine Arts.\" By this expression we\nwish to exclude the beauty of nature. In common life we are in the habit\nof speaking of beautiful color, a beautiful sky, a beautiful river,\nbeautiful flowers, beautiful animals, and beautiful human beings. But\nquite aside from the question, which we wish not to discuss here, how\nfar beauty may be predicated of such objects, or how far natural beauty\nmay be placed side by side with artistic beauty, we must begin by\nmaintaining that artistic beauty is higher than the beauty of nature.\nFor the beauty of art is beauty born--and born again--of the spirit. And\nas spirit and its products stand higher than nature and its phenomena,\nby so much the beauty that resides in art is superior to the beauty of\nnature.\n\nTo say that spirit and artistic beauty stand higher than natural beauty,\nis to say very little, for \"higher\" is a very indefinite expression,\nwhich states the difference between them as quantitative and external.\nThe \"higher\" quality of spirit and of artistic beauty does not at all\nstand in a merely relative position to nature. Spirit only is the true\nessence and content of the world, so that whatever is beautiful is truly\nbeautiful only when it partakes of this higher essence and is produced\nby it. In this sense natural beauty appears only as a reflection of the\nbeauty that belongs to spirit; it is an imperfect and incomplete\nexpression of the spiritual substance.\n\n[Illustration: ROYAL OLD MUSEUM IN BERLIN _By Schinkel_]\n\nConfining ourselves to artistic beauty, we must first consider certain\ndifficulties. The first that suggests itself is the question whether art\nis at all worthy of a philosophic treatment. To be sure, art and beauty\npervade, like a kindly genius, all the affairs of life, and joyously\nadorn all its inner and outer phases, softening the gravity and the\nburden of actual existence, furnishing pleasure for idle moments, and,\nwhere it can accomplish nothing positive, driving evil away by occupying\nits place. Yet, although art wins its way everywhere with its pleasing\nforms, from the crude adornment of the savages to the splendor of the\ntemple with its marvelous wealth of decoration, art itself appears to\nfall outside the real aims of life. And though the creations of art\ncannot be said to be directly disadvantageous to the serious purposes of\nlife, nay, on occasion actually further them by holding evil at bay, on\nthe whole, art belongs to the relaxation and leisure of the mind, while\nthe substantial interests of life demand its exertion. At any rate, such\na view renders art a superfluity, though the tender and emotional\ninfluence which is wrought upon the mind by occupation with art is not\nthought necessarily detrimental, because effeminate.\n\nThere are others, again, who, though acknowledging art to be a luxury,\nhave thought it necessary to defend it by pointing to the practical\nnecessities of the fine arts and to the relation they bear to morality\nand piety. Very serious aims have been ascribed to art. Art has been\nrecommended as a mediator between reason and sensuousness, between\ninclination and duty, as the reconcilor of all these elements constantly\nwarring with one another. But it must be said that, by making art serve\ntwo masters, it is not rendered thereby more worthy of a philosophic\ntreatment. Instead of being an end in itself, art is degraded into a\nmeans of appealing to higher aims, on the one hand, and to frivolity and\nidleness on the other.\n\nArt considered as means offers another difficulty which springs from\nits form. Granting that art can be subordinated to serious aims and that\nthe results which it thus produces will be significant, still the means\nused by art is deception, for beauty is appearance, its form is its\nlife; and one must admit that a true and real purpose should not be\nachieved through deception. Even if a good end is thus, now and then,\nattained by art its success is rather limited, and even then deception\ncannot be recommended as a worthy means; for the means should be\nadequate to the dignity of the end, and truth can be produced by truth\nalone and not by deception and semblance.\n\nIt may thus appear as if art were not worthy of philosophic\nconsideration because it is supposed to be merely a pleasing pastime;\neven when it pursues more serious aims it does not correspond with their\nnature. On the whole, it is conceived to serve both grave and light\ninterests, achieving its results by means of deception and semblance.\n\nAs for the worthiness of art to be philosophically considered, it is\nindeed true that art can be used as a casual amusement, furnishing\nenjoyment and pleasure, decorating our surroundings, lending grace to\nthe external conditions of life, and giving prominence to other objects\nthrough ornamentation. Art thus employed is indeed not an independent or\nfree, but rather a subservient art. That art might serve other purposes\nand still retain its pleasure-giving function, is a relation which it\nhas in common with thought. For science, too, in the hands of the\nservile understanding is used for finite ends and accidental means, and\nis thus not self-sufficient, but is determined by outer objects and\ncircumstances. On the other hand, science can emancipate itself from\nsuch service and can rise in free independence to the pursuit of truth,\nin which the realization of its own aims is its proper function.\n\nArt is not genuine art until it has thus liberated itself. It fulfils\nits highest task when it has joined the same sphere with religion and\nphilosophy and has become a certain mode of bringing to consciousness\nand expression the divine meaning of things, the deepest interests of\nmankind, and the most universal truths of the spirit. Into works of art\nthe nations have wrought their most profound ideas and aspirations. Fine\nArt often constitutes the key, and with many nations it is the only key,\nto an understanding of their wisdom and religion. This character art has\nin common with religion and philosophy. Art's peculiar feature, however,\nconsists in its ability to represent in _sensuous form_ even the highest\nideas, bringing them thus nearer to the character of natural phenomena,\nto the senses, and to feeling. It is the height of a supra-sensuous\nworld into which _thought_ reaches, but it always appears to immediate\nconsciousness and to present experience as an alien _beyond_. Through\nthe power of philosophic thinking we are able to soar above what is\nmerely _here_, above sensuous and finite experience. But spirit can heal\nthe breach between the supra-sensuous and the sensuous brought on by its\nown advance; it produces out of itself the world of fine art as the\nfirst reconciling medium between what is merely external, sensuous, and\ntransient, and the world of pure thought, between nature with its finite\nreality and the infinite freedom of philosophic reason.\n\nConcerning the unworthiness of art because of its character as\nappearance and deception, it must be admitted that such criticism would\nnot be without justice, if appearance could be said to be equivalent to\nfalsehood and thus to something that ought not to be. Appearance is\nessential to reality; truth could not be, did it not shine through\nappearance. Therefore not appearance in general can be objected to, but\nmerely the particular kind of appearance through which art seeks to\nportray truth. To charge the appearance in which art chooses to embody\nits ideas as deception, receives meaning only by comparison with the\nexternal world of phenomena and its immediate materiality, as well as\nwith the inner world of sensations and feelings. To these two worlds we\nare wont, in our empirical work-a-day life, to attribute the value of\nactuality, reality, and truth, in contrast to art, which is supposed to\nbe lacking such reality and truth. But, in fact, it is just the whole\nsphere of the empirical inner and outer world that is not the world of\ntrue reality; indeed it may be called a mere show and a cruel deception\nin a far stricter sense than in the case of art. Only beyond the\nimmediacy of sense and of external objects is genuine reality to be\nfound. Truly real is but the fundamental essence and the underlying\nsubstance of nature and of spirit, and the universal element in nature\nand in spirit is precisely what art accentuates and makes visible. This\nessence of reality appears also in the common outer and inner world, but\nit appears in the form of a chaos of contingencies, distorted by the\nimmediateness of sense perception, and by the capriciousness of\nconditions, events, characters, etc. Art frees the true meaning of\nappearances from the show and deception of this bad and transient world,\nand invests it with a higher reality, born of the spirit. Thus, far\nremoved from being mere appearances, the products of art have a higher\nreality and a more genuine being than the things of ordinary life.\n\n\nTHE CONTENT AND IDEAL OF ART\n\nThe content of art is spiritual, and its form is sensuous; both sides\nart has to reconcile into a united whole. The first requirement is that\nthe content, which art is to represent, must be worthy of artistic\nrepresentation; otherwise we obtain only a bad unity, since a content\nnot capable of artistic treatment is made to take on an artistic form,\nand a matter prosaic in itself is forced into a form quite opposed to\nits inherent nature.\n\nThe second requirement demands of the content of art that it shall be no\nabstraction. By this is not meant that it must be concrete, as the\nsensuous is alleged to be concrete in contrast to everything spiritual\nand intellectual. For everything that is genuinely true, in the realm\nof thought as well as in the domain of nature, is concrete, and has, in\nspite of universality, nevertheless, a particular and subjective\ncharacter. By saying, for example, that God is simply One, the Supreme\nBeing as such, we express thereby nothing but a lifeless abstraction of\nan understanding devoid of reason. Such a God, as indeed he is not\nconceived in his concrete truth, can furnish no content for art, least\nof all for plastic art. Thus the Jews and the Turks have not been able\nto represent their God, who is still more abstract, in the positive\nmanner in which the Christians have represented theirs. For in\nChristianity God is conceived in his truth, and therefore concrete, as a\nperson, as a subject, and, more precisely still, as Spirit. What he is\nas spirit appears to the religious consciousness as a Trinity of\npersons, which at the same time is One. Here the essence of God is the\nreconciled unity of universality and particularity, such unity alone\nbeing concrete. Hence, as a content in order to be true must be concrete\nin this sense, art demands the same concreteness; because a mere\nabstract idea, or an abstract universal, cannot manifest itself in a\nparticular and sensuous unified form.\n\nIf a true and therefore concrete content is to have its adequate\nsensuous form and shape, this sensuous form must--this being the third\nrequirement--also be something individual, completely concrete, and one.\nThe nature of concreteness belonging to both the content and the\nrepresentation of art, is precisely the point in which both can coincide\nand correspond to each other. The natural shape of the human body, for\nexample, is a sensuous concrete object, which is perfectly adequate to\nrepresent the spiritual in its concreteness; the view should therefore\nbe abandoned that an existing object from the external world is\naccidentally chosen by art to express a spiritual idea. Art does not\nseize upon this or that form either because it simply finds it or\nbecause it can find no other, but the concrete spiritual content itself\ncarries with it the element of external, real, yes, even sensuous,\nrepresentation. And this is the reason why a sensuous concrete object,\nwhich bears the impress of an essentially spiritual content, addresses\nitself to the inner eye; the outward shape whereby the content is\nrendered visible and imaginable aims at an existence only in our heart\nand mind. For this reason alone are content and artistic shape\nharmoniously wrought. The mere sensuously concrete external nature as\nsuch has not this purpose for its only origin. The gay and variegated\nplumage of the birds shines unseen, and their song dies away unheard;\nthe torch-thistle which blossoms only for a night withers without having\nbeen admired in the wilds of southern forests; and these forests, groves\nof the most beautiful and luxuriant vegetation, with the most odorous\nand fragrant perfumes, perish and waste, no more enjoyed. The work of\nart is not so unconsciously self-immersed, but it is essentially a\nquestion, an address to the responsive soul, an appeal to the heart and\nto the mind.\n\nAlthough the sensuous form in which art clothes its content is not\naccidental, yet it is not the highest form whereby the spiritually\nconcrete may be grasped. A higher mode than representation through a\nsensuous form, is thought. True and rational thinking, though in a\nrelative sense abstract, must not be one-sided, but concrete. How far a\ndefinite content can be adequately treated by art and how far it needs,\naccording to its nature, a higher and more spiritual form, is a\ndistinction which we see at once if, for example, the Greek gods are\ncompared with God as conceived in accordance with Christian notions. The\nGreek god is not abstract but individual, closely related to the natural\nhuman form. The Christian God is also a concrete personality, but he is\npure spiritually, and can be known only as spirit and in spirit. His\nsphere of existence is therefore essentially inner knowledge, and not\nthe outer natural shape through which he can be represented but\nimperfectly and not in the whole depth of his essence.\n\nBut the task of art is to represent a spiritual idea to direct\ncontemplation in sensuous form, and not in the form of thought or of\npure spirituality. The value and dignity of such representation lies in\nthe correspondence and unity of the two sides, of the spiritual content\nand its sensuous embodiment, so that the perfection and excellency of\nart must depend upon the grade of inner harmony and union with which the\nspiritual idea and the sensuous form interpenetrate.\n\nThe requirement of the conformity of spiritual idea and sensuous form\nmight at first be interpreted as meaning that any idea whatever would\nsuffice, so long as the concrete form represented this idea and no\nother. Such a view, however, would confound the ideal of art with mere\ncorrectness, which consists in the expression of any meaning in its\nappropriate form. The artistic ideal is not to be thus understood. For\nany content whatever is capable, according to the standard of its own\nnature, of adequate representation, but yet it does not for that reason\nlay claim to artistic beauty in the ideal sense. Judged by the standard\nof ideal beauty, even such correct representation will be defective. In\nthis connection we may remark that the defects of a work of art are not\nto be considered simply as always due to the incapacity of the artist;\ndefectiveness of form has also its root in defectiveness of content.\nThus, for instance, the Chinese, Indians, Egyptians, in their artistic\nobjects, their representations of the gods, and their idols, adhered to\nformlessness, or to a vague and inarticulate form, and were not able to\narrive at genuine beauty, because their mythological ideas, the content\nand conception of their works of art, were as yet vague and obscure. The\nmore perfect in form works of art are, the more profound is the inner\ntruth of their content and thought. And it is not merely a question of\nthe greater or lesser skill with which the objects of external nature\nare studied and copied, for, in certain stages of artistic consciousness\nand artistic activity, the misrepresentation and distortion of natural\nobjects are not unintentional technical inexpertness and incapacity, but\nconscious alteration, which depends upon the content that is in\nconsciousness, and is, in fact, demanded by it. We may thus speak of\nimperfect art, which, in its own proper sphere, may be quite perfect\nboth technically and in other respects. When compared with the highest\nidea and ideal of art, it is indeed defective. In the highest art alone\nare the idea and its representation in perfect congruity, because the\nsensuous form of the idea is in itself the adequate form, and because\nthe content, which that form embodies, is itself a genuine content.\n\nThe higher truth of art consists, then, in the spiritual having attained\na sensuous form adequate to its essence. And this also furnishes the\nprinciple of division for the philosophy of art. For the Spirit, before\nit wins the true meaning of its absolute essence, has to develop through\na series of stages which constitute its very life. To this universal\nevolution there corresponds a development of the phases of art, under\nthe form of which the Spirit--as artist--attains to a comprehension of\nits own meaning.\n\nThis evolution within the spirit of art has two sides. The development\nis, in the first place, a spiritual and universal one, in so far as a\ngradual series of definite conceptions of the universe--of nature, man,\nand God--finds artistic representation. In the second place, this\nuniversal development of art, embodying itself in sensuous form,\ndetermines definite modes of artistic expression and a totality of\nnecessary distinctions within the sphere of art. These constitute the\nparticular arts.\n\nWe have now to consider three definite relations of the spiritual idea\nto its sensuous expression.\n\n\nSYMBOLIC ART\n\nArt begins when the spiritual idea, being itself still indefinite and\nobscure and ill-comprehended, is made the content of artistic forms. As\nindefinite, it does not yet have that individuality which the artistic\nideal demands; its abstractness and one-sidedness thus render its shape\ndefective and whimsical. The first form of art is therefore rather a\nmere search after plasticity than a capacity of true representation. The\nspiritual idea has not yet found its adequate form, but is still engaged\nin striving and struggling after it. This form we may, in general, call\nthe _symbolic_ form of art; in such form the abstract idea assumes a\nshape in natural sensuous matter which is foreign to it; with this\nforeign matter the artistic creation begins, from which, however, it\nseems unable to free itself. The objects of external nature are\nreproduced unchanged, but at the same time the meaning of the spiritual\nidea is attached to them. They thus receive the vocation of expressing\nit, and must be interpreted as if the spiritual idea were actually\npresent in them. It is indeed true that natural objects possess an\naspect which makes them capable of representing a universal meaning, but\nin symbolic art a complete correspondence is not yet possible. In it the\ncorrespondence is confined to an abstract quality, as when, for example,\na lion is meant to stand for strength.\n\nThis abstract relation brings also to consciousness the foreignness of\nthe spiritual idea to natural phenomena. And the spiritual idea, having\nno other reality to express its essence, expatiates in all these natural\nshapes, seeks itself in their unrest and disproportion, but finds them\ninadequate to it. It then exaggerates these natural phenomena and shapes\nthem into the huge and the boundless. The spiritual idea revels in them,\nas it were, seethes and ferments in them, does violence to them,\ndistorts and disfigures them into grotesque shapes, and endeavors by the\ndiversity, hugeness, and splendor of such forms to raise the natural\nphenomena to the spiritual level. For here it is the spiritual idea\nwhich is more or less vague and non-plastic, while the objects of nature\nhave a thoroughly definite form.\n\nThe incongruity of the two elements to each other makes the relation of\nthe spiritual idea to objective reality a negative one. The spiritual as\na wholly inner element and as the universal substance of all things, is\nconceived unsatisfied with all externality, and in its _sublimity_ it\ntriumphs over the abundance of unsuitable forms. In this conception of\nsublimity the natural objects and the human shapes are accepted and left\nunaltered, but at the same time recognized as inadequate to their own\ninner meaning; it is this inner meaning which is glorified far and above\nevery worldly content.\n\nThese elements constitute, in general, the character of the primitive\nartistic pantheism of the Orient, which either invests even the lowest\nobjects with absolute significance, or forces all phenomena with\nviolence to assume the expression of its world-view. This art becomes\ntherefore bizarre, grotesque, and without taste, or it represents the\ninfinite substance in its abstract freedom turning away with disdain\nfrom the illusory and perishing mass of appearances. Thus the meaning\ncan never be completely molded into the expression, and, notwithstanding\nall the aspiration and effort, the incongruity between the spiritual\nidea and the sensuous form remains insuperable. This is, then, the first\nform of art-symbolic art with its endless quest, its inner struggle, its\nsphinx-like mystery, and its sublimity.\n\n\nCLASSICAL ART\n\nIn the second form of art, which we wish to designate as the\n_classical_, the double defect of symbolic art is removed. The symbolic\nform is imperfect, because the spiritual meaning which it seeks to\nconvey enters into consciousness in but an abstract and vague manner,\nand thus the congruity between meaning and form must always remain\ndefective and therefore abstract. This double aspect disappears in the\nclassical type of art; in it we find the free and adequate embodiment of\nthe spiritual idea in the form most suitable to it, and with it meaning\nand expression are in perfect accord. It is classical art, therefore,\nwhich first affords the creation and contemplation of the completed\nideal, realizing it as a real fact in the world.\n\nBut the congruity of idea and reality in classical art must not be\ntaken in a formal sense of the agreement of a content with its external\nform; otherwise every photograph of nature, every picture of a\ncountenance, landscape, flower, scene, etc., which constitutes the aim\nof a representation, would, through the conformity of content and form,\nbe at once classical. The peculiarity of classical art, on the contrary,\nconsists in its content being itself a concrete idea, and, as such, a\nconcrete spiritual idea, for only the spiritual is a truly essential\ncontent. For a worthy object of such a content, Nature must be consulted\nas to whether she contains anything to which a spiritual attribute\nreally belongs. It must be the World-Spirit itself that _invented_ the\nproper form for the concrete spiritual ideal--the subjective mind--in\nthis case the spirit of art--has only _found_ it, and given it natural\nplastic existence in accordance with free individual spirituality. The\nform in which the idea, as spiritual and individual, clothes itself when\nrevealed as a temporal phenomenon, is _the human form_. To be sure,\npersonification and anthropomorphism have frequently been decried as a\ndegradation of the spiritual; but art, in so far as its task is to bring\nbefore direct contemplation the spiritual in sensuous form, must advance\nto such anthropomorphism, for only in its body can mind appear in an\nadequately sensuous fashion. The migration of souls is, in this respect,\nan abstract notion, and physiology should make it one of its fundamental\nprinciples that life has necessarily, in its evolution, to advance to\nthe human shape as the only sensuous phenomenon appropriate to the mind.\n\nThe human body as portrayed by classical art is not represented in its\nmere physical existence, but solely as the natural and sensuous form and\ngarb of mind; it is therefore divested of all the defects that belong to\nthe merely sensuous and of all the finite contingencies that appertain\nto the phenomenal. But if the form must be thus purified in order to\nexpress the appropriate content, and, furthermore, if the conformity of\nmeaning and expression is to be complete, the content which is the\nspiritual idea must be perfectly capable of being expressed through the\nbodily form of man, without projecting into another sphere beyond the\nphysical and sensuous representation. The result is that Spirit is\ncharacterized as a particular form of mind, namely, as human mind, and\nnot as simply absolute and eternal; but the absolute and eternal Spirit\nmust be able to reveal and express itself in a manner far more\nspiritual.\n\nThis latter point brings to light the defect of classical art, which\ndemands its dissolution and its transition to a third and higher form,\nto wit, the _romantic_ form of art.\n\n\nROMANTIC ART\n\nThe romantic form of art destroys the unity of the spiritual idea and\nits sensuous form, and goes back, though on a higher level, to the\ndifference and opposition of the two, which symbolic art left\nunreconciled. The classical form of art attained, indeed, the highest\ndegree of perfection which the sensuous process of art was capable of\nrealizing; and, if it shows any defects, the defects are those of art\nitself, due to the limitation of its sphere. This limitation has its\nroot in the general attempt of art to represent in sensuous concrete\nform the infinite and universal Spirit, and in the attempt of the\nclassical type of art to blend so completely spiritual and sensuous\nexistence that the two appear in mutual conformity. But in such a fusion\nof the spiritual and sensuous aspects Spirit cannot be portrayed\naccording to its true essence, for the true essence of Spirit is its\ninfinite subjectivity; and its absolute internal meaning does not lend\nitself to a full and free expression in the confinement of the bodily\nform as its only appropriate existence.\n\nNow, romantic art dissolves the inseparable unity which is the ideal of\nthe classical type, because it has won a content which goes beyond the\nclassical form of art and its mode of expression. This content--if\nfamiliar ideas may be recalled--coincides with what Christianity\ndeclares to be true of God as Spirit, in distinction to the Greek\nbelief in gods which constitutes the essential and appropriate subject\nfor classical art. The concrete content of Hellenic art implies the\nunity of the human and divine nature, a unity which, just because it is\nmerely _implied_ and _immediate_, permits of a representation in an\nimmediately visible and sensuous mold. The Greek god is the object of\nna\u00efve contemplation and sensuous imagination; his shape is, therefore,\nthe bodily shape of man; the circle of his power and his essence is\nindividual and confined. To man the Greek god appears as a being and a\npower with whom he may _feel_ a kinship and unity, but this kinship and\nunity, are not reflected upon or raised into definite knowledge. The\nhigher stage is the _knowledge_ of this unconscious unity, which\nunderlies the classical form of art and which it has rendered capable of\ncomplete plastic embodiment. The elevation of what is unconscious and\nimplied into self-conscious knowledge brings about an enormous\ndifference; it is the infinite difference which, for example, separates\nman from the animal. Man is an animal, but, even in his animal\nfunctions, does not rest satisfied with the potential and the\nunconscious as the animal does, but becomes conscious of them, reflects\nupon them, and raises them--as, for instance, the process of\ndigestion--into self-conscious science. And it is thus that man breaks\nthrough the boundary of his merely immediate and unconscious existence,\nso that, just because he knows himself to be animal, he ceases in virtue\nof such knowledge to be animal, and, through such self-knowledge only,\ncan characterize himself as mind or spirit.\n\nIf in the manner just described the unity of the human and divine nature\nis raised from an _immediate_ to a _conscious,_ unity, the true mold for\nthe reality of this content is no longer the sensuous, immediate\nexistence of the spiritual, the bodily frame of man, but\nself-consciousness and internal contemplation. For this reason\nChristianity, in depicting God as Spirit--not as particularized\nindividual mind, but as absolute and universal Spirit--retires from the\nsensuousness of imagination into the sphere of inner being, and makes\nthis, and not the bodily form, the material and mold of its content; and\nthus the unity of the human and divine nature is a conscious unity,\ncapable of realization only by spiritual knowledge. The new content, won\nby this unity, is not dependent upon sensuous representation; it is now\nexempt from such immediate existence. In this way, however, romantic art\nbecomes art which transcends itself, carrying on this process of\nself-transcendence within its own artistic sphere and artistic form.\n\nBriefly stated, the essence of romantic art consists in the artistic\nobject being the free, concrete, spiritual idea itself, which is\nrevealed in its spirituality to the inner, and not the outer, eye. In\nconformity with such a content, art can, in a sense, not work for\nsensuous perception, but must aim at the inner mood, which completely\nfuses with its object, at the most subjective inner shrine, at the\nheart, the feeling, which, as spiritual feeling, longs for freedom\nwithin itself and seeks and finds reconciliation only within the inner\nrecesses of the spirit. This _inner_ world is the content of romantic\nart, and as such an inner life, or as its reflection, it must seek\nembodiment. The inner life thus triumphs over the outer world--indeed,\nso triumphs over it that the outer world itself is made to proclaim its\nvictory, through which the sensuous appearance sinks into worthlessness.\n\nOn the other hand, the romantic type of art, like every other, needs an\nexternal mode of expression. But the spiritual has now retired from the\nouter mode into itself, and the sensuous externality of form assumes\nagain, as it did in symbolic art, an insignificant and transient\ncharacter. The subjective, finite mind and will, the peculiarity and\ncaprice of the individual, of character, action, or of incident and\nplot, assume likewise the character they had in symbolic art. The\nexternal side of things is surrendered to accident and committed to the\nexcesses of the imagination, whose caprice now mirrors existence as it\nis, now chooses to distort the objects of the outer world into a bizarre\nand grotesque medley, for the external form no longer possesses a\nmeaning and significance, as in classical art, on its own account and\nfor it own sake. Feeling is now everything. It finds its artistic\nreflection, not in the world of external things and their forms, but in\nits own expression; and in every incident and accident of life, in every\nmisfortune, grief, and even crime, feeling preserves or regains its\nhealing power of reconciliation.\n\nHence, the indifference, incongruity, and antagonism of spiritual idea\nand sensuous form, the characteristics of symbolic art, reappear in the\nromantic type, but with this essential difference. In the romantic\nrealm, the spiritual idea, to whose defectiveness was due the defective\nforms of symbolic art, now reveals itself in its perfection within mind\nand feeling. It is by virtue of the higher perfection of the idea that\nit shuns any adequate union with an external form, since it can seek and\nattain its true reality and expression best within itself.\n\nThis, in general terms, is the character of the symbolic, classical, and\nromantic forms of art, which stand for the three relations of the\nspiritual idea to its expression in the realm of art. They consist in\nthe aspiration after, and the attainment and transcendence of, the ideal\nas the true idea of beauty.\n\n\nTHE PARTICULAR ARTS\n\nBut, now, there inhere in the idea of beauty different modifications\nwhich art translates into sensuous forms. And we find a fundamental\nprinciple by which the several particular arts may be arranged and\ndefined--that is, the species of art contain in themselves the same\nessential differences which we have found in the three general types of\nart. External objectivity, moreover, into which these types are molded\nby means of a sensuous and particular material, renders them independent\nand separate means of realizing different artistic functions, as far as\neach type finds its definite character in some one definite external\nmaterial whose mode of portrayal determines its adequate realization.\nFurthermore, the general types of art correspond to the several\nparticular arts, so that they (the particular arts) belong each of them\n_specifically_ to _one_ of the general types of art. It is these\nparticular arts which give adequate and artistic external being to the\ngeneral types.\n\n\nARCHITECTURE\n\nThe first of the particular arts with which, according to their\nfundamental principle, we have to begin, is architecture. Its task\nconsists in so shaping external inorganic nature that it becomes\nhomogeneous with mind, as an artistic outer world. The material of\narchitecture is matter itself in its immediate externality as a heavy\nmass subject to mechanical laws, and its forms remain the forms of\ninorganic nature, but are merely arranged and ordered in accordance with\nthe abstract rules of the understanding, the rules of symmetry. But in\nsuch material and in such forms the ideal as concrete spirituality\ncannot be realized; the reality which is represented in them remains,\ntherefore, alien to the spiritual idea, as something external which it\nhas not penetrated or with which it has but a remote and abstract\nrelation. Hence the fundamental type of architecture is the _symbolical_\nform of art. For it is architecture that paves the way, as it were, for\nthe adequate realization of the God, toiling and wrestling in his\nservice with external nature, and seeking to extricate it from the chaos\nof finitude and the abortiveness of chance. By this means it levels a\nspace for the God, frames his external surroundings, and builds him his\ntemple as the place for inner contemplation and for reflection upon the\neternal objects of the spirit. It raises an inclosure around those\ngathered together, as a defense against the threatening of the wind,\nagainst rain, the thunder-storm, and wild beasts, and reveals the will\nto gather together, though externally, yet in accordance with the\nartistic form. A meaning such as this, the art of architecture is able\nto mold into its material and its forms with more or less success,\naccording as the determinate nature of the content which it seeks to\nembody is more significant or more trivial, more concrete or more\nabstract, more deeply rooted within its inner being or more dim and\nsuperficial. Indeed, it may even advance so far as to endeavor to create\nfor such meaning an adequate artistic expression with its material and\nforms, but in such an attempt it has already overstepped the bounds of\nits own sphere, and inclines towards sculpture, the higher phase of art.\nFor the limit of architecture lies precisely in this, that it refers to\nthe spiritual as an internal essence in contrast with the external forms\nof its art, and thus whatever spirit and soul are possessed it must\npoint to as something other than itself.\n\n\nSCULPTURE\n\nArchitecture, however, has purified the inorganic external world, has\ngiven it symmetric order, has impressed upon it the seal of mind, and\nthe temple of the God, the house of his community, stands ready. Into\nthis temple now enters the God himself. The lightning-flash of\nindividuality strikes the inert mass, permeates it, and a form no longer\nmerely symmetrical, but infinite and spiritual, concentrates and molds\nits adequate bodily shape. This is the task of sculpture. Inasmuch as in\nit the inner spiritual element, which architecture can no more than hint\nat, completely abides with the sensuous form and its external matter,\nand as both sides are so merged into each other that neither\npredominates, sculpture has the _classical_ form of art as its\nfundamental type. In fact, the sensuous realm itself can command no\nexpression which could not be that of the spiritual sphere, just as,\nconversely, no spiritual content can attain perfect plasticity in\nsculpture which is incapable of being adequately presented to perception\nin bodily form. It is sculpture which arrests for our vision the spirit\nin its bodily frame, in immediate unity with it, and in an attitude of\npeace and repose; and the form in turn is animated by the content of\nspiritual individuality. Therefore the external sensuous matter is here\nnot wrought, either according to its mechanical quality alone, as heavy\nmass, nor in forms peculiar to inorganic nature, nor as indifferent to\ncolor, etc., but in ideal forms of the human shape, and in the whole of\nthe spatial dimensions. In this last respect sculpture should be\ncredited with having first revealed the inner and spiritual essence in\nits eternal repose and essential self-possession. To such repose and\nunity with itself corresponds only that external element which itself\npersists in unity and repose. Such an element is the form taken in its\nabstract spatiality. The spirit which sculpture represents is that which\nis solid in itself, not variously broken up in the play of contingencies\nand passions; nor does its external form admit of the portrayal of such\na manifold play, but it holds to this one side only, to the abstraction\nof space in the totality of its dimensions.\n\n\nTHE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ROMANTIC ARTS\n\nAfter architecture has built the temple and the hand of sculpture has\nplaced inside it the statue of the God, then this sensuously visible God\nfaces in the spacious halls of his house the _community_. The community\nis the spiritual, self-reflecting element in this sensuous realm, it is\nthe animating subjectivity and inner life. A new principle of art begins\nwith it. Both the content of art and the medium which embodies it in\noutward form now demand particularization, individualization, and the\nsubjective mode of expressing these. The solid unity which the God\npossesses in sculpture breaks up into the plurality of inner individual\nlives, whose unity is not sensuous, but essentially ideal.\n\nAnd now God comes to assume the aspect which makes him truly spiritual.\nAs a hither-and-thither, as an alternation between the unity within\nhimself and his realization in subjective knowledge and individual\nconsciousness, as well as in the common and unified life of the many\nindividuals, he is genuinely Spirit--the Spirit in his community. In his\ncommunity God is released from the abstractness of a mysterious\nself-identity, as well as from the na\u00efve imprisonment in a bodily shape,\nin which he is represented by sculpture. Here he is exalted into\nspirituality, subjectivity, and knowledge. For this reason the higher\ncontent of art is now this spirituality in its absolute form. But since\nwhat chiefly reveals itself in this stage is not the serene repose of\nGod in himself, but rather his appearance, his being, and his\nmanifestation to others, the objects of artistic representation are now\nthe most varied subjective expressions of life and activity for their\nown sake, as human passions, deeds, events, and, in general, the wide\nrange of human feeling, will, and resignation. In accordance with this\ncontent, the sensuous element must differentiate and show itself\nadequate to the expression of subjective feeling. Such different media\nare furnished by color, by the musical sound, and finally by the sound\nas the mere indication of inner intuitions and ideas; and thus as\ndifferent forms of realizing the spiritual content of art by means of\nthese media we obtain painting, music, and poetry. The sensuous media\nemployed in these arts being individualized and in their essence\nrecognized as ideal, they correspond most effectively to the spiritual\ncontent of art, and the union between spiritual meaning and sensuous\nexpression develops, therefore, into greater intimacy than was possible\nin the case of architecture and sculpture. This intimate unity, however,\nis due wholly to the subjective side.\n\nLeaving, then, the symbolic spirit of architecture and the classical\nideal of sculpture behind, these new arts in which form and content are\nraised to an ideal level borrow their type from the _romantic_ form of\nart, whose mode of expression they are most eminently fitted to voice.\nThey form, however, a totality of arts, because the romantic type is the\nmost concrete in itself.\n\n\nPAINTING\n\nThe first art in this totality, which is akin to sculpture, is painting.\nThe material which it uses for its content and for the sensuous\nexpression of that content is visibility as such, in so far as it is\nindividualized, viz., specified as color. To be sure, the media employed\nin architecture and sculpture are also visible and colored, but they are\nnot, as in painting, visibility as such, not the simple light which\ncontrasts itself with darkness and in combination with it becomes color.\nThis visibility as a subjective and ideal attribute, requires neither,\nlike architecture, the abstract mechanical form of mass which we find in\nheavy matter, nor, like sculpture, the three dimensions of sensuous\nspace, even though in concentrated and organic plasticity, but the\nvisibility which appertains to painting has its differences on a more\nideal level, in the particular kinds of color; and thus painting frees\nart from the sensuous completeness in space peculiar to material things\nonly, by confining itself to a plane surface.\n\nOn the other hand, the content also gains in varied particularization.\nWhatever can find room in the human heart, as emotion, idea, and\npurpose, whatever it is able to frame into a deed, all this variety of\nmaterial can constitute the many-colored content of painting. The whole\nrange of particular existence, from the highest aspirations of the mind\ndown to the most isolated objects of nature, can obtain a place in this\nart. For even finite nature, in its particular scenes and aspects, can\nhere appear, if only some allusion to a spiritual element makes it akin\nto thought and feeling.\n\n\nMUSIC\n\nThe second art in which the romantic form finds realization, on still a\nhigher level than in painting, is music. Its material, though still\nsensuous, advances to a deeper subjectivity and greater specification.\nThe idealization of the sensuous, music brings about by negating space.\nIn music the indifferent extension of space whose appearance painting\nadmits and consciously imitates is concentrated and idealized into a\nsingle point. But in the form of a motion and tremor of the material\nbody within itself, this single point becomes a concrete and active\nprocess within the idealization of matter. Such an incipient ideality of\nmatter which no longer appears under the spatial form, but as temporal\nideality, is sound the sensuous acknowledged as ideal, whose abstract\nvisibility is transformed into audibility. Sound, as it were, exempts\nthe ideal from its absorption in matter.\n\nThis earliest animation and inspiration of matter furnishes the medium\nfor the inner and intimate life of the spirit, as yet on an indefinite\nlevel; it is through the tones of music that the heart pours out its\nwhole scale of feelings and passions. Thus as sculpture constitutes the\ncentral point between architecture and the arts of romantic\nsubjectivity, so music forms the centre of the romantic arts, and\nrepresents the point of transition between abstract spatial\nsensuousness, which belongs to painting, and the abstract spirituality\nof poetry. Within itself music has, like architecture, an abstract\nquantitative relation, as a contrast to its inward and emotional\nquality; it also has as its basis a permanent law to which the tones\nwith their combinations and successions must conform.\n\n\nPOETRY\n\nFor the third and most spiritual expression of the romantic form of art,\nwe must look to poetry. Its characteristic peculiarity lies in the power\nwith which it subjugates to the mind and to its ideas the sensuous\nelement from which music and painting began to set art free. For sound,\nthe one external medium of which poetry avails itself, is in it no\nlonger a feeling of the tone itself, but is a sign which is, by itself,\nmeaningless. This sign, moreover, is a sign of an idea which has become\nconcrete, and not merely of indefinite feeling and of its _nuances_ and\ngrades. By this means the tone becomes the _word_, an articulate voice,\nwhose function it is to indicate thoughts and ideas. The negative point\nto which music had advanced now reveals itself in poetry as the\ncompletely concrete point, as the spirit or the self-consciousness of\nthe individual, which spontaneously unites the infinite space of its\nideas with the time-element of sound. But this sensuous element which,\nin music, was still in immediate union with inner feelings and moods,\nis, in poetry, divorced from the content of consciousness, for in poetry\nthe mind determines this content on its own account and for the sake of\nits ideas, and while it employs sound to express them, yet sound itself\nis reduced to a symbol with out value or meaning. From this point of\nview sound may just as well be considered a mere letter, for the\naudible, like the visible, is now relegated to a mere suggestion of\nmind. Thus the genuine mode of poetic representation is the inner\nperception and the poetic imagination itself. And since all types of art\nshare in this mode, poetry runs through them all, and develops itself\nindependently in each. Poetry, then, is the universal art of the spirit\nwhich has attained inner freedom, and which does not depend for its\nrealization upon external sensuous matter, but expatiates only in the\ninner space and inner time of the ideas and feelings. But just in this,\nits highest phase, art oversteps the bounds of its own sphere by\nabandoning the harmoniously sensuous mode of portraying the spirit and\nby passing from the poetry of imagination into the prose of thought.\n\n\nSUMMARY\n\nSuch, then, is the organic totality of the several arts the external art\nof architecture, the objective art of sculpture, and the subjective arts\nof painting, music, and poetry. The higher principle from which these\nare derived we have found in the types of art, the symbolic, the\nclassical, and the romantic, which form the universal phases of the\nidea of beauty itself. Thus symbolic art finds its most adequate reality\nand most perfect application in architecture, in which it is\nself-complete, and is not yet reduced, so to speak, to the inorganic\nmedium for another art. The classical form of art, on the other hand,\nattains its most complete realization in sculpture, while it accepts\narchitecture only as forming an inclosure round its products and is as\nyet not capable of developing painting and music as absolute expressions\nof its meaning. The romantic type of art, finally, seizes upon painting,\nmusic, and poetry as its essential and adequate modes of expression.\nPoetry, however, is in conformity with all types of the beautiful and\nextends over them all, because its characteristic element is the\nesthetic imagination, and imagination is necessary for every product of\nart, to whatever type it may belong.\n\nThus what the particular arts realize in individual artistic creations\nare, according to the philosophic conception, simply the universal types\nof the self-unfolding idea of beauty. Out of the external realization of\nthis idea arises the wide Pantheon of art, whose architect and builder\nis the self-developing spirit of beauty, for the completion of which,\nhowever, the history of the world will require its evolution of\ncountless ages.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE OF BETTINA VON ARNIM\n\nBY HENRY WOOD, PH.D. Professor of German, Johns Hopkins University\n\n\nThe ten years succeeding the publication of _Goethe's Briefwechsel mit\neinem Kinde_ (1835) coincided in point of time with the awakening in\nEngland, through Thomas Carlyle, and in America as well, of an intense\nif not yet profound interest in German Literature. It must remain a\ntribute to the ideal enthusiasm of the movement that, among the first\nGerman works to receive a permanent welcome and become domiciled in\nAmerican literary circles, was that strange and glittering mass, flotsam\nof a great poet's life dislodged and jettisoned from his personality by\nthe subtle arts of the \"Child\" who had now gathered it up again and was\npresenting it to the astonished world. At a time when the _Foreign\nQuarterly Review_ in England (1838) was vainly endeavoring to persuade\n\"Madame von Arnim\" not to undertake the translation of her work, \"whose\nunrestrained effusions far exceed the-bounds authorized by English\ndecorum,\" Margaret Fuller was preparing in Boston to translate Bettina's\n_G\u00fcnderode_, and soon felt herself in a position to state[3] that\n\"_Goethe's Correspondence with a Child_ is as popular here as in\nGermany.\" In one respect, indeed, Bettina's vogue in America remained\nfor the rest of her lifetime more secure than in her own country, where\nthe publication of her later politico-sociological works, _Dies Buch\ngeh\u00f6rt dem K\u00f6nig_ (1843) and _Gespr\u00e4che mit D\u00e4monen_ (1852), was\nfollowed by a temporary eclipse of her popularity, and where also her\nfate, in persistently associating her with Rahel, the wife of Varnhagen,\nas a foil for Rahel's brilliant but transitory glitter, had\ntarnished her own fame.[4]\n\n[Illustration: BETTINA VON ARNIM]\n\nFor these things American readers of the _Correspondence_ seem to have\ncared but little. While German critics were deliberating as to what\ngrouping of characteristics could best express Bettina as a type, the\nAmerican public had already discovered in her a rare personality--the\nrecipient and custodian of Frau Rat's fondest memories of Goethe's\nchildhood; the \"mythological nurse-maid,\"[5] to whom, though in her\nproper name as well as to her first-born son, successive editions of\nGrimm's _Fairy Tales_ had been dedicated; the youthful friend of\nBeethoven, from whom she had received treasured confidences as to the\ninfluence exerted by Goethe's verse upon his mind and art; at times the\nhaunting Muse of Germany's greatest poet and, since 1811, the wife of\nthe most chivalrous of German poets, Achim von Arnim. If we add to these\ncharacteristics the circumstance that, as Arnim's wife and as the mother\nof their rarely endowed children, she had become the centre of a\ndistinguished and devoted circle in the Mark Brandenburg and in the\nPrussian capital, the distance separating us from Ben Jonson's attitude\nin his Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke is no longer very great:\n\"Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.\"[6]\n\nIt is, nevertheless, not through the aid of Ben Jonson's line, \"fair and\nwise and good as she,\" that Bettina may be described. She suggests far\nrather an electrical, inspired, lyrical nature. The spokesman of this\nliterary estimate of Bettina was Margaret Fuller, and it is interesting\nto note that this best of American critics at once instituted a\ncomparison between Bettina and Karoline von G\u00fcnderode, in which the\nformer was made to stand for Nature and the latter for Art. But it\nappears to have escaped notice that Margaret Fuller, in presenting her\nexample of the artistic type, has, with no express intention, given us a\npicture of herself.[7] The subtle harmonies, the soft aerial grace, the\nmultiplied traits, the soul delicately appareled, the soft dignity of\neach look and gesture, the silvery spiritual clearness of an angel's\nlyre, drawing from every form of life its eternal meaning--these are all\nlineaments of the Countess of Pembroke type, and these characteristics\nMargaret Fuller herself shared. How different is her description of\nBettina!\n\n\"Bettina, hovering from object to object, drawing new tides of vital\nenergy from all, living freshly alike in man and tree, loving the breath\nof the damp earth as well as the flower which springs from it, bounding\nover the fences of society as well as over the fences of the field,\nintoxicated with the apprehension of each new mystery, never hushed into\nsilence by the highest, flying and singing like a bird, sobbing with the\nhopelessness of an infant, prophetic, yet astonished at the fulfilment\nof each prophecy, restless, fearless, clinging to love, yet unwearied in\nexperiment--is not this the pervasive vital force, cause of the effect\nwhich we call Nature?\"\n\nOn the part of both Goethe and Bettina, there was always a recognition\nof such a natural force operating in her. As G\u00fcnderode once put it,\n\"Bettina seems like clay, which a divine artificer, preparing to fashion\nit into something rare, is treading with his feet.\" On the 13th of\nAugust, 1807, Bettina wrote: \"Farewell, glorious one, thou who dost both\ndazzle and intimidate me. From this steep cliff [Goethe] upon which my\nlove has risked the climb, there is no possible path down again. That is\nnot to be thought of; I should simply break my neck.\" Goethe's reply, in\nthis as in other cases, was characteristic: \"What can one say or give\nto thee, which thou hast not after thy own fashion already appropriated?\nThere is nothing left for me but to keep still, and let thee have thy\nway.\" In this passage-at-arms, the whole of the _Correspondence_, though\nnot its charm, is concentrated. Goethe was intent on keeping the\nrelationship within its first limitations, that is to say, as a\nfriendship in which his mother, Frau Rat, was included as a necessary\nthird party. The impetuous young _confidante_ was already transmitting\nto Goethe chapters from the history of his childhood, as seen through\nthe communications of his mother to her. These had given the poet the\npurest pleasure, and he intended making use of them for his\nAutobiography.[8] But, on the other hand, as soon as Bettina risked\nindependent judgments on his creations, as in the case of the _Elective\nAffinities_ (1809), her inadequacy and her presumption in claiming for\nherself the r\u00f4le of a better Ottilie were both painfully apparent. Her\nattitude toward the adored object was a combination of meekness and\npretension, the latter predominating as time went on. \"It was sung at my\ncradle, that I must love a star that should always remain apart. But\nthou [Goethe] hast sung me a cradle song, and to that song, which lulls\nme into a dream on the fate of my days, I must listen to the end of my\ndays.\" To this humility succeeded the self-deception of the so-called\nlater Diary. Under date of March 22, 1832, Bettina relates that Goethe,\nat their last interview in the early days, had called her his Muse.\nHence, on learning of his death, she reproached herself for ever having\nleft him--\"the tree of whose fame, with its eternally budding shoots,\nhad been committed to my care. Alas for the false world, which separated\nus, and led me, poor blind child, away from my master!\" Margaret\nFuller[9] called Goethe \"my parent.\" But how sharp is the contrast\nbetween her tone of reverent affection and the umbrageous jealousy of\nBettina!\n\nAnd Goethe? While the poet safeguarded his fatherly relation to Bettina,\nup to the break in 1811, in a hundred ways, we find him already, in\n1807, inclosing in a letter to his mother the text of Sonnet I., which\nhad been inspired, in the first instance, by his friendship with Minna\nHerzlieb. Bettina, left to draw her own conclusions, at once identified\nherself with \"Oreas\" in the sonnet, and reproached herself for having\nplunged, like a mountain avalanche, into the broad, full current of the\npoet's life. From the letter of September 17th it is plain that Bettina\nindulged, in all seriousness, the fanciful notion that her inspiration\nwas, in a sense, necessary to Goethe's fame. In her fond, mystical\ninterpretation of the sonnets, her heart seems to her the fruitful\nfurrow, the earth-womb, in which Goethe's songs are sown, and out of\nwhich, accompanied by birth-pangs for her, they are destined to soar\naloft as heavenly poems. She closes with a partial application to\nherself of the Biblical text (Luke 1. 40): \"Blessed art thou among\nwomen.\"\n\nGoethe's detractors, particularly among the literary school called Young\nGermany, were fond of repeating the insinuation of Fanny Tarnow (1835),\nthat the poet prized in Bettina only her capacity for idolizing him. But\nGoethe's attitude toward the \"Child\" was far removed from that of\npoet-pasha, and Bettina had nothing of the vacuous odalisque in her\ncomposition. G. von L\u00f6per has well said of her composite traits: \"The\ntender radiance of first youth hovers over her descriptions; but, while\none is beholding, Bettina suddenly changes into a mischievous elf, and,\nif we reach out to grasp the kobold, lo! a sibyl stands before us!\"\nBehind all Bettina's mobility there is a force of individuality, as\nirresistible and as recurrent as the tides. Her brother Clemens and her\nbrother-in-law Savigny tried in vain to temper the violence of her\nenthusiasm for the insurgent Tyrolese, of her flaming patriotism,\nof her hatred of philistinism in every form, of her scorn for the\nthen fashionable neutrality and moderation in the expression of\npolitical opinion.\n\n[Illustration: THE GOETHE MONUMENT (BY BETTINA NON ARNIM)]\n\nShe was by nature and choice the advocate of the oppressed, whenever\nand wherever met with. The aristocratic _\u00e9l\u00e9gant_ Rumohr was obliged\nto put up with the following from her: \"Why are you not willing to\nexchange your boredom, your melancholy caprices, for a rifle? With\nyour figure, slender as a birch, you could leap over abysses and\nspring from rock to rock; but you are lazy and infected with the\ndisease of neutrality. You cannot hear the voices saying: 'Where is the\nenemy? On, on, for God, the Kaiser, and the Fatherland!'\" Even Goethe's\nWilhelm Meister, who is, according to Bettina, merely a supine hero,\nfails to elude her electric grasp: \"Come, flee with me across the Alps\nto the Tyrolese. There will we whet our swords and forget thy rabble of\ncomedians; and as for all thy darling mistresses, they must lack thee\nawhile.\"\n\nThe end of poets' friendships with literary women is not always marked\nby an anticlimax. Of Margaret Fuller, Emerson wrote in the privacy of\nhis Journal: \"I have no friend whom I more wish to be immortal than she.\nAn influence I cannot spare, but would always have at hand for\nrecourse.\" Words like these Bettina was continually listening for from\nher poet-idol, but she heard instead only the disillusioning echo of her\nown enthusiasms. Possessing neither stability of mind nor any consistent\nroundness of character, she was incapable of rendering herself necessary\nto Goethe. In her case, however, the gifts that were denied at her\ncradle seem to have been more than made up to her. Her ardent and\naspiring soul, shutting out \"all thoughts, all passions, all delights\"\nelse, was distilled into longing to share in the unending life of\nGoethe's poesy.[10]\n\nThrough the possession of this quality, Bettina, though not herself of\nheroic mold, enters the society of the great heroines and speaks to\nposterity. Ariadne on the island of Naxos lives not more truly in Ovid's\npoetical _Epistles_, than Bettina in the _Correspondence_. But Bettina\nhas not, like Ariadne, had immortality conferred upon her through the\nverses of two great poets. She has rather taken it for herself, as\nGoethe said she was wont to do, in anticipating every gift. It is\naccordingly not in the _Elegiacs_ of Ovid, flowing as a counter-stream\nto Lethe, that we may discern Bettina's gesture of immortal repose as a\nmetamorphosed heroine. She is a type of the inspired lyrical nature, a\nbelated child of the Renaissance. A graceful English song-writer of the\nElizabethan period, Thomas Campion, who was as fond as Bettina of the\nfigure of the flower and the sun, through which she symbolized her\nrelation to Goethe, has in his verses anticipated her pose and her tone\nof agitated expectancy:\n\n             \"Is [he] come? O how near is [he]?\n             How far yet from this friendly place?\n             How many steps from me?\n             When shall I [him] embrace?\n\n  These armes I'll spread, which only at (his) sight shall close,\n  Attending, as the starry flower that the sun's noone-tide knowes.\"\n\nCampion termed his verses _Light Conceits of Lovers_. It is difficult to\nweigh Bettina's fancies, for she has, as it were, taken the scales with\nher when she closed the _Correspondence:_ but it is only just to say of\nher Letters, that they realize, as a whole, Tasso's description of the\npermanent state of the true lover: \"Brama assai, poco spera e nulla\nchiede\" (Desire much, hope little and nothing demand).\n\n\n\n\nGOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH A CHILD (1835)\n\nBY BETTINA VON ARNIM TRANSLATED BY WALLACE SMITH MURRAY\n\nLETTERS TO GOETHE'S MOTHER\n\n\nMay 11, 1807.\n\nDear Frau Rat:\n\nI have been lying in bed for some time, but shall get up now to write\nyou all about our trip. I wrote you that we passed through the military\nlines in male attire. Just before we reached the city gate my\nbrother-in-law made us get out, because he wanted to see how becoming\nthe clothes were. Lulu looked very well in them, for she has a splendid\nfigure and the fit was perfect, whereas all my clothes were too loose\nand too long and looked as if I had bought them at a rag fair. My\nbrother-in-law laughed at me and said I looked like a Savoyard boy and\ncould be of great service to them. The coachman had driven us off the\nroad through a forest, and when we came to a cross-road he didn't know\nwhich way to turn. Although it was only the beginning of the four weeks'\ntrip, I was afraid we might get lost and then arrive in Weimar too late.\nI climbed up the highest pine and soon saw where the main road lay. I\nmade the whole trip on the driver's box, with a fox-skin cap on my head\nand the brush hanging down my back. Whenever we arrived at a station, I\nwould unharness the horses and help hitch up the fresh ones, and would\nspeak broken German with the postilions as though I were a Frenchman. At\nfirst we had beautiful weather, just as though spring were coming; but\nsoon it turned very cold and wintry. We passed through a forest of huge\npines and firs all covered with frost; everything was spotless, for not\na soul had driven along the road, which was absolutely white. Moreover\nthe moon shone upon this deserted paradise of silver; a death-like\nstillness reigned-only the wheels creaked from the cold. I sat up on the\nbox and wasn't a bit cold; winter weather strikes sparks from me! Along\ntoward midnight we heard some one whistling in the forest. My\nbrother-in-law handed me a pistol out of the carriage and asked whether\nI should have the courage to shoot in case robbers came along. I said\n\"Yes,\" and he answered, \"But don't shoot too soon.\" Lulu, who was inside\nthe carriage, was frightened nearly to death, but where I was, out under\nthe open sky, with my pistol cocked and my sabre buckled on, countless\nstars twinkled above me, the glistening trees casting their gigantic\nshadows on the broad, moon-lit way--all that made me brave away up on my\nlofty seat! Then I thought of _him_ and wondered, if he had met me under\nsuch circumstances in his youthful years, whether it would not have made\nso poetic an impression on him that he would have composed sonnets to me\nand never have forgotten me. Now perhaps he thinks differently, and has\nprobably risen above such a magic impression. It may be that higher\nqualities--how shall I ever attain them?--will maintain a right over\nhim, unless eternal fidelity, cleaving to his threshold, finally wins\n_him_ for me! Such was my mood on that cold, clear, winter night, in\nwhich I found no occasion to shoot off my pistol. Not until daybreak did\nI receive permission to fire it. The carriage stopped and I ran into the\nforest and bravely shot it off into the dense solitude, in honor of your\nson. In the meantime our axle had broken; we felled a tree with an axe\nwe had with us and bound it securely with ropes; then my brother-in-law\ndiscovered how handy I was and complimented me. Thus we went on to\nMagdeburg. Precisely at seven o'clock in the evening the fortress gates\nare closed; we arrived just a minute late and had to wait outside till\nseven the next morning. It wasn't very cold, and the two inside the\nchaise went to sleep. In the night it began to snow; I had pulled my\ncloak over my head and sat quietly in my exposed seat. In the morning\nthey peeped out of the carriage at me and beheld a snow man; but before\nthey could get thoroughly frightened I threw off the cloak under which I\nhad kept quite warm. In Berlin I was like a blind man in a throng and\nwas so absent-minded that I could take no interest in anything. I only\nlonged for a dark place where I shouldn't be disturbed and could think\nof the future that was so near at hand. Oh, mother, mother, think of\nyour son! If you knew you were to see him in a short time, you too would\nbe like a lightning-rod attracting every flash of lightning. When we\nwere only a few miles from Weimar, my brother-in-law said he did not\nwish to make the detour through Weimar, but would rather take another\nroad. I remained silent, but Lulu would not hear of it; she said it had\nbeen promised me and he would have to keep his word. Oh, mother, the\nsword hung by a hair over my head, but I managed to escape from under\nit.\n\nWe reached Weimar at twelve o'clock and sat down to dinner, but I\ncouldn't eat. The other two lay down on the sofa and went to sleep, for\nwe hadn't slept in three nights. \"I advise you,\" said my brother-in-law,\n\"to take a rest too; it won't make much difference to Goethe whether you\ngo to see him or not, and there's nothing remarkable to see in him\nanyway.\" Can you imagine how these words discouraged me? Oh, I didn't\nknow what to do, all alone in a strange town. I had changed my dress and\nstood at the window and looked at the town clock; it was just striking\nhalf-past two. It seemed to me, too, that Goethe wouldn't care\nparticularly about seeing me; I remembered that people called him proud.\nI compresses my heart to quell its yearning. Suddenly the clock struck\nthree, and then it seemed exactly as though he had called me. I ran down\nfor the servant, but there was no carriage to be found. \"Will a sedan\nchair do?\" \"No,\" I said, \"that's an equipage for the hospital\"--and we\nwent on foot. There was a regular chocolate porridge in the streets and\nI had to have myself carried over the worst bogs. In this way I came to\nWieland, not to your son. I had never seen Wieland, but I pretended to\nbe an old acquaintance. He thought and thought, and finally said, \"You\ncertainly are a dear familiar angel, but I can't seem to remember when\nand where I have seen you.\" I jested with him and said, \"Now I know that\nyou dream of me, for you can't possibly have seen me elsewhere!\" I had\nhim give me a note to your son which I afterwards took with me and kept\nas a souvenir. Here's a copy of it: \"Bettina Brentano, Sophie's sister,\nMaximilian's daughter, Sophie La Roche's granddaughter wishes to see\nyou, dear brother, and pretends that she's afraid of you and that a note\nfrom me would serve as a talisman and give her courage. Although I am\npretty certain that she is merely making sport of me, I nevertheless\nhave to do what she wants and I shall be astonished if you don't have\nthe same experience. W.\n\nApril 23, 1807.\"\n\nWith this note I sallied forth. The house lies opposite the\nfountain--how deafening the waters sounded in my ears! I ascended the\nsimple staircase; in the wall stand plaster statues which impose\nsilence--at any rate I couldn't utter a sound in this sacred hallway.\nEverything is cheery and yet solemn! The greatest simplicity prevails in\nthe rooms, and yet it is all so inviting! \"Do not fear,\" said the modest\nwalls, \"he will come, and he will be, and he will not claim to be _more_\nthan you.\" And then the door opened and there he stood, solemnly\nserious, with his eyes fixed upon me. I stretched out my hands toward\nhim, I believe, and soon I knew no more. Goethe caught me up quickly to\nhis heart. \"Poor child, did I frighten you?\"--those were the first words\nthrough which his voice thrilled my heart. He led me into his room and\nplaced me on the sofa opposite him. There we sat, both mute, until at\nlast he broke the silence. \"You have doubtless read in the paper that\nwe suffered a great bereavement a few days ago in the death of the\nDuchess Amalia.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I said, \"I do not read the papers.\"\n\n\"Why, I thought everything that goes on in Weimar interests you.\"\n\n\"No, nothing interests me but you alone, and therefore I'm far too\nimpatient to pore over the papers.\"\n\n\"You are a kind child.\" A long pause--I, glued in such anxiety to the\nodious sofa; you know how impossible it is for me to sit up in such\nwell-bred fashion. Oh, mother, is it possible for any one to forget\nherself thus?\n\nSuddenly I said, \"I can't stay here on this sofa any longer,\" and jumped\nup.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"make yourself comfortable;\" and with that I flew into\nhis arms. He drew me on his knee and pressed me to his heart. Everything\nwas quiet, oh, so quiet, and then all vanished. I hadn't slept for so\nlong--years had passed in longing for him--and I fell asleep on his\nbreast. When I awoke a new life began for me. I'll not write you more\nthis time.\n\nBETTINA.\n\nMay, 1807.\n\n * * * Yes, man has a conscience; it exhorts him to fear nothing and to\nleave no demand of the heart unsatisfied. Passion is the only key to the\nworld and through it the spirit learns to know and feel everything, for\nhow could he enter the world otherwise? And so I feel that only through\nmy love for him am I born into the spirit, that only through him the\nworld is opened to me where the sun shines and day becomes distinct from\nnight. The things I do not learn through this love, I shall never\ncomprehend. I wish I were a poor beggar girl and might sit at his\ndoor-step, and take a morsel of bread from him, and that in my glance my\nsoul would be revealed to him. Then he would draw me close to him and\nwrap me in his cloak, that I might grow warm. Surely he would not bid me\ndepart; I could remain, wandering on and on in his home. And so the\nyears would roll by and no one would know who I am and no one would know\nwhat had become of me, and thus the years and life itself would go by.\nThe whole world would be mirrored in his face, and I should have no need\nof learning anything more.* * *\n\n                                                       October, 1808.\n\n* * * I hadn't yet seen him at that time when you used to while away for\nme those hours of ardent longing by picturing to me in a thousand\ndifferent ways our first meeting and his joyous astonishment. Now I know\nhim and I know how he smiles and the tone of his voice--how calm it is\nand yet so full of love; and his exclamations--how they come swelling\nfrom the depths of his heart like the tones of a melody, and how gently\nhe soothes and affirms what surges forth in wild disorder from an\noverflowing heart. When I met him so unexpectedly again last year, I was\nso beside myself and wanted to speak, but simply could not compose\nmyself. Then he placed his fingers on my lips and said, \"Speak with your\neyes--I understand it all\"; and when he saw that they were full of tears\nhe pressed my eyelids down and said; \"Quiet, quiet, that is best for\nboth of us!\" Yes, dear mother, quiet was instantly suffused through my\nwhole being, for didn't I possess everything for which I had longed for\nyears! Oh, mother, I shall never cease thanking you for bearing this\nfriend; where else could I have found him? Now don't laugh at me, but\nremember that I loved him before I knew the least thing about him, and\nif you had not borne him what would have become of him? That is a\nquestion you cannot answer.\n\n * * * Thus a part of the winter passed. I was in a very happy frame of\nmind--others might call it exaltation, but it was natural to me. By the\nfortress wall that surrounded the large garden there was a watch-tower\nwith a broken ladder inside. A house close by had been broken into, and\nthough the thieves could not be traced it was believed they were\nconcealed in the tower. I had examined it by day and seen that it would\nbe impossible for a strong man to climb up this very high ladder, which\nwas rotten and lacked many rungs. I tried it, but slid down again after\nI had gone up a short distance. In the night, after I had lain in bed\nawhile and Meline was asleep, the thought left me no peace. I threw a\ncloak about my shoulders, climbed out of the window, and walked by the\nold Marburg castle, where the Elector Philip and Elizabeth peeped\nlaughingly out of the window. Often enough in the daytime I had observed\nthis marble couple leaning far out of the window arm in arm, as though\nthey wanted to survey their lands; but now at night I was so afraid of\nthem that I jumped quickly into the tower. There I seized the ladder and\nhelped myself up, heaven knows how; what I was unable to do in the\ndaytime I accomplished at night with anxiously throbbing heart. When I\nwas almost at the top, I stopped and considered that the thieves might\nreally be up there and that they might attack me and hurl me from the\ntower. There I hung, not knowing whether to climb up or down, but the\nfresh air I scented lured me to the top. What feelings came over me when\nI suddenly, by snow and moonlight, surveyed the landscape spread out\nbeneath me and stood there, alone and safe, with the great host of stars\nabove me! Thus it is after death; the soul, striving to free itself,\nfeels the burden of the body most as it is about to cast it off, but it\nis victorious in the end and relieved of its anguish. I was conscious\nonly of being alone and nothing was closer to me at that moment than my\nsolitude; all else had to vanish before this blessing. * * *\n\nLETTERS _to_ GOETHE.\n\nMay 25, 1807.\n\n * * * Ah, I can impart nothing else to thee than simply that which goes on\nin my heart! \"Oh, if I could be with him now!\" I thought, \"the sunlight\nof my joy would beam on him with radiance as glowing as when his eye\nmeets mine in friendly greeting. Oh, how splendid! My mind a sky of\npurple, my words the warm dew of love; my soul must issue like an\nunveiled bride from her chamber and confess: \"Oh, lord and master, in\nthe future I will see thee often and long by day, and the day shall\noften be closed by such an evening as this.\"\n\nThis I promise--that whatever goes on in my soul, all that is untouched\nby the outer world, shall be secretly and faithfully revealed to him who\ntakes such loving interest in me and whose all-embracing power assures\nabundant, fruitful nourishment to the budding germs within my breast!\n\nWithout faith the lot of the soul is hard; its growth is slow and meagre\nlike that of a hot-plant between rocks. Thus am I--thus I was until\ntoday--and this fountain of my heart, always without an outlet, suddenly\nfinds its way to the light, and banks of balsam-breathing fields,\nblooming like paradise, accompany it on its way.\n\nOh, Goethe! My longing, my feelings, are melodies seeking a song to\ncling to! May I cling to thee? Then shall these melodies ascend high\nenough to accompany _thy_ songs!* * *\n\nJune 20, 1807.\n\n* * * I cannot resist telling thee what I have dreamed of thee at\nnight--as if thou wert in the world for no other purpose. Often I have\nhad the same dream and I have pondered much why my soul should always\ncommune with thee under the same conditions. It is always as though I\nwere to dance before thee in ethereal garments. I have a feeling that I\nshall accomplish all. The crowd surrounds me. Now I seek thee, and thou\nsittest opposite me calm and serene as if thou didst not observe me and\nwert busy with other things. Now I step out before thee with shoes of\ngold and my silvery arms hanging down carelessly--and wait. Then thou\nraisest thy head, involuntarily thy gaze is fixed upon me as I describe\nmagic circles with airy tread. Thy eye leaves me no more; thou must\nfollow me in my movements, and I experience the triumph of success! All\nthat thou scarcely divinest I reveal to thee in the dance, and thou art\nastonished at the wisdom concealed in it. Soon I cast off my airy robe\nand show thee my wings and mount on high! Then I rejoice to see thy eye\nfollowing me, and I glide to earth again and sink into thy embrace. Then\nthou sighest and gazest at me in rapture. Waking from these dreams I\nreturn to mankind as from a distant land; their voices seem so strange\nand their demeanor too! And now let me confess that my tears are flowing\nat this confession of my dreams. * * *\n\nMarch 15, 1808.\n\nWhen in a few weeks I go into the Rhine country, for spring will be here\nthen, I shall write thee from every mountain; I am always so much nearer\nthee when I am outside the city walls. I sometimes seem to feel thee\nthen with every breath I take. I feel thee reigning in my heart when it\nis beautiful without, when the air caresses; yes, when nature is good\nand kind like thee, then I feel thee so distinctly! * * *\n\n * * * All other men seem to me as one and the same--I do not distinguish\nbetween them, and I take no interest in the great universal sea of human\nevents. The stream of life bears thee, and thou me. In thy arms I shall\npass over it, and thou wilt bear me until the end--wilt thou not? And\neven though there were thousands of existences yet to come, I can not\ntake wing to them, for with thee I am at home. So be thou also at home\nin me--or dost thou know anything better than me and thee in the magic\ncircle of life? * * *\n\nMarch 30, 1808.\n\n * * * The vineyards were still partially covered with snow. I was sitting\non a broken window-bar and freezing, yet my ardent love for thee\npermeated my being. I was trembling for fear of falling, yet I climbed\nstill higher because it occurred to me too venturesome for thy sake;\nthus thou often inspirest me with daring. It was fortunate that the wild\nwolves from the Odenwald[11] did not appear, for I should have grappled\nwith them had I thought of thy honor. It seems foolish, but it's\ntrue.--Midnight, the evil hour of spirits, awakens me, and I lie at the\nwindow in the cold winter wind. All Frankfurt is dead, the wicks in the\nstreet lamps are on the point of expiring, and the old rusty\nweather-vanes cry out to me, and I ask myself, is that the eternal tune?\nThen I feel that this life is a prison where we all have only a pitiful\nvision of real freedom; that is one's own soul. Then a tumult rages in\nmy breast and I long to soar above these old pointed gabled roofs that\ncut off heaven from me. I leave my chamber, run through the wide halls\nof our house, and search for a way through the old garrets. I suspect\nthere are ghosts behind the rafters, but I do not heed them. Then I seek\nthe steps to the little turret, and, when I am at last on top, I look\nout through the small window at the wide heavens and am not at all cold.\nIt seems to me then as if I must give vent to all my pent-up tears, and\nthe next day I am so cheerful and feel new-born, and I look with cunning\nfor a prank to play. And--canst thou believe it?--all this is--thou!\n\nMay, 1808.\n\nIf it pleases thee to see me at thy feet in deep shame and confusion,\nthen look down upon me now. Thus does the poor shepherd-maiden fare, on\nwhose head the king places a crown; even though her heart be proud to\nlove him, yet the crown is too heavy and her little head staggers under\nthe burden. And besides, she is intoxicated with the honor and the\nhomage which her beloved pays her.\n\nOh, I shall be careful never to complain again or to pray for fine\nweather, for I cannot bear the blinding sunbeams! No, rather sigh in\nsilent darkness than be led by thy muse into the brilliant daylight,\nconfused and crowned--that breaks my heart. O, do not gaze on me so\nlong; remove the crown and press me to thy heart! Teach me to forget\nin thee that thou returnest me, glorified, to myself.\n\nJuly 7, 1808.\n\n * * * Ah, the rainbow even now setting its diamond foot on the meadow at\nIngelheim and reaching over the house to Mount St. John is just like the\nblissful illusion I have of thee and me! The Rhine, spreading out its\nnet to catch the vision of its banks of paradise, is like this flame of\nlife nourished by reflections of the unattainable. Let it then win\nnothing more from reality than this illusion; it will give to me the\npeculiar spirit and the character expressive of my own self, just as the\nreflection does to the river in which it is mirrored. * * *\n\nJuly 18, 1808.\n\n * * * Yesterday evening I went up the Rochus mountain alone and wrote thee\nthus far; then I dreamed a little, and when I came to myself I thought\nthe sun was just going down, but it was the rising moon. I was\nastonished and should have been afraid, but the stars wouldn't let\nme--these hundreds of thousands and _I_ together on that night. Who am\nI, then, that I should be of raid? Am I not numbered with them? I didn't\ndare descend and, besides, I shouldn't have found a boat to cross in.\nThe nights aren't so very long now, anyway, so I turned over on the\nother side, said \"good night\" to the stars and was soon fast asleep. Now\nand then I was awakened by flitting breezes, and then I thought of thee.\nAs often as I awoke I called thee to me and always said in my heart:\n\"Goethe be with me, that I may not be afraid.\" Then I dreamed that I was\nfloating along the reedy banks of the Rhine, and where it is deepest\nbetween black rocky cliffs the ring thou gavest me slipped off. I saw it\nsinking deeper and deeper till it reached the bottom. I wanted to call\nfor help, but then I awoke in the radiance of the morning, rejoicing\nthat the ring was still on my finger. Ah, prophet, interpret my dream\nfor me! Anticipate fate, and let no dangers beset our love after this\nbeautiful night when, betwixt fear and joy, in counsel with the stars, I\nthought of thy future!\n\n* * * No one knows where I was--and, even if they did, could they\nimagine why I was there? Thou tamest toward me through the whispering\nforest, enveloped in a soft haze, and when thou wert quite near me my\ntired senses could not endure it, so strong was the fragrance of the\nwild thyme. Then I fell asleep--it was so beautiful--all blossoms and\nfragrance! And the great boundless host of stars and the flickering\nsilver moon that danced near and far upon the stream, the intense\nstillness of nature in which one hears all that stirs--ah, I feel my\nsoul implanted here in this nocturnal trembling! Future thoughts are\nblossoming here; these cold dew-pearls that weigh down grass and herbs,\nfrom these the spirit grows! Oh, it hastens to blossom for _thee_,\nGoethe! It will unfold its gayest colors before thee! It is for love of\nthee that I wish to think, that I struggle with the inexpressible. Thou\nlookest upon me in spirit and thy gaze draws thoughts from me, and then\nI am often compelled to say things I do not understand but only see.\n\nThe spirit also has senses. Just as there is much that we only hear, or\nonly see, or only feel, so there are thoughts which the spirit also\nperceives with only one of these senses. Often I only see what I am\nthinking; often I only feel it, and when I hear it I experience a shock.\nI do not know how I come by this knowledge which is not the fruit of my\nown meditation. I look about me for the author of this opinion and then\nconclude that it is all created from the fire of love. There is warmth\nin the spirit; we feel it; the cheeks glow from our thoughts and cold\nchills come over us, which fan our inspiration into new flame. Yes, dear\nfriend, this morning when I awoke it seemed to me as though I had\nexperienced great things, as though the pledges of my heart had wings\nand soared over hill and dale into the pure, serene, radiant ether. No\nvow, no conditions--nothing but appropriate motion, pure striving for\nthe divine. This is my pledge: Freedom from all ties, and that I will\nhave faith only in that spirit which reveals the beautiful and\nprophesies eternal bliss. * * *\n\nWe were on the road five days, and since then it has rained incessantly.\nThe whole house full of guests, and not even a little corner where I\ncould enjoy solitude and write thee!\n\nAs long as I have anything to tell thee, I firmly believe that thy\nspirit is fixed upon me as upon so many enigmas of nature. In fact, I\nbelieve that every human being is such an enigma, and that the mission\nof love between friends is to solve that enigma so that each shall learn\nto know his deeper nature through and in his friend. Yes, dearest, it\nmakes me happy that my life is gradually developing through thee, and\nfor that reason I do not want to seem what I am not; I should prefer to\nhave all my faults and weaknesses known to thee rather than give thee a\nfalse conception of what I am, for then thy love would not concern me\nbut rather an illusion that I had substituted for myself. For that\nreason, also, a feeling often warns me that I must avoid this or that\nfor love of thee, because I should deny it in thy presence.\n\nFrom the Rochusberg.\n\n Oh, Goethe, thy letters are so dear to me that I have tied them up\nin a silk kerchief embroidered with bright flowers and golden ornaments.\nThe last day before our Rhine trip I did not know what to do with them.\nI did not want to take them along, since we had only one portmanteau\nbetween us, and I did not want to leave them in my little room, which I\ncould not lock because it was being used; I thought the boat might sink\nand I drown--and then these letters, one after the other of which has\nreposed close to my heart, would fall into strange hands. At first I\nwanted to leave them with the nuns in Vollratz (they are St. Bernard\nnuns who were driven from their convent and are now living there), but I\nchanged my mind afterwards. The last time I was up here on the mountain\nI found a spot. Beneath the confession-chair still standing in the\nRochus chapel, in which I'm also in the habit of keeping my writings, I\ndug a hole and lined it on the inside with shells from the Rhine and\nbeautiful little pebbles that I found on the mountain. I placed the\nletters in it, wrapped in their silken covering, and before the spot\nplanted a thistle which I had pulled up carefully by the roots together\nwith the earth about them. On the journey I was often worried about\nthem; what a shock it would have been if I had not found them again! My\nheart stands still at the very thought of it!\n\nAugust 24, 1808.\n\n * * * It was midnight; the moon rose dim. The ship, whose shadow sailed\nalong beside it, like a monster, upon the illuminated Rhine, cast a\ndazzling light upon the woody meadow of Ingelheim along which it was\nmoving. The moon appeared behind the meadow, mild and modest, and\ngradually wrapped itself in a thin cloud of mist as in a veil. Whenever\nwe contemplate nature in calm meditation, it always lays hold of our\nheartstrings. What could have turned my senses more fervently to God,\nwhat could have more easily freed me from the trivial things that\noppress me? I am not ashamed to confess to thee that at that moment thy\nimage flamed up impetuously in my soul. It is true: Thy radiance pierces\nme as the sun pours into the crystal of the grape and, like the sun,\nthou dost ripen me with ever increasing fire and ever increasing\npurity. * * *\n\nFebruary 23, 1809.\n\nIf thy imagination is supple enough to accompany me into all the\nrecesses of ruined walls, over mountains and chasms, then I shall\nventure farther and introduce thee to the recesses of my heart.\n\nI beg thee, therefore, to climb up here, still higher, up three flights\nto my room; sit on the blue stool by the green table opposite me. I\nmerely want to gaze at thee--and, Goethe--does thy imagination still\nfollow me?--then thou must discover the most constant love in my eyes,\nand must draw me lovingly into thy arms, and say, \"Such a faithful child\nis given me as a reward, as amends, for much! This child is dear to me,\n'tis a treasure, a precious jewel that I do not wish to lose.\" Dost thou\nunderstand? And thou must kiss me, for that is what _my_ imagination\nbestows on thine!\n\nI shall lead thee still farther! Step softly into the chamber of my\nheart-here we are in the vestibule--utter stillness--no Humboldt--no\narchitect--no barking dog. Thou art not a stranger; go up and knock; it\nwill be alone and call to thee \"Come in!\" Thou wilt find it on a cool,\nquiet couch, and a friendly light will greet thee. All will be peace and\norder, and thou wilt be welcome! What is that? Heavens! See the flames\nshooting up over him! Whence this conflagration? Who can save here? Poor\nheart! Poor, suffering heart! What can reason accomplish here? It knows\neverything better and yet can not help; its arms drop helpless by its\nside. * * *\n\nGood night, good night until tomorrow! Everything is quiet and all in\nthe house are asleep dreaming of the things they desire when awake; but\nI alone am awake with thee. Outside, on the street, all is still. I\nshould like to be assured that at this moment no soul besides mine is\nthinking of thee, that no other heart gives a throb for thee, and that I\nalone in the wide world am sitting at thy feet, my heart beating with\nfull strokes. And while all are asleep I am awake in order to press thy\nknee to my breast--and thou?--the world need not know that thou lovest\nme!\n\nOctober 23, 1809.\n\nThe moon is shining from afar over the mountains and winter clouds drive\nby in droves. I have been standing at the window awhile and watching the\ntumult in the heavens. Dear Goethe! Good Goethe! I am all alone; it has\ntaken me out of myself again and up to thee. I must nurse this love\nbetween us like a new-born babe. Beautiful butterflies balance\nthemselves on the flowers I have planted about his cradle, golden fables\nadorn his dreams; I jest and play with him, and employ all my cunning to\ngain his favor. But thou dost master it without effort by the splendid\nharmony of thy spirit; with thee there is no need of tender outbursts,\nof protestations. While I look after each moment of the present, the\npower of blessing emanates from thee that transcends all reason and all\nthe universe. * * *\n\nLast night I dreamed of thee! What could have been more beautiful? Thou\nwast serious and very busy and didst ask me not to disturb thee. That\nmade me sad and then thou didst press my hand tenderly to my bosom and\ndidst say, \"Be quiet; I know thee and understand all.\" Then I awoke, and\nthy ring, which I had pressed to myself in my sleep, had left its\nimprint on my bosom. I pressed it more firmly against the same spot,\nsince I could not embrace thee. Is there nothing, then, in a dream? To\nme it is everything, and I will gladly give up the activities of the day\nif I can be with thee and speak with thee at night. Oh, be thou my\nhappiness in my dreams!\n\nMunich, November 9, 1809.\n\n * * * This is my vow: I will gather flowers for thee and bright garlands\nshall adorn thy entrance; should thy foot stumble, it will be over the\nwreaths which I have laid on thy threshold, and shouldst thou dream, it\nis the balsam of magic blossoms that intoxicates thee--flowers of a\nstrange and distant world where I am at home and not a stranger as in\nthis book[12] where a ravenous tiger devours the delicate image of\nspiritual love. I do not understand this cruel riddle; I cannot\ncomprehend why they all make themselves unhappy and why they all serve a\nmalicious demon with a thorny sceptre, why Charlotte, who strews incense\nbefore him daily, yes, hourly, should prepare misfortune for them all\nwith mathematical precision! Is not love free? Are those two not\naffinities? Why should she prevent them from living this innocent life\nwith and near each other? They are twins; twined round each other they\nripen on to their birth into the light, and she would separate these\nseedlings because she cannot believe in innocence, which she inoculates\nwith the monstrous sin of prejudice! O what a fatal precaution!\n\nLet me tell you: No one seems to comprehend ideal love; they all believe\nin sensual love, and consequently they neither experience nor bestow any\nhappiness that springs from that higher emotion or might be fully\nrealized through it. Whatever may fall to my lot, let it be through this\nideal love that tears down all barriers to new worlds of art,\ndivination, and poetry. Naturally it can live only in a noble element\njust as it feels at home only in a lofty mind.\n\nHere thy Mignon occurs to me--how she dances blindfolded between eggs.\nMy love is adroit; you can rely thoroughly on its instinct; it will also\ndance on blindly, and will make no misstep. * * *\n\nNovember 29, 1809.\n\nI had written thus far yesterday, when I crept into bed from fear, but I\ncould not succeed yesterday in falling asleep at thy feet, lost in\ncontemplation of thee as I do every evening. I was ashamed that I had\nchattered so arrogantly, and perhaps all is not as I mean it. Maybe it\nis jealousy that excites me so and impels me to seek a way to draw thee\nto me again and make thee forget _her_.[13]\n\nWell, put me to the test, and, be it as it may, do not forget my love.\nForgive me also for sending thee my diary. I wrote it on the Rhine and\nhave spread out before thee my childhood years and shown thee how our\nmutual affinity drove me on like a rivulet hastening on over crags and\nrocks, through thorns and mosses, till thou, mighty stream, didst engulf\nme. Yes, I wanted to keep this book until I should at last be with thee\nagain, so that I might tell by looking into thy eyes in the morning what\nthou hadst read in it the evening before. But now it torments me to\nthink of thee substituting my diary for Ottilie's, and loving the living\none who remains with thee more than the one who has departed from thee.\n\nDo not burn my letters, do not tear them up, for it might give thee\npain--so firmly, so absolutely, am I joined to thee. But do not show\nthem to any one; keep them concealed like a secret beauty, for my love\nis becoming to thee; thou art beautiful because thou feelest thyself\nloved!\n\nFebruary 29, 1810.\n\nI will confess to thee and honestly acknowledge all my sins--first,\nthose for which thou art partly responsible and which thou too must\nexpiate with me, then those which weigh most heavily on me, and finally\nthose in which I actually rejoice.\n\nFirst: I tell thee too often that I love thee, yet I know nothing else,\nno matter how, much I turn it one way or the other; that's all there is.\n\nSecondly: I am jealous of all thy friends, the playmates of thy youth,\nthe sun that shines into thy room, thy servants, and, above all, thy\ngardener that lays out the asparagus-beds at thy command.\n\nThirdly: I begrudge thee all pleasure because I am not along. When any\none has seen thee and speaks of thy gaiety and charm, it does not please\nme particularly; but when he says thou wast serious, cool, and reserved,\nthen I am delighted!\n\nFourthly: I neglect every one for thy sake; nobody is anything to me,\nand I don't care anything about their love; indeed, if any one praises\nme, he displeased me. That is jealousy of thee and me, and by no means a\nproof of a generous heart; it is a sign of a wretched character that\nwithers on one side when it would blossom on the other.\n\nFifthly: I have a great inclination to despise everybody, especially\nthose that praise thee, and I cannot bear to hear anything good said of\nthee. Only a few simple persons can I allow to speak of thee, and it\nneed not be praise at that. No, they may even make fun of thee a little,\nand then, I can tell thee, an unmerciful roguishness comes over me when\nI can throw off the chains of slavery for a brief spell.\n\nSixthly: I have a deep resentment in my soul that it is not thee with\nwhom I live under the same roof and with whom I breathe the same air. I\nam afraid to be near strangers. In church I look for a seat on the\nbeggars' bench, because they are the most neutral; the finer the people,\nthe stronger my aversion. To be touched makes me angry, ill, and\nunhappy, and so I cannot stand it long in society at dances. I am fond\nof dancing, could I but dance alone in the open where the breath of\nstrangers would not touch me. What influence would it have on the soul\nif one could always live near one's friend?--all the more painful the\nstruggle against that which must remain forever estranged, spiritually\nas well as physically.\n\nSeventhly: When I have to listen to any one reading aloud in company, I\nsit in a corner and secretly hold my ears shut or, at the first word\nthat comes along, completely lose myself in thoughts. Then, when some\none does not understand, I awaken out of another world and presume to\nsupply the explanation, and what the rest consider madness is all\nreasonable enough to me and consistent with an inner knowledge that I\ncannot impart. Above all, I cannot bear to hear anything read from thy\nworks, nor can I bear to read them aloud; I must be alone with me and\nthee.\n\nVienna, May 28, 1810.\n\nIt is Beethoven of whom I want to speak now, and in whom I have\nforgotten the world and thee. I may not be qualified to judge, but I am\nnot mistaken when I say (what perhaps no one now realizes or believes)\nthat he is far in advance of the culture of all mankind, and I wonder\nwhether we can ever catch up with him! I doubt it. I only hope that he\nmay live until the mighty and sublime enigma that lies in his soul may\nhave reached its highest and ripest perfection. May he reach his highest\nideal, for then he will surely leave in our hands the key to a divine\nknowledge which will bring us one step nearer true bliss!\n\nTo thee I may confess that I believe in a divine magic which is the\nelement of spiritual nature, and this magic Beethoven employs in his\nmusic. All he can teach thee about it is pure magic; every combination\nof sounds is a phase of a higher existence, and for this reason\nBeethoven feels that he is the founder of a new sensuous basis in the\nspiritual life. Thou wilt probably be able to feel intuitively what I am\ntrying to say, and that it is true. Who could replace this spirit? From\nwhom could we expect anything equivalent to it? All human activity\npasses to and fro before him like clockwork; he alone creates freely\nfrom his inmost self the undreamed of, the untreated. What would\nintercourse with the outside world profit this man, who is at his sacred\nwork before sunrise and scarcely looks about him before sunset, who\nforgets bodily nourishment, and who is borne in his flight by the stream\nof inspiration past the shores of superficial, everyday life. He himself\nsaid to me, \"Whenever I open my eyes I cannot but sigh, for all I see is\ncounter to my religion and I must despise the world which does not\ncomprehend that music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and\nphilosophy. It is the wine which inspires new creations, and I am the\nBacchus who presses out this glorious wine for men and intoxicates their\nspirit! * * * I have no friend and must ever be alone, but I know that God\nis nearer to me in my art than to others, and I commune with him\nwithout fear; I have always recognized Him and understood Him. Nor have\nI any fears for my music; it can meet no evil fate, for he to whom it\nmakes itself intelligible will be freed from all misery with which\nothers are burdened.\"\n\nAll this Beethoven said to me the first time I saw him, and I was\npenetrated with a feeling of reverence when he expressed himself to me\nwith such friendly candor, since I must have seemed very unimportant to\nhim. Besides, I was astonished, for I had been told that he was\nexceedingly reticent and avoided conversation with any one; in fact,\nthey were afraid to introduce me to him, so I had to look him up alone.\nHe has three dwellings in which he alternately conceals himself--one in\nthe country, one in the city, and the third on the bastion, in the third\nstory of which I found him. I entered unannounced and mentioned my name.\nHe was seated at the piano and was quite amiable. He inquired whether I\ndid not wish to hear a song that he had just composed. Then he sang, in\na shrill and piercing voice, so that the plaintiveness reacted upon the\nlistener, \"Knowest thou the land?\" \"It is beautiful, isn't it, very\nbeautiful!\" he cried, enraptured; \"I'll sing it again;\" and was\ndelighted at my ready applause. \"Most people are stirred by something\ngood, but they are not artistic natures; artists are fiery--they do not\nweep.\" Then he sang one of thy songs that he had composed lately, \"Dry\nnot, Tears of Eternal Love.\"\n\nYesterday I went for a walk with him through a beautiful garden at\nSch\u00f6nbrunn that was in full blossom; all the hothouses were open and the\nfragrance was overpowering. Beethoven stopped in the burning sun and\nsaid, \"Goethe's poems exercise a great power over me, not alone through\ntheir content, but also through their rhythm, and I am incited and moved\nto compose by his language, which is built up as if by the aid of\nspirits into a sublime structure that bears within it the mystery of\nharmonies. Then from the focus of my inspiration I must let the melody\nstream forth in every direction; I pursue it, passionately overtake it\nagain, see it escaping me a second time and disappearing in a host of\nvarying emotions; soon I seize it with renewed ardor; I can no longer\nseparate myself from it, but with impetuous rapture I must reproduce it\nin all modulations, and, in the final moment, I triumph over the musical\nidea--and that, you see, is a symphony! Yes, music is truly the mediator\nbetween the spiritual and the sensuous world. I should like to discuss\nthis with Goethe; I wonder whether he would understand me! Melody is the\nsensuous life of poetry. Does not the spiritual content of a poem become\nsensuous feeling through melody? Do we not in the song of Mignon feel\nher whole sensuous mood through melody, and does not this sensation\nincite one in turn to new creations? Then the spirit longs to expand to\nboundless universality where everything together forms a channel for the\n_feelings_ that spring from the simple musical thought and that\notherwise would die away unnoted. This is harmony; this is expressed in\nmy symphonies; the blending of manifold forms rolls on to the goal in a\nsingle channel. At such moments one feels that something eternal,\ninfinite, something that can never be wholly comprehended, lies in all\nthings spiritual; and although I always have the feeling of success in\nmy compositions, yet with the last stroke of the drum with which I have\ndriven home my own enjoyment, my musical conviction, to my hearers, I\nfeel an eternal hunger to begin anew, like a child, what a moment before\nseemed to me to have been exhausted.\n\n\"Speak to Goethe of me; and tell him to hear my symphonies. Then he will\nagree with me that music is the sole incorporeal entrance into a higher\nworld of knowledge which, to be sure, embraces man, but which he, on the\nother hand, can never embrace. Rhythm of the spirit is necessary to\ncomprehend music in its essence; music imparts presentiments,\ninspirations of divine science, and what the spirit experiences of the\nsensuous in it is the embodiment of spiritual knowledge. Although the\nspirits live upon music as man lives upon air, it is a very different\nmatter to _comprehend_ it with the spirit. But the more the soul draws\nits sensuous nourishment from it, the riper the spirit becomes for a\nhappy mutual understanding.\n\n\"But few ever attain this understanding, for just as thousands marry for\nlove and yet love is never once revealed to them, although they all\npursue the trade of love, so do thousands hold communion with music and\nyet do not possess its revelation. For music also has as its foundation\nthe sublime tokens of the moral sense, just as every art does; every\ngenuine invention indicates moral progress. To subject oneself to its\ninscrutable laws, to curb and guide one's spirit by means of these laws,\nso that it will pour forth the revelations of music--this is the\nisolating principle of art. To be dissolved by its revelation--that is\nthe surrender to the divine, which quietly exercises its mastery over\nthe delirium of unbridled forces and thus imparts the greatest efficacy\nto the imagination. Thus art always represents divinity, and the human\nrelationship to art constitutes religion. Whatever we acquire through\nart comes from God; it is a divine inspiration, which sets up an\nattainable goal for human capacities.\n\n\"We do not know whence our knowledge comes; the firmly inclosed seed\nrequires the warm, moist, electric soil to sprout, to think, to express\nitself. Music is the electric soil in which the soul lives, thinks,\ninvents. Philosophy is a precipitation of its electric spirit, and the\nneed that philosophy feels of basing everything on an ultimate principle\nis in turn relieved by music. Although the spirit is not master of what\nit creates through the mediation of music, yet it experiences ecstasy in\nthis creation. In this way every genuine creation of art is independent,\nmightier than the artist himself, and through its expression it returns\nto its divine source; it is concerned with man only insomuch as it bears\nwitness to divine mediation in him.\n\n\"Music gives the spirit its relation to harmony. A thought, even when\nisolated, still senses the totality of relationship in the spirit; thus\nevery thought in music is most intimately and inseparably related to the\ntotality of harmony, which is unity. Everything electric stimulates the\nspirit to fluent, precipitous, musical creation. I myself am of an\nelectrical nature.\"  * * *\n\nHe took me to a grand rehearsal with full orchestra, and I sat back in a\nbox all alone in the large, unlighted hall, and saw this mighty spirit\nwield his authority. Oh, Goethe I No emperor, no king, is so conscious\nof his power, so conscious that all power radiates from him, as this\nsame Beethoven is, who only now in the garden was searching for the\nsource of his inspiration. If I understood him as I feel him, I should\nbe omniscient. There he stood, so firmly resolved, his gestures and\nfeatures expressing the perfection of his creation, anticipating every\nerror, every misconception; every breath obeyed his will, and everything\nwas set into the most rational activity by the superb presence of his\nspirit. One might well prophesy that such a spirit will reappear in a\nlater reincarnation as ruler of the universe!\n\nNovember 4, 1810.\n\nDost thou want me to tell thee of bygone days, how, when thy spirit was\nrevealed to me, I gained control over my own spirit in order the more\nperfectly to embrace and love thine? And why should I not become dizzy\nwith ecstasy? Is the prospect of a fall so fearful after all? Just as\nthe precious jewel, touched by a single ray of light, reflects a\nthousand colors, so also thy beauty, illumined only by the ray of my\nenthusiasm, will be enriched a thousandfold.\n\nIt is only when everything is comprehended that the Something can prove\nits full worth, and so thou wilt understand when I tell thee that the\nbed in which thy mother brought thee into the world had blue checkered\nhangings. She was eighteen years old at the time, and had been married a\nyear. In this connection she remarked that thou wouldst remain forever\nyoung and that thy heart would never grow old, since thou hadst received\nthy mother's youth into the bargain. Thou didst ponder the matter for\nthree days before thou didst decide to come into the world, and thy\nmother was in great pain. Angry that necessity had driven thee from thy\nnature-abode and because of the bungling of the nurse, thou didst arrive\nquite black and with no signs of life. They laid thee in a so-called\nbutcher's tray and bathed thee in wine, quite despairing of thy life.\nThy grandmother stood behind the bed, and when thou didst open thine\neyes she cried out, \"Frau Rat, he lives!\" \"Then my maternal heart awoke\nand it has lived in unceasing enthusiasm to this very hour,\" said thy\nmother to me in her seventy-fifth year. Thy grandfather, one of the most\nhonored citizens of Frankfurt and at that time syndic, always applied\ngood as well as bad fortune to the welfare of the city, and so thy\ndifficult birth resulted in an accoucher being appointed for the poor.\n\"Even in his cradle he was a blessing to mankind,\" said thy mother. She\ngave thee her breast but thou couldst not be induced to take\nnourishment, and so a nurse was procured for thee. \"Since he drank from\nher with such appetite and comfort and we discovered that I had no\nmilk,\" she said, \"we soon noticed that he was wiser than all of us when\nhe wouldn't take nourishment from me.\"\n\nNow that thou art born at last I can pause a little; now that thou art\nin the world, each moment is dear enough to me to linger over it, and I\nhave no desire to call up the second moment, since it will drive me away\nfrom the first. \"Where'er thou art are love and goodness, where'er thou\nart is nature too.\" Now I shall wait till thou writest me again, \"Pray\ngo on with thy story.\" Then I shall first ask, \"Well, where did we leave\noff?\" and then I shall tell thee of thy grandparents, thy dreams, thy\nbeauty, pride, love, etc. Amen.\n\n\"Frau Rat, he lives!\" These words always thrilled me through and\nthrough whenever thy mother uttered them in exultant tones. Of thy birth\nwe may well say:\n\n  The sword that threatens danger\n    Hangs often by a thread;\n  But the blessing of eternity\n    On us one gracious glance may shed.\n\nExtract from a letter written in 1822, ten years after the breach in\ntheir relations.\n\nTo give perfect expression to thee would probably be the most powerful\nseal of my love, indeed, being a creation of divine nature, it would\nprove my affinity to thee. It would be an enigma solved, like unto a\nlong restrained mountain torrent which at last penetrates to the light,\nenduring the tremendous fall in voluptuous rapture, at a moment of life\nthrough which and after which a higher existence begins.\n\nThou destroyer, who hast taken my free will from me; thou creator, who\nhast produced within me the sensation of awakening, who hast convulsed\nme with a thousand electric sparks from the realm of sacred nature!\nThrough thee I learned to love the curling of the tender vine, and the\ntears of my longing have fallen on its frost-kissed fruits; for thy sake\nI have kissed the young grass, for thy sake offered my open bosom to the\ndew; for thy sake I have listened intently when the butterfly and the\nbee swarmed about me, for I wanted to feel _thee_ in the sacred sphere\nof thy enjoyments. Oh, thou; toy in disguise with thy beloved--could I\nhelp, after I had divined thy secret, becoming intoxicated with love for\nthee?\n\nCanst thou divine the thrills that shook me when the trees poured down\ntheir fragrance and their blossoms upon me? For I thought and felt and\nfirmly believed that it was _thy_ caressing of nature, _thy_ enjoyment\nof her beauty, that it was _her_ yearning, _her_ surrender to thee, that\nloosened these blossoms from their trembling boughs and sent them gently\nwhirling into my lap.\n\nBETTINA.\n\n\n\n\nIMMERMANN AND HIS DRAMA \"MERLIN\"\n\nBY MARTIN SCH\u00dcTZE, PH.D. Associate Professor of German Literature,\nUniversity of Chicago\n\n\nKarl Lebrecht Immermann was born in Magdeburg, in April, 1796. His\nfather, who held a good position in the Civil Service, was a very severe\nand domineering man; his mother, imaginative and over-indulgent. Karl's\nchildhood and early youth were uneventful. After passing through the\nregular course of preparatory education in a \"Gymnasium,\" he entered, in\n1813, the University of Halle. During his first year there, Germany rose\nup to throw off the yoke of Napoleon, and the King of Prussia issued a\nproclamation calling the nation to arms, to which the people responded\nwith unprecedented unanimity and enthusiasm. Schoolboys and bearded men,\nlaborers and professional men, merchants and soldiers, united in one\npatriotic purpose. The regular army was everywhere supplemented by\nvolunteer organizations. An epoch began which in its enthusiasm, its\nidealism, the force and richness of its inspiration, and its\noverwhelming impetus deserved, more than any other in modern history,\nits title: \"The Spring of Nations.\"\n\nImmermann's sensitive and responsive nature thrilled with the general\nimpulse, and he asked his father to let him join the army, but was told,\nperemptorily, not to interrupt the first year of his studies. He\nsubmitted, and plunged into the study of the literature of the\nRomanticists, which, in its remoteness from actuality, offered\ndistraction from his disappointment. During this time he fell ill of\ntyphoid fever, from which he did not fully recover until the campaign\nhad victoriously ended in the battle of Leipzig. He joined, however,\nafter Napoleon's escape from Elba, the second campaign, in which he took\npart in two battles. At the end of the war, having retired as an officer\nof the reserves, he returned to Halle to finish his study of the law.\n\nHe found a new spirit dominant among the students. This spirit,\ncharacterized by a strongly democratic desire for national unity, pride\nof race, and impatience with external and conventional restraints, had a\nrich network of roots in the immediate past: in the individualism and\nthe humanism of the Storm and Stress Movement and the Classic Era of the\neighteenth century; in the subjective idealism of the Romantic school;\nin the nationalism of Klopstock, Herder, Schiller, and Fichte, and in\nthe self-reliant transcendentalism of Kant's philosophy and\nSchleiermacher's theology. This spirit had received its political\ndirection principally through the genius of the Baron von Stein, the\nPrussian statesman, whose aim was the restoration of German national\nunity. He believed that the political unity of Germany must rest on the\nsoundness of the common people, rather than on the pretensions of the\naristocracy whose corruption he held responsible for the decadence of\nthe nation. Following the example of Frederick the Great, he tried to\nfoster the simple virtues of the common man. He was, however, opposed to\nradicalism, seeing permanent progress only in order, self-discipline,\nand moderation. His leading idea, which was shared by such men as\nScharnhorst, Gneisenau, Niebuhr, and others, was that the principal task\nof the time was to arouse the whole nation to independent political\nthinking and activity, in order to develop self-confidence, courage, and\ndevotion to a great unselfish ideal. These ideas became a national\nideal, an active passion, under the pressure and stress of the\nNapoleonic usurpation and in the heat and fervor of war and victory.\n\n[Illustration: C.T. LESSING KARL LERRECHT IMMERMANN]\n\nIt was unavoidable that this spirit produced among the younger men,\nand especially among the university students, traditionally unaccustomed\nto patience with restraints, many excesses, absurdities and follies.\nAn extreme and tyrannical nativism, a tasteless archaism in dress,\nmanner, and speech, an intolerant and aggressive democratic propaganda\noffended and bullied the more conservative. This spirit spread\nparticularly through the agencies of the student fraternities called\n\"Burschenschaften,\" and the athletic associations, the \"Turners,\"\nadvocated and fostered by Jahn.\n\nImmermann became the mouthpiece of the conservatives among the students,\nand he went so far as to publish some pamphlets denouncing specific acts\nof violence of the leading radical fraternity, the \"Teutonia.\" When the\nuniversity authorities, who to a considerable extent sympathized with\nthe radicals, neglected to act, Immermann addressed a complaint to the\nKing. This move resulted in the dissolution of the accused fraternity\nand in governmental hostility to all fraternities, and brought the\nhatred and contempt of the radicals on Immermann.\n\nImmermann acted undoubtedly from sincere motives, yet deserved much of\nthe condemnation he suffered. He had not sufficient vision to penetrate\nthrough the objectionable and tasteless externalities of the liberal\nmovement--with which he was unfairly preoccupied even at the time of\n_Die Epigonen_, a score of years later--to the greater and enduring core\nof the aspirations of the modern age. The petty things were too near to\nhis eye and obscured the greater things which were further removed. He\nthought he upheld a higher principle of morality by applying the\nprinciples of von Stein to a new situation; but be failed to see the\nnew, larger morality imbedded in much confusion. History has reversed\nhis judgment.\n\nAfter completing his studies he received a government appointment in the\nprovincial capital of Westphalia, Muenster. Here, in this conservative\nold town, began one of the most extraordinary relations between man and\nwoman in modern German literary history. Immermann fell in love with\nCountess Elisa von Luetzow-Ahlefeldt, wife of the famous old commander\nof volunteers, Brigadier-General von Luetzow. Elisa, an extremely gifted\nand spirited woman, had formed a circle of interesting people, in which\nher husband, a dashing soldier but a man of uninteresting mentality,\nplayed a very subordinate part. Immermann and Elisa struggled along\nagainst the tyranny of the affinity that drew them together. Immermann\nwrote a number of dramas, highly romantic, in which the passion and\nstrife within him found varied expression. The play which made him known\nbeyond his immediate circle, was _Cardenio and Celinde_, the conflict of\nwhich was suggested by his own.\n\nElisa was finally divorced from Luetzow. Immermann was appointed a judge\nin Magdeburg, and later in Duesseldorf. He asked Elisa to marry him. She\nrefused, but offered to live with him in free companionship. They joined\ntheir lives, pledging themselves not to enter other relations. They\nremained together until 1839, less than a year before Immermann's death,\nwhen he married a young girl of nineteen. Elisa left his house in sorrow\nand bitterness. Immermann characterized his relation to her thus in a\nletter to his fianc\u00e9e, in 1839: \"I loved the countess deeply and purely\nwhen I was kindled by her flame. But she took such a strange position\ntoward me that I never could have a pure, genuine, enduring joy in this\nlove. There were delights, but no quiet gladness. I always felt as if a\nsplendid comet had appeared on the horizon, but never as if the dear\nwarm God's sun had risen.\"\n\nHis life with Elisa in Duesseldorf was rich in friends and works. The\nsculptor Schadow, the founder of the art school there, the dramatists\nvon Uechtritz and Michael Beer, brother of Meyerbeer, were among his\nfriends. He had intimate relations with Mendelssohn during the years of\nthe latter's stay in Duesseldorf. He tried to assist Grabbe, the erratic\nand unfortunate dramatist. During three years he was manager of the\nDuesseldorf theatre, trying many valuable and idealistic experiments.\nHe died August 25, 1840.\n\nThe most important of his works are _Das Trauerspiel in Tirol_, 1826,\ntreating of the tragic story of Andreas Hofer; _Kaiser Friedrich II_.,\n1827, a drama of the Hohenstaufen; the comic heroic epic,\n_Tulifaentchen_, 1830, a satiric version of an heroic Tom Thumb;\n_Alexis_, 1832, a trilogy setting forth the destruction of the reforms\nbegun by Peter the Great; _Merlin_, 1832; and his two novels, _Die\nEpigonen_, 1836, and _M\u00fcnchhausen_, 1838-9.\n\nIn _Die Epigonen_, one of the long list of representatives of the\nspecies of novels which began with Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_, Immermann\ntried to present the development of a young man and a picture of the\nprincipal social forces of his period. But he was too imitative in\nfollowing his great model, and too much confused by subjective\npreoccupations, to comprehend and to state clearly the substance of the\nmatter.\n\nOnly two of his works have enduring value, his mystical tragedy\n_Merlin_, and the part of _M\u00fcnchhausen_ called \"Der Oberhof\" (The Upper\nFarm), which deals with the lives and types of the small freehold\nfarmers. Immermann, following Baron von Stein, believed that the health\nand future of society, endangered by the corrupt and dissipated\nnobility, rested, on the sturdy, self-reliant, individualistic yet\nseverely moral and patriotic, small peasant. In the main character of\nthe story, the rugged, proud, inflexibly honorable old farmer, who has\ninherited the sword of Charles the Great, he has drawn one of the most\nliving characters in early modern German fiction. The other figures,\ntoo, are full of life and reality. The story has, aside from its\nimportance in the history of the German novel, an enduring value of its\nown.\n\nImmermann, in spite of his unremitting endeavor, failed to attain\nliterary or moral greatness. He lacked the fundamental and organic unity\nof great natures. He had more qualities of mind than most of his\nimportant contemporaries, but in not one of these qualities did he\nattain to the degree which assures distinction. In his _Merlin_ he\ntreated a conflict which was fundamentally similar to that of\nGrillparzer's _Libussa_. Yet Grillparzer, much more one-sided than he,\npossessed the true Romantic-mystic quality, whereas Immermann had to\nelaborate his symbolism with the patchwork of careful, allegoric\nanalysis. He had a richer contact with social forces than Heine, yet his\nrealizations of them were awkward and meagre, his humor wooden, his\nimagery derived. He had much greater intellectual force than Platen, yet\nhe lacked the incisive and controlled critical sense of the latter.\nHaving no one faculty to a distinguished degree, he constantly had to\nsubstitute the strained labor of one faculty for the spontaneous\nproduction of another. Predominantly rationalistic, he labored at the\nsymbolistic vision of Romanticism; pre\u00ebminently a man of prose, he\nendeavored all his life to be a great poet. He mistook the responsive\nexcitement produced by the ideas and visions of others for authentic\ninspiration, the vivacity of a sociable and conversational gift for the\ncreative force of genius, and the immobility of obvious and established\nconventional judgments for an extraordinary soundness and incisiveness\nof fundamental analysis.\n\nThere was in him, as he himself once said, a certain \"aftertaste of a\nworthy philistinism.\" The dominant bent of his mind was toward the\nimmediate actualities, and this bent in the end, as in his antagonism\nagainst the radical students in Halle, always overcame his endeavor to\ngrasp the more remote realities of a larger vision.\n\nThe purposes of his literary works, like the beginning and purpose of\nhis intimacy with Elisa, are always large, comprehensive, and\nidealistic, but they always, even in his most important work, _Merlin_,\ndwindle to petty details of actuality. His significance for the present\nage does not so much rest on his objective achievement, as on some of\nhis qualities which prevented achievement. He was perhaps the most\nconsiderable representative of the literary \"Epigones\" intervening\nbetween the esthetic individualistic humanism of the eighteenth, and the\neconomic-co\u00f6perative humanism of the nineteenth century. He, more fully\nperhaps than any of his contemporaries, represented the peculiar\nborder-type of literary personality which is both compounded and torn\nasunder by all the principal conflicting forces of a period of historic\ntransition. He was a victim of the manifold division of impulses, the\nill-related patchwork of impressions, and the disconcerting refractions\nof vision, which characterized his contemporaries. It is in the fact\nthat he united in himself the principal factors which made up the\ncomplexion of his age, to an extraordinary degree, that he has his\nstrongest claim upon the sympathetic and studious interest of the modern\nage.\n\n\nMERLIN: A MYTH\n\nThe principal dramatic agencies in _Merlin_ are Satan, Klingsor,\nTiturel, King Artus and his Round Table, Niniana, and Merlin. In them,\nImmermann tried to embody the dominant moral and intellectual\ntendencies, as he saw them in history and his own times. Satan, the\ndemiurgos, is to him no theological devil, but a princely character, the\n\"Lord of Necessity,\" the non-moral, irresistible, cosmic force of\nphysical creation. He demands, expressing the faith of Young-Germany:\n\n  \"O! naked bodies, insolent art,\n  O! wrath of heroes, and heroic voice!\"\n\nThe pride of life in him and in Lucifer, who personifies the creative\nfire, is aroused against the narrow asceticism of orthodox Christianity,\nembodied in the wan and feeble Titurel. Satan decides to imitate the\nLord of Christianity, by begetting upon a virgin, Candida, a son who is\nto save the world from the sterility of asceticism. Candida is briefly\nintroduced, acknowledging the power of the mighty spirit and bewailing\nher fate in one of the finest passages in the play. Merlin is born,\ncombining the supernatural creative powers of his father with the\ntenderness and sympathy of his mother. His purpose is to reconcile the\ntrue principles of primitive Christianity with the natural impulses of\nlife. Merlin thus is opposed to his father as well as to Titurel and his\ndull and narrow \"guild\" who keep the true spirit of humanity captive. He\nis both anti-Satan and anti-Christ.\n\nHe next comes into conflict with the third fundamental force, Klingsor.\nThe latter is really only a variant of Satan and, while interesting, is\nsomewhat less fundamental, being more a philosophic and literary, than\nan active, antagonist. His symbol is the circled serpent, the embodiment\nof permanence within the changing world of actuality. He represents the\nnature-philosophy of Romanticism and especially of Schelling, a\nphilosophy so vast and unsubstantial that all values of conduct and all\nincentives to action disappeared in its featureless abyss. Immermann\nintensely disliked it. He was, as he said, a lover of men; the worship\nof nature drained and exhausted the sympathies, the wills and the\nspirits of men. The passages in which Klingsor himself, in his moments\nof despair, and Merlin expose the emptiness of this philosophy, are\namong the best philosophic statements of the play. They are, how ever,\ntoo exhaustive. But they are good philosophy, if they are bad drama and\npoetry. Klingsor says of the \"nature book\"\n\n\"It asserts: all is vain; nought but stale mediocrity--while we are\nshaken from, shell to core by the breath of the times.\" He is worshipped\nby the dwarfs because he has opened the mysteries of inanimate nature,\nand he commands the spirits of classical life represented by Antinous,\nand the pagan' gods and demi-gods, the personifications of the na\u00efve\nimpulses of nature. But he realizes that his wisdom, while it makes\ndwarfs happy, is inadequate for human beings.\n\nThe teaching of Merlin is essentially the humanism of the moderate\nliberalism of Baron von Stein and his followers. Klingsor, voicing the\nsentiments of Romantic aristocratism, accuses him:\n\n\"You tell the mob: Be your own Savior; seek inspiration in your own\nwork. The people like to be told of their majesty. Keep on bravely\nlying, sweetly flattering, and the prophet is complete.\"\n\nMerlin retorts:\n\n\"You describe yourself, not me. Men have a deep sense of truth, and pay\nin false coin only him that offers them false gifts.\" He then continues,\nlashing the transcendent egotism of the Romantic conception of man in\nthe universe: \"To you the earth, the ocean, the firmament, are nothing\nbut a ladder for your own elevation, and you must absolutely reject the\nthing called humility. In order to maintain yourself strong and whole\nyou have to find men weak and only partial beings,\" etc. Later, in lines\n_1637ff_., he proceeds, in what are probably the finest and richest\npassages in the work, to state his own purpose of combining all that is\ngreat, true, beautiful, human, and noble, into one comprehensive and\nrational faith of humanity.\n\nMerlin tries to teach his faith to King Artus and his circle, who embody\nthe frivolous, irresponsible, though refined, conduct of the nobility,\nessentially the same nobility whom von Stein accused of injuring the\nnation and Immermann satirized and exposed in _M\u00fcnchhausen_. They decide\nto seek salvation in the primitive idealism of India, appointing Merlin\ntheir guide. Merlin, however, succumbs to the silly Niniana, the\npersonification of wanton desire. She makes him tell her a fated word,\nafter promising not to repeat it. She thoughtlessly repeats it. He now\nloses his superhuman power, i. e., the power of absolute spiritual\nintegrity, and becomes subject to the limitations of earth, like a\ncommon man. He can no longer lead Artus and his court, who perish of\ntheir own spiritual vacuity.\n\nThe end of the play is unsatisfactory. The hero's surrender to the lust\nof the flesh, undoubtedly suggested by Goethe's _Faust_ and consistent\nin Goethe's poem, is foreign to the conflict of this play, which, not\nbeing human, as is that of _Faust_, but an abstract antagonism of\ngeneral historic principles, should have been solved without the\ninterference of the mere creature weaknesses of the hero and the mere\ncreature sympathies of the reader. Immermann planned to untie the knot\nin a second part, which was to treat of the salvation of Merlin; but he\nnever carried his purpose beyond a few slight introductory passages.\n\n\n\nIMMERMANN'S \"M\u00dcNCHHAUSEN\"\n\nBY ALLEN WILSON PORTERFIELD, PH.D. Instructor in German, Columbia\nUniversity\n\n\nImmermann first thought of writing a new _M\u00fcnchhausen_ in 1821, the year\nof his satirical comedy, _The Princes of Syracuse_, which contains the\nembryonic idea of this \"history in arabesques.\" Conscientious\nperformance of his duties as a judge and incessant activity as a writer\nalong other lines forced the idea into the background until 1830, the\nyear of his satirical epic, _Tulif\u00e4ntchen_, in which the theme again\nreceived attention. In 1835 he finished _Die Epigonen_, a novel\nportraying the social and political conditions in Germany from 1815 to\n1830, and in 1837 he began systematic work on _M\u00fcnchhausen_, continuing,\nfrom a different point of view and in a different mood, his delineation\nof the civic and intellectual status of Germany of his own time. The\nlast part of the entire work was published in 1839, having occupied,\nintermittently, eighteen of his twenty years of literary productivity.\nThe first edition was exhausted one year after publication, a second\nappeared in 1841, a third in 1854, and since 1857 there have been many\nof all kinds, ranging from the popular \"Reclam\" to critical editions\nwith all the helps and devices known to modern scholarship.\n\nIn so far as the just appreciation of a literary production is dependent\nupon a study of its genesis, the reading of _Die Epigonen_ is necessary\nto a complete understanding of _M\u00fcnchhausen_, for through these two\nworks runs a strong thread of unbroken development. Hermann, the\nimmature hero of the former, and his associates, bequeath a number of\ncharacteristics to the title-hero and his associates of the latter; but\nwhere the earlier work is predominantly sarcastic, political, and\npessimistic, the later one is humorous, intellectual, and optimistic. It\nwould seem, therefore, that, in view of its bright outlook, mature view,\nand sympathetic treatment, Immermann's greatest epic in prose was\ndestined to be read in its entirety, frequently, and with pleasure.\n\nThis is, however, not the case. Starting from a long line of models,\nSterne's _Tristram Shandy_ among others, _M\u00fcnchhausen_ resembles the\ndiffusive works of similar title by Raspe (1785) and B\u00fcrger (1787). It\ntakes its name from Hieronymus Karl Friedrich, Baron of M\u00fcnchhausen\n(1720-1797), and satirizes many of the whimsicalities of Herman Ludwig\nHeinrich, Prince of P\u00fcckler-Muskau (1785-1871). And it flagellates again\nand again such bizarre literary and intellectual phenomena of the time\nas Raupach's Hohenstaufen dramas, G\u00f6rres' mysticism, Menzel's\ncalumniations, Eduard Gans' liberalism, Bettina's pretensions, Young\nGermany's reaction, even the Indian studies of the Schlegels and\nAlexander von Humboldt's substantial scholarship, so that, for the\ngeneral reader, the larger part of the work is a sealed book. Its\nreferences are obscure, its satire abstruse, its humor vague. Even\nFerdinand Freiligrath, Immermann's contemporary and friend, declined, on\nthe ground of lack of familiarity with the allusions, to write a\ncommentary to it.\n\nAccording to Immermann's own statement, he began _M\u00fcnchhausen_ without a\nshimmer of an idea as to how he would finish it; but he finished it,\nhaving in the meantime gone through a complete inner transformation, in\na way that surprised even himself and greatly pleased his readers. We\nhave here, consequently, a novel which, though written as a whole, falls\nnaturally into two parts, the one negative and satirical, the other\npositive and human. And odd indeed is the situation in the negative\npart.\n\nAs in _Die Epigonen_, the scene is laid in Westphalia. The impoverished\nBaron Schnuck-Puckelig-Erbsenscheucher, a faithful representative of the\nnarrow-minded and prejudiced nobility, lives with his prudish,\nsentimental daughter, Emerentia, in the dilapidated castle, Schnick\nSchnack-Schnurr. Their sole companion is the daft school-teacher,\nAgesel, who, having lost, from too much study of phonetics, the major\npart of his never gigantic mind, imagines that he is a direct descendant\nof the Spartan King Agesilaus. With these occupants and no more, the\ncastle resembles a harmless home for the insane. But one day\nM\u00fcnchhausen, the prince of liars and chief of swindlers, accompanied by\nhis servant, Karl Buttervogel, the Sancho Panza of the story, comes to\nthe castle. His presence enlivens; his interminable stories, through\nwhich Immermann satirizes the tendencies of the time, delight at first,\nthen tire, then become intolerable. To maintain his influence, he\nsuggests to the old Baron the establishment of a stock company for the\nselling of compressed air, assuring this gullible old soul that hereby\nhis fortunes can be retrieved and his appointment as Privy Councilor can\nbe realized. The Baron, though pleased, enters into the proposition with\ncaution. But M\u00fcnchhausen, unable to execute his scheme, finds himself in\nan embarrassing dilemma from which he disentangles himself by mysteriously\ndisappearing and never again coming to light. Emerentia has\nin the meantime fallen in love with Karl Buttervogel, whom she\nerroneously looks upon as a Prince in disguise. At the prospect of so\nhumble a son-in-law, the Baron becomes frantic, violently removes\nButtervogel from the castle, which, as a result of the Baron's ravings,\nfalls to the ground with a crash and a roar--a catastrophe which reminds\none of Poe's _Fall of the House of Usher_--and the Baron and Agesel are\nrestored to their senses.\n\nThe chief trouble with this fantastic story is that it lacks artistic\nmeasure and objective plausibility. Immermann, omnivorous reader that he\nwas, wrote this part of his book, not from life, but from other books.\nAnd even granting that he carried out his plan with a reasonable degree\nof cleverness, the average reader is not sufficiently acquainted with\nKerner and Platen and their long line of queer contemporaries to see the\npoint, so he skips over this part of the work and turns at once to _Der\nOberhof_.\n\nIt is needless to state that Immermann never wrote a work with such a\ntitle. Editors and publishers have simply followed the lead of readers\nand brought out separately the best parts of the complete novel under\nthe heading of the third chapter of the second book. There is not even\nfinal agreement as to how much of the original work should be included\nin order to make a well-rounded story. The editions, of which there are\nmany, vary in size from seventy-five to three hundred and seventy-five\noctavo pages. The best arrangement is that which includes the second,\nfifth, seventh and eighth books.\n\nHere again we meet with three leading characters--the very honest and\nreliable Hofschulze, the owner of the \"Upper Farm,\" in whom are\npersonified and glorified the best traditions of Westphalia; Lisbeth,\nthe daughter of M\u00fcnchhausen and Emerentia, the connecting link between\nromantic and realistic Germany; and Oswald, the Suabian Count disguised\nas a hunter, a thoroughly good fellow. But this by no means exhausts the\nlist of pleasing personalities. The good Deacon, who had lost interest\nin life and faith in men while tutoring a young Swedish Count, and who\nwas made over by his new work among the solid middle class of\nWestphalia, is a character of real charm; his ideals are humanitarian in\nthe best sense, his wisdom is sound, his help generous. Jochem, Oswald's\nservant, is the incarnation of fidelity; the old Captain, who finds\nhimself today in a French and tomorrow in a Prussian mood, is\ninstructive at least, for such dualistic patriotism was not unknown at\nthe time; the Collector follows his vocation with inspiring avidity, the\nSexton is droll without knowing it, and each of the Hofschulze's\nservants has something about him that separates him from his\nconfederates even though he be nameless. There are no supernumeraries\namong the characters.\n\nBy reason of her common sense and energy, Lisbeth had for some time kept\nthe old Baron's head above water. One of her duties was to collect\ntaxes, a business which frequently brought her to the \"Upper Farm,\"\nwhere she was always sure of a kind reception. Oswald, too, came to the\nFarm one day to settle an affair of honor with M\u00fcnchhausen. Instead of\nfinding him, however, he meets Lisbeth, and here the love story begins.\n\nWhile waiting at the Farm for Jochem to find M\u00fcnchhausen, Oswald agrees\nto recompense the Hofschulze for his hospitality by keeping the wild\ndeer away from the grain fields. His duties are nominal; he exchanges\nviews with the men of the Farm, corresponds with his friends in Suabia,\nwanders over the fields and occasionally shoots at some game without\never hitting. His room must have been occupied before his arrival by a\nbeautiful girl, for in it he finds a tidy hood and kerchief that betray\nthe charms of their wearer, and he dreams of her at night. And one day,\nwhile wandering through the woods, he catches sight of a lovely girl\nlooking into the calyx of a wonderful forest flower. He is on the point\nof going up to her when her very charm holds him back, and that night he\ndreams again of his beautiful predecessor in the Hofschulze's corner\nroom.\n\nAnd then, while wandering again through the pathless woods, he shoots at\na roe but hits Lisbeth, the girl of his dreams. The wound is, however,\nslight, and by the time it has healed their love has become perfect, so\nthat, immediately after the wedding of the Hofschulze's daughter, for\nwhom Lisbeth had been a bridesmaid, and before the same altar at which\nthe ceremony had just been performed, the good Deacon pronounces the\nblessing upon the newly betrothed pair.\n\nWith the Deacon's official act over, imaginary troubles cease and real\nones begin. Oswald, grieved beyond expression to learn that Lisbeth is\nthe daughter of M\u00fcnchhausen and Emerentia, is on the point of leaving\nthe Farm immediately and Lisbeth forever; Lisbeth, having thought all\nthe time that her lover was a plain hunter, is in complete despair when\ntold that he is a real Count; the Hofschulze does not take kindly to the\nidea of their marriage, for Oswald has not always revered Westphalian\ntraditions, the secret tribunal, for example, as he should have done;\nOswald's friends in Suabia object to his marrying a foundling, and\nadvise him to come home and straighten out a love affair he has there\nbefore entering into a new and foreign one; the doctor is not even\ncertain that the wedding is hygienically wise. But love dispels all\nfears and doubts, and the good Deacon makes Oswald and Lisbeth man and\nwife.\n\nImmermann's lifelong attempts at the studied poetizations of\ntraditional, aristocratic, high-flown themes brought him but scant\nrecognition even in his day, and they have since been well-nigh\nforgotten. But when, one year before his death, he wrote an\nunpretentious love story taken from the life of simple people whom he\nmet on his daily walks, he thereby assured himself of immortality. Few\nworks prove more convincingly than _Der Oberhof_ that great literature\nis neither more nor less than an artistic visualization and faithful\nreflection of life. The reading of this unassuming \"village story,\" the\nfirst of its kind in German literature, warms the heart and stirs the\nsprings of living fancy, simply because it relates in terse and direct\nlanguage a series of incidents in the lives of very possible and very\nreal human beings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nKARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN\n\nTHE OBERHOF (1839) TRANSLATED BY PAUL BERNARD THOMAS\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE JUSTICE OF THE ESTATE\n\n\nWith the sleeves of his shirt rolled up the old Justice of the estate\nwas standing in the yard between the barns and the farm buildings and\ngazing attentively into a fire which he had kindled on the ground\nbetween stones and logs, and which was now crackling merrily. He\nstraightened around a small anvil which was standing beside it, laid\ndown a hammer and a pair of tongs so as to have them ready to grasp,\ntested the points of some large wheel-nails which he drew forth from the\nbreast-pocket of a leather apron he had tied around him, put the nails\ndown in the bottom of the rack-wagon, the wheel of which he was about to\nrepair, carefully turned the rim around until the place where the tire\nwas broken was on top, and then made the wheel fast by putting stones\nunder it.\n\nAfter he had again looked into the fire for a few moments, but not long\nenough to cause his bright, sharp eyes to blink, he quickly thrust the\ntongs into it, lifted out the red-hot piece of iron, laid it on the\nanvil, pounded it with the hammer so that the sparks flew in all\ndirections, clapped the still glowing piece of iron down on the broken\nplace in the tire, hammered and welded it fast with two heavy blows, and\nthen drove the nails into their places, which was easily done, as the\niron was still soft and pliable.\n\nA few very sharp and powerful blows gave the inserted piece its\nfinishing touch. The Justice kicked away the stones with which he had\nmade the wheel fast, seized the wagon by its tongue in order to test the\nmended tire, and in spite of its weight hauled it without exertion\ndiagonally across the yard, so that the hens, geese and ducks, which had\nbeen quietly sunning themselves, flew, with loud cries, before the\nrattling vehicle, and a couple of pigs jumped up, grunting, from their\nmud-holes.\n\nTwo men, the one a horse-dealer, the other a tax-collector or receiver,\nwho were sitting at a table beneath the large linden in front of the\nhouse and imbibing their drink, had been watching the work of the robust\nold man.\n\n\"It must be true!\" one of them, the horse-dealer, called out. \"You would\nhave made an excellent blacksmith, Judge!\"\n\nThe Justice washed his hands and face in a pail of water which was\nstanding beside the anvil, poured the water into the fire to extinguish\nit, and said:\n\n\"He is a fool who gives to the blacksmith what he can earn himself!\"\n\nHe picked up the anvil as if it were a feather, and carried it, along\nwith the hammer and tongs, under a little shed which stood between the\nhouse and the barn, and in which there were standing, or hanging, a\nwork-bench, saws, chisels, and whatever other tools pertain to the\ncarpenter's or joiner's trade, as well as a quantity of wood and boards\nof many kinds.\n\nWhile the old man was still busying himself under the shed, the\nhorse-dealer said to the receiver:\n\n\"Would you believe it that he also repairs with his own hands all the\nposts, doors, thresholds, boxes, and cases in the house, or if luck\nfavors him makes new ones himself? I believe that he could be an expert\njoiner, if he wanted to, and put together a first-class cabinet.\"\n\n\"You are wrong there,\" said the Justice, who had overheard the latter\nremark and who, having taken off his leather apron, now emerged from the\nshed in a smock-frock of white linen and sat down at the table with the\ntwo men.\n\n[Illustration: The Master of the Oberhof]\n\nA maid brought a glass to him also, and, after drinking the health of his\nguests, he continued: \"To make a post or a door or a threshold, all you\nneed is a pair of sound eyes and a steady hand, but a cabinet-maker has\nto have more than that. I once allowed my conceit to deceive me into\nthinking that I could put together, as you call it, a first-class\ncabinet, because I had handled plane and chisel and T-square more or\nless doing carpenter's work. I measured and marked and squared off the\nwood and had everything fitted down to the inch. Yes, but now when it\ncame to the joining and gluing together, everything was all wrong; the\nsides were warped and wouldn't come together, the lid in front was too\nlarge, and the drawers too small for the openings. You can still see the\ncontraption; I let it stand on the sill to guard me from future\ntemptation. For it always does a man good to have a reminder of his\nweakness constantly before his eyes.\"\n\nAt this moment a loud neigh was heard from the stable across the yard.\nThe horse-dealer cleared his throat, spat, struck a light for his pipe,\nblew a dense cloud of smoke into the receiver's face, and looked first\nlongingly toward the stable, and then thoughtfully down at the ground.\nThen he spat once more, removed the varnished hat from his head, wiped\nhis brow with his sleeve, and said: \"Still this sultry weather!\"\nThereupon he unbuckled his leather money-pouch from his body, threw it\ndown on the table with a bang, so that its contents rattled and jingled,\nuntied the strings, and counted out twenty bright gold pieces, the sight\nof which caused the receiver's eyes to sparkle, while the old Justice\ndid not even look at them.\n\n\"Here is the money!\" cried the horse-dealer, bringing his clenched fist\ndown on the table with a thump. \"Do I get the brown mare for it? God\nknows, she's not worth a penny more!\"\n\n\"Then keep your money, so that you won't suffer any loss!\" replied the\nJustice cold-bloodedly. \"Twenty-six is my price, as I have already said,\nand not a farthing less! You've known me a good many years, Mr. Marx,\nand you ought to realize by this time that dickering and beating down\ndon't work with me, because I never take back what I say. I ask for a\nthing what it is worth to me, and never overcharge. So an angel with a\ntrumpet might come down from heaven, but he wouldn't get the bay mare\nfor less than twenty-six!\"\n\n\"But,\" exclaimed the horse-dealer, provoked, \"business consists of\ndemanding and offering, doesn't it? I'd overcharge my own brother! When\nthere is no more overcharging in the world, business will come to an\nend.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" replied the Justice, \"business will then take much\nless time, and for that very reason will be more profitable. And besides\nthat, both parties always derive much benefit from a transaction\ninvolving no overcharge. It has always been my experience that, when an\novercharge is made, one's nature gets hot, and it results in nobody's\nknowing exactly what he is doing or saying. The seller, in order to put\nan end to the argument, often lets his wares go for a lower price than\nthat which he had quietly made up his mind to charge, and the buyer, on\nthe other hand, just as often, in the eagerness and ardor of bidding,\nwastes his money. Where there is absolutely no talk of abatement, then\nboth parties remain beautifully calm and safe from loss.\"\n\n\"Inasmuch as you talk so sensibly, you have, I presume, thought better\nof my proposal,\" broke in the receiver. \"As I, have already said, the\ngovernment wants to convert into cash all the corn due from the farms in\nthis region. It alone suffers a loss from it, for corn is corn, whereas\nmoney is worth so much today and so much tomorrow. Meanwhile, you see,\nit is their wish to free themselves from the burden of storing up corn.\nKindly do me the favor, then, to sign this new cash-contract, which I\nhave brought with me for that purpose.\"\n\n\"By no means!\" answered the Justice vehemently. \"For many hundreds of\nyears corn, and only corn, has been paid over from the Oberhof to the\nmonastery, and the receiver's office will have to content itself with\nthat, just as the monastery has done. Does cash grow in my fields? No!\nCorn grows in them! Where, then, are you going to get the cash?\"\n\n\"You're not going to be cheated, you know!\" cried the receiver.\n\n\"We must always stand by the old ways of doing things,\" said the Justice\nsolemnly. \"Those were good times when the tablets with the lists of\nimposts and taxes of the peasantry used to hang in the church. In those\ndays everything was fixed, and there were never any disagreements, as\nthere are nowadays all too often. Afterwards it was said that the\ntablets with the hens and eggs and bushels and pecks of grain.\ninterfered with devotion, and they were done away with.\" With that he\nwent into the house.\n\n\"There is a stubborn fellow for you!\" cried the horse-dealer, when he\ncould no longer see his business friend. He put his varnished hat back\non his head again with an air of vexation. \"If he once makes up his mind\nnot to do something, the devil himself cannot bring him around. The\nworst of it is that the fellow rears the best horses in this region, and\nafter all, if you get right down to it, lets them go cheap enough.\"\n\n\"An obstinate, headstrong sort of people it is that lives hereabouts,\"\nsaid the receiver. \"I have just recently come from Saxony and I notice\nthe contrast. There they all live together, and for that reason they\nhave to be courteous and obliging and tractable toward one another. But\nhere, each one lives on his own property, and has his own wood, his own\nfield, his own pasture around him, as if there were nothing else in the\nworld. For that reason they cling so tenaciously to all their old\nfoolish ways and notions, which have everywhere else fallen into disuse.\nWhat a lot of trouble I've had already with the other peasants on\naccount of this stupid change in the mode of taxation! But this fellow\nhere is the worst of all!\" \"The reason for that, Mr. Receiver, is that\nhe is so rich,\" remarked the horse-dealer. \"It is a wonder to me that\nyou have put it through with the other peasants around here without him,\nfor he is their general, their attorney and everything; they all follow\nhis example in every matter and he bows to no one. A year ago a prince\npassed through here; the way the old fellow took off his hat to him,\nreally, it looked as if he wanted to say: 'You are one, I am another.'\nTo expect to get twenty-six pistoles for the mare! But that is the\nunfortunate part of it, when a peasant acquires too much property. When\nyou come out on the other side of that oak wood, you walk for half an\nhour by the clock through his fields! And everything arranged in first\nrate order all the way! The day before yesterday I drove my team through\nthe rye and wheat, and may God punish me if anything more than the\nhorses' heads showed up above the tops. I thought I should be drowned.\"\n\n\"Where did he get it all?\" asked the receiver.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the horse-dealer, \"there are a lot more estates like this\naround here; they call them Oberhofs. And if they do not surpass many a\nnobleman's, my name isn't Marx. The land has been held intact for\ngenerations. And the good-for-nothing fellow has always been economical\nand industrious, you'll have to say that much for him I You saw, didn't\nyou, how he worked away merely to save the expense of paying the\nblacksmith a few farthings? Now his daughter is marrying another rich\nfellow; she'll get a dowry, I tell you! I happened to pass the linen\ncloset; flax, yarn, tablecloths and napkins and sheets and shirts and\nevery possible kind of stuff are piled up to the ceiling in there. And\nin addition to that the old codger will give her six thousand thalers in\ncash! Just glance about you; don't you feel as if you were stopping with\na count?\"\n\nDuring the foregoing dialogue the vexed horse-dealer had quietly put his\nhand into his money-bag and to the twenty gold pieces had added, with an\nair of unconcern, six more. The Justice appeared again at the door, and\nthe other, without looking up, said, grumbling; \"There are the\ntwenty-six, since there is no other way out of it.\"\n\nThe old peasant smiled ironically and said: \"I knew right well that you\nwould buy the horse, Mr. Marx, for you are trying to find one for thirty\npistoles for the cavalry lieutenant in Unna, and my little roan fills\nthe bill as if she had been made to order. I went into the house only to\nfetch the gold-scales, and could see in advance that you would have\nbethought yourself in the meantime.\"\n\nThe old man, who one moment displayed something akin to hurry in his\nmovements and the next the greatest deliberation, depending upon the\nbusiness with which he happened to be occupied, sat down at the table,\nslowly and carefully wiped off his spectacles, fastened them on his\nnose, and began carefully to weigh the gold pieces. Two or three of them\nhe rejected as being too light. The horse-dealer raised a loud objection\nto this, but the Justice, holding the scales in his hands, only listened\nin cold-blooded silence, until the other replaced them with pieces\nhaving full weight. Finally, the business was completed; the seller\ndeliberately wrapped the money in a piece of paper and went with the\nhorse-dealer to the stable, in order to deliver the horse over to him.\n\nThe receiver did not wait for them to return. \"One can't accomplish\nanything with a clod-hopper like that,\" he said. \"I But in the end if\nyou don't come around and pay us up regularly, we will--\" He felt for\nthe legal documents in his pocket, realized by their crackling that they\nwere still there, and left the yard.\n\nOut of the stable came the horse-dealer, the Justice, and a farm-hand\nwho was leading behind him two horses, the horse-dealer's own and the\nbrown mare which he had just bought. The Justice, giving the latter a\nfarewell pat, said \"It always grieves one to sell a creature which one\nhas raised, but who can do otherwise?--Now behave well, little brownie!\"\nhe added, giving the animal a hearty slap on her round, glossy\nhaunches. In the meantime the horse-dealer had mounted. With his gaunt\nfigure, his short riding-jacket under the broad-brimmed, varnished hat,\nhis yellow breeches over his lean thighs, his high leather boots, his\nlarge, heavy spurs, and his whip, he looked like a highwayman. He rode\naway cursing and swearing, without saying good-by, leading the brown\nmare by a halter. He never once glanced back at the farm-house, but the\nmare several times bent her neck around and emitted a doleful neigh, as\nif complaining because her good days were now over. The Justice remained\nstanding with the laborer, his arms set akimbo, until the two horses had\npassed out of sight through the orchard. Then the man said: \"The animal\nis grieving.\"\n\n\"Why shouldn't she?\" replied the Justice. \"Aren't we grieving too? Come\nup to the granary--we'll measure the oats.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nADVICE AND SYMPATHY\n\n\nAs he turned around toward the house with the laborer, he saw that the\nplace under the linden had already been reoccupied by new guests. The\nlatter, however, had a very dissimilar appearance. For three or four\npeasants, his nearest neighbors, were sitting there, and beside them sat\na young girl, as beautiful as a picture. This beautiful girl was the\nblond Lisbeth, who had passed the night at the Oberhof.\n\nI shall not venture to describe her beauty; it would only result in\ntelling of her red cheeks and blue eyes, and these things, fresh as they\nmay be in reality, have become somewhat stale when put down in black and\nwhite.\n\nThe Justice, without paying any attention to his long-haired neighbors\nin blouses, approached his charming guest and said:\n\n\"Well, did you sleep all right, my little miss?\" \"Splendidly!\" replied\nLisbeth.\n\n\"What's the matter with your finger?--you have it bandaged,\" inquired\nthe old man.\n\n\"Nothing,\" answered the young girl, blushing. She wanted to change the\nsubject, but the Justice would not allow himself to be diverted;\ngrasping her hand, the one with the bandaged finger, he said: \"It's\nnothing serious, is it?\"\n\n\"Nothing worth talking about,\" answered Lisbeth. \"Yesterday evening when\nI was helping your daughter with her sewing, the needle pricked my\nfinger and it bled a little. That is all.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" exclaimed the Justice, smirking. \"And I notice that it is the\nring-finger too! That augurs something good. You doubtless know that\nwhen an unmarried girl helps an engaged one to sew her bridal linen, and\nin doing it pricks her ring-finger, it means that she herself is to\nbecome engaged in the same year? Well, you have my best wishes for a\nnice lover!\"\n\nThe peasants laughed, but the blond Lisbeth did not allow herself to be\ndisconcerted; she cried out joyfully: \"And do you know my motto? It runs:\n\n  As far as God on lily fair\n  And raven young bestows his care,\n  Thus far runs my land;\n  And, therefore, he who seeks my hand\n  Must have four horses to his carriage\n  Before I'll give myself in marriage.\n\n\"And,\" broke in the Justice--\n\n  And he must catch me like a mouse,\n  And hook me like a fish,\n  And shoot me like a roe.\n\nThe report of a gun rang out nearby. \"See, my little miss, it's coming\ntrue!\"\n\n\"Now, Judge, make an end of your frivolous talk,\" said the young girl.\n\"I have called to get your advice, and so give it to me now without any\nmore foolish nonsense.\" The Justice settled himself in an attitude of\ndignity, ready to talk and listen. Lisbeth drew forth a little\nwriting-tablet and read off the names of the peasants among whom she had\nbeen going around during the past few days for the purpose of collecting\nback-rent due her foster-father. Then she told the Justice how they had\nrefused to pay their debts and what their excuses had been. One claimed\nto have paid up long ago, another said that he had only recently come\ninto the farm, a third knew nothing about the matter, a fourth had\npretended that he couldn't hear well, and so forth and so forth; so that\nthe poor girl, like a little bird flying about in the winter in search\nof food and not finding a single grain of corn, had been turned away\nempty-handed from one door after another. But any one who thinks that\nthese futile efforts had plunged her into grief is mistaken, for nothing\ngreatly disturbed her and she related the story of her irksome\nwanderings with a cheerful smile.\n\nThe Justice wrote down on the table with chalk several of the names\nmentioned, and, when she had reached the end of her list, said:\n\n\"As far as the others are concerned, they do not live with us and I have\nno authority over them. If they are base enough to refuse to do their\nduty and to meet their obligations, then simply strike out the names of\nthe scamps, for you can never get anything out of a peasant by a\nlaw-suit. But as against those who live in our precinct, I will help you\nto secure your rights. We still have means of accomplishing that.\"\n\n\"Oho, Squire!\" said one of the peasants to him, half-aloud. \"You talk as\nif you always carried the rope around with you in your coat-sleeve. When\nis the secret court to be held?\"\n\n\"Be still, tree-warden!\" interrupted the old man with earnestness.\n\"Sneering remarks like that might get you into trouble!\"\n\nThe man addressed was disconcerted; he cast down his eyes and made no\nreply. Lisbeth thanked the old man for his offer of help, and inquired\nabout the roads and paths to the other peasants whose names she still\nhad left on her writing-tablet. The Justice pointed out to her the\nshortest way to the nearest farm, which led across the Priests' Meadow,\npast the three mills and over the Holle Hills. When she had put on her\nstraw hat, taken her staff, expressed her thanks for the hospitality\nshown her, and had thus made herself ready to leave, he begged her to\nmake her arrangements such that on her return she could stay for the\nwedding and a day thereafter. He hoped that he would be able to give her\nby that time definite assurance in regard to the rents, or, perhaps,\neven to give her the money itself to take home with her.\n\nWhen the young girl's slender and graceful form had disappeared behind\nthe last walnut-trees at the farther end of the orchard, the peasants\nbroached the subject which had brought them to the Justice. The building\nof a new road, which was to establish a connection with the main\nhighway, threatened, if the idea were carried out, to deprive them of a\nfew strips of their land over which it was necessary to lay the new\nroad. Against this loss, although the project would redound to the\nadvantage of all the surrounding peasantry, they were anxious to protect\nthemselves; and how to avert it was the question about which they were\nanxious to secure the advice of the owner of the Oberhof.\n\n\"Good day! How are you?\" called out a voice, well known in this\nlocality. A pedestrian, a man in respectable attire, but covered with\ndust from his gray gaiters to his green, visored cap, had entered\nthrough the gate and approached the table, unnoticed at first by the\nconversers.\n\n\"Ah, Mr. Schmitz, so we see you too, once more, eh?\" said the old\npeasant very cordially, and he had the servant bring the fatigued man\nthe best there was in the wine-cellar. The peasants politely moved\ncloser together to make room for the new arrival. They insisted upon\nhis sitting down, and he lowered himself into a chair with great care\nand deliberation, so as not to break what he was carrying. And this\nprocedure was indeed very necessary, for the man was loaded down like an\nexpress-wagon, and the outlines of his form resembled a conglomeration\nof bundles tied together. Not only did his coat-pockets, which were\ncrammed full of all sorts of round, square and oblong objects, bulge out\nfrom his body in an astonishing manner, but also his breast and side\npockets, which were used for the same purpose, protruded in a manifold\nvariety of swellings and eminences, which stuck out all the more sharply\nas the Collector, in order not to lose any of his treasures, had, in\nspite of the summer heat, buttoned his coat tightly together. Even the\ninside of his cap had been obliged to serve for the storing of several\nsmaller articles, and had acquired from its contents the shape and\nsemblance of a watermelon. He sipped, with manifest relish, the good\nwine that was put before him, and his elderly countenance, bloated and\nreddened with heat and fatigue, gradually acquired its natural color and\nform again.\n\n\"Been doing good business, Mr. Schmitz?\" inquired the Justice, smiling.\n\"Judging from appearances, one might think so.\"\n\n\"Oh, fairly good,\" replied the Collector. \"There is a rich blessing\nhidden in the dear earth. It not only brings forth corn and vegetables\nconstantly and untiringly--an alert searcher may secure a harvest of\nantiquities from it all the time, no matter how much other people have\nscratched and dug for them. So I have once more taken my little trip\nthrough the country, and this time I got as far as the border of the\nSieg valley. I am on my way back now and intend to go on as far as the\ncity today. But I had to stop over a while at your place on the way,\nJustice, in order to rest myself a bit, for I am certainly tired.\"\n\n\"What are you bringing with you?\" asked the Justice.\n\nThe Collector tapped gently and affectionately on all the swellings and\nprotuberances of his various pockets, and said:\n\n\"Oh, well, some very nice things--all sorts of curiosities. A\nbattle-axe, a pair of thunderbolts, some heathen rings--beautiful things\nall covered with green rust--ash-urns, tear-bottles, three idols and a\npair of valuable lamps.\" He struck the nape of his neck with the back of\nhis hand and continued: \"And I also have here with me a perfectly\npreserved piece of bronze--I had no other place to put it, so I tied it\nfast here on my back under my coat. Well, it will probably not look\namiss, once it is all cleaned up and given its proper place.\"\n\nThe peasants displayed some curiosity to see a few of the articles, but\nold Schmitz declared himself unable to satisfy it, because the\nantiquities were so carefully packed and put away with such ingenious\nuse of every bit of space that it would be difficult, if it were once\ntaken out, to get the entire load back in again. The Justice said\nsomething into the servant's ear, and the latter went into the house. In\nthe meanwhile the Collector told in detail all about the places where he\nhad come across the various acquisitions; then he moved his chair nearer\nto his host and said confidentially:\n\n\"But what is by far the most important discovery of this trip--I have\nnow really found the actual place where Hermann defeated Varus!\"\n\n\"You don't mean it?\" replied the Justice, pushing his cap back and\nforth.\n\n\"They have all been on the wrong track--Clostermeier, Schmid, and\nwhatever the names of the other people may be who have written about\nit!\" cried the Collector ardently. \"They have always thought that Varus\nwithdrew in the direction of Aliso--the exact situation of which no man\nhas ever discovered--well, anyway, in a northerly direction, and in\naccordance with that theory the battle is supposed to have taken place\nbetween the sources of the Lippe and the Ems, near Detmold, Lippspring,\nPaderborn, and God knows where else!\"\n\nThe Justice said: \"I think that Varus had to try with all his might to\nreach the Rhine, and that he could have done only by gaining the open\ncountry. The battle is said to have lasted three days, and in that\nlength of time you can march a good distance. Hence I am rather of the\nopinion that the attack in the mountains which surround our plain did\nnot take place very far from here.\"\n\n\"Wrong, wrong, Justice!\" cried the Collector. \"Here below everything was\noccupied and blocked up by the Cherusci, Catti, and Sigambri. No the\nbattle was much farther south, near the region of the Ruhr, not far from\nArnsberg. Varus had to push his way through the mountains, he had no\negress anywhere, and his mind was bent on reaching the middle Rhine,\nwhither the road leads diagonally across Sauerland. That is what I have\nalways thought, and now I have discovered the most unmistakable evidence\nof it. Close by the Ruhr I found the bronze and bought the three idols,\nand a man from the village told me that hardly an hour's walk from there\nwas a place in the woods among the mountains where an enormous quantity\nof bones were piled up in the sand and gravel. Ha! I exclaimed, the day\nis beginning to break. I went out there with a few peasants, had them\nexcavate a little, and, behold! we came across bones to my heart's\ncontent. So that is the place where Germanicus had the remnants of the\nRoman legions buried six years after the battle of Teutoburg Wood, when\nhe directed his last expeditions against Hermann. And I have therefore\ndiscovered the right battlefield.\"\n\n\"Bones do not ordinarily preserve themselves for a thousand years and\nmore,\" said the Justice, shaking his head doubtfully.\n\n\"They have become petrified among the minerals there,\" said the\ncollector angrily. \"I'll have to put an evidence of my theory in your\nhand--here is one I have brought with me.\" He drew forth a large bone\nfrom his shirt and held it before his opponent's eyes. \"Now, what do\nyou call that?\" he asked triumphantly.\n\nThe peasants stared at the bone in amazement. The Justice, after he had\nexamined it, replied: \"A cow's bone, Mr. Schmitz! You discovered a\ncarrion-pit, not the battlefield of Teutoburg.\"\n\nThe Collector indignantly put the discredited antiquity back into its\nplace and uttered a few violent imprecations, to which the old peasant\nknew the most effective way to reply. It seemed as if a quarrel might\nensue between the two men, but as a matter of fact the appearances were\nof no significance. For it was a common thing for them, whenever they\ngot together, to disagree about this and similar matters. But in spite\nof these controversies they always remained good friends. The Collector,\nwho, in order to follow up his hobbies, even begrudged himself bread,\nwas in the habit all the year round of feeding himself for weeks at a\ntime out of the full meat-pots of the Oberhof, and in return for it he\nhelped along his host's business by doing all kinds of writing for him.\nFor the Collector had formerly been, by profession, a sworn and\nmatriculated Imperial Notary.\n\nFinally, after a great deal of fruitless argument on both sides, the\nJustice said: \"I won't wrangle with you over the battlefield, although I\nstill persist in my belief that Hermann defeated Varus somewhere around\nthis neighborhood. As a matter of fact it doesn't make any particular\ndifference to me where it happened--the question is one for the\nscholars. For if the other Roman general, six years afterwards, as you\nhave often told me, marched into this region with another army, then the\nwhole battle had but little significance.\"\n\n\"You don't know anything about it!\" exclaimed the Collector. \"The\npresent existence and position of Germany rests entirely upon the battle\nwon by Hermann. If it had not been for Hermann 'the liberator,' you\nwould not be occupying these extensive premises now, marked off by your\nhedges and stakes. But you people simply live along from one day to the\nnext, and have no use for history and antiquity.\"\n\n\"Oho, Mr. Schmitz, you do me great injustice there,\" replied the old\npeasant proudly. \"God knows what pleasure it gives me to sit down of a\nwinter evening and read the chronicles and histories, and you yourself\nknow that I treat the sword of Carolus Magnus (the old man pronounced\nthe second syllable long), which has now for a thousand years and more\nbeen in the possession of the Oberhof, as I do the apple of my eye, and\nconsequently--\"\n\n\"The sword of Charles the Great!\" exclaimed the Collector scornfully.\n\"Friend, is it impossible to get these notions out of your head?\nListen--\"\n\n\"I say and maintain that it is the genuine and actual sword of Carolus\nMagnus with which he here at the Oberhof located and established the\n'Freemen's Tribunal.' And even today the sword still performs and\nfulfils its office, although nothing further may be said about it.\" The\nold man uttered these words with an expression on his features and a\ngesture which had something sublime in them.\n\n\"And I say and maintain that all that is sheer nonsense!\" exclaimed the\nCollector with emphasis. \"I have examined the old toasting-iron no less\nthan a hundred times, and it isn't five hundred years old! It comes down\nperhaps from the time of the feud of Soest, when very likely one of the\nArchbishop's cavalrymen crawled into the bushes here and left it.\"\n\n\"The devil take you!\" cried the Justice, pounding his fist on the table.\nThen he mumbled softly to himself \"Just wait; you'll get your punishment\nfor that this very day!\"\n\nThe servant came out of the door. He was carrying a terra-cotta jug with\na rather large circumference and a strange, exotic appearance, gripping\nit firmly and carefully by the handles with both hands.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the Collector, when he had obtained a closer view of it.\n\"What a splendid large amphora! Where did it come from?\"\n\nThe Justice replied with an air of indifference: \"Oh, I found the old\njug in the ditch a week ago when we were digging out gravel. There was\na lot more stuff around there, but the men smashed it all to pieces\nwith their picks. This jug was the only thing they spared, and, inasmuch\nas you are here, I wanted you to see it.\"\n\nThe Collector looked at the large, well-preserved vessel with moist\neyes. Finally he stammered: \"Can't we strike a bargain for it?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the peasant coldly. \"I'll keep the pot for myself.\" He\nmotioned to the servant, and the latter started to carry the amphora\nback into the house. He was prevented from doing so, however, by the\nCollector, who, without turning his eyes away from it, besought its\nowner with all kinds of lively arguments to turn the longed-for wine-jug\nover to him. But it was all in vain; the Justice, in the face of the\nmost urgent entreaties, maintained an attitude of unshakable composure.\nIn this way he formed the motionless centre-figure of the group, of\nwhich the peasants, listening to the business with open mouths, the\nservant tugging the jug with both handles toward the house, and the\nantiquarian holding on to the lower end, constituted the excited lateral\nand secondary figures. Finally the Justice said that he had been of a\nmind to give the jug to his guest along with several other pieces which\nhe had previously discovered, because he himself would take pleasure in\nseeing the old things arranged in order on the shelves of the collection\naround the room, but that the constant attacks made by the Collector\nagainst the sword of Carolus Magnus had annoyed him, and that he had\ndecided, therefore, to keep the jug after all.\n\nThereupon, after a pause, the Collector said in a dejected tone that to\nerr was human, that medieval weapons could not always be distinguished\nwith certainty as to their age, that he himself was less of an expert\nin these than in Roman relics, and that there were after all many things\nabout the sword which seemed to indicate a more remote age, before the\nfeud of Soest. Whereupon the Justice replied that general statements of\nthat kind were of no use to him; he wanted to have the dispute and doubt\nregarding his sword settled once and for all, and there was only one way\nfor the Collector to gain possession of the old jug, namely, by writing\nout on the spot a signed statement, wherein he should formally recognize\nthe sword kept in the Oberhof as the actual sword of Charles the Great.\n\nOn hearing this a severe conflict ensued in the Collector's mind between\nhis antiquarian conscience and his antiquarian longing. He pouted his\nlips and tapped with his fingers about the spot where he had concealed\nthe bone from the battlefield of Teutoburg. Evidently he was striving to\nsubdue the exhortations of a desire which was seducing him into signing\nan untruthful statement. Finally, however, passion, as is always the\nway, got the upper hand; suddenly demanding pen and paper, he made out\nin hot haste, now and then casting furtive glances at the amphora, a\ndirect statement to the effect that he, after frequent examinations of\nit, recognized and declared the sword in the Oberhof as one formerly\nbelonging to the Emperor, Charles the Great.\n\nThis document the Justice had signed by the two peasants as witnesses;\nthen he folded the paper several times and put it into his pocket. Old\nSchmitz, on the other hand, made a quick grab for the amphora which he\nhad purchased at the expense of his better judgment. The Justice said\nthat he would deliver the jug to him in the city on the following day.\nBut what collector could ever get along, even for a minute, without the\nactual possession of a piece of property acquired at so high a price?\nOur Collector resolutely declined to submit to any delay; he had a\nstring brought to him, ran it through the handles, and suspended the\nlarge wine-jug over his shoulders. After that, the Collector having\nfirst been invited to the wedding, the two men parted in the best of\nhumor; and the latter with his bulging angularities, his swelled-up,\nprotruding coat-tails, and with the amphora bobbing back and forth at\nhis left side, made a remarkable spectacle as he walked away.\n\nThe peasants wished their adviser a good morning, promised to bear his\nadvice in mind, and departed, each one to his own farmstead. The\nJustice, who, dealing with all the people who had come to him in the\ncourse of an hour, had successfully handled everything undertaken, first\ntook the newly-acquired document of recognition to the room where he\nkept the sword of Charles the Great, and then went with the servant to\nthe granary to measure out oats for the horses.\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE OBERHOF\n\n\n\"Westphalia formerly consisted of individual estates, each one of which\nhad its own free possessor. Several such estates constituted a\nBauerschaft (peasant community), which, as a rule, bore the name of the\noldest estate. It lay in the original character of the peasant\ncommunities that the oldest estate should also stand first in rank and\ncome to be the most aristocratic, and here from time to time the\nchildren, grandchildren and house-inmates, ceasing work for a few days,\ncame together and feasted. The beginning, or else the end, of the summer\nwas the usual time for this event, and then every estate-owner brought\nalong with him for the feast some of the fruits which he himself had\nraised, and perhaps a calf or lamb as well. Then all sorts of matters\nwere discussed, opinions were exchanged, marriages performed, deaths\nmade known, and then the son, as the succeeding head of his father's\nestate, was sure to make his first appearance in the company with fuller\nhands and a choicer animal. Disagreements were unavoidable on these\ndays of joy, and in the event of one, the father, as the head of the\noldest estate, stepped in and, with the approval of the rest, put an end\nto the quarrel. If during the previous year any of the estate-owners had\ndisagreed about some matter, both of them brought forward their\ngrievances before the next gathering, and both were satisfied with\nwhatever decision their fellows deemed right and just. After all the\neatables had been devoured, and the tree set aside for the occasion had\nbeen burned up, the feast, or the gathering, came to an end. Each one\nreturned home, related the events of the occasion to the waiting members\nof his household, and came to be a living and continuing authority\nregarding all the happenings of their peasant community.\n\nThese gatherings were called Conferences, Peasant Conferences, because\nall the estate-owners of a peasant community came together to confer\nwith one another, and also Peasant Tribunals, because here the\nconflicting claims of the men, already by tacit agreement combined in a\nunion, were either settled or rejected. Inasmuch as the Peasant\nConferences or Peasant Tribunals were held at the oldest and most\naristocratic estate, such an estate was called Court Estate, and the\nPeasant Conferences and Peasant Tribunals were called Court Conferences\nand Court Tribunals; and the latter, even at the present day, have not\nentirely disappeared. The oldest estate, the Court Estate, was called by\nway of distinction simply the Estate, the name whereby the people\ndesignated the Main Estate or the Oberhof of the peasant community, and\nits owner as the head or chief of the rest.\n\nThus in a general way we account for the origin of the first association\nand the first judicial arrangement of the Westphalian Estates or peasant\ncommunities. It is the less surprising when we consider that the former\ncondition of Westphalia permitted only a slow increase of population\nand a gradual development of agriculture; and precisely this gradual\nprogress led to those simple and uniform arrangements, as also to the\nsimilarity of culture, manners and customs, which we find among the\nancient inhabitants of Westphalia.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE OBERHOF BY BENJAMIN VAUTIER]\n\nThis passage from Kindlinger's _Contributions to the History of the\nDiocese of M\u00fcnster_ conducts us to the scene of our story. It throws a\nlight on our hero, the Justice. He was the owner of one of the largest\nand wealthiest of the Main Estates, or Oberhofs, which still exist in\nthose regions, but which, to be sure, have now fused together to a small\nnumber.\n\nThere is something remarkable about the first traditions of a tribe, and\nthe people as a whole have just as long a memory as the individual\npersons, who are wont to retain faithfully to extreme old age the\nimpressions of early childhood. When now we consider that an individual\nhuman life may last as long as ninety years, and, furthermore, that the\nyears of a people are as centuries, it is no longer a matter of wonder\nto us that, in the regions where the events of our story took place, we\nstill here and there come across much that points back to the time when\nthe great Emperor of the Franks succeeded, by means of fire and sword,\nin converting the obstinate inhabitants.\n\nAnd so if, in the place where once the Supreme Justice and the heir of\nthe region lived, Nature once more awakens special qualities in a\nperson, there may grow up amid these thousand-year-old memories and\nbetween the boundaries and ditches which are, after all, still\nrecognizable, a figure like our Justice, whose right of existence is not\nacknowledged by the powers of the present, to be sure, but which for its\nown self, and among its own kind, may temporarily restore a condition\nwhich disappeared long ago.\n\nLet us look around in the Oberhof itself. If the praise of a friend is\nalways very ambiguous, then surely one may trust the envy of an enemy;\nand the person most worthy of credit is a horse-dealer, who calls\nspecial attention to the comfortable circumstances of a peasant with\nwhom he could not agree in a matter of business. To be sure, one could\nnot say, as the horse-dealer Marx did, that the surroundings reminded\none of a count's estate; on the other hand, in whatever direction one\nlooked there was an atmosphere of peasant prosperity and opulence which\ncould not but call out to the hungriest stranger: Here you can eat your\nfill; the plate is never empty.\n\nThe estate lay entirely alone on the border of the fertile plain, at the\npoint where it passes over into hilly woodland; indeed, the Justice's\nlast fields lay on a gentle slope, and a mile away were the mountains.\nThe nearest neighbor in the peasant community lived a quarter of an hour\naway from the estate, around which were spread out all the possessions\nwhich a large country household had need of--fields, woods and meadows,\nall in compact uninterrupted continuity.\n\nFrom the foot of the hills the fields ran down in beautiful order across\nthe plain. It was, moreover, about the time when the rye was in blossom;\nits exhalation, as a thank-offering of the soil, rose from the spikelets\nand was wafted aloft on the warm summer breezes. Single rows of\nhigh-trunked ashes and knotty elms, planted on either side of the old\nboundary ditches, inclosed a part of the cornfields, and, being visible\nfrom afar, indicated, more definitely than stones and stakes can do, the\nlimits of the inheritance. A deep road ran between dikes of earth\ndiagonally across the fields, branched off into paths at several places\non both sides, and led, at the point where the grain ceased, into a\nvigorous and well-kept oak grove, under which a number of hogs were\ncomfortably imbedded in the soil, the shade of which, however, was\nequally refreshing to human beings. This grove, which supplied the\nJustice with wood, extended to within a few paces of the farmhouse and\ninclosed it on two sides, thus, at the same time, affording it\nprotection against the east and north winds.\n\nThe house, which had two stories, and the walls of which were of\npanel-work painted white and yellow, was roofed only with straw; but,\nas the latter was always kept in the very best condition, it did not\nproduce an impression of poverty, but, on the contrary, rather increased\nthe general effect of comfort which the house imparted. Of the inside we\nshall learn more anon; suffice it to say for the present that on the\nother side of the house there was a large yard, surrounded by barns and\nstables, in the plastered walls of which the keenest eye could not\ndetect a faulty spot. Large lindens stood before the front door, and\nthere too, but not on the wall side, seats were placed, as we have\nalready seen. For the Justice, even when he was resting, wanted to keep\nan eye on his household.\n\nDirectly opposite the house one looked through a lattice gate into the\norchard, where strong and healthy fruit-trees spread their leafy\nbranches out over the fresh grass, vegetables and lettuce. Here and\nthere, in between, little beds of red roses and fire-lilies were\nthriving. Of the latter, however, there were very few, for a true\npeasant devotes his ground only to necessary things, even when his\ncircumstances permit him to cultivate some of nature's luxuries.\n\nEverything beyond the orchard, as far as the eye could see, was green.\nFor on the other side of the garden lay the extensive meadows of the\nOberhof, in which the Justice had room and fodder for his horses. Their\nbreeding, carried on with great industry, was one of the most lucrative\nsources of income the estate enjoyed. These verdant meadows were also\nsurrounded by hedges and ditches; one of them, moreover, contained a\npond in which well-fed carp swam about in shoals.\n\nOn this rich estate, surrounded by full barns, full lofts and stables,\ndwelt the old, widely respected Justice. But if one climbed the highest\nhill on the border of his land, one could see from there the towers of\nthree of the oldest cities in Westphalia.\n\nAt the time of which I speak it was approaching eleven o'clock in the\nforenoon. The whole vast estate was so quiet that scarcely any noise was\naudible, save the rustling of the leaves in the tree-tops. The Justice\nwas measuring out oats to his servant, who flung each sack across his\nshoulders and trudged slowly over to the stable with it. The daughter\nwas counting up her dowry of linen and wool, and a maid was working in\nthe kitchen. All the other dwellers on the estate were lying asleep; for\nit was just before the harvest-time, when peasants have the least to do,\nand the workmen use every spare minute for sleep, in order to prepare\nthemselves, in a measure, for the approaching days of toil and sweat.\nFor in general, country people, like dogs, can, if they wish to, sleep\nat all hours of the day and night.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nWHEREIN THE HUNTER SENDS HIS COMPANION OUT AFTER A PERSON BY THE NAME OF\nSCHRIMBS OR PEPPEL, AND COMES HIMSELF TO THE OBERHOF\n\n\nFrom the hills which bordered the Justice's fields there came forth two\nmen of different appearance and age. The one, clad in a green hunter's\njacket, with a little cap on his curly head and a light Li\u00e8ge gun on his\narm, was a strikingly handsome youth; the other, dressed in more quiet\ncolors, was an elderly man with a frank and sincere manner. The younger\nstrode on ahead, as nimbly as a stag, while the older maintained a\nsomewhat slower gait, like that of a worn-out hunting-dog lagging behind\nthe master to whom he is still ever faithful. After they had emerged\ninto an open space at the foot of the hills, they both sat down on a\nlarge stone, which lay there beside several others in the shade of a\nmighty linden. The younger man gave some money and papers to the older,\npointed out to him the direction in which he was to continue his way,\nand said:\n\n\"Go now, Jochem, and be discreet, so that we can get hold of this\nconfounded Schrimbs or Peppel who has been inventing such monstrous\nlies, and as soon as you discover him, let me know.\"\n\n\"I'll be discreet all right,\" replied old Jochem. \"I'll make such sly\nand secret inquiries in all the villages and cities about a man who\nsigns his name Schrimbs or Peppel, that it would have to be the devil's\nown fault if I don't succeed in locating the wretch. In the meanwhile\nyou lie low here _incognito,_ until you receive further news from me.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the young man, \"and now, Jochem, be very cautious and\nthoughtful all the time in the way you handle the matter, for we are no\nlonger in dear Suabia, but out among the Saxons and Franks.\"\n\n\"The miserable fellows!\" exclaimed old Jochem. \"Faith, they have long\ntalked about Suabian stupidities! They shall see that a Suabian can be a\nsly bird too when it is necessary.\"\n\n\"And keep always to the right, my Jochem, for the last tracks of this\nSchrimbs or Peppel are headed that way,\" said the young man, standing up\nand giving the old man a cordial parting handshake.\n\n\"Always to the right, of course,\" replied the latter. He handed over to\nthe other his hunting-bag, which was stuffed full, and which up to now\nhe had been carrying, lifted his hat and went off, following a side-path\nat the right, down toward the region where, in the distance, one could\nsee towering up one of the steeples mentioned in the foregoing chapter.\n\nThe young man, on the other hand, went directly down toward the Oberhof.\nHe had taken perhaps a hundred steps when he heard somebody running\nbehind him and panting. He turned around and saw that his old companion\nwas hurrying after him.\n\n\"There was one more thing I wanted to ask and beg of you,\" the latter\ncried. \"Now that you are alone and left to yourself, get rid of your\ngun; for you certainly won't hit anything and, sure as death, you will\nhave a mishap again, as you almost did not long ago when you fired at\nthe hare and came very near killing the child.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is damnable to be always firing at things and never hitting\nthem,\" said the young man. \"But, truly, I'll put restraint on myself, no\nmatter how hard it may be to do it, and not a single shot shall fly out\nof these barrels as long as you are away from me.\"\n\nThe old man begged him for the gun, but the young man refused to give it\nup, saying that, without a gun, it would surely cost no self-restraint\nto refrain from shooting, and that his method of procedure would then\nlose all its merit.\n\n\"That is very true,\" replied the old man, and, without bidding his\ncompanion a second good-by, inasmuch as the first one still held good,\nhe went back reassured, along the path which had been pointed out to\nhim.\n\nThe young man stood still, rested the gun on the ground, thrust the\nramrod into the barrel, and said:\n\n\"It will be difficult to get the charge out, and yet it can't stay in.\"\nWith that he tossed the gun over his shoulder and walked in the\ndirection of the Justice's oak grove. Just before he got there a drove\nof heath fowl started up from a narrow strip of borderland, flapping\ntheir wings and screaming loudly. In exultation the young man snatched\nthe gun from his shoulder, crying: \"Here's my chance to get rid of the\nshot forthwith!\" and took aim. Both barrels went off with a roar, and\nthe birds flew away uninjured. The hunter gazed after them in\nastonishment and said:\n\n\"This time I thought I couldn't have helped hitting something. Well,\nfrom now on I shall certainly restrain myself.\" With that he continued\nhis way through the oak grove to the house.\n\nWhen he entered the door he saw, sitting at dinner in a high and\nspacious hall which took up the entire centre of the house, the Justice,\nhis daughter, his farm-hands and maids, and in a resonant, euphonious\nvoice he gave them a friendly greeting. The Justice scrutinized him with\ncare, the daughter with astonishment; as for the men and maids, they\ndid not look at him at all, but went on eating without paying any\nattention to him. The Hunter approached the master of the estate and\ninquired about the distance to the nearest city and the way to get\nthere. At first the Justice did not understand his strange-sounding\nlanguage, but the daughter, without once turning her eyes from the\nhandsome Hunter, helped her father to get the meaning, whereupon he gave\nthe correct information. Only after three repetitions was the Hunter, on\nhis part, able to understand the reply; but he finally succeeded in\nmaking out that the city was not to be reached in less than two long\nhours, and then only by a path which was difficult to find.\n\nThe midday heat, combined with the sight of the tidy meal before him and\nhis own hunger, prompted the Hunter to ask the question whether for love\nor money he could have something to eat and drink and shelter till the\ncool of evening.\n\n\"For money, no!\" replied the Justice, \"but for love the gentleman may\nhave dinner and supper and a place to rest as long as he wants it.\" He\nhad a tin plate, as clear and bright as a mirror, a knife, a fork and a\nspoon, just as bright as the plate, laid upon the table, and pressed his\nguest to sit down. The latter fell upon the well-cooked ham, the big\nbeans, the eggs and sausages, which constituted the meal, with all the\nappetite of youth, and discovered that the food of the country, which\nwas everywhere decried as Boeotian, was, on the contrary, not at all\nbad.\n\nVery little talking was done by the hosts, for peasants do not like to\nspeak while they are eating. Howsoever, the Hunter, on inquiry, managed\nto find out from the Justice that no man by the name of Schrimbs or\nPeppel was known anywhere around in that vicinity. The farm-hands and\nmaids, who sat apart from the seats of honor at the other end of the\nlong table, kept absolutely silent and looked only at the dishes out of\nwhich they spooned their food into their mouths. After they had\nfinished eating, however, and had wiped their mouths, they stepped up to\nthe Justice, one after the other, and said: \"Master, my motto;\"\nwhereupon the Justice addressed to each one a proverbial phrase or a\nbiblical passage. Thus to the first man, a red-haired fellow, he said:\n\"Proneness to dispute lights a fire, and proneness to fight sheds\nblood;\" to the second, a slow, fat man: \"Go to the ant, thou sluggard,\nconsider her ways and be wise;\" to the third, a small, black-eyed,\nbold-looking customer: \"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.\"\nThe first maid received the motto: \"If you have cattle, take care of\nthem, and if they bring you profit, keep it;\" and to the second he said:\n\"Nothing's ever locked so tight but it will some day come to light.\"\n\nAfter each one had been remembered in this way, they all went off to\ntheir work, some looking unconcerned, others embarrassed. The second\ngirl blushed a deep crimson when she heard her motto. The Hunter, who\nwas gradually learning to understand the local dialect, listened to this\nlesson with astonishment, and after it was over he asked what the\npurpose of it was.\n\n\"To give them something to think about,\" said the Justice. \"When they\ncome together here again tonight, each one of them will tell me what he\nor she has been thinking relative to the motto. Most of the work in the\ncountry is of such a kind that, in doing it, the people are liable to\nthink all sorts of things, and they get a lot of bad notions in their\nheads, which afterwards break out in the form of wantonness, lies, and\ndeception. But when a man has such a motto to ponder over, he will not\nrest until he has extracted the moral from it, and meanwhile the time\nhas elapsed without any evil thoughts having entered his mind.\"\n\n\"You are a true philosopher and priest,\" cried the Hunter, whose\namazement was increasing with every minute.\n\n\"One can accomplish a great deal with a person when one brings morality\nhome to him,\" said the Justice thoughtfully. \"But morality sticks in\nshort sayings better than in long speeches and sermons. My people keep\nstraight much longer since I hit upon the morality idea. To be sure it\ndoes not work all the year round; during planting and harvest-time all\nthinking ceases. But it isn't necessary then anyway, because they have\nno time for wickedness.\"\n\n\"You have, then, regular sections in your teaching?\" asked the Hunter.\n\n\"In winter,\" replied the Justice, \"the mottoes usually begin after\nthreshing and last until sowing. In summer, on the other hand, they are\nassigned from Walpurgis Night until dog days. Those are the times when\npeasants have the least to do.\"\n\nWith that he left the young man, who got up and looked around in the\nhouse, the yard, the orchard, and the meadow. He spent several hours in\nthis inspection, since everything he saw attracted him. The rural\nstillness, the green of the meadows, the prosperity which beamed upon\nhim from the whole estate, all made a most pleasant impression, and\naroused in him a desire to spend the one or two weeks that might elapse\nbefore he received news from old Jochem there in the open country rather\nthan in the narrow alleys of a small city. Inasmuch as he wore his heart\non his tongue, he went forthwith to the Justice, who was in the oak\ngrove marking a pair of trees for felling, and expressed his wish. In\nreturn he offered to assist in anything that might be of use to his\nhost.\n\nBeauty is an excellent dowry. It is a key which, like that little one of\ngold, opens by magic seven locks, each one different from the rest. The\nold man gazed for a moment at the youth's slim yet robust figure and at\nhis honest and at the same time splendidly aristocratic face, and at\nfirst shook his head persistently; then, however, he nodded approvingly,\nand, finally growing friendly, granted him his request. He assigned to\nthe Hunter a corner room on the upper floor of the house, from one side\nof which one could see across the oak grove toward the hills and\nmountains, and from the other out over the meadows and corn fields. The\nguest had, to be sure, in place of paying for his room and board, to\npromise to fulfil a very peculiar condition. For the Justice did not\nlike to have even beauty favored without an equivalent return.\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE HUNTER HIRES OUT AS POACHER\n\n\nHe asked the young man, before he promised him quarters, whether he was\na lover of hunting, as his green suit, gun and hunting-bag seemed to\nindicate. The latter replied that, as far back as he could remember, he\nhad always had a passion amounting to real madness for deer-shooting; in\nsaying which, to be sure, he concealed the fact that, with the exception\nof a sparrow, a crow, and a cat, no creature of God had ever fallen\nvictim to his powder and lead. This was in reality the case. He could\nnot live without firing a few times a day at something, but he regularly\nmissed his aim; in his eighteenth year he had killed a sparrow, in his\ntwentieth a crow, and in his twenty-fourth a cat. And that was all.\n\nAfter the Justice had received his guest's affirmative answer, he came\nout with his proposition, which was, namely, that the Hunter should\nevery day lie out in the fields a few hours and keep off the wild\nanimals, which were causing a great deal of injury to his corn fields,\nespecially those lying on the slope at the foot of the hills.\n\n\"Yonder in the mountains,\" said the old peasant, \"the noblemen have\ntheir great hunting-ranges. The creatures have already in past years\neaten up and trampled down enough of my crops, but this is the first\nyear that it has become serious. The reason is, that the young count\nover there is an ardent hunter and has enlarged his stock of game, so\nthat his stags and roes come out of the forest like sheep and completely\nruin the product of my toil and sweat. I myself do not understand the\nbusiness, and I don't like to turn it over to my men because it gives\nthem an easy chance, under the pretext of lying in wait, to become\ndisorderly. Consequently the beasts have now and then worked enough\nhavoc to make a man's heart ache. Your coming now is, therefore, very\nopportune, and if for these two weeks before harvest you will keep the\ncreatures out of my corn for me, we'll call that payment for your room\nand board.\"\n\n\"What? I a poacher? I a game thief?\" cried the man, and he laughed so\nloudly and heartily that the Justice could not help joining in. Still\nlaughing, the latter ran his hand over the fine cloth of which his\nguest's clothing was made.\n\n\"That is just why I want you to do it,\" he said, \"because with you there\nwill be no particular danger even if you are caught. You will know how\nto get yourself out of it better than one of these poor farm laborers.\nFlies get caught in a cobweb, but wasps flit straight through them. But\nwhat kind of a crime is it anyway to protect your own property against\nmonsters that eat it up and ruin it?\" he cried, the laugh on his face\nsuddenly changing into an expression of the most fervent anger. The\nveins in his brow swelled up, the blood in his cheeks turned deep\ncrimson, and the whites of his eyes became bloodshot; one might have\ntaken fright at the sight of the old man.\n\n\"You are right, father, there is nothing more unreasonable than the\nso-called hunting privileges,\" said the Hunter, in order to pacify him.\n\"For that reason I will take upon myself the sin of violating the game\nlaws of the local nobility in the interest of your estate, although by\nso doing I shall really be--\"\n\nHe was going to add something more, but suddenly broke off and passed\nover to other indifferent matters.\n\nBut any one who thinks that the conversation between this Westphalian\njustice and the Suabian hunter ran as smoothly as my pen has written it\ndown, is mistaken. On the contrary, it was frequently necessary for them\nto repeat several times before a barely sufficient understanding came\nabout between them. Now and then they were even compelled to resort to\nmaking signs with their fingers. For in all his life the Justice had\nnever heard _ch_ pronounced after _s_; furthermore he brought all his\nsounds up out of his gullet, or, if you will, out of his throat. In the\nHunter, on the other hand, the divine gift which distinguishes us from\nbeasts was located between his front teeth and his lips, whence the\nsounds broke forth in a wonderful sonorous gravity and fulness and a\nbuzzing sibilancy. But through these strange husks the young man and the\nold one soon learned to like each other. Inasmuch as both were men of\nfull-weight, sterling stuff they could not fail to understand each\nother's inmost nature.\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE HUNTER WRITES TO HIS FRIEND\n\n\nNow I may write about things that are pleasant. I cannot possibly tell\nyou how happy I am here in the solitude of this hill-girt Westphalian\nplain, where I have been quartered for a week among people and cattle.\nAmong people and cattle is indeed literally the case, for the cows do\nactually stand right in the house on both sides of the large\nentrance-hall. There is, however, absolutely nothing unpleasant or\nunclean about this; on the contrary it rather helps to increase the\nimpression of patriarchal house-management. In front of my window stand\nrustling oak-trees, and beyond them I look out on long, long meadows and\nwaving cornfields, between which I see here and there a grove of oaks\nand a lone farmstead. For here it is as it was in the time of Tacitus:\n\"_Colunt discreti ac diversi, ut_ _fons, ut campus, ut nemus placuit_.\"\nConsequently even a single farm like this is a small State in itself,\ncomplete and rounded off, and the lord of it is just as much a king in\nhis small domain as a real king on a throne.\n\nMy host is a splendid old fellow. He is called Justice, although he\ncertainly has another name too; for that name, you see, has reference\nonly to the ownership of his property. I hear, however, that this is the\ncustom around here everywhere. For the most part only the estate has a\nname--the name of the owner sinks in that of the property; hence the\nearth-born, tough and enduring character of the people here. My Justice\nis a man of some sixty-odd years perhaps, but he carries a strong,\nlarge, rugged body, as yet unbent by age. In his reddish-yellow face is\ndeposited the solar heat of the fifty harvests he has gathered in, his\nlarge nose stands out on his face like a tower, and his white, bristly\neyebrows hang out over his glistening, blue eyes like a straw roof. He\nreminds me of a patriarch, who erects a monument of unhewn stones to the\ngod of his ancestors and pours libations and oil upon it, rears his\ncolts, cuts his corn, and at the same time judges and rules his people\nwith unlimited authority. I have never come across a more compact\nmixture of venerability and cunning, reason and obstinacy; he is a\ngenuine, old-time, free peasant in the full sense of the word. I believe\nthat this is the only place where people of this kind are still to be\nfound, here where precisely this living apart and this stubbornness\npeculiar to the ancient Saxons, combined with the absence of large\ncities, has perpetuated the original character of Germania. All\ngovernments and powers have merely skimmed over the surface here; they\nhave perhaps been able to break off the tops of the various growths, but\nnot to destroy their roots, from which fresh shoots have ever sprouted\nup again, even though they may no longer close together into leafy\ncrowns.\n\nThe region is not at all what one would call beautiful, for it consists\nsolely of billowy risings and fallings of the ground, and only in the\ndistance does one see the mountains; furthermore, the latter look more\nlike a dark hill-slope than a beautifully outlined mountain-range. But\njust this absence of pretension, the fact that the mountains do not seem\nto place themselves in dress parade directly in front of one's eyes and\nsay: \"How do you like me?\" but rather, like a dutiful stewardess, to\nserve the tilth of human hands even down to the smallest detail--after\nall makes me like them very much, and I have enjoyed many a pleasant\nhour in my solitary rambles. Perhaps the fact has something to do with\nit that my heart can once more swing out its pendulum undisturbed,\nwithout having wise people tinkering and twisting at the clock-works.\n\nI have even become poetic--what do you say to that, old Ernst? I have\njotted down something to which a divinely beautiful Sunday that I spent\nsome time ago in the wooded glens of the Spessart inspired me. I think\nyou will like it. It is called: \"The Marvels of the Spessart.\"\n\nWhat I like best is to sit up on the hill in a quiet spot between the\nJustice's cornfields, which terminate there. In front of me there is a\nlarge depression in the ground, grown over with weeds and blackberry\nbushes, around which, in a circle, lie a lot of large stones. Over the\nlargest of these, directly opposite the field, the branches of three old\nlindens spread out. Behind me rustles the forest. The spot is infinitely\nlonesome, secluded and secret, especially now that the corn is grown up,\nas tall as a man, behind it. I spend a great deal of time up there--not\nalways, to be sure, in sentimental contemplation of nature; it is my\nusual evening watchpost, from which I shoot the stags and roes out of\nthe Justice's corn.\n\nThey call the place the \"Freemen's Tribunal.\" Presumably, in days of\nyore, the Fehme used to hatch out its sentences there in the darkness of\nthe night. When I praised the place to my Justice, an expression of\nfriendliness passed over his face. He made no reply, but after a time\nconducted me, without any inducement on my part, to a room on the upper\nfloor of the house. There he opened an iron-bound trunk, showed me an\nold, rusty sword which was lying in it, and said with great solemnity:\n\"That is a great curiosity; it is the sword of Charles the Great,\npreserved for a thousand and more years in the Oberhof, and still in\nfull strength and power.\" Without adding any further explanations, he\nclapped the cover down again. I wouldn't for anything have shaken his\nbelief in this sacred relic, although a fleeting glance convinced me\nthat the broad-sword could scarcely be more than a few hundred years\nold. But he showed me too a formal attestation concerning the genuineness\nof the weapon, made out for him by an obliging provincial scholar.\n\n[Illustration: THE FREEMEN'S TRIBUNAL _By Benjamin Vautier_]\n\nWell, then, I shall stay here among the peasants until old Jochem sends\nme news of Schrimbs or Peppel. To be sure, in the course of my\neighty-mile journey I have cooled down a little, for it makes\nconsiderable difference when two weeks intervene between a project and\nits execution. Furthermore the question now is: What sort of revenge\nshall I take on him? But all that will take care of itself later on.\n\nMentor, you shall soon hear more, I hope, from your Not-Telemachus.\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nHOW THE HUNTER LIVES AT THE OBERHOF\n\n\nSeveral days passed at the Oberhof in the usual quiet, monotonous way.\nStill no word came from old Jochem, regarding either himself or the\nescaped adventurer; and a mild anxiety gradually began, after a while,\nto steal over his young master. For nowadays time is so regulated and so\nenmeshes us that nobody, no matter how free and independent he may be,\ncan long endure an existence which does not offer him some occupation\nor social relation to fall back on.\n\nAs much as he could, to be sure, the Hunter associated with the Justice,\nand the man's originality continued to attract him just as strongly as\nit had done on the first day of their acquaintance. But the old man was\noccupied the greater part of the time with matters pertaining to his\nhousehold, and then he had, too, a great many things to discuss with\noutsiders, since every day people dropped in at the farm to solicit his\nhelp or advice. On these occasions the Hunter noticed that the Justice,\nin the truest sense of the word, never did anything gratis. For\nneighbors, relatives, and friends he was ready to do anything, but they\nhad always to do something for him in return, even were it only an\nerrand in a neighboring peasant community, or some other small service\nof this kind.\n\nEvery day something was fired at, but regularly missed; so that the old\nman, who invariably hit his mark, no matter what he aimed at, began to\nlook with astonishment upon these futile efforts. It was a fortunate\nthing for our Hunter that the nearest estate-owner happened at that time\nto be away on a trip with his family and servants, otherwise the\nprofessional gunners up on the \"Open Tribunal\" would probably have\ncaught him sooner or later.\n\nAt noon on the following day the Hunter heard a noise under his window;\nhe looked out and saw that a number of men were standing in front of the\nhouse. Just then the Justice, dressed in his Sunday clothes, stepped out\nof the door, and at the same time a two-horse wagon drew up opposite by\nthe oak grove. In the wagon was a man in black robes, apparently a\nclergyman; he was sitting among several baskets, in some of which fowls\nseemed to be fluttering. A little behind him sat a woman in _bourgeois_\ndress, who was holding another basket rigidly in her lap. In front by\nthe horses stood a peasant with the whip, his arm resting on the neck of\none of the animals. Beside him was a maid, also holding a basket,\ncovered with a snow-white napkin, under her arm. A man in a wide brown\novercoat, whose thoughtful gait and solemn face made it at once\nunmistakably evident that he was a sexton, walked with dignity from the\nwagon to the house, placed himself in front of the Justice, lifted his\nhat, and recited the following verses:\n\n  Before your gate you now may see\n  The Sexton and the Dominie,\n  The Sexton's wife, the house-maid too,\n  Who've come to get what is their due,\n  By custom old from this domain,\n  The hens, the eggs, the cheeses twain;\n  So tell us then without delay\n  If you are all prepared to pay.\n\nWhile listening to this little recitation the Justice had respectfully\nremoved his hat. Afterwards he approached the wagon, bowed to the\nclergyman, reverently helped him to alight, and then stood off at one\nside with him and held a conversation, which the Hunter could not\noverhear, about various matters. In the meantime the woman with the\nbasket had also stepped down and taken a position beside the Sexton, the\npeasant and the maid, and behind the two chief persons, as if for a\nprocession.\n\nThe Hunter, in order to ascertain the significance of this scene, went\ndownstairs and observed that the entrance-hall was sprinkled with white\nsand, and the best room, adjacent to it, decorated with green branches.\nInside, also dressed up in her Sunday best, sat the daughter; she was\nspinning as if she meant to turn out an entire skein of yarn that very\nday. She looked very red and did not glance up from her work. He entered\nthe room and was just about to obtain his information from her, when the\nprocession of strangers, including the Justice, crossed the threshold of\nthe entrance-hall. At the head marched the clergyman, behind him the\nSexton, then the peasant, then the maid, then the Sexton's wife, and\nfinally the Justice, each one marching alone. The clergyman approached\nthe daughter, who had not yet glanced up from her spinning-wheel,\naddressed her with a friendly greeting, and said:\n\n\"Quite right, Miss! When the bride-to-be makes her wheel go so\nindustriously beforehand, her sweetheart may hope and expect to have\nfull chests and boxes afterwards. When is the wedding to be?\"\n\n\"A week from Thursday, your reverence, if it is permissible,\" replied\nthe bride, turning, if possible, even redder than before. She humbly\nkissed the clergyman's hand--the latter was still a youngish man--took\nhis hat and cane from him, and handed him, by way of welcome, a\nrefreshing drink. The others, after they had formed a circle around the\nbride, and had likewise remembered her with a handshake and an\nexpression of good will, also partook of the refreshing beverage;\nthereupon they left the room and went into the entrance-hall. The\nclergyman, however, continued to discuss the affairs of the community\nwith the Justice, who, with his hat in his hand all the time, stood\nbefore him in reverential posture.\n\nThe young Hunter, who, unnoticed by the others, had been watching the\nscene from a corner of the room, would have liked to greet the clergyman\nbefore now, but he felt that it would be rude to break in upon the\nconversation between the strangers and the inmates of the house, a\nconversation which, in spite of the rusticity of the scene, had yet an\nair of diplomatic ceremony. For in the clergyman he recognized, with\njoyful astonishment, a former academic acquaintance.\n\nThe Justice now left the room for a moment, and the Hunter went over to\nthe Pastor and greeted him by name. The clergyman started and passed his\nhand across his eyes, but he, likewise, at once recognized the other and\nwas no less happy to see him.\n\n\"But,\" he added to the first words of greeting, \"this is no place nor\ntime for a talk. Come along with me afterwards when I drive away from\nthe farm--then we can have a chat together. I am a public character\nhere and stand under the constraint of a most imperious ceremonial. We\ncannot take any notice of each other, and you too, in a passive sort of\nway, must conform to the ritual. Above all things don't laugh at\nanything that you see--that would offend the good people extremely.\nThese old established customs, strange as they may seem, always have,\nnevertheless, their venerable side.\"\n\n\"Have no fear,\" replied the Hunter. \"But I should like to know--\"\n\n\"Everything afterwards!\" whispered the clergyman, glancing toward the\ndoor, which the Justice was just then re-entering. He retreated from the\nHunter just as from a stranger.\n\nThe Justice and his daughter themselves brought in the food and laid it\non the table, which had been set in this room. There were chicken soup,\na dish of French beans and a long sausage, roast pork and plums, butter,\nbread, and cheese, and, in addition, a bottle of wine. All this was put\non the table at the same time. The peasant too had left the horses and\ncome into the room. When everything was steaming on the table, which had\nbeen laid for only two persons, the Justice politely invited the\nclergyman to seat himself, and the latter, after saying grace, sat down,\nas did likewise, a short distance away from him, the peasant.\n\n\"Do I not eat here too?\" inquired the Hunter.\n\n\"Nay, God forbid!\" answered the Justice, and the bride looked at him\nfrom one side in amazement. \"Only the Diaconus and the Colonus eat\nhere--you sit at the table with the Sexton outside.\"\n\nThe Hunter went into another room, opposite, after observing to his\nsurprise that the Justice and his daughter themselves attended to the\nserving of this first and most aristocratic table. In the other room he\nfound the Sexton, his wife, and the maid, all standing around a table\nwhich had been laid there, and impatiently awaiting, as it seemed, the\narrival of their fourth companion. The same eatables were steaming on\nthis table, except that the butter and cheese were missing and beer took\nthe place of the wine. The Sexton stepped with dignity to the head seat\nand, keeping his eyes on the dishes, recited aloud the following verses:\n\n  The birds that fly, the beasts that crawl,\n  For man's behoof God made them all;\n  Chicken soup, beans, pork, plums and veal,\n  Are gifts divine--Lord bless the meal!\n\nThereupon the company sat down, with the Sexton at the head of the\ntable. The latter did not for a moment forget his solemn dignity, nor\nhis wife her basket, which she put down close beside her. The Pastor's\nmaid, on the other hand, had unassumingly set hers aside. During the\nmeal, which was piled up on the dishes in veritable mountains, not a\nword was spoken. The Sexton gravely devoured portions that might be\ncalled enormous, while his wife was not a great way behind him. Here\nagain it was the maid who showed herself to be most modest. As for the\nHunter, he confined his attention almost entirely to looking on; for the\nday's ceremonies were not to his liking.\n\nAfter the meal was over the Sexton, smirking solemnly, said to the two\nmaids who had waited on the table:\n\n\"Now, if it please God, we will receive our legitimate dues and the\ngood-will accompanying them.\"\n\nThe maids, who had already cleared off the table, then went out. The\nSexton sat down on a chair in the middle of the room, while the two\nwomen, his wife and the maid, took seats on either side of him, putting\nthe newly-opened baskets down in front of them. After the expectation\nwhich the faces of the three expressed had lasted for several minutes,\nthe two maids re-entered, accompanied by their master, the Justice. The\nfirst was holding aloft a roomy basket of wickerwork, in which some hens\nwere anxiously clucking and flapping their wings. She put it down in\nfront of the Sexton, who glanced into it and counted:\n\n\"One, two, three, four, five, six--it is all right.\"\n\nThereupon the second maid counted out from a large piece of cloth into a\nbasket in front of the Pastor's maid, three score eggs and six round\ncheeses, not without the Sexton's carefully counting them all over after\nher. After this was done, the Sexton said:\n\n\"So then the Pastor is provided for, and now comes the Sexton.\"\n\nThereupon thirteen eggs and a single cheese were put into the basket in\nfront of his wife, who tested the freshness of each egg by shaking and\nsmelling it, and rejected two. After this proceeding the Sexton stood up\nand said to the Justice:\n\n\"How is it, Justice, about the second cheese which the Sexton still has\nthe right to expect from the farm?\"\n\n\"You yourself know, Sexton, that the right to the second cheese has\nnever been recognized by the Oberhof,\" replied the Justice. \"This\nalleged second cheese was due from the Baumann estate, which more than a\nhundred years ago was united under one hand with the Oberhof. Later on,\nthe two were again divided, and the Oberhof is obligated for only one\ncheese.\"\n\nThe Sexton's ruddy brown face took on the deepest wrinkles that it was\ncapable of producing, and divided itself into several pensive sections\nof a square, roundish or angular shape. He said:\n\n\"Where is the Baumann estate? It was split up and went to pieces in the\ntimes of disturbance. Is the Sexton's office to be the loser on that\naccount? It should not be so! Nevertheless, expressly reserving each and\nevery right in the matter of the second cheese due from the Oberhof, and\ncontested now for a hundred years, I hereby receive and accept one\ncheese. In accordance with which the legitimate dues of the Oberhof to\nboth Pastor and Sexton are paid, and now comes the good-will.\"\n\nThe latter consisted of freshly-baked rolls, six of which were laid in\nthe Pastor's basket and two in the Sexton's. With that the entire\nceremony was concluded. The Sexton came closer to the Justice, and\nrecited the following third effusion:\n\n  I find the six hens all correct,\n  The cheeses too without defect;\n  The eggs delivered are freshly laid,\n  And all the dues were promptly paid.\n  And so the Lord preserve your farm\n  From famine, fire, and other harm!\n  He is beloved of God and man\n  Who pays his debts as best he can.\n\nAfter that the Justice made a deep bow as a sign of thanks. The Sexton's\nwife and the maid carried the baskets out and packed them in the wagon.\nAt the same time the Hunter saw a maid carrying some dishes and plates\nout of the room in which the clergyman had eaten, into the\nentrance-hall, where she washed them before the eyes of the latter, who\nhad stepped up to the threshold of the room. After she had finished this\nwashing she approached the clergyman, who drew a small coin out of a\npiece of paper and gave it to her.\n\nIn the meanwhile the Sexton was drinking his coffee with relish, and\nwhen a cup was brought for the Hunter too, he sat down with it beside\nthe Sexton.\n\n\"I am a stranger here,\" said the young man, \"and do not entirely\nunderstand the customs which I have been witnessing today. Will you,\nsir, be good enough to explain them to me? Is it obligatory for the\npeasants to supply the Pastor with these products of nature?\"\n\n\"It is obligatory as far as the hens, eggs and cheeses are concerned,\nbut not the rolls. They represent merely goodwill, but have always been\npaid without objection,\" replied the Sexton with great seriousness.\n\"Three peasant communities are affiliated with the diaconate or head\npastorate in the city, and part of the Pastor's and Sexton's income is\nderived from these dues, which are collected every year from the various\nfarms. In order to do this collecting, as has been done every year since\ntime immemorial, we make annually two trips or rounds, namely, this\nshort summer trip, and then a long winter trip, shortly after Advent. On\nthe summer trip the hens, eggs and cheeses come due, one farm paying so\nmuch, another so much. The first item, namely, the hens, is payable,\nhowever, only _pro Diaconatu_, the Sexton having to content himself with\neggs and cheese only. In the winter, corn, barley, oats and rye fall\ndue; we come then with two carts, because one would not hold all the\nsacks. Thus twice a year we go the rounds of the three communities.\"\n\n\"And where do you go from here?\" asked the Hunter.\n\n\"Straight home,\" answered the Sexton. \"This community is the last of the\nthree, and this Oberhof is the last farm in this community where the\ncustomary dues are collected.\"\n\nThe Sexton was then called away, for the horses were hitched to the\ncart, and the clergyman, with cordial handshakes and good wishes, was\ntaking leave of the Justice and his daughter, who were now standing\nbefore him with the same air of friendly reverence that they had shown\nfor him during all the other proceedings of the day.\n\nThe procession now went rocking off between corn fields and high hedges\nalong another road than the one it had come by. The peasant, with the\nwhip in his hand, went on foot in front of the horses, and the cart\nrolled heavily along behind him. In addition to the two women, the\nSexton now sat in among the baskets with a feather pillow propped\nagainst his stomach for protection. The Hunter, who had modestly stood\nback during the preparations for departure, now, when the wagon had\nadvanced a short distance, hurried after it with hasty steps. He found\nthe Pastor, who had also remained behind his accumulation of property,\nwaiting for him in a pleasant spot under some trees. Here, unrestrained\nby the ceremonial of the Oberhof, they embraced each other, and the\nPastor said, laughing:\n\n\"I'll wager this is something you never expected--to discover in your\nformer acquaintance, who used to conduct his young Swedish Count so\nneatly about on the slippery ground of science and elegant life in the\nbig city, a figure who must remind you of the Reverend Lopez in\nFletcher's _Spanish Curate_. As for the proceedings which you have\nwitnessed today, it was absolutely necessary for me to go through with\nthem in person; my entire relation with the people would be broken if I\nmanifested any squeamishness about participating in the old custom. My\npredecessor in office, who was not a native of these parts, was ashamed\nof these regular trips and refused downright to have anything to do with\nthem. What was the result? He got himself into serious difficulties with\nthese rural parishes, which even had an influence on the decadence of\nschool and church affairs. He had finally to petition for his\ntransference, and I immediately made up my mind, when I received my\nappointment, that I would adapt myself in all things to the customs of\nthe place. In pursuance of this policy I have so far got along very\nwell, and the appearance of dependency which these trips give me, far\nfrom damaging my prestige, rather enhances and secures it.\"\n\n\"How could it be otherwise?\" cried the Hunter. \"I must confess to you\nthat during the entire ceremony, in spite of the comical atmosphere\nwhich your Sexton spread over it, I was really touched and the feeling\nnever once left me. Somehow I saw on the one hand, in your acceptance of\nthese most simple and material gifts, and, on the other, in the\nreverence with which they were bestowed, the most pious and unpretending\nsymbol of the church, which must have its daily bread in order to exist,\nand of the faithful who supply her earthly needs in the humble\nconviction that by so doing they will gain something of high and eternal\nvalue. Hence on neither the one side nor the other does a sense of\nservitude arise, but rather on both sides there is a deep feeling of the\nmost perfect mutuality.\"\n\n\"I am glad,\" said the Pastor, pressing the Hunter's hand, \"that you so\nregard it, since another person would perhaps have made fun of the whole\nbusiness. For that reason--I can now own up to it--I was at first not at\nall pleased to have you appear so unexpectedly as a witness of those\nscenes.\"\n\n\"God forbid that I should make fun of anything that I have seen in this\ncountry!\" replied the Hunter. \"I now rejoice that a mad freak brought me\nhere to these woods and fields, for otherwise I should probably never\nhave learned to know the region; for it has very little reputation\nabroad, and there is, in fact, nothing here to attract exhausted and\nsurfeited tourists. But the feeling has gripped me here even more\nstrongly than in my own home--this is soil which an unmixed race has\ntrod for more than a thousand years! And the idea of the immortality of\nthe people was wafted toward me in the rustling of these oaks and of\nthis surrounding vegetation in an almost, I might say, tangible form.\"\n\nA long conversation resulted from this remark, which was carried on\nalternately by both the Hunter and the Pastor, as they walked slowly\nalong behind the cart.\n\nWhen they took leave of each other the young Suabian was obliged to make\nhis friend a promise that he would visit him for a few days in the city.\nAfter that they separated and went off in opposite directions.\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE STRANGE FLOWER AND THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL\n\n\nThe sun was still high in the heavens. The Hunter felt no particular\ninclination to return to the Oberhof so early in the day, so he stepped\nup to one of the highest hedges to obtain a general view of the region.\nFrom there he saw rising, a short distance away, the bushy summits of a\ngroup of hills, through which he thought he could probably make his way\nand get back to his quarters before late in the evening.\n\nHis foot trod the fresh, damp green of a meadow bordered by bushes,\nunder which a stream of clear water was flowing. Not far away appeared\nsome small rocks, over which ran a narrow slippery path. He walked\nacross, climbed down between the cliffs, tucked up his sleeves, and put\nhis arm in the water; it sent a pleasant thrill through him and cooled\nhis hot blood. Thus, half kneeling, half sitting in the damp, dark,\nrock-begirt spot, he glanced aside into the open. There his eyes were\nfascinated by a glorious sight. Some old tree stumps had rotted in the\ngrass, and their black forms protruded from the surrounding vivid green.\nOne of them was entirely hollowed out, and inside of it the rotted wood\nhad formed a deposit of brown earth. Out of this earth and out of the\nstump, as from a crater, a most beautiful flower was growing. Above a\ncrown of soft, round leaves rose a long, slender stalk which bore large\ncups of an indescribably beautiful red. Deep down in the cups of the\nflower was a spot of soft, gleaming white which ran out to the edge of\nthe petals in tiny light-green veins. It was evidently not a native\nflower, but an exotic, whose seed some chance--who knows what?--had\ndeposited here in this little garden-bed, prepared by the putrefactive\npowers of Nature, and which a friendly summer sun had caused to grow and\nblossom.\n\nThe Hunter refreshed his eye in this charming sight. Intoxicated by the\nmagic of Nature, he leaned back and closed his eyes in sweet reveries.\nWhen he opened them again the scene had changed.\n\nA beautiful girl in simple attire, her straw hat hung over her arm, was\nkneeling by the flower, gently embracing its stalk as if it were her\nsweetheart's neck, and gazing into its red calyx with the sweetest look\nof joyful surprise. She must have approached quietly while the Hunter\nwas lying back, half asleep. She did not see him, for the cliffs hid him\nfrom her sight; and he was careful not to make any motion that might\nfrighten the vision away. But after a while, as she looked up from the\nflower with a sigh, her sidewise glance fell upon the water, and she\ncaught sight of a man's shadow! The Hunter saw her color pale, saw the\nflower drop from her hands--otherwise she remained motionless on her\nknees. He half arose between the cliffs, and four young eyes met! But\nonly for a moment! The girl, with fire in her face, quickly got up,\ntossed her straw hat on her head, and with three swift steps disappeared\ninto the bushes.\n\nThe Hunter now came out from among the cliffs and stretched out his arm\ntoward the bushes. Had the spirit of the flower become alive? He looked\nat it again--it did not seem as beautiful as it had a few minutes\nbefore.\n\n\"An amaryllis,\" he said, coldly. \"I recognize it now--I have it in my\ngreen-house.\"\n\nShould he follow the girl? He wanted to--but a mysterious shyness\nshackled his feet. He grasped his forehead. He had not been dreaming--he\nwas sure of that. \"And the occurrence,\" he cried at last with something\nlike an effort, \"is not so extraordinary that it must necessarily have\nbeen a dream. A pretty girl, who happened along this way, was enjoying a\npretty flower--that is all!\"\n\nHe wandered about among unknown mountains, valleys and tracts of\ncountry, as long as his feet would carry him. Finally it became\nnecessary for him to think of returning.\n\nLate, in the dark, and only through the help of a guide whom he came\nacross by accident, he reached the Oberhof. Here the cows were lowing,\nand the Justice was sitting at the table in the entrance-hall with his\ndaughter, men and maids, about to begin his moral talks. But it was\nimpossible for the Hunter to enter into them--everything seemed\ndifferent to him, coarse and inappropriate. He repaired immediately to\nhis room, wondering how he could pass away any more time here without\nknowing what was going to happen. A letter which he found there from his\nfriend Ernst in the Black Forest added to his discomfort. In this state\nof mind, which robbed him of part of his night's sleep and even the\nfollowing morning had not yet left him, he was glad indeed when the\nPastor sent a wagonette to bring him to the city.\n\nEven from a distance, towers, high walls and bulwarks made it evident\nthat the city, once a mighty member of the Hanseatic League, had seen\nits great days of defensive fighting. The deep moat was still extant,\nalthough now devoted to trees and vegetables. His vehicle, after it had\npassed under the dark Gothic gate, moved along somewhat heavily on the\nrough stone pavement, and finally drew up in front of a\ncomfortable-looking house, on the threshold of which the Pastor was\nstanding ready to receive him. He entered a cheerful and cosy household,\nwhich was animated by a sprightly, pretty wife and a couple of lively\nboys whom she had presented to her husband.\n\nAfter breakfast they went for a walk through the city. In the course of\nit the Hunter told his friend about his adventure in the woods.\n\n\"To judge by your description,\" said the latter, \"it was the blond\nLisbeth whom you saw. The dear child wanders around the country getting\nmoney for her old foster-father. She was at my home a few days ago, but\nwould not tarry with us. The girl is a most charming Cinderella, and I\nonly hope that she may find the Prince who will fall in love with her\nlittle shoe.\"\n\n[Illustration: LISBETH]\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE HUNTER SHOOTS AND HITS THE MARK\n\n\nAfter a sojourn of several days in the city the Hunter returned to the\nOberhof, and found the Justice repairing a barn door. The Hunter\ninformed him that he was going to depart soon, and the old man replied:\n\n\"I am rather glad of it; the little woman who had the room before you\nsent word to me that she would be back today or tomorrow; you would have\nto give way to her and I couldn't make you comfortable anywhere else.\"\n\nThe entire estate was swimming in the red light of evening. A pure\nsummer warmth pervaded the air, which was uncharged with any\nexhalations. It was quite deserted around the buildings; all the men and\nmaids must have been still busy in the fields. Even in the house he saw\nnobody when he went to his room. There he picked up and arranged what he\nhad from time to time written down during his stay, packed up his few\nbelongings, and then looked around for his gun. After a short search he\ndiscovered it behind a large cabinet where the peasant had concealed it.\nHe loaded it, and in two steps he was out of the house and headed for\nthe \"Open Tribunal,\" bent on shooting the restlessly heaving visions out\nof his soul. By the time he was traversing the fragrant, golden oak\ngrove he had recovered his high spirits.\n\nWhen he reached the Freemen's Tribunal up on the hill he felt quite\ncheerful. The ears of grain, heavy and plentiful, were nodding and\nrustling, the large red disk of the full moon was rising over the\neastern horizon, and the reflection of the sun, which had already sunk\nin the west, was still lighting up the sky. The atmosphere was so clear\nthat this reflected light shone a yellowish green.\n\nThe Hunter felt his youth, his health, his hopes. He took his position\nbehind a large tree on the edge of the forest.\n\n\"Today,\" he said, \"I will see whether fate can be bent. I'll fire only\nwhen something comes within three paces of the muzzle, and then if I\nshould miss it, there would needs be magic in it.\"\n\nBehind him was the forest, before him the low ground of the \"Freemen's\nTribunal,\" with its large stones and trees, and over opposite the\nsolitary spot was shut in by yellow corn fields. In the tree-tops above\nhim the turtle-doves were cooing now and then a faint note, and through\nthe branches of the trees by the \"Freemen's Tribunal\" the wild\nhawk-moths were beginning to whir with their red-green wings. Gradually\nthe ground in the forest also began to show signs of life. A hedgehog\ncrept sleepily through the underbrush; a little weasel dragged his\nsupple body forth from a crevice in the rocks no broader than a quill.\nLittle hares darted with cautious leaps out from the bushes, stopping in\nfront of each to crouch down and lay their ears back, until finally,\ngrowing more brave, they mounted the ridge by the cornfield and danced\nand played together, using their fore paws to strike one another in\nsport. The Hunter took care not to disturb these little animals. Finally\na slender roe stepped out of the forest. Shrewdly thrusting its nose\ninto the wind and glancing around to the right and left out of its big\nbrown eyes, it stalked along on its delicate feet with an easy grace.\nThe gentle, wild, fleet animal now reached a point just opposite the\nhidden Hunter's gun, and so close to him that he could hardly fail to\nhit it. He was just about to pull the trigger when the deer took fright,\nfaced about in a different direction, and made a leap straight for the\ntree behind which the Hunter was standing. His gun cracked, and the\nanimal, unwounded, made off with a series of mighty leaps into the\nforest. But from amid the corn he heard a loud cry, and a few moments\nafterwards a woman's form staggered out of the fields on a narrow path\nwhich lay in the line of his aim. The Hunter threw down the gun and\nrushed toward the form; when he saw who it was he nearly collapsed.\n\n[Illustration: OSWALD. THE HUNTER _By Benjamin Vautier_]\n\nIt was the beautiful girl of the flower scene in the woods. He had\nhit her instead of the roe! She was holding one hand over the region\nbetween her shoulder and left breast, where the blood was gushing out\ncopiously beneath her kerchief. Her face was pale, and somewhat drawn,\nthough not distorted, by pain. She drew a deep breath three times and\nthen said with a soft, weak voice:\n\n\"God be praised! The wound can't be very dangerous, for I _can_ draw\nbreath, even though it hurts me. I will try,\" she continued, \"to reach\nthe Oberhof, whither I was bound on this short-cut when I had to go and\nmeet with this accident. Give me your arm.\"\n\nHe had supported her only a few steps down the hill when she collapsed\nand said:\n\n\"It won't do--the pain is too severe--I might faint on the way. We must\nwait here in this place until somebody comes along who can fetch a\nstretcher.\"\n\nIn spite of the pain of her wound she was clutching tightly in her left\nhand a small package; this she now handed to him and said:\n\n\"Keep it for me--it is the money that I have collected for the baron--I\nmight lose it. We must prepare ourselves,\" she continued, \"to remain\nhere for some little time. If it were only possible for you to make a\nplace for me to lie down and to give me something warm, so that the cold\nwon't penetrate to the wound!\"\n\nThus she had presence of mind both for herself and him. He stood\nspeechless, pale and immovable, like a statue. Utter dismay filled his\nheart and let not a single word escape from his lips.\n\nHer appeal now put new life into him; he hurried to the tree behind\nwhich he had hidden his hunting-bag. There he saw, lying on the ground,\nthe unfortunate gun. He seized it furiously and brought it down on a\nstone with such strength that the stock was shattered to pieces, both\nbarrels bent, and the lock wrenched from the screws. He cursed the day,\nhimself, and his hand. Then, rushing back to the girl, who had sat down\non a stone in the \"Open Tribunal,\" he fell at her feet, kissed the hem\nof her dress, and with passionate tears flowing from his eyes in a\ntorrent, besought her forgiveness. She merely begged him to please\narise; he couldn't help doing it, the wound was surely of no\nsignificance, and the thing for him to do now was to help.\n\nHe now fitted up a seat for her by laying his bag on the stone, bound\nhis handkerchief around her neck, and gently and loosely laid his coat\nover her shoulders. She sat down on the stone. He took a seat beside her\nand invited her to rest her head, for relief, against his breast. She\ndid so.\n\nThe moon, in its full clarity, had risen high in the heavens, and now\nshone down with almost daytime brightness on the couple, whom a rude\naccident had thus brought so close together. In the most intimate\nproximity the strange man sat by the strange girl; she uttered low moans\nof pain on his breast, while down his cheeks the tears ran\nirrepressibly. Round about them the silent solitude of night was slowly\ngathering.\n\nFinally Fortune so willed it that a late wanderer passed through the\ncornfields. The Hunter's call reached his ears; he hurried to the spot\nand was dispatched at once to the Oberhof. Soon afterwards footsteps\nwere heard coming up the hill; the men were bringing a sedan chair with\ncushions. The Hunter gently lifted the wounded girl into it, and thus,\nlate at night, she reached the sheltering roof of her old friend, who\nwas, to be sure, greatly astonished to see his expected guest arrive in\nsuch a condition.\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE WEDDING\n\n\nOn a clear morning in August there were so many cooking fires burning at\nthe Oberhof that it seemed as if they might be expecting the entire\npopulation of all the surrounding towns to dinner. Over the hearth fire,\nbuilt up to unusual size with great logs and fagots, there was hanging\non a notched iron hook the very largest kettle that the household\npossessed. Six or seven iron pots stood round these fires with their\ncontents boiling and bubbling. In the space before the house, toward the\noak grove, there were crackling, if history reports the truth, nine\nfires, and an equal number, or at the most one less, in the yard near\nthe lindens. Over all these cooking-places jacks or roasters had been\nerected, on which frying-pans were resting, or on which kettles of no\nsmall size were hanging, although none of them could compare in capacity\nwith the one which was doing duty over the hearth fire.\n\nThe maids of the Oberhof were briskly hurrying back and forth with\nskimming-spoons or forks between the various cooking-places. If the\nguests were to find the food palatable, there could not be any dawdling\nover the skimming and turning. For in the large kettle over the hearth\neight hens lent strength to the soup, and in the other twenty-three\nor-four pots, kettles, and pans there were boiling or roasting six hams,\nthree turkeys, and five pigs, besides a corresponding number of hens.\n\nWhile the maids were exerting themselves, the men too were industriously\nattending to their part of the work. The one with the black eyes was\nbuilding an immense, long table with stands, blocks, and boards, in the\norchard among the flower-beds, having already completed a similar\nconstruction in the entrance-hall. The fat, slow one was decorating with\ngreen birch twigs the gates of the house, the walls of the\nentrance-hall, and the doors of the two rooms in which the Pastor and\nhis Sexton had once eaten. He sighed deeply over this delightful green\nwork, and the heat, too, seemed to oppress him greatly. Nevertheless an\neasier task had fallen to him than to his fellow-partner, the gruff,\nred-haired man. For the former had only flexible May twigs to deal with,\nwhereas it fell to the latter to decorate the cattle for the festivity.\nThe red-haired man was, accordingly, gilding with gold tinsel the horns\nof the cows and bullocks, which were standing on one side of the\nentrance-hall behind their mangers, or else was tying bright-colored\nbows and tassels around them. This was, in fact, a provoking task,\nespecially for an irascible man. For many of the cows and an occasional\nbullock would have absolutely nothing to do with the festival, but shook\ntheir heads and butted sideways with their horns, as often as the\nred-haired fellow came anywhere near them with the tinsel and brush. For\na long time he suppressed his natural instinct, and merely grumbled\nsoftly once in a while when a horn knocked the brush or the tinsel out\nof his hand. These grumbles, however, scarcely interrupted the general\nsilence in which all the busily occupied people were attending to their\nwork. But when, finally, the pride of the stable, a large white-spotted\ncow, with which he had been struggling in vain for more than a quarter\nof an hour, became positively malicious and tried to give the red-haired\nfellow a dangerous thrust, he lost all patience. Springing aside, he\nseized that fence-pole with which he had once restrained himself from\nstriking Peter of the Bandkotten, and which happened by chance to be\nhandy, and gave the obstinate beast such a mighty blow on the groins\nwith the heavy end of it that the cow bellowed with pain, her sides\nbegan to quiver, and her nostrils to snort.\n\nThe slow, fat fellow dropped the twigs which he had in his hand, the\nfirst maid looked up from the kettle, and both cried out simultaneously:\n\n\"Heaven help us! What are you doing?\" \"When a worthless brute like this\nrefuses to listen to reason and will not be decent and let itself be\ngilded, it ought to have its confounded bones smashed!\"\n\nHe then wrenched the cow's head around and decorated her even more\nbeautifully than her mates. For the animal, having in her pain become\nmore tractable, now stood perfectly still and permitted the rough artist\nto do anything he wanted to with her.\n\nWhile the preparations for the wedding were being carried on below in\nthis energetic manner, the Justice was upstairs in the room where he\nkept the sword of Charles the Great, putting on his best finery. The\nchief factor in the festive attire which the peasants of that region\nwear is the number of vests that they put on under their coats. The\nricher a peasant is, the more vests he wears on extraordinary occasions.\nThe Justice had nine, and all of them were destined by him to be\nassembled around his body on this day. He kept them hung up in a row on\nwooden pegs behind a seed-cloth, which partitioned off one part of the\nroom from the other like a curtain. First the under ones of silver-gray\nor red woolen damask, adorned with flowers, and then the outside ones of\nbrown, yellow and green cloth. These were all adorned with heavy silver\nbuttons.\n\nBehind this seed-cloth the Justice was dressing. He had neatly combed\nhis white hair, and his yellow, freshly-washed face shone forth under it\nlike a rape-field over which the snow has fallen in May. The expression\nof natural dignity, which was peculiar to these features, was today\ngreatly intensified; he was the father of the bride, and felt it. His\nmovements were even slower and more measured than on the day when he\nbargained with the horse-dealer. He examined each vest carefully before\nhe removed it from its peg, and then deliberately put them on, one after\nthe other, without over-hurrying himself in the process of buttoning\nthem up.\n\nWhen the Justice was ready he slowly descended the stairs. In the\nentrance-hall he surveyed the preparations--the fires, the kettles,\nthe pots, the green twigs, the ribboned and gilded horns of his cattle.\nHe seemed to be satisfied with everything, for several times he nodded\nhis head approvingly. He walked through the entrance-hall to the yard,\nthen toward the side of the oak grove, looked at the fires which were\nburning there, and gave similar signs of approval, although always with\na certain dignity. When the white sand, with which the entire\nentrance-hall and the space in front of the house was thickly sprinkled,\ngrated and crunched in a lively manner under his feet, this seemed to\nafford him a special pleasure.\n\nA maid was asked to put a chair for him in front of the house; he sat\ndown there, opposite the oak grove, and, with his legs stretched out in\nfront of him, his hat and cane in his hand, he awaited in sturdy silence\nthe continuation of the proceedings, while the golden sunlight shone\nbrightly down on him.\n\nIn the meantime two bridesmaids were adorning the bride in her room. All\naround her were standing chests and linen bags, gaily painted with\nflowers, which contained her dowry of cloth, bedding, yarn, linen and\nflax. Even in the door-way and far out into the hall all the space was\noccupied. In the midst of all these riches sat the bride in front of a\nsmall mirror, very red and serious. The first bridesmaid put on her blue\nstockings with the red clocks, the second threw over her a skirt of fine\nblack cloth, and on top of this a bodice of the same material and color.\nThereupon both occupied themselves with her hair, which was combed back\nand braided behind into a sort of wheel.\n\nDuring these preparations the bride never once said a word, while her\nfriends were all the more talkative. They praised her finery, extolled\nher piled-up treasures, and every now and then a furtive sigh led one to\nsuspect that they would rather have been the adorned than the adorning.\n\nFinally both girls, with solemn mien, came bringing in the bride's\ncrown; for the girls in that region do not wear a wreath on their\nwedding-day, but a crown of gold and silver tinsel. The merchant who\nprovides their adornment merely rents the crown, and after the\nwedding-day takes it back. Thus it wanders from one bride's head to\nanother.\n\nThe bride lowered her head a little while her friends were putting on\nthe crown, and her face, when she felt the light weight of it on her\nhair, became, if possible, even redder than before. In her hair, which,\nstrange enough, was black, although she lived among a blond people, the\ngold and silver tinsel glittered gaily. She straightened herself up,\nsupported by her friends, and the two broad, gold bands which belonged\nto the crown hung far down her back.\n\nThe men were already standing in front of the door ready to carry her\ndotal belongings down into the entrance-hall. The bridesmaids seized\ntheir friend by the hand, and one of them picked up the spinning-wheel,\nwhich likewise had a definite function to perform in the coming\nceremony. And thus the three girls went slowly down the stairs to the\nbride's father, while the men seized the chests and bags and started to\ncarry them down into the entrance-hall.\n\nThen the bride, escorted by both bridesmaids, entered the door, holding\nher head stiff and firm under the quivering gold crown, as if she were\nafraid of losing the ornament. She offered her hand to her father, and,\nwithout looking up, bade him a good morning. The old man, without any\nshow of feeling, replied \"Thank you,\" and assumed his previous posture.\nThe bride sat down at the other side of the door, put her spinning-wheel\nin front of her and began to spin industriously, an occupation which\ncustom required her to continue until the moment the bridegroom arrived\nand conducted her to the bridal carriage.\n\nIn the distance faint notes of music were heard, which announced the\napproach of the bridal carriage. But even this sign that the decisive\nmoment was at hand, the moment which separates a child from the parental\nhouse and shoves the father into the background so far as his child's\ndependence is concerned, did not produce any commotion at all among the\npeople, who, like models of old usages, were sitting on either side of\nthe door. The daughter, very red, but with a look of unconcern, spun\naway unwearyingly; the father looked steadily ahead of him, and neither\nof them, bride or father, said a word to the other.\n\nThe first bridesmaid, in the meanwhile, was out in the orchard gathering\na bouquet for the bridegroom. She selected late roses, fire-lilies,\norange-yellow starworts--a flower which in that locality they call\n\"The-Longer-the-Prettier\" and in other places \"The Jesus Flowerlet\"--and\nsage. The bouquet finally grew to such proportions that it could have\nsufficed for three bridegrooms of high rank--for peasants must always do\nthings on a large scale. But all together it did not smell any too sweet,\nfor the sage emitted a strange odor, and the starworts a positively bad\none. On the other hand, neither of them, especially the sage, could be\nleft out, if the bouquet was to possess the traditional completeness.\nWhen she had it ready, the girl held it out before her with proud\nenjoyment, and tied it together with a broad, dark-red ribbon. She then\nwent to take her place beside the bride.\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE HUNTER AND HIS PREY\n\n\nWhile the ceremony was thus monopolizing the entire Oberhof, there were,\nwholly without ceremony, two young people together upstairs in the room\nwhich the Hunter had formerly occupied. The young girl was sitting at a\nlittle table by the window and hemming a beautiful kerchief which the\nHunter had bought for her in the city and given to her for a wedding-day\nadornment. She pricked her finger more often today than on the evening\nwhen she was helping the bride with her linen. For when the eyes do not\nwatch the needle, it is apt to take its own malicious course.\n\nThe young man was standing before her and working at something; he was,\nnamely, cutting out a pen for her. For at last the girl had said she\nwould of course have to send news as to where she was, and request\npermission to remain a few days longer at the Oberhof. He stood on the\nopposite side of the little table, and in a glass between him and the\ngirl a white lily and a rose, freshly cut, were emitting a sweet\nperfume. He did not hurry unduly with his work; before he applied the\nknife he asked the girl several times whether she preferred to write\nwith a soft or a hard point, fine or blunt, and whether he should make\nthe quill short or leave it long. He plied her with numerous other\nquestions of this kind, as thoroughly as if he were a writing-master\nproducing a calligraphic work of art. To these detailed questions the\ngirl, in a low voice, made many indefinite replies; now she wanted the\npen cut so, now so, and every once in a while she looked at him, sighing\neach time she did it. The youth sighed even more often, I do not know\nwhether it was on account of the indefiniteness of her answers, or for\nsome other reason. Once he handed the pen to her, so that she might\nindicate how long she wanted the slit to be. She did so, and when she\nhanded the pen back to him, he seized something more than the\npen--namely, her hand. His own hand grasped it in such a way that the\npen fell to the floor and for a moment was lost to their memories, all\nconsciousness on both their parts being directed to their hands.\n\nI will betray a great secret to you. The youth and the girl were the\nHunter and the beautiful, blond Lisbeth.\n\nThe wounded girl had been carried to her room on that night, and the\nJustice, very much perturbed--something he seldom was--had come out of\nhis room and sent immediately for the nearest surgeon. The latter,\nhowever, lived an hour and a half's ride from the Oberhof; he was,\nmoreover, a sound sleeper, and reluctant to go out at night. Thus, the\nmorning had already dawned when he finally arrived with his meagre\noutfit of instruments. He removed the cloth from her shoulders, examined\nthe wound, and made a very grave face. Luckily, the young Suabian's\ncharge had merely grazed Lisbeth; only two shot had penetrated her\nflesh, and these not very deeply. The surgeon extracted them, bandaged\nthe wound, recommended rest and cold water, and went home with the proud\nfeeling that if he had not been summoned so promptly and had not so\ncheerfully done his duty, even in the night, gangrene would inevitably\nhave resulted from the wound.\n\nLisbeth, while they were waiting for the doctor, had been very calm; she\nhad scarcely uttered a complaint, although her face, which was deathly\npale, betrayed the fact that she was suffering pain. Even the operation,\nwhich the surgeon's clumsy hand caused to be more painful than was\nnecessary, she had undergone bravely. She asked for the shot and\npresented them jokingly to the Hunter. They were \"sure shot,\" she said\nto him--he should keep them, and they would bring him luck.\n\nThe Hunter accepted the \"sure shot,\" wrapped them in a piece of paper,\nand gently withdrew his beautiful victim's head from his encircling arms\nto let her sleep. In these arms Lisbeth had rested with her pain, as up\non the \"Open Tribunal,\" ever since entering the room in the Oberhof.\nWith sorrowful eyes he had gazed fixedly into her face, and had now and\nthen met a friendly return-glance, which she directed up to him as if to\ncomfort him.\n\nHe went out into the open. It was impossible for him to leave the\nOberhof now; he had, he said, to await the recovery of the poor wounded\ngirl, for human nature, he added, demanded that much. In the orchard he\nfound the Justice, who, having found out that there was no danger, had\ngone on about his business as if nothing had happened. He asked the old\nman to furnish him with quarters for a longer stay. The Justice\nbethought himself, but knew of no room to accommodate the Hunter. \"And\neven if it is only a corner in the corn-loft!\" cried the Hunter, who was\nawaiting the decision of his old host as if his fate depended on it.\nAfter much deliberation it finally occurred to the Justice that there\nwas a corner in the corn-loft, where he stored grain when the harvest\nturned out too abundant for the usual storing-places. At that time it\nwas empty, and to it the old man now conducted his young guest, adding,\nhowever, that he would probably not like it up there. The Hunter went\nup, and although the bare and depressing room received its small amount\nof light only through a hole in the roof, and there was nothing but a\nboard and a chest to sit on, nevertheless he was well satisfied. \"For,\"\nhe said, \"it is all the same to me, if I can only remain here until I\nfeel certain that I haven't done any lasting damage with my accursed\nshooting. The weather is fine, and I shan't need to be up here much of\nthe time.\"\n\nAnd, as a matter of fact, he was not up there in his nook much of the\ntime, but down with Lisbeth. He begged her forgiveness for his act so\noften that she grew impatient, and told him, with a frown of annoyance\nwhich became her very well, to just stop it. After five days the wound\nhad completely healed, the bandage could be removed, and light reddish\nspots on her white shoulder were all that remained to show the place of\nthe injury.\n\nShe remained at the Oberhof, for the Justice had previously invited her\nto the wedding. This event was postponed a few days because the dowry\nwould not be ready at the time appointed. The Hunter remained too,\nalthough the Justice did not invite him. He invited himself to the\nwedding, however, by saying to the old man one day that the customs of\nthe country seemed to him so remarkable that he wished to learn what\nthey were on the occasion of a wedding.\n\nSoon there were just two times in the day for the Hunter, an unhappy and\na happy one. The unhappy time was when Lisbeth was helping the bride\nwith her linen--and this she did every day. The Hunter then was\nabsolutely at a loss what to do with his time. The happy time, on the\nother hand, began when Lisbeth rested from her work and took the fresh\nair. It was then certain that the two would come together, the Hunter\nand she. And were he ever so far away behind the bushes, it would always\nseem as if somebody were saying to him, \"Lisbeth is now outdoors.\" Then\nhe would fly to the place where he suspected she was, and behold! his\nsuspicions had not deceived him, for even from a distance he would catch\nsight of her slender form and pretty face. Then she would always bend\nover sideways after a flower, as if she were not aware of his approach.\nBut beforehand, to be sure, she had looked in the direction from which\nhe was coming.\n\nAnd now they would walk together through field and meadow, for he would\nbeg her so earnestly to do it that it seemed almost sinful to her to\nrefuse him so small a request. The further away from the Oberhof they\nwandered in the waving fields and green meadows, the more free and happy\nwould their spirits grow. When the red, setting sun lighted up\neverything about them, including their own youthful forms, it seemed to\nthem as if anxiety and pain could never enter into their lives again.\n\nOn these walks the Hunter would do everything possible to please Lisbeth\nthat he could guess from her eyes she wanted him to do. If she happened\naccidentally to look toward a cluster of wild field-flowers that were\nblooming on a high hedge at some distance from the road, before the wish\nto have them had even had time to enter her mind, he had swung himself\nup on the hedge. And in places where the road dropped off somewhat\nabruptly, or where a stone lay in their way, or where it was necessary\nfor them to cross an insignificant bit of water, he would stretch out\nhis arm to lead and support her, while she would laugh over this\nunnecessary readiness to help. Nevertheless she would accept his arm,\nand permit her own to rest in it for a while, even after the road had\nbecome level again. On these quiet, pleasant walks the young souls had\na great deal to impart to each other. He told her all about the Suabian\nmountains, the great Neckar, the Alps, the Murg Valley, and the\nHohenstaufen Mountain on which the illustrious imperial family, whose\ndeeds he related to her, originated. Then he would speak of the great\ncity where he had studied, and of the many clever people whose\nacquaintance he had made there. Finally, he told her about his mother,\nhow tenderly he had loved her, and how it was perhaps for that reason\nthat he afterwards came to cherish and revere all women more, because\neach one of them made him think of his own deceased mother.\n\nLisbeth, on the other hand, had only the story of her own simple life to\ntell him. In it there were no big cities, no clever people, and, alas,\nno mother! And yet he thought he had never heard anything more\nbeautiful. For every menial service which she had performed, she had\nrendered noble by love. Of the young lady and the Baron she had a\nthousand touching things to tell, in all the little haunts in and behind\nthe castle garden she had had adventures to relate, and she had read in\nthe books which she had secretly brought down from the garret all sorts\nof astounding things about strange peoples and countries and remarkable\noccurrences on land and water--and all this she had retained in her\nmemory.\n\nThus their days at the Oberhof passed, one after the other. The Justice,\nto be sure, looked upon it all with different eyes, but was, of course,\nobliged to let things which he could not prevent go on. But he often\nshook his head when he saw his young guests walking and talking with\neach other so much, and would say to himself: \"It isn't right for a\nyoung nobleman like that!\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE DISTURBANCE. WHAT HAPPENED IN A VILLAGE CHURCH\n\n\nFinally the Hunter finished cutting the pen. He pushed a sheet of paper\ntoward her and asked her to try it and see if it would write. She did\nso, but could not make it work very well; it had teeth, she said. He\nlooked at what she had written; it was her own name, in the clearest and\nmost regular lines. The fine letters delighted him.\n\nThen the door opened and the bridesmaid entered with a dress and a\nrequest that Lisbeth be the third bridesmaid.\n\nOutside the music, varied by the ringing of bells, was coming nearer and\nnearer, and now the bridal carriage, drawn by two strong horses, hove\ninto sight at the farther end of the road leading through the oak grove.\nThe first bridesmaid stood demurely beside the bride, with her large and\nrather malodorous bouquet; the men stood by the chests and bundles in\nthe entrance-hall, all ready to seize them for the last time; the\nJustice was looking about anxiously for the second and third\nbridesmaids, for if the latter were not on hand before the appearance of\nthe bridegroom to take the place which the day assigned to them, the\nentire ceremony, according to his notion, was done for. But finally,\nexactly at the right time, the two awaited girls came down the steps and\ntook their stands on either side of the first, just as the carriage\nturned in toward the open space in front of the house.\n\nWith an expression of unconcern on his face, like that of all the\nprincipal persons of this ceremony, the bridegroom alighted from the\ncarriage. Some young people, his most intimate friends, followed him,\nadorned with ribbons and bouquets. He slowly approached the bride, who\neven now did not look up, but went on spinning and spinning. The first\nbridesmaid then fastened the large bouquet of sage to the breast of his\nwedding-jacket. The bridegroom accepted the bouquet without thanks, for\nthanks were not included in the traditional routine. He silently\noffered his hand to his father-in-law, then, just as silently, to his\nbride, who thereupon arose and placed herself with the bridesmaids,\nbetween the first and second and in front of the third.\n\nIn the meanwhile, the servants had carried the dowry to the wagon. The\nscene assumed a rather wild aspect, for the people with the baggage, in\nhurrying back and forth among the cooking-fires, kicked from its place\nmany a burning fagot which crackled and showered sparks in the very path\ndown which the bridal pair were to walk. After the loading of linen, the\nflax, and the various pieces of wearing apparel, the bride, with the\nthree bridesmaids and the spinning wheel, which she carried herself,\ntook a seat in the carriage. The bridegroom sat down apart from her in\nthe back part of the vehicle, and the young fellows were obliged to\nfollow on foot, as the dowry occupied so much room that there was none\nleft for them. One of them made this the subject of traditional\nfacetious remarks, which he addressed to the Justice, who replied to\nthem with a smirk. He walked along behind the young men, and the Hunter\nplaced himself at his side. Thus two men walked together, who on this\nday were cherishing the most radically opposed feelings. For the Justice\nwas thinking of nothing but the wedding, and the Hunter of anything but\nthe wedding, although his thoughts were hovering about the bridal\ncarriage.\n\nNow let us allow the latter to drive slowly to the home of the\nbridegroom, where already the entire wedding-company is waiting for\nit--men, women, girls and youths from all the surrounding estates, in\naddition to friends from the city, the Captain and the Collector. There\nthe carriage is unloaded. Meanwhile let us go on ahead to the church,\nwhich, shaded by walnut-trees and wild chestnuts, stands on a green hill\nin the centre of the entire community.\n\nInasmuch as it was the proper time, and as the people had already\ngathered in the church, the Sexton began to play the customary \"Battle\nof Prague\" on the organ. He knew but one prelude, and this was that\nforgotten battle-hymn which perhaps a few elderly people will recollect\nif I recall to their memories that the musical picture begins with the\nadvance of Ziethen's Hussars. From this march the Sexton managed to\nswing over, with transitions which, to be sure, were not infrequently\nrather bold, into the ordinary church melodies.\n\nWhile the hymn was being sung the Pastor entered the pulpit, and when he\nchanced to cast his eyes over the congregation, they met an unexpected\nsight. A gentleman from court, namely, was standing among the peasants,\nwhose attention he was diverting because they were all constantly\nlooking up from their hymnals and glancing at his star. The aristocratic\ngentleman wanted to share a hymn book with some one of the peasants, in\norder to join in the singing, but since each one of them, as soon as the\ngentleman drew near to him, respectfully stepped aside, he was unable to\naccomplish his purpose, and succeeded only in causing an almost general\nunrest. For when he sat down in one of the pews, every one of the\npeasants seated in it moved along to the extreme farther end, and when\nhe moved along toward them they finally deserted the pew altogether.\nThis moving along and getting up was repeated in three or four pews, so\nthat the aristocratic gentleman, who was attending this little country\nservice with the best of intentions, was finally obliged to give up the\nidea of taking an active part in it. He had business in the region, and\ndid not want to miss an opportunity of winning, by means of\ncondescension, the hearts of these country people for the throne to\nwhich he felt himself so near. For that reason, as soon as he heard of\nthe peasant wedding, the idea of attending it affably from beginning to\nend immediately occurred to him.\n\nThe sight of the gentleman did not make a pleasant impression on the\nPastor, who knew him to be a member of one of the brilliant social\ncircles in the capital. He knew what a peculiar custom would follow the\nsermon and feared the gentleman's ridicule. For that reason his thoughts\nlost some of their usual clearness, his feelings were somewhat\nconcealed, and the more he talked the further he digressed from the\nsubject. His distraction increased when he noticed that the gentleman\nwas casting appreciative glances at him and occasionally nodding his\nhead in approval; this last happened usually when the speaker was most\ndissatisfied with what he was saying. He consequently cut short certain\nparts of the nuptial address and hurried along to the formal ceremony.\n\nThe bridal pair were kneeling, and the fateful questions were being put\nto them. Then something happened which gave the aristocratic stranger a\nviolent shock. For, looking to the right and left and before and behind\nhim, he saw men and women, girls and youths drawing out thick clubs of\ntwisted sack-cloth. Everybody was standing up and whispering and looking\naround, as it seemed to him, with wild and malicious glances. As it was\nimpossible for him to guess the true meaning of these preparations, he\ncompletely lost his composure; and since the clubs seemed to indicate\nincontestably that somebody was to be the recipient of blows, he got the\nnotion into his head that he himself was going to be the object of a\ngeneral maltreatment. He remembered how fearsomely the people had moved\naway from him, and he thought to himself how rough the character of\ncountry people was, and how perhaps the peasants, not understanding his\ncondescending motive, had resolved to get rid of the disagreeable\nintruder. All this went through his soul like a streak of lightning, and\nhe was at a loss to know how he was going to protect his person and\ndignity from the horrible attack.\n\nWhile he was helplessly wrestling for a decision, the Pastor concluded\nthe ceremonies, and there immediately arose the wildest tumult. All the\nbearers of clubs, men and women, rushed forward yelling and screaming\nand flourishing their weapons; the aristocratic gentleman, however, in\nthree sidewise bounds over several pews, reached the pulpit. In a trice\nhe had ascended it, and from this elevated position called out in a loud\nvoice to the raging crowd below:\n\n\"I advise you not to attack me! I cherish the kindest and most\ncondescending feelings toward you all, and any injury done to me will be\nresented by the King, as one done to himself.\"\n\nThe peasants, however, inspired by the object they had in view, did not\nlisten to this speech, but ran on up to the altar. On the way this and\nthat person received some unpremeditated blows before the intended\nobject of them was reached. This was the bridegroom. Clapping his hands\nover his head, the latter with great exertion forced a passage for\nhimself through the crowd, who rained blows on his back, shoulders and\nwherever there was room. He ran, violently pushing people aside, to the\nchurch door; but before he got there he had received certainly more than\na hundred blows, and thus, well covered with black-and-blue marks, he\nleft the church on his wedding-day. Everybody ran after him; the bride's\nfather and bride followed, the Sexton closed the door immediately after\nthe last one had passed through it and betook himself to the vestry,\nwhich had a private exit. In a few seconds the entire church was empty.\n\nAll this time the aristocratic gentleman had remained in the pulpit,\nwhile the Pastor stood before the altar, bowing to him with a friendly\nsmile. The gentleman, when he saw from his Ararat that the blows were\nnot meant for him, grew calm and dropped his arms. When it was quiet, he\nasked the clergyman:\n\n\"For heaven's sake, Pastor, tell me what this furious scene meant; what\nhad the poor man done to his assailants?\"\n\n\"Nothing, your Excellency,\" replied the Pastor who, notwithstanding the\ndignity of the place, could hardly help laughing at the nobleman in the\npulpit. \"This act of beating the bridegroom after the marriage ceremony\nis an old, old custom which the people refuse to give up. They say that\nit is intended to let the bridegroom feel how much blows hurt, so that\nin the future he will not abuse his rights as a husband toward his\nwife.\"\n\n\"Well, but that is certainly a most remarkable custom,\" mumbled his\nExcellency, descending from the pulpit.\n\nThe Pastor received him very courteously below and conducted his\naristocratic acquaintance into the vestry, in order to let him outdoors\nfrom there. The latter, who was still somewhat frightened, said that he\nwould have to think it over, whether or not he could take part in the\nfurther proceedings of the ceremony. The clergyman, on the way to the\nvestry, expressed profound regret that he had not been previously\nadvised of his Excellency's design, because he then would have been in a\nposition to inform him of the beating custom, and thus to avert so great\na fright and shock.\n\nAfter both had departed, peace and silence reigned once more in the\nchurch. It was a pretty little church, dainty and not too gay--a rich\nbenefactor had done a great deal for it. The ceiling was painted blue\nwith gold stars. The pulpit displayed some artistic carving and among\nthe tablets on the floor, which covered the tombs of former pastors,\nthere were even two or three of bronze. The pews were kept very tidy and\nclean, and to that end the Justice had exerted his strong influence. A\nbeautiful cloth adorned the altar, above which rose a twisted column\npainted to resemble marble.\n\nThe light fell brightly into the little church, the trees outside were\nrustling, and now and then a gentle breeze coming in by a broken\nwindow-pane stirred the white scarf with which the angel above the\nbaptismal font was decked, or the tinsel of the wreaths which, having\nbeen taken from the coffins of the maidens who had died, were used to\ndecorate the surrounding pillars.\n\nBride and bridegroom were gone, the bridal procession was gone, but\nstill the peaceful little church was not yet entirely deserted. Two\nyoung people had remained inside of it, without knowing of each other's\npresence; and this is how it happened. The Hunter, when the\nwedding-party entered the church, had separated from them and quietly\ngone up a flight of stairs to a gallery. There, unseen by the rest, he\nsat down on a stool all alone by himself, his back to the people and to\nthe altar. He buried his face in his hands, but that he could not long\nendure to do; his cheek and brow were too hot. The hymn with its solemn\ntones cooled the heat like falling dew; he thanked God that finally,\nfinally the supreme happiness had been granted to him:\n\n  In thy sadness, in thy laughter,\n  Thou art thine own by law of love! * * *\n\nA little child had crept up to him out of curiosity; he gently grasped\nhis hand and caressed it. Then he started to give him money, did not do\nit, but pressed him against his breast and kissed his forehead. And when\nthe boy, a bit frightened by his hot caress, moved toward the stairs, he\nslowly led him down lest he should fall. Then he returned to his seat\nand heard nothing of the sermon, nothing of the noise which followed it.\nHe was sunk in deep and blissful dreams which revealed to him his\nbeautiful mother and his white castle on the green hillside and himself\nand somebody else in the castle.\n\nLisbeth, embarrassed in her strange attire, had bashfully walked along\nbehind the bride. Oh, she thought, just when the good man thinks I am\nalways natural I must wear borrowed clothes. She longed to have back her\nown. She heard the peasants behind her talking about her in a whisper.\nThe aristocratic gentleman, who met the procession in front of the\nchurch, looked at her critically for a long time through his lorgnette.\nAll that she was obliged to endure, when she had just been so\nbeautifully extolled in verse, when her heart was overflowing with\njoyful delight. Half dazed she entered the church, where she made up her\nmind to desert the procession on the way back, in order to avoid\nbecoming again the object of conversation or facetious remarks, which\nnow for a quarter of an hour had been far from her thoughts. She too\nheard but little of the sermon, earnestly as she strove to follow the\ndiscourse of her respected clerical friend. And when the rings were\nexchanged, the matter-of-course expression on the faces of the bridal\npair aroused a peculiar emotion in her--a mixture of sadness, envy, and\nquiet resentment that so heavenly a moment should pass by two such\nstolid souls.\n\nThen came the tumult, and she fled involuntarily behind the altar. When\nit grew quiet again, she drew a deep breath, adjusted her apron, gently\nstroked back a lock of hair that had fallen over on her brow, and took\ncourage. She was anxious to see how she could make her way back to the\nOberhof unnoticed and get rid of the disagreeable clothes. With short\nsteps and eyes cast down she walked along a side passage toward the\ndoor.\n\nHaving finally awakened from his dreams, the Hunter was descending the\nstairs. He too was anxious to quit the church, but where to go he did\nnot know. His heart throbbed when he saw Lisbeth; she lifted her eyes\nand stood still, shy and artless. Then, without looking at each other,\nthey went in silence to the door, and the Hunter laid his hand on the\nlatch to open it.\n\n\"It is locked!\" he cried in a tone of delight, as if the best luck in\nthe world had befallen him. \"We are locked in the church!\"\n\n\"Locked in?\" she said, filled with sweet horror.\n\n\"Why does that cause you dismay? Where can one possibly have better\nquarters than in a church?\" he said soulfully. He gently put his arm\naround her waist, and with his other hand grasped her hand. Then he led\nher to a seat, gently forced her to sit down and himself sat down beside\nher. She dropped her eyes and toyed with the ribbons on the gay-colored\nbodice she was wearing.\n\n\"This is a horrible dress, isn't it?\" she said scarce audibly after a\nlong silence.\n\n\"Oh!\" he cried, \"I hadn't been looking at the dress!\" He seized both of\nher hands, pressed them violently to his breast, and then lifted her\nfrom the pew. \"I cannot bear to sit so still.--Let's take a look at the\nchurch!\" he cried.\n\n\"Probably there is not much here worth seeing,\" she replied trembling.\n\nBut his strong arms had already surrounded, lifted, and borne her to the\naltar. There he let her down; she lay half-fainting against his breast.\n\n\"Lisbeth!\" he stammered his voice choking with love. \"My only love!\nForgive me! Will you be my wife?--my eternal, sweet wife?\"\n\nShe did not answer. Her heart was throbbing against his. Her tears were\nflowing on his breast. Now he raised her head, and their lips met. For a\nlong, long time they held them together.\n\nThen he gently drew her down to her knees beside him, and both raised\ntheir hands in prayer before the altar. They could give voice to nothing\nsave, \"Father! Dear Father in Heaven!\" And that they did not tire of\nrepeating in voices trembling with bliss. They said it as confidingly as\nif the Father whom they meant were offering them His hand.\n\nFinally the prayer died out and they both silently laid their faces on\nthe altar-cloth.\n\nThus united they continued for some time to kneel in the church, and\nneither made a sound. Suddenly they felt their hands lightly touched and\nlooked up. The Pastor was standing between them with a shining face, and\nholding his hands on their heads in blessing. By chance he had entered\nthe church once more from the vestry and, touched and amazed, had\nwitnessed the betrothal which had been consummated here apart from the\nwedding in the presence of God. He, too, said no word, but his eyes\nspoke. He drew the youth and the girl to his breast, and pressed his\nfavorites affectionately to him.\n\nThen, leading the way, he went with the couple into the vestry in order\nto let them out. And thus the three left the little, quiet, bright\nvillage church. Lisbeth and the Hunter had found each other--for their\nlives!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nGUTZKOW AND YOUNG GERMANY\n\nBy Starr Willard Cutting, Ph.D. Professor of German Literature,\nUniversity of Chicago\n\n\nA group of men, including, among others, Ludwig B\u00f6rne, Heinrich Heine,\nHeinrich Laube, Theodor Mundt, Ludolf Wienbarg, and Karl Gutzkow,\ndominate the literary activity of Germany from the beginning of the\nfourth decade to about the middle of the nineteenth century. The common\nbond of coherence among the widely divergent types of mind here\nrepresented, is the spirit of protest against the official program of\nthe reaction which had succeeded the rise of the people against Napoleon\nBonaparte. This German phase of an essentially European political\nrestoration had turned fiercely upon all intelligent, patriotic leaders,\nwho called for a redemption of the unfulfilled pledges of constitutional\ngovernment, given by the princes of Germany, in dire need of popular\nsupport against foreign invasion, and had construed such reminders as\ndisloyalty and as proof of dark designs against the government. It had\nbranded indiscriminately, as infamous demagogues, traitors, and\nrevolutionists, all those who, like Jahn, the _Turners,_ and most of the\nmembers of the earliest _Burschenschaften_ (open student societies),\nlonged for the creation of a new empire under the leadership of Prussia,\nor, like Karl Follen (Charles Follen, first professor of German at\nHarvard), preferred the establishment of a German republic on lines\nsimilar to those of the United States of America. Under a policy of\nsuppression, manipulated by Metternich with consummate skill in the\ninterest of Austria against Prussia and against German confidence in the\nsincerity and trustworthiness of the Prussian government, the reaction\nhad by arrests, prosecutions, circumlocution-office delays, banishments,\nand an elaborate system of espionage, for the most part silenced\nopposition and saved, not the state, but, at any rate, the _status quo_.\nThis \"success\" had incidentally cost Germany the presence and service of\nsome of the ablest and best of her own youth, who spent the rest of\ntheir lives in France, England, Switzerland, or the United States. We\nAmericans owe to this \"success\" some of the most admirable types of our\ncitizenship--expatriated Germans like Karl Follen, Karl Beck, Franz\nLieber, the brothers Wesselhoeft, and many others.\n\nWienbarg dedicated in 1834 his _Esthetic Campaigns_ to Young Germany.\nThis term has since then served friend and foe to designate the group of\nwriters of whom we speak. Their slogan was freedom. Freedom from\ncramping police surveillance; freedom from the arbitrary control of\ngovernment, unchecked by responsibility to the people; freedom from the\nnarrowing prescriptions of ecclesiastical authority, backed by the power\nof the state; freedom from the literary restraint of medievalism in\nmodern letters--these and various other brands of freedom were demanded\nby different members of the school. Just because the birth-throes of\nmodern Germany, which extend over the first seventy years of the\nnineteenth century, were especially violent during the period under\nconsideration, the program of the school had from the outset a strong\npolitical bias. The broad masses of the people were unacquainted with\npolitical forms and principles. They were by time-hallowed tradition\nvirtually the wards of their patriarchal princes, sharing with these\nprotectors a high degree of jealous regard for state sovereignty and of\ninstinctive opposition towards any and all attempts to secure popular\nrestraint of the sovereign's will and national unification, that should\ndemand subordination of the single state to the central government. All\nearly attempts to awaken popular interest in social and political reform\nhad fallen flat, because of this helpless ignorance and indifference of\npublic opinion. But the drastic official measures against early\nagitators proved to be a challenge to further activity in the direction\nof progress.\n\n[Illustration: KARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW]\n\nThe July revolution of 1830 in Paris added fuel to the flame of this\nagitation in Germany and intensified the interest of still wider masses\nin the question of large nationality and popular control. Then came, on\nthe twenty-seventh of May, 1832, the German revolutionary speeches of\nthe Hambach celebration, and, on April third, 1833, the Frankfurt riot,\nwith its attempt to take the Confederate Council by surprise and to\nproclaim the unification of Germany. The resulting persecution of Fritz\nReuter, the tragedy of Friedrich Ludwig Weidig, the simultaneous\nwithdrawal or curtailment of the freedom of the press and the right of\nholding public meetings were most eloquent advocates with the public\nmind for a sturdy opposition to the conservatism of princes and\nofficials.\n\nNo wonder, then, that thinking men, like Heine and Gutzkow, were fairly\nforced by circumstances into playing the game. No wonder that their\ntales, novels, and dramas became in many cases editorials to stimulate\nand guide public thought and feeling in one direction or another. This\nswirl of agitation put a premium upon a sort of rapid-fire work and\njournalistic tone, quite incompatible with the highest type of artistic\nperformance. While the Young Germans were all politically liberal and\nopposed to the Confederate Council and to the Metternich program, they\nwere in many ways more cosmopolitan than national in temper.\n\nThe foregoing may serve to show the only substantial ground for the\ncharge of didacticism, frequently lodged by their critics against the\nwriters of the school. For it is beside the mark to speak of their\nopposition to romanticism as a ground for the charge in question. They\nwere all, to be sure, anti-Romanticists. They declined to view life\nthrough roseate-hued spectacles or to escape the world of everyday\nreality by fairy-tale flights into the world of the imagination. They\ncalled upon men to discover by clear-eyed vision not only the beauties\nbut also the defects of contemporary social existence. They would employ\nliterature, not as an opiate to make us forget such defects, but as a\nstimulant to make us remedy them. Hence their repeated exhortations to\nuse the senses and to trust them as furnishing the best kind of raw\nmaterial for legitimate art. Hence also their protests against the\nbloodless abstractions of the Nazarene school of painting and to\ntranscendental idealism in art and literature. They cultivated art, not\nfor its own sake, but for the sake of a fuller, saner, and freer human\nlife. In this sense they were didactic; but they were no more didactic\nthan the Romanticists and the Pseudo-Classicists who had preceded them.\nIn their earnest contention for an organic connection between German\nlife and German art and literature they were hewing more closely to the\nline of nature and truth than any other Germans since the time of\nHerder.\n\nThey are usually spoken of as free-thinkers and frequently as\nanti-religious in temper and conviction. The charge of irreligion seems\nbased upon the misconception or the misrepresentation of their orthodox\ncritics. It is, at any rate, undeserved, as far as Gutzkow, the leader\nof the school, is concerned. It is true that they were liberal in the\nmatter of religious and philosophical thought. They were also skeptical\nas to the sincerity and usefulness of many current practises and\ninstitutions of the Catholic and Protestant branches of the church;\ntheir wit, irony, and satire were directed, however, not against\nreligion, but against the obnoxious externals of ecclesiasticism. This\nattack was provoked by the obvious fact that the reaction employed the\ninstitutional state church as a weapon with which to combat the rising\ntide of popular discontent with existing social and political forms and\nfunctions. This was especially true after the accession to the throne of\nPrussia of that romantic and reactionary prince, Frederick William IV.,\nin 1840.\n\nCritics have ascribed the negative, disintegrating, and cosmopolitan\nspirit of the group as a whole to the fact that B\u00f6rne and Heine were\nJews. In addition, however, to the abundant non-racial grounds for this\nspirit, already urged as inherent in the historic crisis under\ndiscussion, we should recall the fact that Heine, as a literary\nproducer, is more closely allied with the Romanticists than with Young\nGermany, and that B\u00f6rne, who in his celebrated _Letters from Paris_\n(1830-34) and elsewhere went farther than all other members of the\nschool in transforming art criticism into political criticism, was no\ncosmopolitan but an ardent, sincere, and consistent German patriot.\nMoreover, while B\u00f6rne and Heine belong through sympathy and deliberate\nchoice to Young Germany, the real spokesmen of the group, Wienbarg,\nLaube, Mundt, and Gutzkow, were non-Jewish Germans.\n\nAmong the external facts of Gutzkow's life, worth remembering in this\nconnection, are the following: His birth on the seventeenth of March,\n1811, as the son of humble parents; his precocious development in school\nand at the University of Berlin; his deep interest in the revolution of\n1830 in Paris; his student experiments in journalism and the resulting\nassociation with the narrow-minded patriot, Wolfgang Menzel; his\ndoctorate in Jena and subsequent study of books and men in Heidelberg,\nMunich, Leipzig, Berlin, and Hamburg; his association with Heine, Laube,\nMundt, and Wienbarg and his journey with Laube through Austria and Italy\nin 1533; his breach with Menzel at the instance of Laube in the same\nyear; his publication in 1835 of the crude sketch of an emancipation\nnovel, _Wally the Skeptic_, compounded of suggestions from Lessing's Dr.\nReimarus, from Saint Simonism, and from the sentimental tragedy of\nCharlotte Stieglitz in real life; Menzel's revengeful denunciation of\nthis colorless and tedious novel, as an \"outrageous attack upon ethics\nand the Christian religion\"; the resulting verdict of the Mannheim\nmunicipal court, punishing Gutzkow by one month's imprisonment, with no\nallowance for a still longer detention during his trial; the official\nproscription of all \"present and future writings\" by Gutzkow, Wienbarg,\nLaube, Mundt, and Heine; Gutzkow's continued energetic championship of\nthe new literary movement and editorial direction of the Frankfurt\n_Telegraph_, from 1835 to 1837, under the very eyes of the Confederate\nCouncil; his removal in 1837 to Hamburg and his gradual transformation\nthere from a short story writer and journalist into a successful\ndramatist; his series of eleven plays, produced within the space of\nfifteen years, from 1839 to 1854; the success of his tragedy, _Uriel\nAcosta_, in 1846, and the resulting appointment of the author in the\nsame year as playwright and critic at the Royal Theatre in Dresden; his\ntemperate participation in the popular movement of 1848 and consequent\nloss of the Dresden position; the death of his wife, Amalia, in the\nsame-year after an estrangement of seven years, due to his own\ninfatuation for Therese von Bacharacht; his happy marriage in 1849 with\nBertha Meidinger, a cousin of his first wife; the publication in 1850-51\nof his first great novel of contemporary German life, entitled,\n_Spiritual Knighthood_; his continuous editorial work upon the journal,\n_Fireside Conversations_, from 1849 until the appearance of his other\ngreat contemporary novel, _The Magician of Rome_, 1858-61; his attack of\ninsanity under the strain of ill health in 1865 and unsuccessful attempt\nat suicide; and, finally, his rapidly declining health and frequent\nchange of residence from Berlin to Italy, thence to Heidelberg, and from\nthere to Sachsenhausen, near Frankfurt-on-the-Main, and his tragic death\nthere, either intentional or accidental, in the night of December\nfifteenth, 1878, when under the influence of chloral he upset the\ncandle, by the light of which he had been reading, and perished in the\nstifling fumes of the burning room.\n\nThis bare outline recalls the personality and career of the best single\nembodiment of the spirit of Young Germany. His humble birth, unusual\ngrasp of intellect, and ambition to secure an adequate education brought\nhim into early touch with alert representatives of the educated middle\nclasses, who were the keenest and most consistent critics of the\npolitical, social, and ecclesiastical reaction which gripped German life\nat that time. Menzel's student connection with the Jena\n_Burschenschaft_, his early published protest against the emptiness of\nrecent German literature, and his polemic, entitled _German Literature_,\nand aimed at the imitators of Goethe and at Goethe's own lack of\ninterest in German unification, attracted young Gutzkow, who had also\nbeen a member of the _Burschenschaft_, and prompted him to write and\npublish in his student paper a defense of Menzel against his critics.\nThis led Menzel to invite Gutzkow to Stuttgart and to propose a\nco\u00f6peration which could be but short-lived; for Menzel was timid and\nvacillating, whereas Gutzkow was sincere, courageous, and consistent.\nThis steadfastness and singleness of purpose, combined with a remarkable\npower to appreciate, adopt, and express the leading thoughts and\naspirations of his own time, make Gutzkow the most efficient leader of\nthe whole group. Heine was, as already noted, too much of a Romanticist\nto be a thorough-going Young German. Besides, he lacked the sincerity\nand the enthusiastic conviction which dedicated practically every work\nof Karl Gutzkow to the task of restoring the proper balance between\nGerman literature and German life. Gutzkow felt that literature had, in\nthe hands of the Romanticists, abandoned life to gain a fool's paradise.\nAfter a brief apprenticeship to Jean Paul and to the romantic ideal,\nnever whole-hearted, because of the disintegrating influence of his\nsimultaneous acquaintance with B\u00f6rne and Heine, Gutzkow utterly\nrenounced the earlier movement and became the champion of a definite\nreform. He aimed henceforth to enrich German literature by abundant\ncontact with the large, new thoughts of modern life in its relation to\nthe individual and to the community. He was no less sincere in his\ndetermination to make literature introduce the German people to a\nlarger, richer, freer, and truer human life for the individual and for\nthe state. In his eyes statecraft, religion, philosophy, science, and\nindustry teemed with raw material of surpassing interest and importance\nfor the literary artist. He accordingly set himself the task in one way\nand another to make his own generation share this conviction. It is\nquite true that he was not the man to transform with his own hands this\nraw material into works of art of consummate beauty and perfection. He was\nconscious of his own artistic limitations and would have confessed them in\nthe best years of his life with the frankness of a Lessing in similar\ncircumstances. We may agree that he lacked the skill of many greater\npoets than he, to compress into artistic shape, with due regard for line,\ncolor, movement, and atmosphere of the original, the material of his\nobservation. Yet we still have to explain the fact that he wrote novels\nand dramas pulsating with the life of his own contemporaries--works that\nclaimed the attention and touched the heart of thousands of readers and\ntheatre-goers and inspired many better artists than he to treat themes\ndrawn from the public and private life of the day.\n\nIt would take us too far afield to trace in detail the nature and\nsources of Gutzkow's writings, by which he accomplished this important\nresult. A few suggestions, together with a reminder of his great\nindebtedness to the simultaneous efforts of other Young Germans, notably\nthose of Laube and Wienbarg, must suffice. Practically all of his\nearlier writings, like the short story, _The Sadducee of Amsterdam_\n(1833), as well as the essays entitled _Public Characters_ (1835), _On\nthe Philosophy of History_ (1836), and _Contemporaries_ (1837), are\nevidence of the intense interest of the author in the social,\nphilosophical, and political leaders of the time. They are preliminary\nstudies, to be used by him presently in his work as a dramatist.\n\nIn his two powerful novels, _Spiritual Knighthood_ (1850-51) and _The\nMagician of Rome_ (1858-61), he states and discusses with great boldness\nand skill those problems of the relation between Church and\nState--between religion and citizenship--that confronted the thoughtful\nmen of the day.\n\nThe backbone of each of his numerous serious plays is some conflict,\nreflecting directly or indirectly the prejudices, antagonisms,\nshortcomings, and struggles of modern German social, religious, and\ncivic life. _King Saul_ (1839) embodies, for instance, the conflict\nbetween ecclesiastical and temporal authority--between the authority of\nthe church and the claims of the thinker and the poet; _Richard Savage_\n(1839) that between the pride of noble birth and the promptings of the\nmother's heart; _Werner_ (1840), _A White Leaf_ (1842), and _Ottfried_\n(1848), variations of the conflict between a man's duty and his\nvacillating, simultaneous love of two women; _Patkul_ (1840), the\nconflict between the hero's championship of truth and justice and the\ntriumphant inertia of authority in the hands of a weak prince; _Uriel\nAcosta_ (1846), the best of the author's serious plays, embodies the\ntragic conflict between the hero's conviction of truth and his love for\nhis mother and for his intended wife.\n\nGutzkow wrote three comedies which in point of continued popularity have\noutlived all his other numerous contributions to the German stage:\n_Sword and Queue_ (1843), _The Prototype of Tartuffe_ (1844), and _The\nRoyal Lieutenant_ (1849). The second of the three has the best motivated\nplot; the first and third have, by virtue of their national substance,\ntheir witty dialogue, and their droll humor, proved dearer to the heart\nof the German people. In _The Prototype of Tartuffe_ we are shown\nPresident La Roquette at the court of Louis XIV., obliged at last, in\nspite of his long continued successful efforts to suppress the play, to\nwitness his own public unmasking in the person of Moli\u00e8re's _Tartuffe_,\nof whom he is the sneaking, hypocritical original. We hear him in anger\ndeclare his readiness to join the Jesuits and we join in the laugh at\nhis discomfiture. The scene of _The Royal Lieutenant_, written to\ncelebrate the hundredth recurrence of Goethe's birthday, is laid in the\nSeven Years' War in the house of Goethe's father in Frankfurt. The\nRiccaut-like figure of the Royal Lieutenant himself, Count Thorane, and\nhis outlandish attempts to speak German, the clever portraits of the\ndignified father and the cheerful mother, and the unhistorical sketch of\nlittle Wolfgang, with his pleased and precocious anticipation of his\nfuture laurels, are woven by means of witty dialogue into an amusing,\nthough not very coherent or logical whole. In Gutzkow's _Sword and\nQueue_ an entertaining situation at the court of Frederick William I. of\nPrussia is developed by a very free use of the facts of history, after\nthe manner of the comedy of Scribe. With rare skill the different\ncharacters of the play are sketched and shown upon a background, which\ncorresponds closely enough to historic fact to produce the illusion of\nreality. The comedy pilots the Crown Prince's friend, the Prince of\nBaireuth, through a maze of intrigue, including Prussian ambition to\nsecure an alliance with England by the marriage of the Princess\nWilhelmine to the Prince of Wales; a diplomatic blocking of this plan,\nwith the help of the English Ambassador Hotham; the changed front of the\nold King, who prefers a union of his daughter with an Austrian Archduke\nto the hard terms of the proposed English treaty; Hotham's proposal to\nthe King to bring him a promising recruit for the corps of Royal\nGrenadiers; the evening of the Tobacco Parliament, in which the Prince\nof Baireuth feigns tipsiness and in a mocking funeral oration, in honor\nof the old King, tells the pseudo-deceased some bitter truths,--to a\nfinal scene, in which, as Hotham's proposed grenadier recruit with Queue\nand Sword, he wins not only the cordial approval of the King but also\nthe heart and hand of Wilhelmine.\n\nKarl Gutzkow's life-work was a struggle for freedom and truth. We\nrecognize in the web of his serious argument familiarity with the best\nthought of the poets, theologians, and philosophers of his own day and\nof the eighteenth century. In religion a pantheist, he believed in the\nimmortality of the soul, had unshaken confidence in the tendency of the\nworld that \"makes for righteousness,\" and recommends the ideal of \"truth\nand justice\" as the best central thought to guide each man's whole life.\nHe shares in an eminent degree, with other members of the group known as\nYoung Germany, a significance for the subsequent development of German\nliterature, far transcending the artistic value of his works. People are\njust beginning to perceive his genetic importance for the student of\nIbsen, Nietzsche, and the recent naturalistic movement in European\nletters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nKARL FERDINAND GUTZKOW\n\nSWORD AND QUEUE (1843)\n\nTRANSLATED BY GRACE ISABEL COLBRON\n\nPREFACE OF THE AUTHOR\n\n\nThe essence of the comic is self-contradiction, contrast. Even\nprofessional estheticians must acknowledge that by the very nature of\nits origin the following comedy answers this definition.\n\nA king lacking the customary attributes of his station; a royal court\ngoverned by the rules that regulate any simple middle-class\nhousehold--surely here is a contradiction sufficient in itself to\nattract the Comic Muse. And it was indeed only when the author was well\nalong in his work that he felt any inclination to introduce a few\npolitical allusions with what is called a \"definite purpose,\" into a\nwork inspired by the principles of pure comedy.\n\nEver since the example set by those great Greeks, \u00c6schylus and\nAristophanes, the stage has claimed the right to deal with extremes. He\nwho, sinning and laden with the burden of human guilt, has once fallen a\nvictim to the Eumenides, cannot, as a figure in a drama, go off on\npleasure trips, nor can he go about the usual business of daily life.\nFate seizes him red-handed, causes him to see blood in every glass of\nchampagne and to read his warrant of arrest on every chance scrap of\npaper. And the Comic Muse is even less indulgent. When Aristophanes\nwould mock the creations of Euripides, which are meant to move the\npublic by their declining fortunes, he at once turns the tragedian into\na rag-picker.\n\nComedy may, tragedy must, exaggerate. The exaggerations in _Sword and\nQueue_ brought forth many a contemptuous grimace from the higher-priced\nseats in the Court Theatres. But it needs only a perusal of the _Memoirs\nof the Markgravine of Baireuth, Princess of Prussia_, to give the\ngrotesque picture a certificate of historical veracity. Not only the\ncharacter-drawing, but the very plot, is founded on those Memoirs,\nwritten in a less sophisticated age than our own, and the authenticity\nof which is undisputed.\n\nIn the case of Seckendorf, the technical, or, I might say, the symphonic\ncomposition of the play, which allots the parts as arbitrarily as in the\n_Midsummer Night's Dream_ does Peter Quince, who says to highly\nrespectable people: \"You play the Lion, and you play the Ass,\"\nnecessitates making a victim of a man who was a mediocre diplomat, but\nfor a time, at least, a fairly good soldier. The author feels no\ncompunction on this score. Stupidity, as Comus artlessly thinks, is not\nwickedness; the Lion or the Ass--each is necessary to different moments\nin the play. A Brandenburg-Prussian comedy of 1733 can, _a priori_,\nhardly fail to be \"unjust\" to an Imperial Ambassador of that epoch. Such\ninjustice belongs to the native wantonness of the Comic Muse. In plays\nof a specifically Austrian character, Prussia, and especially the people\nof Berlin, have suffered the same necessary injustice of comedy.\nFortunately, according to Chevalier Lang and other more reliable\nauthorities, this particular Seckendorf was both vain and tyrannous. His\nhatred for Frederick II. and his eternal \"combinations\" went to such\nlengths that, during the first Silesian war, he offered the Austrian\nCourt a detailed plan by which the \"Land-hungry conqueror\" might be\npersonally rendered innocuous. (See Arneth, _Maria Theresa_, Vol. I).\n\nHowever, Puck's manner of writing history may be softened a little. It\nis not necessary for the actor to present Seckendorf as an imbecile.\nActors have the unfortunate habit of taking the whole hand when a finger\nis offered. In truth I have seen but a very few performances of my play\nin which Frederick William I. still retained, beneath his attitude of\nstern father, some share of royal dignity; in which Eversmann, despite\nhis confident impudence, still held his tongue like a trembling lackey;\nin which the Hereditary Prince, despite his desire to find everything in\nthe Castle ridiculous, still maintained a reserve sufficient to save him\nfrom being expelled from Berlin for his impertinent criticisms--or where\nthe Princess was still proud and witty beneath her girlish simplicity.\nAnd still rarer is it to see a Seckendorf who, in spite of his clumsy\n\"combinations,\" did not quite sink to the level of the Marshal von Kalb.\nAt this point a dramaturgic hint might not come amiss. In cases where\nthere is danger of degrading the part, the stage manager should take\ncare to intrust such r\u00f4les to the very actors who at first thought might\nseem least suited for them--those whose personalities will compel them\nto raise the part to a higher level. The buffoon and sometimes even the\nfiner comedian cannot free Shakespeare from the reproach of having given\ntwo kings of Denmark a clown as Prime Minister. It is very much less\nnecessary that the audience should laugh at Polonius' quips than that\nthe quips should in no wise impair his position as courtier, as royal\nadviser, as father of two excellent children, and, at the last, as a man\nwho met death with tragic dignity. In such a case a wise manager\nintrusts the comic part to an actor who--is not comic.\n\nThe following play was written in the spring of 1843. Some of our\nreaders may chance to know the little garden of the H\u00f4tel Reichmann in\nMilan. In a room which opens out into the oleander bushes, the trickling\nfountains, and the sandstone cupids of that garden, the first four acts\nripened during four weeks of work. The fifth act followed on the shores\nof Lake Como.\n\nAmid surroundings which, by their beauty, bring to mind only the laws\nof the ideal, to hold fast to those burlesque memories from the\nhistory of the sandy Mark Brandenburg was, one may feel sure, possible\nonly to a mind which turned in love to its Prussian home, however\n\"treasonable\" its other opinions. And yet the romanticism of San\nSouci, as well as the estheticism of the Berlin Board of Censors, has\nat all times persecuted the play, now forbidding it, again permitting\nan occasional performance, and again prohibiting it even after 1848.\nWhen the aged and revered Genast from Weimar had played the king a\ndozen times in the Friedrich-Wilhelmst\u00e4dtisches Theater, Hinckeldey's\nmessengers brought the announcement that the presentation of the piece\nmet with disfavor in high places. Frederick William IV. did everything\npossible to hamper and curtail the author's ambitions. But to give\ntruth its due, I will not neglect to mention that this last prohibition\nwas softened by assigning as its motion the allusion made in the play to\nthat legend of the Berlin Castle, \"The White Lady,\" who is supposed to\nbring a presage of death to the Prussian royal family.\n\nThe Dresden Court Theatre was formerly a model of impartiality. And\nabove all, Emil Devrient's energetic partisanship for the newer dramatic\nliterature was a great assistance to authors in cases of this kind. This\nplay, like many another, owes to his artistic zeal its introduction to\nthose high-class theatres where alone a German dramatist finds his best\nencouragement and advance. Unfortunately, the war of 1866 again banished\n_Sword and Queue_ from the Vienna Burgtheater, where it had won a place\nfor itself.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nSWORD AND QUEUE\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\n\n   FREDERICK WILLIAM I., _King Of\n   Prussia, father of Frederick the\n   Great._\n\n   THE QUEEN, _his wife._\n\n   PRINCESS WILHELMINE, _their daughter_.\n\n   THE PRINCE HEREDITARY OF BAIREUTH\n\n   GENERAL VON GRUMBKOW }\n   COUNT SCHWERIN       } _Councilors and Confidants of the King._\n   COUNT WARTENSLEBEN   }\n\n   COUNT SECKENDORF, _Imperial Ambassador_\n\n   BARONET HOTHAM, _Envoy of Great Britain_\n\n   FRAU VON VIERECK\n\n   FRAU VON HOLZENDORF\n\n   _The Queen's Ladies_.\n\n   FRA\u00dcLEIN VON SONNSFELD, _Lady-in-waiting to the Princess._\n\n   EVERSMANN, _the King's valet_.\n\n   KAMKE, _in the Queen's service_.\n\n   ECKHOF, _a grenadier_.\n\n   _A Lackey in the King's service. Generals, Officers, Court Ladies.\n    Members of the Smoking-Circle. Grenadiers, Lackeys_.\n\n   _Scene of action: The Royal Castle of Berlin_.\n\n   _First performance, January 1st, 1844, in the Court Theatre in Dresden_.\n\n[Illustration: THE POTSDAM GUARD ADOLPH VON MENZEL]\n\n\n\nSWORD AND QUEUE\n\n\n\nACT I\n\n\n\nSCENE I\n\n\n_A room in the Palace. One window and four doors. A table and two\narmchairs on the left of the room._\n\nEVERSMANN, _taking snuff comfortably. Two Drummers of the Guard._\n\n_Later_ FRA\u00dcLEIN VON SONNSFELD.\n\n_The drummers take up a position near the door to the left, leading to\nthe apartments of the_ PRINCESS, _and execute a roll of the drums_.\n\nFRA\u00dcLEIN VON SONNSFELD (_opens the door and looks in_).\n\nThat will do.\n\n[_The drummers play a second roll_.]\n\nSONNSFELD (_looks in again_).\n\nYes, yes. We heard it.\n\n[EVERSMANN _gives the sign again and the drummers play a third long\nroll_.]\n\nSONNSFELD (_comes out angrily, speaks when the noise has subsided_).\n\nThis is unendurable! It is enough to ruin one's nerves--left\nwheel--march--out with you to the parade ground where you be long! [_The\ndrummers march out still playing. When the noise can no longer be heard\nshe continues_.] Eversmann, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You\nshould remind the King of the respect due to ladies.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nI obey my royal master's orders, ma'am. And inasmuch as late rising is a\nfavorite vice of the youth of today, it has been ordered that the\nreveille be played at six o'clock every morning before the doors of the\nroyal Princes and Princesses.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nPrincess Wilhelmine is no longer a child.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nHer morning dreams are all the sweeter for that reason.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nDreams of our final release--of despair--of death--\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nOr possibly dreams of marriage--and the like--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nHave a care, Eversmann! The Crown Prince has won his freedom at last; he\nis keeping a most exact record of all that happens in Berlin and in the\nimmediate environment of his severe father. It is well known that you\ninfluence the King more than do his ministers.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nIf the poetic fancy of our Crown Prince, who, by the way, is my devoted\nyoung friend Fritz, cannot see the truth more clearly than that, then I\nhave little respect for the imaginative power of poets. I--and\ninfluence? I twist His Majesty's stately pigtail every morning, clip his\nfine manly beard, fill his cozy little Dutch pipe for him each\nevening--and if in the course of these innocent employments His Most\nSacred Majesty lets fall a hint, a remark--a little command\npossibly--why--naturally--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYou pick them up and weave them into a \"nice innocent little influence\"\nfor yourself. Eh? An influence that has already earned you three city\nhouses, five estates, and a carriage-and-four. Have a care that the\nCrown Prince does not auction off all these objects under the\ngallows-tree some fine day.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nOh, but your Ladyship must have slept badly. Pray spare me\nthese--predictions and prophesyings, which are made up of whole cloth.\nHis Royal Highness the Crown Prince is far too much, of a philosopher to\ntake such revenge on a man who has no more dealings with His Majesty\nthan to fill his pipe each evening, to braid his pigtail each morning,\nand to shave him in the good old German fashion every second day. Have I\nmade my meaning clear?\n\n[_He goes out._]\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nGo your way, you old sinner! You may pretend to be ever so honest and\nsimple--we know you and your like. Oh, what a life we lead here in this\nCourt! Cannons thunder in the garden under our windows every morning or\nelse they send up a company of soldiers to accustom us to early rising.\nAfter the morning prayer the Princess knits, sews, presses her linen,\nstudies her catechism, and, alas! is forced to listen to a stupid sermon\nevery day. At dinner, we get very little to eat; then the King takes his\nafternoon nap. He's forever quarreling with the Queen, they have\nscarcely a good word to say to each other, and yet the entire family are\nexpected to look on at His Majesty's melodious snore-concert, and even\nto brush away the flies from the face of the sleeping Father of his\ncountry. If my Princess did not possess so much natural wit and spirit,\nthe sweet creature would be quite crushed by such a life. If the King\nonly knew that she is learning French secretly, and can almost write a\npolite little note already--! I hear her coming.\n\n\nSCENE II\n\n\nPRINCESS WILHELMINE _comes in, carrying a letter_.\n\nWILHELMINE (_timidly_).\n\nCan any one hear us?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nNot unless the walls have ears. Is the letter written?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nI hardly dare send it, dear Sonnsfeld. I know there are a hundred\nmistakes in it.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nA hundred? Then the letter must be much longer than Your Highness first\nplanned it.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nI wrote that I fully appreciate the value of the services offered me,\nbut that my position forces me to refuse any aid to my education which\ncannot be attained at least by the help of my mother, the Queen.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nIs that what you have written? And made a hundred mistakes? In that case\nwe are just where we were before. I appreciate that an eighteen-year-old\nPrincess has to consider history, posterity and so forth--but this\nconscientiousness will be your ruin. The King will continue to make a\nslave of you, the Queen to treat you as a child. You are the victim of\nthe conflict between two characters who both perhaps desire what is best\nfor you, but who are so totally different that you will never know whom\nor which one to please. The Crown Prince has made himself free--and how\ndid he do it? Only by courage and independence. He tore himself loose\nfrom the oppressive bondage imposed on him by the caprice of others, and\nwon the means to complete his education. And now he sends to you from\nRheinsberg his friend, the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth, to be a\nsupport and protection to you and to the Queen--so that here in this\nCourt where they drum, trumpet, and parade all day long, you may not\nfinally, in your despair, seize a musket yourself and join the Potsdam\nGuards!\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou have a sense of humor, my dear Sonnsfeld. It is all well enough for\nmy brother to make plans and send out emissaries, when he is safe in\nRheinsberg. He knows that the path to the freedom he has won led past\nthe very foot of the scaffold. I am of the sex whose duty it is to be\npatient. My father is so good at heart, gentler possibly, in his true\nself, than is my mother. She indeed, absorbed in her political\nambitions, often turns from me with a harshness that accords ill with\nmother-love. It is my fate to endure this life. Ask yourself, dear\nfriend, how could I trust to a chance adventurous stranger whom my\nbrother sends to me from out of his wild, artistic circle in\nRheinsberg--sends to me to be my knight and paladin? Such a thought\ncould have been conceived only in the brains of that group of poets.\nI'll confess to you in secret that I should greatly enjoy being in the\nmidst of the Rheinsberg merriment, disguised of course. But I'm in\nBerlin--not in Rheinsberg, and so I have gathered up my meagre scraps of\nFrench and thanked the Prince of Baireuth for his offer in a manner\nwhich is far more a refusal than an acceptance.\n\n[_Hands_ SONNSFELD _the letter_.]\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nAnd I am to dispatch this letter? [_With droll pathos_.] No, Your\nHighness, I cannot have anything to do with this forbidden\ncorrespondence.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nNo joking please, Sonnsfeld. It was the only answer I could possibly\nsend to the Prince's tender epistle.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nImpossible!--To become an accomplice to a forbidden correspondence in\nthis Court might cost one's life.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou will make me angry!--here, dispatch this letter, and quickly.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nNo, Princess. But I know a better means, an absolutely sure means of\ndispatching the letter to its destination, and that is--[_She glances\ntoward a door in the background_] deliver it yourself.\n\n[_She slips out of a side door_.]\n\n\nSCENE III\n\n\n_The_ PRINCE HEREDITARY OF BAIREUTH, _dressed in the French taste of the\nperiod, as different as possible from the king's favorite garb, comes in\ncautiously._\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside_).\n\nThe Prince of Baireuth!\n\nTHE PRINCE (_aside_).\n\nHer very picture! It is the Princess! [_Aloud_.] I crave Your Highness'\npardon that my impatience to deliver the greeting of Your Royal brother\nthe Crown Prince in person--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe Prince of Baireuth places me in no slight embarrassment by this\nearly visit.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe visit was not paid to you, Princess, but to this noble and venerable\ncastle, these stairways, these galleries, these winding corridors--it\nwas a visit of recognizance, Your Highness, such as must precede any\nimportant undertaking.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThen you are preparing to do battle here?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nMy intentions are not altogether peaceful, and yet, as Princess\nWilhelmine doubtless knows, I am compelled to confine myself to a policy\nof defense solely.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAnd even in this you cannot exercise too much care. [_Aside_.] The\nletter is no longer necessary. [_Aloud_.] How did you leave my brother?\nIn good health? And thoroughly occupied?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe Crown Prince leads a life of the gayest diversity in his exile. He\nhas made of Rheinsberg a veritable little Court of the Muses, devoted\nnow to serious study, now to poetic recreation. We have enjoyed\nunforgettably beautiful hours there; one would hardly believe that so\nmuch imagination could be developed and encouraged on the borders of\nMecklenburg! We paint, we build, we model, we write. The regiment which\nis under the immediate command of our talented Prince serves merely to\ncarry out, by military evolutions, the strategic descriptions of\nPolybius. In short, I should deeply regret leaving so delightful a spot\nhad it not been for the flattering and important task intrusted to me.\nPrincess, the Crown Prince desires full and true information, obtained\nat the source, as to the situation of his sister, his mother, here, that\nhe may, if necessary, advise how this situation be improved, how any\ndifficulties may be met.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIf it became known that I am granting an audience, here in this public\nhall, to a Prince who has not yet been presented either to my father or\nto my mother--I could prepare myself for several weeks in Fortress\nK\u00fcstrin.\n\n[_She bows and turns as if to go_.]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nPrincess! Then it is really true--that which is whispered, with horror,\nat every court in Europe? It is true that the King of Prussia tyrannizes\nnot only his court, his entire environment, but his own family as well?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nPrince, you employ too harsh an expression for what I would rather term\nmerely our own peculiar ceremonial. In Versailles they glide as on\nbutterfly wings over the polished floors. Here we tread the earth with\nringing spurs. In Versailles the Royal Family consider themselves but as\na merry company, recognizing no ties as sacred save those of\ncongeniality, no bond but that of--unfettered inclination. Here the\nCourt is merely one big middle-class family, where a prayer is said\nbefore meat, where the parents must always be the first to speak, where\nstrictest obedience must, if necessary, tolerate even absurdities; where\none quarrels, out of one's mutual affection, sometimes--where we even\ntorture one another and make life harder for one another--all out of\nlove--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nPrincess, I swear to you--this must be changed.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAnd how, pray?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe Crown Prince asked me to employ all conceivable means to free you\nfrom this barbarism. I am at your service entirely--command me. His\nfirst thought was for your mental needs. How is it with your knowledge\nof French?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe King detests all things foreign, and most of all does he detest\nFrance, her literature, her language.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe Crown Prince is aware of that. He sends you therefore, as a\nbeginning, a member of his Rheinsberg circle, a talkative but very\nlearned little man, a Frenchman, Laharpe by name--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAll instructors of the French language have been banished from Berlin by\nstrictest order.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nLaharpe will come to you without his identity becoming known.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThat is impossible. No one dare approach me who cannot first satisfy the\nquestioning of the Castle Guard.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nCannot Laharpe instruct you in the apartments of your, Lady-in-waiting,\nFra\u00fclein von Sonnsfeld? WILHELMINE. Impossible.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nIn the Queen's rooms, then.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nImpossible.\n\nTHE PRINCE.\n\nBy Heaven! Do they never leave you alone for one hour?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nOh yes, two hours every Sunday--in church.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBut this is appalling! Why, in Versailles every Princess has her own\nestablishment when she is but ten years old--and even her very dolls\nhave their ladies-in-waiting!\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe only place which I may visit occasionally, and remain in\nunaccompanied, are those rooms over there, in the lower story of the\npalace.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe King's private library, no doubt?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nNo.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nA gallery of family portraits?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nDo you see the smoke issuing from the open window?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThat is--oh, it cannot be--the kitchen?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nNot exactly--but hardly much better. It is, I have the honor to inform\nyou, the Royal Prussian Laundry. Yes, Prince, the sister of the Prussian\nCrown Prince is permitted to remain in that room for an hour or two if\nshe will, to look on at the washing, the starching, the ironing, the\nsorting-out of body and house linen--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThis--for a Princess?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nDo you see the little window with the flower pots and the bird in a tiny\ncage? The wife of our silver-cleaner lives there, and occasionally, when\nthe poor daughter of a King is supposed to be busied, like any\nserving-maid, among the steaming pots and boilers, this same poor\nPrincess slips in secretly to the good woman's little room. Ah! there,\nbehind those flower-pots, I can laugh freely and merrily--there I can\nlet the little linnet feed from my hand, and I can say to myself that\nwith all my troubles, with all my sorrows, I am still happier than the\npoor little singer in his cage. For he will never regain his freedom no\nmatter how sweetly he may sing ... in all the tongues of earth.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nShe is charming. [_Aloud_.] And Laharpe?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIf I must dare it--send the learned gentleman to me down there, Prince.\nIn that little room I will obey my brother's command to perfect my\nFrench style. Among many other things I should really like to learn to\nsay, in most elegant and modern French, these words: \"Yes I _will_ dare\nto begin a new life. Remain my brother's friend--and my protector!\" But\nfor the moment--goodby.\n\n[_She hurries out_.]\n\n\nSCENE IV\n\n\nPRINCE (_alone_).\n\nWhere am I? Was that a scene from the Arabian Nights? Or am I really on\nthe banks of that homely river Spree which flows into the Havel? Of a\ntruth this Prussian Court with its queer pigtails and gaiters is more\nromantic than I had thought. Laharpe down there behind the flower-pots!\nLaharpe t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate with a Princess who visits the kitchen and with a\nlinnet which--happy bird--is privileged to bite her fingers. How\nbeautiful she is--much fairer than the miniature Frederick wears next\nhis heart! And yet I had fallen in love with this miniature. [_Looks\nabout him_.] There is a spell that seems to hold me in these rooms,\nthrough which she glides like the Genius of the bower. [_Goes to the\nwindow_.] Down there in the square, the bayonets of the parading troops\nflash in the sunlight--and that door over yonder leads to the apartments\nof a Princess whose possession would mean the highest bliss earth can\nafford. And there--whither leads that door through which the kind\nguardian of this paradise disappeared?\n\n[_He turns toward the second door at the back, to his right._]\n\nSONNSFELD (_comes in quickly, excitedly_).\n\nAway Prince--away, the Queen is approaching.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe Queen? Where shall I go?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nInto that room over there--you may find some way out--no one must see\nyou here.\n\n[_She pushes him to an opposite side-door_.]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nMy knowledge of the territory is growing rapidly. [_He goes out_.]\n\n\nSCENE V\n\n\n_The_ QUEEN _comes in, followed by two ladies-in-waiting. She motions\nthem to leave her. They go out. The_ QUEEN _sinks into a chair_.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nHas my daughter risen? I worked so late into the night that I am still\nquite fatigued. These wretched politics! Have you seen Kamke?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYour Majesty's lackey? No, Your Majesty.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nHe's been gone so long. I sent him to the Prince of Baireuth.\n\nPRINCE (_peeping out from the door, aside_).\n\nTo me?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nIf I may judge by the letters the Prince brings me from my son, he\nhimself will one day be one of the best sovereigns of our century.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nThe field is all in my favor.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nMy son, who judges men so keenly, assures me that I may trust this\nPrince completely. And I need some one of force and character to aid\nme; I need such a one now more than ever.\n\nSONNSFELD (_alarmed_).\n\nIs there--is there anything new in the air, Your Majesty?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nI shall need to display all my strength, all my will-power. I shall have\nneed of it to uphold the dignity of a monarchy whose natural head\nappears to forget more and more that Prussia has recently joined the\nranks of the Great Powers of Europe.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYour Majesty--is laying plots?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nI am consumed with curiosity to make the acquaintance of this Prince\nwhom my son considers worthy of his friendship. [SONNSFELD _motions to\nthe Prince_.] As soon as he arrives, dear Sonnsfeld--\n\nSONNSFELD (_pointing to the PRINCE, who comes in_).\n\nKamke has just shown him in. Here he is, Your Majesty.\n\nQUEEN (_rising_).\n\nThis is a surprise, Prince. I did not hear you enter.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYour Majesty was so deeply absorbed in thought--\n\nQUEEN (_aside_).\n\nHe has a pleasing exterior and intelligent eyes. [_Aloud_.] Did my\nmessenger--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe good fellow met me just as I was about to leave my hotel. He gave me\nYour Majesty's gracious command.\n\nQUEEN. Prince--[_She sits down, motioning him to do the same_.]\n\nMy heartiest thanks for the letters from my worthy son. One sentence,\nwhich I reread many times, permits me to assume that he has informed you\nof a certain matter, a certain plan of mine--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nCertainly, Your Majesty. [_Aside_.] I haven't heard a word about it.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nIt makes me very happy to know that in this matter, as indeed in most\nthings, my son and I are so completely in accord. Then you, also, think\nas we do on this subject?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nUndoubtedly--undoubtedly, Your Majesty. [_Aside_.] If I only knew _what_\nsubject!\n\nQUEEN.\n\nMy son writes me that I may rely entirely on your sympathy in this\naffair.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHe did not exaggerate, Your Majesty. When I parted from him, his last\nwords, called after my moving carriage, were these: \"Dear friend, my\ngracious mother, the Queen, will inform you as to all further details\nconcerning the affair in question.\"\n\nQUEEN.\n\nThat sounds very like him. I am quite ready to do as he says.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nThe plot thickens.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nYou know that the Electors of Brandenburg have but recently become Kings\nof Prussia. Although a Hanoverian Princess myself, I find my happiness\nin Prussia's greatness, my pride in Prussia's fame. No state has such\nneed to be careful in the choice of its alliances, political or\nmatrimonial, as our own. And hence there is no subject so interesting\nand so important to our country at the moment as a certain question\nwhich is already exciting the Cabinets of Europe, a question--the answer\nto which you have doubtless already guessed.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI think--I may say--that I understand Your Majesty entirely. [_Aside_.]\nWhat can she mean?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nNo one can call me unduly proud. But if one belongs to a family which\nhas recently had the honor of being chosen to fill the throne of\nEngland--if one is the daughter of a King, the wife of a King, the\nmother of a future King--you will understand that in this matter of my\ndaughter's future--there are weighty considerations which force me to\navoid any possible political m\u00e9salliance.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nM\u00e9salliance? The Princess? Your daughter [_Bewildered_.] I must\nconfess--I was but superficially informed of all these matters.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nWhat I am about to tell you, Prince, under the seal of your utmost\ndiscretion, is a secret and the result of the gravest negotiations and\nplans. You know what kind of a Court this is at which I live. I am\ndenied the influence which should be my right as mother of my country.\nThe King has surrounded himself with persons who have separated him from\nme. I dare not think how this company of corporals and sergeants will\nreceive my deeply thought-out plans. How will the King be inclined in\nregard to a matter that is of such decisive importance for the happiness\nof his children and the fair fame of his house? In this, Prince, you see\nmy need of a man of your intelligence, your insight, that I may know\nwhat to hope--or [_firmly_] if need be--what to dare!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI shall be most eagerly anxious to justify Your Majesty's confidence.\n[_Aside_.] Good Heavens!\n\nQUEEN.\n\nLet me then inform you of a secret but completed negotiation in which\nall the nearest relatives of our house have already taken part, and into\nthe nature of which I now initiate you, too, as my son's friend. My\ndaughter is to become the wife of my nephew, the Prince of Wales; she\nwill therefore be the future Queen of England.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nZounds! A nice rival this!\n\nQUEEN.\n\nSo you see, Prince, the importance of the issue involved! Will you\nconsent to mediate this question--a question of such importance to all\nEurope--with my husband?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI? With the King? Mediate? Oh, of course, Your Majesty, with the\ngreatest pleasure! [_Aside_.] What a detestable errand!\n\nQUEEN.\n\nVery well, then you can begin at once. The King will be here shortly.\nIntroduce yourself to him. Use this favorable moment to draw from him an\nexpression of his opinion concerning the throne of England, and let me\nknow the result at once.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI am still quite bewildered by this--this flattering commission. And\nwhen may I pay my respects to Your Majesty again?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nAt almost any time. But I should prefer the evening hours, when those on\nwhom I can rely gather around me, while the King is with those persons\nwhom I mentioned a short time ago. Farewell now, my dear Prince of--oh,\ndear me, now my son has forgotten to write me whether it is Ansbach or\nBaireuth that you inherit. It is so easy to confuse these little\nprincipalities. Ansbach--Baireuth--Ansbach--yes, that was it. Very well,\nmy dear Prince of Ansbach, remember, Prussia, Hanover and England!\n\n[_She bows to him with proud condescension and goes out_.]\n\n\nSCENE VI\n\n\nPRINCE (_alone_).\n\nThe future Queen of England! And I--the Hereditary Prince of Ansbach!\nThat was a cruel blow of fate. And I am to mediate these matters of\ninternational importance! This angelic being, whom I love more madly\nwith every breath I draw--this exquisite sister of my dear\nFrederick--is destined to become a victim of political intrigue? Oh no,\nshe cannot possibly love the Prince of Wales; she has never seen him.\nBut will they consult her inclination? Will cold considerations of\npolitics heed the cry of her heart?--The parade is over, the suite is\nentering the castle; I dare not meet the king now in this excited mood.\n\n[_He looks about as if seeking some means of escape_. EVERSMANN _comes\nin carrying a large book. He has a pen stuck in behind one ear. He\ncrosses to the door through which the_ QUEEN _has gone out_.]\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nWho's this?\n\n[EVERSMANN _looks the_ PRINCE _over from head to foot, moves forward a\nfew paces, then halts again_.]\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nCan any one have seen me?\n\nEVERSMANN (_goes to the door, halts again, looks at the_ PRINCE\n_impudently_).\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWhy are you looking at me, sirrah? I am the Prince Hereditary of\nBaireuth.\n\nEVERSMANN (_is quite indifferent, comes down a few steps, bows very\nslightly_).\n\nHis Majesty is coming in from the parade, but does not grant audiences\nin this room.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI thank you for the information, my good man.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nDon't mention it, pray.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd who are you?\n\nEVERSMANN. I? [_There is along pause_.]\n\nI am Eversmann. [_He goes out into the_ QUEEN's _room_.]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nEversmann? The Minister of Finance or the Head Steward, I wonder? He\nbetrays parsimony in every shred of his garments. [_Drums and the sound\nof presented arms is heard back_ _of the rear entrance_.] The King is\ncoming. The King? Why should I feel so timid, so oppressed, all of a\nsudden? Does my courage fail me because I am about to confront this\ncuriosity of his century? I'd rather observe him from the side at first.\n\n[_He draws back and stands close by the door to the left_.]\n\n\nSCENE VII\n\n\n_A loud knocking, as with a cane, is heard at the centre door_.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nCome in.\n\nKING (_outside_).\n\nEversmann!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nNow, what's that?\n\nKING (_still without, beats the door loudly with his cane_).\n\nEversmann!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nSurely this castle is haunted!\n\n[_He slips into the door at the right_.]\n\nKING (_knocking again, still outside_).\n\nEversmann! Doesn't the fellow hear?\n\nEVERSMANN (_coming in hurriedly_).\n\nThe door is open, Your Majesty. [_Goes to centre door, opens it_.]\n\nPRINCE (_looking in at his door_).\n\nYour Majesty? Is that the King?\n\nKING (_in corridor but not yet visible_).\n\nEversmann, have you forgotten that this is the day for revising the\nbooks?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nNo, indeed, Your Majesty. I was occupied in balancing the books of Her\nMajesty the Queen.\n\nQUEEN (_comes out from her door, listens timidly_).\n\nWas that the King's voice?\n\nKING (_outside_).\n\nEversmann, tell the castellan that eleven o'clock is closing hour for my\nwife's apartment, and that, if I see a light again in her rooms until\nafter midnight, I will come over myself at the stroke of twelve to\nsearch into every corner and to discover what political plot is brewing\nthere. You'd better tell my wife yourself, sirrah--so that she may obey\norders.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nSo that she may obey orders.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nMiserable lackey! [_Goes out_.]\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nWill he go now?\n\nKING (_outside_).\n\nEversmann!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nYour Majesty!\n\nKING.\n\nNow go to my daughter too, the Princess Wilhelmine--\n\n[WILHELMINE _opens her door softly_.]\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nTo Her Royal Highness--\n\nKING.\n\nAnd tell her to have a care--this Laharpe--is a rascal.\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside_).\n\nLaharpe?\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nWhat's that?\n\nKING.\n\nLaharpe is a rascal, I say.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nA rascal.\n\nKING.\n\nAnd tell my daughter that I will teach a lesson to the Crown Prince for\nsending these French vagabonds here, who pretend to be teachers of the\nlanguage and are merely ordinary, good-for-nothing wigmakers.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nHow disgusting!\n\n[_She goes out_.]\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nWigmakers?\n\nKING (_still outside_).\n\nAnd now get back to the books!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nAt once, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nEversmann--one thing more, Eversmann!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nYour Majesty?\n\nKING.\n\nIf you should see the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth--\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nIt's my turn now.\n\nKING.\n\nThat French windbag who's been hanging about Berlin since yesterday--\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nPleasing description!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nI'll tell him Your Majesty will not receive him.\n\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nRascal!\n\nKING.\n\nNo, Eversmann, tell him I have something very important to say to\nhim--something very confidential.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nConfidential? To me?\n\nKING.\n\nConcerning an important and pressing matter.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nOh, yes, I know.\n\nKING.\n\nYou know, sirrah? What do you know? You know nothing at all.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nI thought--one might guess--\n\nKING.\n\nGuess? What right have you to guess? You're not to guess at all.\nUnderstand? Idiot! Shoulder arms, march! [_As he goes off a short roll\nof drums is heard_.]\n\nPRINCE (_crosses quickly to_ EVERSMANN).\n\nWhat do you know? What do you think it is that the King has to say to\nme?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nOh, Your Highness is still here?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe King wishes to speak to me. Do you know why? Tell me what you think.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nIf Your Highness promises not to betray me--I think it concerns a\ncertain affair--between Prussia and Austria.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAustria?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nArch-Duke Leopold is willing, they say--that is if [_with a sly gesture\ntoward the_ PRINCESS' _room_] if Princess Wilhelmine--\n\nPRINCE (_excited_).\n\nThe Princess?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nSh! You will probably be chosen to conduct the negotiations between\nPrussia and--\n\nPRINCE (_beside himself_).\n\nThe Princess is--destined--\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nTo be the future Empress of Austria.\n\n[_He goes out into the_ QUEEN'S _room_.]\n\nPRINCE (_alone_).\n\nEmpress! Queen! And I--I who love her to desperation, I am to help\nbring about either of these alliances? That will mean a tragedy or\n[_after a pause he continues more cheerfully_]--Courage--courage--it may\nturn out a comedy after all, as merry a comedy as ever was played at any\nRoyal Court. [_He goes out_.]\n\n\n\nACT II\n\n\n\nGRUMBKOW _and_ SECKENDORF _come in with_ EVERSMANN. _The latter carries\na wide orange-colored ribbon with many stars and Orders on it, and a\ngleaming sword_.\n\n\nSCENE I\n\n\n_The_ KING'S _room. A side door on the left; a centre door. A writing\ntable and chairs_.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nIt was a dispatch, you say, Eversmann?\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nA dispatch from Hanover.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nAnd all this elegance? The ribbon? The sword of state? What does it\nmean?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nHis Majesty ordered these immediately after the arrival of the dispatch.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nA dispatch from Hanover--arrived about an hour ago--_grand cordon_\ncommanded--sword of state--we must put these facts together,\nGrumbkow--find their meaning.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThere are to be twelve plates more at table today. [_Meaningfully_.]\nThirty-six thalers are set aside for the dinner--everybody to appear in\nfull court dress.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nA dispatch from Hanover-_grand cordon_--sword of state--twelve plates\nextra--thirty-six thalers--the combination, Grumbkow--we must find the\ncombination!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nWhen he had torn the seal from the dispatch, he wept two big tears and\nsaid: \"I'll make them all happy if I have to beat them to a jelly to do\nit.\" And now he's all eagerness and would like to invite the whole city\nto dinner.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nOn thirty-six thalers?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThe orphans in the asylum are to have new clothes.\n\nGRUMBKOW (_startled_).\n\nThe orphans? That looks like a wedding.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nDispatch--Hanover--thirty-six thalers--two tears--beat them all--the\nmeaning of that, Grumbkow?--we must put two and two together and find\nit.\n\nEVERSMANN (_startled_).\n\nHe's coming! The King!\n\n\nSCENE II\n\n\n_The_ KING _looks in from the side door_.\n\nKING.\n\nGood morning! Good morning! Hope you slept well, gentlemen. Well, you\nrascal, where's that frippery? What's this--the English orders are\nmissing? Fasten it on well. I don't want the fol-dols knocking about my\nknees.\n\nEVERSMANN (_as if joking_).\n\nIs there something so important on hand? Doesn't Your Majesty want the\ncrown also?\n\nKING.\n\nThe crown! Idiot! [_He comes out_.] You can be glad that you don't have\nto wear it, sirrah! Off with you now. Eversmann, and see that everything\nis in order. [EVERSMANN _goes out_.] Good morning, Grumbkow and\nSeckendorf. No time for you now--my compliments to the State of Prussia\nand I beg to be left to myself today. Good morning--good morning.\n\n[_The two ministers prepare reluctantly to depart_.]\n\nGRUMBKOW (_in the door_).\n\nYour Majesty is in such a merry mood--\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nCould it be the arrival of the courier--? KING (_indifferently_). Oh,\nyes. A courier came--\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nFrom Hanover?\n\nKING.\n\nFrom Hanover.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nWith news of importance, Your Majesty?\n\nKING.\n\nNews of importance!\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nConcerning English affairs, doubtless?\n\nKING.\n\nEnglish affairs!\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nDoubtless the East Indian commercial treaties.\n\nKING.\n\nNo--no.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nThe Dutch shipping agreement?\n\nKING (_enjoying their curiosity_).\n\nSomething of that nature. Good morning, gentlemen.\n\nGRUMBKOW (_aside_).\n\nHe is in a desperate mood again.\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside, going out_).\n\nThirty-six thalers--twelve places--the orphans--we must find the\ncombination! [_They go out_.]\n\n\nSCENE III\n\n\nKING.\n\nThey've gone. At last I have a moment to myself. [EVERSMANN _comes in_.]\nI am supremely happy.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nMy respectful congratulations.\n\nKING.\n\nThankee-now just imagine--oh, yes--no. [_Aside_.] No one must know of\nit.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nDid Your Majesty intend to--\n\nKING.\n\nChange my clothes? Yes--take this coat off; we'll spare no expense. They\nshall see that I possess wealth; they shall see that though I may be\nparsimonious ordinarily, still I can spend as well as any of them when\nan occasion offers. An occasion like this--[_with an out-burst_.]\nEversmann, just imagine! [_Remembering_.] Oh, yes.\n\nEVERSMANN (_takes off the_ KING'S _coat_).\n\nWill Your Majesty put on the embroidered uniform?\n\nKING.\n\nThe embroidered uniform, Eversmann. I am expecting guests to whom all\nhonor must be shown. Great honor--for when it concerns the arrival of\npersons who--[_He sits down_.] Take off my boots. [EVERSMANN _pulls off\nthe boots with difficulty_.] Has the Prince of Baireuth been here yet?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nIs Your Majesty going to all this trouble on his account?\n\nKING.\n\nOn his account? Possibly. [_Aside_.] I'll lead them all a dance.\n[_Aloud_.] Zounds! Villain! Rascal! My corns! I believe the rogue is\nhurting me on purpose--because I won't tell him anything.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nBut, Your Majesty, I haven't asked any questions yet.\n\nKING.\n\nI'll have you asking questions! Now what are you laughing at, sirrah?\nHeh? Fetch me my dressing gown until you have found the uniform.\n[EVERSMANN _turns to go_.] Hey, there! Why did you laugh just now?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nBecause I know--that before I have brought Your Majesty your hat Your\nMajesty will have told me all about it.\n\nKING (_threatening him with his cane_).\n\nYou rascal--how dare you?\n\nEVERSMANN (_retiring toward the door_).\n\nYour Majesty can't keep a secret. There is only one thing Your Majesty\ncan hold fast to, and that is--_your money_! Ha! ha! I'll fetch the\ndressing-gown. [_He goes out_.]\n\n\nSCENE IV\n\n\nKING (_sitting in his shirt-sleeves_).\n\nHe's right. It burns my heart out. But they shan't know. Not any of\nthem--they shan't. They've spoiled my pet plans before now. I'll play a\ndifferent game, this time, and I'll send _all_ the camels through the\nneedle's eye at once. They think I'm on the side of Austria. But no--ha!\nha! England's own offer, brought by the Hanoverian courier, was a great\nsurprise to me--he! he! England is my wife's idea--therefore I am for\nEngland, too--and soon we'll have the wedding and the christening, ha!\nha!\n\n[_A lackey comes in, announces_.]\n\nLACKEY.\n\nHis Highness the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth.\n\nKING.\n\nPleased to receive him.\n\n[_The lackey goes out and the_ PRINCE _comes in_.]\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nAre these old crosspatch's apartments? [_To the_ KING.] That's the\nKing's study in there, isn't it?\n\nKING.\n\nYes--at your service.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nGo in and announce me. I'm the Prince of Baireuth.\n\nKING (_surprised, aside_).\n\nWhat does he take me for?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWhat fashion is this? Are you in the King's service? Is this the style\nin which to receive guests to whom His Majesty has promised an audience?\n\nKING.\n\nThen Your Highness--wishes to speak to--to the King of Prussia?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou heard me say so, did you not? Announce me.\n\nKING.\n\nAt once, Your Highness. [_Turns to go_.]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nIs this the way to go into your master's presence? In your\nshirt-sleeves?\n\nKING.\n\nI'm--I'm on a very confidential footing with the King. [_He goes out_.]\n\nPRINCE (_alone_).\n\nThis is a strange Royal Household indeed! The servants stand about the\nanterooms in their shirt-sleeves--doubtless from motives of economy to\nsave their liveries. Well, the great hour has arrived--the die will\nfall. Wilhelmine--she--she alone I love--and she is to consent to unite\nherself to the painted picture of a Prince of Wales--the colored\nsilhouette of an Austrian Arch-Duke whom she has never seen! Ah, no, my\nfate rests on the Genius of Love--on chance, which may be even kinder to\nme than I expect. Her parents are of divided minds--thereby do I gain\ntime to win Wilhelmine's heart--for myself. The King is coming. Now I\ncan listen to his favorable opinions regarding--Austria.\n\n\nSCENE V\n\n\n_The_ KING _comes in, in dress uniform, with the grand cordon_.\n\nPRINCE (_looking at him_).\n\nIs that not--\n\nKING.\n\nYou are surprised? It was a slight mistake in identity.\n\nPRINCE (_embarrassed_).\n\nYour Majesty--I am a stranger--\n\nKING.\n\nIt's of no consequence. You were deucedly insolent--but my people are\nthick-skinned. Well--I want to speak to you, my dear Prince of Baireuth.\nAre you just come from Baireuth?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYes, Your Majesty--that is, I left Baireuth three years ago.\n\nKING.\n\nAnd where were you all this time?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nIn--in England.\n\nKING.\n\nAh--you spent much time in England?\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nI suppose he wants me to help him with Austria, and to disparage\nEngland. [_Aloud_.] In England? Yes, quite time enough to learn all\nabout that unmannerly and extremely ridiculous country and its ways.\n\nKING:\n\nWhat's that? England ridiculous? Here, here, young friend--_we_ have\nsome distance to go yet before we reach the point where England stands\ntoday. H'm--have you been in Italy? Or in Austria--or thereabouts?\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nDoes he favor England? I thought it was Austria--yes, he favors Austria.\n[_Aloud_.] Austria? Surely; a wonderful country--such development of\nindustry--and commerce--such life and activity in all directions!\n\nKING.\n\nActivity? H'm! The activity in Austria isn't dangerous yet!\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nThen he does not favor Austria. I fancy I'm not ingratiating myself at\nall.\n\nKING (_aside_).\n\nHas Seckendorf, or any of the others, been talking to him? Is he trying\nto please me? [_Aloud_.] A nice little country, that Baireuth of yours.\nSoil somewhat stony, though!--doesn't yield your father much revenue, I\ndare say!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWe're learning to improve the soil. [_Aside_.] These geographical\nprejudices!\n\nKING.\n\nTrying to improve it by the pleasure palaces your father is building?\nWhat's got into the man? Puts up one gimcrack after another, as if he\nwere Louis Quatorze--and runs his country into debt meanwhile. About how\nmuch debt does your country carry?\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nI don't know that myself. [_Aloud, saucily_.] Ten millions.\n\nKING.\n\nTen millions?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nMore or less.\n\nKING.\n\nGood heavens! Who is to pay that debt eventually? And with such a state\nof things in the exchequer you're traveling about Europe, taking money\nout of the country?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI'm completing my education, sire.\n\nKING.\n\nIn Versailles? In Rheinsburg? Well, never mind, we've had enough of\nthat. [_He whistles the_ _first bars of the Dessauer March_.] Tell me,\nyou've taken part in those heathenish performances--at my son's Court, I\nmean?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe part of a confidant, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nGood! It was about these heathenish performances that I wanted to speak\nto you. Prince, they tell me you are a man of taste, a man who is well\nacquainted with those godless Greek and Roman doings. As it is in my\nmind to celebrate my daughter's wedding with all pomp worthy of my\ncrown--I want to ask you--to consult with my son--as to how most\ngracefully and amusingly to entertain the Courts of Poland, Saxony,\nBrunswick and Mecklenburg, who will all be here for an entire week--in a\nword, how we can win much honor and glory by this wedding.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWedding? The Princess--your daughter's wedding?\n\nKING.\n\nYes, Prince. My artillery will furnish the salutes, and I will see to the\nreviews and parades my self. But it is in the evening that our guests grow\nweary in Berlin--they go to sleep in their chairs. Beer drinking and pipe\nsmoking is not yet to every one's taste. We'll have to swim with the\nstream, therefore, and provide suitable amusements--illumination, operas,\nallegorical presentations, and such fol-da-rol--all about Prussia and\nEngland.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nEngland?\n\nKING (_rises_).\n\nZounds! that ran over my tongue like a hare hurrying across\nthe highway. H'm--I mean a sort of spectacle--oh, say\nunicorn--eagle--eagle--unicorn--leopard--intermingled--Prussia and\nEngland--and it must be in rhyme--in verse, as it were.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nEngland? This news comes with such a surprise! The whole country,\nEurope--the world--will wonder how England came to deserve such honor.\n\nKING.\n\nOh, ho! don't flatter the old--lackey! It's an old affair, this one with\nEngland; my wife has been working at it for years.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe Queen? Why, I fancied--that Her Majesty the Queen was much more in\nfavor of Austria--\n\nKING. Austria? [_Aside_.]\n\nI might have known she would want to put her own will through. [_Aloud\nwith decision_.] No. I received today a dispatch from our Ambassador,\nwho assures me that England is thinking seriously of this plan, of this\nmarriage arranged in all secrecy. The Prince of Wales has taken ship\nfrom England; it is supposed that he is already landed on the Hanoverian\ncoast. Meanwhile, a plenipotentiary has left London, in strictest\n_incognito_, on his way to treat with me concerning all the details of\nthe marriage. The envoy is likely to arrive at any moment. You would\nplace me under obligations to you, therefore--\n\nPRINCE (_in despair_).\n\nShall it be a pastoral masque?\n\nKING.\n\nYes. And the Crown Prince can play the flute for it, since he has\nlearned that art behind my back.\n\nPRINCE (_turns to go, but comes back_).\n\nAnd the ladies and gentlemen of the Court are to act in it?\n\nKING.\n\nSurely. Give every one of them something to say, only not me. But\nGrumbkow must act in it. Yes, Grumbkow must be in it--and the ladies\nViereck and Sonnsfeld--and Seckendorf--and--\n\nPRINCE (_as above_).\n\nMust it be in English or in French?\n\nKING.\n\nNeither. In German, good, pure, fiery German--High German, you\nunderstand, not the Berlin flavor. [_Confidentially_.] And if you could\nbring in a little Dutch somewhere--certain considerations of commerce\nwould render that very pleasing to me; it will be spoken of in the\npapers and the Ambassador of Holland will be there--you see, it's about\nthe importation of tobacco. [_Makes gestures as of smoking and whispers\ninto the_ PRINCE'S _ear_.] But I suppose a fine young gentleman like\nyourself doesn't smoke.\n\nPRINCE (_in despair_).\n\nNo, Your Majesty--but my imagination is smoking like any volcano\nalready.\n\nA LACKEY (_coming in_).\n\nThe Privy Councilors urgently pray Your Majesty to receive them.\n\nKING.\n\nGad, but they must be eaten up by curiosity! Bring them in. [_The lackey\ngoes out_.] Well, as I was saying--an allegorical marriage\nmasque--that's what. Not quite in the style of Versailles. And yet I\nwant the pre-marital feast to be fine enough to compare favorably with\nthe one they rigged up in Dresden. Now--as for Holland. Put in some\nverses about the colonies, Prince, about the land where tobacco grows.\nYou know--it's the land where the--\n\nPRINCE (_beside himself_).\n\nWhere the Bong-tree grows! [_He goes out_.]\n\n\nSCENE VI\n\n\nGRUMBKOW _and_ SECKENDORF _come in. Each carries under his arm a small\nbundle of red-bound books_.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nForgive us, Your Majesty--but it is incredible that such unprecedented\ncrimes should occur in the very bosom of the Royal Family!\n\nKING.\n\nWhat's the matter now?\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nYour Majesty has already been informed about the Frenchman who was found\nwandering through the streets of Berlin without any proper passport or\nidentification, the man who had the temerity to say he had come to teach\nPrincess Wilhelmine his language.\n\nKING.\n\nIt was only a wigmaker from Orleans.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nOh, but we have discovered further complications, Your Majesty! Books\nwere found in this man's possession, books which point to a dangerous\nconnection with Rheinsberg.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nConvince yourself, Your Majesty. These immoral French writings are all\nmarked with the initials of His Highness the Crown Prince.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nF.P.R.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nFr\u00e9d\u00e9ric, Prince Royal.\n\n[_The_ KING _starts in anger, takes up one of the books and then touches\nthe bell_. EVERSMANN _comes in_.]\n\nKING.\n\nEversman [_with conscious impressiveness_], my spectacles! [EVERSMANN\n_goes out and returns again with a big pair of glasses_.] The\nAttorney-General must make a thorough examination of this vagrant's\npapers.... I will not have these French clowns in my country. [_He looks\nthrough one of the books_.] The Crown Prince's seal--But no--no ... the\nvagabond must have stolen it from him.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nOr else the books were intended for the Princess' instruction.\n\nKING.\n\nThis sort of book? These French--hold! hold! what have we here--is this\nnot the disgusting novel written by the hunchback Scarron, the husband\nof the fine Madame Maintenon--his notorious satire upon our Court?\n\nGRUMBKOW AND EVERSMANN (_together_).\n\nOur Court?\n\nKING (_turning the leaves_).\n\nA satire on us all--on me--on Seckendorf, Grumbkow, Eversmann.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nOn me, too? KING (_serious_).\n\nThe Crown Prince has underscored most of it, that it may be better\nunderstood. Here is a Marshal with the nickname _le chicaneur_. You know\nthat's meant for you, Grumbkow.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nOutrageous!\n\nKING.\n\nThe Ambassador, Vicomte de la Rancune, otherwise _le petit combinateur_.\nThat's you, Seckendorf.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nIt's--it's an international insult.\n\nKING.\n\nAnd he called Eversmann _la rapini\u00e8re_, or, as we would say, Old\nRapacity!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThe rogue! And such books find their way into the country--marked\nproperly by the Crown Prince at that!\n\nKING.\n\nCan Wilhelmine be a party to this? That would indeed be scandalous. The\nAttorney-General must make a thorough investigation. [_In extreme\nanger_.] Isn't it possible for me to have a single quiet moment?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nYour Majesty, shall I take these ungodly books to the executioner, to\nhave them burned?\n\nKING.\n\nNo. I wouldn't use them even to light my pipe--not even as bonfires for\nour festivities. Gentlemen, shake this matter off, as I have done. This\nevening, over our glowing pipes, and in the enjoyment of a glass of good\nGerman beer, we also can be just as witty at the expense of Versailles\nand the entire French cabinet.\n\nGRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF (_together, aside_).\n\nBonfires for the festivities?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nBut the books are to be burned, Your Majesty?\n\nKING.\n\nYes, in another manner. Send them out to the powder mills by the\nOranienburger gate. They can make cartridges for my grenadiers out of\nthem. [_He goes out_.]\n\nGRUMBKOW, SECKENDORF, EVERSMANN (_aside_). Festivities?\n\n[_They go out_.]\n\n\nSCENE VII\n\n\n_The scene changes to the room of Act I_.\n\nBARONET HOTHAM _comes in cautiously through the centre door, followed\nby_ KAMKE.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nA hall with four doors? Quite right. The Princess' room there? And the\nQueen's here? Thanks, good friend. [KAMKE _goes out_.] Baronet Hotham is\npreserving his _incognito_ to the extent of becoming entirely invisible.\nI've smuggled myself into the country from London--by way of Hanover--as\nif I were a bale of prohibited merchandise. [_Wipes his forehead_.] The\ndeuce take this equestrian official business, where a man needs have the\nmanners of a dandy with the unfeeling bones of a postilion. For four\ndays I've scarcely been out of the saddle. [_He throws himself into a\nchair_.] Gad! if the nations knew how a man has to win his way through\nto the Foreign Office by years of courier-riding, they'd not think it\nstrange that their statesmen, grown mature, seem disinclined to trip the\nlight fantastic. Faith, it weighs one's pocket heavily, this carrying a\nkingdom about with one. [_He slaps his right coat-pocket_.] Here lies\nthe crown of England. [_Now the left coat-pocket_.] Here the crown of\nScotland--and here, in my waistcoat pocket, is Ireland. What shall I\ntake from herein exchange? [_He looks about_.] Is the gilding real? It\nlooks deuced niggardly and close-fisted. There's space enough in these\ngreat halls, but I'll wager there are many mice here. It's as quiet as\nan English Sunday. [_Rises_.] There's some one coming.\n\n[_Rises_ PRINCE _opens the centre door, then halts on the threshold as\nif in despair_.]\n\nHOTHAM (_in surprise_).\n\nWell?\n\n[_The_ PRINCE _comes down a step and claps his hand to his forehead_.]\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI believe he's writing verses.\n\n[_The_ PRINCE _moves as before, toward the_ PRINCESS' _door, then sees_\nHOTHAM.]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWhat? Who--who is this I see?\n\nHOTHAM (_surprised_).\n\nDo my eyes deceive me?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHotham! Is it possible? You here in Berlin, friend?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWhy, what is the matter, Prince?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThink of meeting you--you dear, excellent fellow--and just at the very\nmoment when my despair threatened to overcome me! Is it really true?\nWhere do you come from? From Paris?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI've just come from England, Prince, with the very best greetings from\nour mutual friends and a special commission to capture you and bring you\nback to the race-track, to the hunting field, and the boxing ring, which\nyou so enjoyed.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAlas, Hotham--all those pleasures are over for me!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nHas your father cut you off from the succession?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAh, do not touch that sensitive wound! Fetch me, instead, the Empire of\nMorocco.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYou are ill of a fever, Prince, or else you need a friend to aid you\nwith his sane mind.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHotham, you are a genius--many an intrigue of your country's foes will\nbe shattered against that brain of yours. But you cannot help me.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI wish that I could, Prince. I am so deeply in your debt for a hundred\ngood services rendered me during your sojourn in England. It was your\ninfluence that put me in touch with our leading statesmen; you opened\nthe diplomatic career to me. To you I owe all that I am and have--my\nbrain is at your service, let it think for you; my arm is at your\nservice, let it act for you.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHotham, I'm in a most peculiar situation--\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI will devote my very life to your service. What would I be without you?\nTo you I owe this flattering mission, to you I owe my very presence\nhere.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYes--why _are_ you here?\n\nHOTHAM (_looks about_).\n\nIt is an affair of the greatest secrecy. But if you desire I shall not\nhesitate to tell you what it is.\n\nPRINCE. (_absently_).\n\nI am not curious. Will it keep you here long?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThat depends upon circumstances--circumstances of a most delicate\nnature.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAn affair of honor?\n\nHOTHAM (_low_).\n\nIt concerns a possible marriage contract--between Princess Wilhelmine\nand the Prince of Wales.\n\nPRINCE (_as if beside himself_).\n\nYou? You are the ambassador of whom the King spoke to me just now?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nHas the King been informed already?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThen you--you are that irresistibly clever diplomat whom they are\nawaiting with open arms?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nDoes the King really look with favor upon this marriage with the Prince\nof Wales?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHorrible! I picked this man for a genius from among a thousand others. I\ntook him from Paris, and put him into English diplomacy and now I must\nsuffer because he does honor to my judgment. Let me tell you, then, my\nfriend, that the King and the Queen, quite ignorant of their mutual\nagreement, are both heartily desirous of this marriage and all of its\nimplications. But you are to know also that Princess Wilhelmine, the\nunhappy sacrifice of your political ambitions, is loved by a prince who\ncannot compete in power or position with your Prince of Wales, but who\nin devotion, love, passion so far outdistances all and any crowned\nsuitors for the hand of this angel as heaven, nay, as paradise,\noutdistances earth--and that this prince is--myself.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThis is indeed a discovery I did not dream of, and I must, unhappily,\nadd not a pleasant one. But if you ask in due form, why should they not\ngrant you the hand of the Princess?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nGrant it to me? A petty German sovereign When they have the choice of\nfuture Kings and Emperors? Speak of me to the Queen and you will\ndiscover that she invariably confuses Baireuth with Ansbach.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe discovery is all the less pleasing in that I, as envoy of my\ngovernment, must do all I can to bring about the marriage.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nOf course, you must justify my recommendation.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nAnd yet I take the liberty of suggesting that possibly--under certain\nconditions--this marriage with England might not come about. Of a truth,\nPrince, take courage! Circumstances might arise which would not only\ngive me the right, but would even make it my duty to give up all\nthoughts of the match.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou revive my very soul.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYour Highness, it is not the Prince of Wales whom I represent here. The\nEnglish nation, the cabinet, the Houses of Parliament send me. You are\naware, Prince, your sojourn in England must have made it plain to you\nthat the house of Hanover was called to the throne of England under\nconditions which make it the duty of that house to subordinate its own\npersonal desires to the general welfare of the nation. Whether or not\nthe Prince of Wales feels any personal interest in his cousin is of\nlittle moment. Parliament takes no cognizance of whether they love each\nother or not. The Prince of Wales, as future King of England, will\ncontract any matrimonial alliance that is suggested to him as necessary\nto the national welfare. An alliance with the dynasty of the rising\nyoung kingdom of Prussia seems, under the present political\nconstellation, to be the most favorable.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd this holds out some hope for me?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThere lies no hope in this unfortunate mission of mine, but in one of\nits clauses which states that the marriage, if all else be favorable,\nmay be concluded only on this condition [_looking about cautiously_]:\nthat certain English manufacturers shut out by Prussia be readmitted\ninto the country [_softly_] on acceptable terms.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd into this--this mercantile scheming you would mingle a question of\nlove--an affair of the heart?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI am here to speak for the hearts of our merchants, hearts that beat\nwarmly for the throne, but still more warmly for their balance-sheets.\nIf our factories have nothing to hope for, then, Prince [_takes his\nhands_], my protector, my patron, then I am all yours. And you shall see\nthat I have other talents besides those of diplomacy.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nTalents to awaken a hope on which the bitterest disappointment must\nfollow.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWait, Prince, wait and trust--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nTo the counting-room?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWhy not? And when, in case the King will not agree to the new treaties,\nI have devoted myself entirely to your cause, when you under stand that\nmy heart beats high in gratitude to a Prince whom I met by mere chance\nand who has been my benefactor--when you have finally won the heart and\nhand of the Princess, then all I shall ask of Your Highness, as a German\nsovereign at the Diet of Regensburg, in Germany's very heart, is merely\nyour assistance in obtaining from the German Empire some little\nconcession for our harmless, innocent--manufactures.\n\nKAMKE (_opens the door to the right_).\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nEverything else later. For the present--trust me. Over there are the\nQueen's apartments. Farewell. [_He goes out_.]\n\n\nSCENE VIII\n\n\nPRINCE (_alone_).\n\nLand! Land in sight! Something, surely, can be done now! With Hotham at\nmy right hand, I need only some female reinforcement at my left. The\nmoment seems favorable. I will try to draw little Sonnsfeld, the\nPrincess' lady-in-waiting, into the plot. She is waiting in the\nanteroom. I'll knock. [_He goes softly to the_ PRINCESS' _door and\nknocks_]. I hear a sound. [_He knocks again_.] The rustle of a gown--it\nis she. [_He draws back a step and turns_.] First one must take these\nlittle outposts and then--to the main battle.\n\n[WILHELMINE _comes in_.]\n\nPRINCE (_startled_).\n\nAh, it is you--yourself!\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nOh, then it was you, Prince? I have reason to be very angry with you.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWith me, Your Highness? Why with me?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAs if you did not know the insult you have offered me.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nPrincess, would you drive me mad? I offer _you_ an insult?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nHave you not heard what sort of a person this learned Laharpe of yours\nreally is?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nPrincess, Laharpe is one of the most intelligent of men and possessed of\na pretty wit. One might search long among your scholars here in Berlin\nbefore finding his equal in cultivation.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nHe is a wigmaker from Orleans!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBut I assure you, Princess, he is not a wigmaker. It is true Laharpe\ndoes understand the splitting of hairs, but only in scientific\ncontroversy; it is true he does use paint and powder, in that he paints\nhis thoughts in words of elegance, and lays on them the powder of\ningenious sophistry--an art that is better understood in France than\nhere. It is unfortunate enough, Your Highness, that your royal father's\nkingdom should be in such bad repute that foreigners of wit, poetry, and\ncultivation can be admitted only when they come bearing the passport of\nwigmakers.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nBut our plan has come to naught; Laharpe has been banished.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nA weak reflection of his brilliancy has remained, Princess. Do not think\nme quite unworthy of taking his place. Grant me the blessed\nconsciousness of having aided you to escape a situation which passes all\nbounds of filial obedience.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nPrince--this language--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nIt is the language of a feeling I can no longer control, of an\nindignation I can no longer suppress. Princess, do you know that you\nare destined as a sacrifice to political and commercial intrigue? That\nyou are to be sent to England in exchange for the produce of English\nfactories?\n\nWILHELMINE (_in indignation_).\n\nWho says that?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nFar be it from me to pass judgment on your desires--far be it from me to\ninquire if it may not surprise, perhaps even please your ambitions when\nyou hear that you might win even an Imperial crown--but, if you love the\nPrince of Wales--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe Prince of Wales? Who says that I love him?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYour mother, who presupposes it--your father, who commands it.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe Prince of Wales? My cousin, whom I have never seen? Who has never\nbetrayed the slightest interest in me? A Prince whose loose living has\nmade me despise him!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThen you do not love the Prince?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nMy heart is free. And no power on earth can force me to give it to any\nman but to him whom I shall choose myself.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nDo I hear aright?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nI have been obedient and dutiful from the very first stirring of my\npersonal consciousness. I have never had a will of my own, or dared, if\nI had that will, to give it expression. But when they would take the one\nthing from me, the one thing that is still mine after all these years of\nhumiliation, my own inalienable possession, my heart's free choice--then\nindeed the bottomless depths of my obedience will be found exhausted. I\nfeel that my brother was justified in throwing off such a yoke--and I\nwill show the world that I am indeed his sister.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nPrincess! [_Aside._] What can I do--it is too much joy--too much bliss!\n[_Aloud._] Princess! the green garlands on the little window down there,\nthe potted flowers offer a secret retreat--the little linnet in his cage\nis impatient for the return of his beautiful and benign mistress.\n\nWILHELMINE (_drawing her hand from his_).\n\nYou would--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI would take the place of that misjudged and slandered scholar. And down\nthere, alone with you, not worried by threatening footfalls in the\ncorridors, undisturbed by [_noise of drums outside_] those cruel\nguardians of your freedom, I would tell the most charming Princess of\nEurope that--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou have nothing to tell me--nothing at all.\n\nPRINCE (_throws himself at her feet_).\n\nI would tell her that there is one Prince who, although he will one day\nreign over no more than a tiny plot of German earth, still can gather\nfrom the spell of her beauty, the kindness of her heart, the courage to\nsay to her--I love you--I worship you.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nPrince, what are you doing--please arise--some one is coming!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nNot until you promise me you will meet me there.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nOh--if we should be surprised like this! Please get up!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou will promise? You will meet me?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhere? [_He points to the window._] There? But I am not alone even\nthere.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThose simple people are overjoyed when their Princess consents to linger\nan hour with them in their poverty. I have much to say to you, Princess,\nvery much. I will tell you of the plans concerning England or Austria of\nwhich you are the central figure. And you must tell me again--in the\nvery best style of Versailles, which I know thoroughly--that you hate\nme--that you detest me--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nPrince, you torture me--I hear voices. Some one is approaching--Please\nget up.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWill you promise?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nCruel one! You won't get up--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nNot until you promise--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIf you promise to talk only about the plans that concern me--and about\nFrench grammar--\n\nPRINCE (_springing up_).\n\nYou promise? You will come? By every star in the firmament I swear I\nwill begin with the verb _J'aime_--I love--and you shall see how, in\ncomparison with the language of a devoted heart, in comparison with the\nart which unadorned nature can practise, even Voltaire is only--a\nwigmaker. [_He goes out._]\n\n\nSCENE IX\n\n\n_The noise of drums in the distance is no longer heard._ WILHELMINE\n_left alone, starts as if to follow the_ PRINCE. _Then she turns back\nhesitating, and walks with uncertain steps to the table. She rings the\nbell._ SONNSFELD _comes in, looks at the Princess as if surprised,\nspeaks after a pause._\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYour Highness commands?\n\nWILHELMINE (_as if awakening from a dream_).\n\nI? Nothing.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYour Highness rang?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYes, I did. My mantilla--my fan--the veil.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYour Highness is going out?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nI am going out.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nHas Your Highness permission?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nPermission? Are you beginning to take that tone, too? Fetch the things I\nwant.\n\n[SONNSFELD _looks at her, astounded, then goes out._]\n\nWILHELMINE (_alone_).\n\nI am tired of all this. I am beginning to be conscious of myself, now\nthat I know there is some one who recognizes my meagre worth. The\nsituation here is unbearable. I am weary of this unworthy subordination,\nthis barrack-room service.\n\n[SONNSFELD _comes back with mantilla, fan and veil._]\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou might have chosen the mantilla with the Brussels lace.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYour Highness--what is your purpose?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThrow the veil about my head. Don't question everything I do. Must I\ngive you an accounting for every trifle?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nGood Heavens--have you joined your mother in her revolutionary ideas?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nI have joined no one. I want to show the world that a Princess of\nPrussia has at least the right to pass from one court of the palace to\nanother of her own free will. I am tired of being tyrannized in this\nway. The Grand Elector lived for me as well as for the others--the\nHohenzollerns are what they are for my sake also. Adieu. [_Holds out her\nhand._] You may kiss my hand. And do not forget that I am the daughter\nof a king who is forming great and important plans for his child's\nfuture, and that this child, even though she should be stubborn enough\nto refuse to acquiesce in his plans, will still be none the less a\nPrincess of Prussia.\n\n[_She turns to go. The centre door opens and_ ECKHOF _comes in, followed\nby three grenadiers. The door remains open._]\n\nECKHOF.\n\nHalt!\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nAre you to have a Guard of Honor, Princess?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nGrenadiers--front!\n\n[_Three more men come in without their muskets. The first carries a\nBible, the second a_ _soup tureen, the third a half-knitted stocking._]\n\nECKHOF (_comes forward and salutes the_ PRINCESS).\n\nMay it please your Royal Highness graciously to forgive me, if by reason\nof a special investigation commanded by His Majesty the King, in\nconsequence of forbidden communication with Castle Rheinsberg, I ask\nYour Highness to graciously submit to a strict room-arrest, as ordered\nby His Majesty the King.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhat's that? Princess!\n\nECKHOF.\n\nLikewise, His Majesty the King has graciously pleased to make the\nfollowing dispositions First grenadier, front! [_The first grenadier\nmarches forward with the Bible._] Your Royal Highness is to learn\nchapters three to five of the Song of Solomon so thoroughly that the\nCourt Chaplain can examine Your Highness in the same tomorrow morning at\nfive o'clock. Second grenadier, front! [_The second grenadier comes\nforward with the soup tureen._] The food ordered for Your Highness will\nbe brought up from the garrison kitchen punctually every day.\n\nSONNSFELD (_opens the tureen_).\n\nDreadful stuff! Boiled beans!\n\nECKHOF.\n\nThird grenadier, front! [_The third grenadier comes forward with the\nhalf-knitted stocking._] And, finally, His Majesty the King pleases to\ncommand Your Highness to knit, every two days, a pair of woolen\nstockings for the worthy Foundling Asylum of Berlin. May it please Your\nRoyal Highness--this ends my orders.\n\nSONNSFELD (_in a tone of despair_).\n\nPrincess, are these the King's plans for your future?\n\nWILHELMINE (_trembling in excitement_).\n\nCalm yourself, dear friend. Yes, this is the beginning of a new life\nfor me. The battle is on! Go to my father and tell him--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nGo to the King and tell him--[_To the_ PRINCESS.] What are they to tell\nhim?\n\nWILHELMINE (_with tragic decision_).\n\nTell him that I--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nTell him that we--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThat I--[_Her courage begins to fail._] That although we _will_ learn\nthe chapters--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nAnd although we _will_ eat the beans--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIt will not be our fault if [_with renewed courage_] if in the despair\nof our hearts--\n\nSONNSFELD (_tragically_).\n\nWe let fall the stitches in the orphan's stockings--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAnd wish that we were merely the Princess of Reuss--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nSchleiz--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nGreiz and Lobenstein!\n\n[_They go out angrily._]\n\n\n\nACT III\n\n\n\n_The_ PRINCESS' _room. Attractive, cozy apartment. An open window to the\nright. Doors centre, right and left. A cupboard, a table._\n\n\nSCENE I\n\n\nPRINCESS WILHELMINE _leans against the window-casing, deep in thought._\nSONNSFELD _sits on the left side of the room, knitting a child's\nstocking._\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside_).\n\nHour after hour passes! What will the Prince think of me? Or can he have\nlearned my fate already?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nDid Your Highness speak?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nNo, I--I merely sighed.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nIt seemed as if you were talking to yourself. Don't be too melancholy.\nYou'll soon learn the Bible verses and I'll relieve you of most of the\nknitting.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou are too good--you are kinder to me than I have deserved of you\ntoday. That work is tiring you--give it to me.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nNo, let me have it. You take the other one that is started. In this way\nwe will gain time to rest later.\n\nWILHELMINE (_listening toward the door_).\n\nAnd we aren't even allowed a word with each other in freedom.\n\nSONNSFELD (_rises and looks toward the door_).\n\nIt is cruel to let soldiers see a Princess humiliated to the extent of\nknitting stockings.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhy complain? It is--of itself, quite nicely domestic. [_She knits._]\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhat would the Prince of Baireuth say if he could see you now?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe Prince? What made you think of the Prince?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nYou cannot deny that his attentions to you might be called\nalmost--tender--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAlmost--\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nSuch eyes! Such burning glances! I am very much mistaken or it was Your\nRoyal brother's intention, in sending this young Prince to you, to send\nyou at the same time the most ardent lover under the sun.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nLovers hold more with the moon.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nAnd he shows so great an admiration for you that I am again mistaken if\nour sentry outside the door there has not already in his pocket a\nbillet-doux addressed to Your Highness--a billet-doux written by the\nPrince.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nSonnsfeld! What power of combination!\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nAlmost worthy of a Seckendorf, isn't it? I'll question the man, in any\ncase.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAre you crazy?\n\nSONNSFELD (_at the door_).\n\nHey, there, grenadier!\n\nECKHOF (_comes in_).\n\nAt your service, madam. SONNSFELD. Have you a letter for us?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nPlease Your Honor, yes.\n\nSONNSFELD (_to the_ PRINCESS).\n\nThere you are! [_To_ ECKHOF.] From the Prince of Baireuth?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nPlease Your Honor, yes.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhere is it? Did you take it?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nPlease Your Honor, no. [_Wheels and goes out_.]\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhat a dreadful country! The general heartlessness penetrates even to\nthe uneducated classes.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nBut how dare the Prince imagine that our sentry could forget all--all\nsense of propriety in this way?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWould you not have accepted it?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nNever!\n\n[_A letter, attached to a little stone, is thrown in at the window_.]\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nA letter? Through the window! Oh, how it frightened me!\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nPick it up.\n\nSONNSFELD (_doing so_).\n\nBut you won't accept it, you say. It can only be from the Prince--and it\nis addressed to Your Highness.\n\n[_Gives her the letter_.]\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nTo me? Why, then--why shouldn't I accept it? [_She opens the letter_.]\nIt is--it is from the Prince. [_She reads, aside_.] \"Adored one! Is\nthere to be no end to these cruelties? Have they begun to torture you\nwith England yet? They will come to you and will try to force you into\nthis marriage. But Baronet Hotham, the English Envoy, is my friend and\nyour friend, and will work for you while he seems to be working against\nyou. It is a dangerous game, but it means your freedom and my life. Love\ncomprehends--Love.\"\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nMay I hear?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIt is a little message of sympathy--from--from one of our faithful\nservants.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nThe good people are all so fond of you. You must answer it, I suppose?\n\nWILHELMINE. Just a word or two-it is really of no importance whatever.\n\nSONNSFELD. But we need not offend any one. [_Aside_.] What clever\npretending! [_Aloud_.] Let me try if our grenadier is still as stubborn\nas before.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat are you thinking of?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWe'll make the trial. [_She goes to the door_.] Here you--stern\nwarrior--\n\nECKHOF (_in the door_).\n\nAt your service.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhy didn't you take the letter?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nIt would mean running the gauntlet for me.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWe would compensate you for any such punishment.\n\nECKHOF.\n\nYou could not.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWould money be no compensation?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nEven if shame could be healed by money, that would be the one remedy you\ncouldn't apply.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nAnd why?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nBecause Your Highness hasn't any money.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nDreadful creature!\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside_).\n\nHe knows our situation only too well. We must give up all thought of\nsending an answer.\n\nECKHOF.\n\nMay I go now?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nImpertinent creature! What is your name?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nEckhof.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhere were you born?\n\nECKHOF. Hamburg.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhat have you learned?\n\nECKHOF. Nothing.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nNothing? That is little enough.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWhat did you want to make of yourself?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nEverything.\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside_).\n\nA strange man! Let us cross-examine him. It will afford us a little\namusement at least.\n\nSONNSFELD (_to_ ECKHOF).\n\nWe are not clever enough to understand such witty answers. How do you\nreconcile nothing with everything.\n\nECKHOF.\n\nI grew up in a theatre, but all I ever learned there was to clean the\nlamps. Our manager discharged his company and I was compelled to take\nservice with a secretary in the post office. But when my new master's\nwife demanded that I should climb up behind her carriage, as her\nfootman, I took to wandering again. I begged my way to Schwerin and a\nlearned man of the law made me his clerk. The post office and the\ncourtroom were just two new sorts of theatre for me. The addresses on\nthe letters excited my imagination, the lawsuits gave my brain exercise.\nThe desire to create, upon the stage, true pictures of human greatness\nand human degradation, to depict vice and virtue in reality's own\ncolors, still inspired me, but I saw no opportunity to satisfy it. Then,\nin a reckless moment, when I had sought to drown my melancholy in drink,\nfate threw me into the hands of the Prussian recruiting officers. I was\ndazzled by the handful of silver they offered me; for its sake I\nbartered away my golden freedom. Since that day I carry the musket. The\nnoisy drums drown the longing that awakens a thousand times a day, the\nlonging for an Art that still calls me as to a sacred mission; the\nuniform smothers the impulse to create human nobility; and in these\ndrilled, unnatural motions of my limbs, my free will and my sense\nof personal dignity will perish at last. From such a fate there is no\nrelease for the poor bought soldier--no release but death.\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside, sadly_).\n\nIt is a picture of my own sorrow.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nThat is all very well, but you really should be glad that now you are\n_something_--as you were nothing before and had not learned any trade.\n\nECKHOF.\n\nI learned little from books but much from life. I understand something\nof music.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nOf music? Ah, then you can entertain this poor imprisoned Princess. Your\nHighness, where is the Crown Prince's flute?\n\nECKHOF.\n\nI play the violin.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nWe have a violin, too. We have the Crown Prince's entire orchestra\nhidden here. [_She goes to the cupboard and brings out a violin._] Here,\nnow play something for us and we will dance.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat are you thinking of? With the Queen's room over there? And the King\nmay surprise us at any moment from the other side.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nJust a little _Fran\u00e7aise_ shall be a rehearsal for the torchlight dance\nat your wedding.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou know the King's aversion toward music and dancing.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nHere, Eckhof, take the violin-and now begin.\n\nECKHOF (_looks about timidly_).\n\nBut if I--[_much moved_] Heavens--it is three years since I have touched\nthat noble, that magical instrument.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nCome now! I'm the cavalier, Princess, and you are the lady.\n\n[ECKHOF _plays one of the simple na\u00efve dance tunes of the day. The two\nladies dance._]\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nBravo, Eckhof! This is going nicely--ah, what joy to dance once more!\nThis way now la--la--la! [_She hums the melody._]\n\n\nSCENE II\n\n\n_During the dance the_ KING _comes in softly through the door to the\nright. He starts when he sees the dancers and the grenadier playing the\nviolin. They do not notice him. He comes-nearer and attempts to join the\ndance unobserved._\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nSonnsfeld, that's not right! Now it's the gentleman's turn. [_Holds her\nhand out behind her back_]--Like this.\n\n[_The_ KING _takes her hand gently with one finger and dances a few\nsteps._]\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nHow clumsy, dear friend. [_Dancing._] And your hand is strangely rough\ntoday.\n\n[_She turns and sees the_ KING, _who had begun to hum the tune in a\ngruff voice. The three start in alarm_. ECKHOF _salutes with the\nviolin._]\n\nKING (_angry_).\n\nVery nice--very pretty indeed! Are these the sayings of Solomon? Music\nand dancing in my castle by broad daylight? And a Prussian grenadier\nplaying the violin to the prisoner he is set to watch?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nPardon, Your Majesty--it was we who forced him.\n\nKING.\n\nForced him? Forced a soldier? Forced him to violate his duty in this\ndevilish manner? I'll have to invent a punishment for him such as the\nPrussian army has never yet seen.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nHave mercy, Your Majesty--have mercy!\n\nKING.\n\nI'll talk to you later. As for you, Conrad Eckhof, I know that is your\nname--I will tell you what your punishment shall be. You are discharged\nfrom the army that serves under my glorious flag, discharged in disgrace.\nBut you are not to be honored by being sent to a convict company or into\nthe worthy station of a subject. Listen to the fate I have decreed for\nyou. A troop of German comedians has taken quarters in the Warehouse in\nthe Cloister street. These mountebanks--_histriones_--are in straits\nbecause their clown--for whom they sent to Leipzig, has not arrived. You\nare to take off the honorable Prussian uniform and to join this group of\nmountebanks, sent there by me, as a warning to every one. You are to\nbecome an actor, a clown of clowns-and henceforth amuse the German nation\nwith your foolish and criminal jokes and quips. Shame upon you!\n\nECKHOF (_with a grateful glance to heaven, trying to conceal his joyful\nexcitement_).\n\nAn actor! Oh, I thank Your Majesty for this most gracious sentence.\nConrad Eckhof will endeavor to do honor to himself and his despised new\nprofession.\n\n[_Goes out_.]\n\nKING.\n\nAnd as for you, my Lady Sonnsfeld, you may, the sooner the better, pack\nup your belongings and be off to Dresden where my cousin, the Elector of\nSaxony, has need of just such nymphs and graces for his court fireworks\nand his ballets.\n\nSONNSFELD (_going out, speaks aside_).\n\nIn his anger he chooses punishments that can only delight any person of\nrefinement. [_She goes out_.]\n\nKING.\n\nWilhelmine!\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYour Majesty, what have I done that I am so unhappy as always to arouse\nyour displeasure?\n\nKING.\n\nYou call me \"Majesty\" because you lack a daughter's heart for your\nfather. I have brought up my children in the good old German fashion; I\nhave tried to keep all French vanities and French follies far from their\nchildish hearts; on my throne I have tried to prove that Kings may set\nan example to their subjects, an example of how the simplest honest\nhousehold may be ruled. Have I succeeded in this?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nYou have punished us severely enough for our faults.\n\nKING.\n\nThis wigmaker--who was to instruct you in all the ambiguities of the\nFrench language--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nHe was not a wigmaker.\n\nKING. He was.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWell, if he was, then you dislike him simply because you are so fond of\nyour horrid pigtail.\n\nKING.\n\nThe pigtail is a man's best adornment. In that braided hair lies\nconcentrated power. A pigtail is not a wild fluttering mass of disorder\nabout one's head--the seat of the human soul--such as our Hottentot\ndandies of today show in their long untidy hair. It expresses, instead,\na simple, pious and well-brushed order, entwined obedience, falling\ngently down over the shoulders, fit symbol for a Christian gentleman.\nBut I am tired of this eternal quarreling with you. This present arrest\nshall be the last proof of my fatherly affection. You will soon be free\nand mistress of your own actions. I announce herewith that you will\nshortly be able to come and go at your own discretion.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nFather!\n\nKING.\n\nIs that tone sincere?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIt comes from a heart that will never cease to revere the best of men.\n\nKING.\n\nThen you realize that I desire only your happiness? Yes, Wilhelmine, you\nwill soon be able to do whatever you like, you may read French books,\ndance the minuet, keep an entire orchestra of musicians. I have arranged\nall things for your happiness and for your freedom.\n\n[Illustration: KING FREDERICK WILLIAM I OF PRUSSIA R. SIEMERING]\n\nWILHELMINE. How may I understand this, father?\n\nKING.\n\nYou will have horses and carriages, and footmen, as becomes a future\nQueen.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nQueen?\n\nKING.\n\nYou will see that I do in very truth deserve the name you gave me, the\nname of the best of fathers. But still--I hear your mother.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat--what is going to happen--\n\nKING.\n\nPrepare yourself for a weighty moment--the moment of your betrothal.\n\n\nSCENE III\n\n\n_The_ QUEEN _comes in, leaning on the arm of the_ PRINCE OF BAIREUTH.\nHOTHAM _and several lackeys follow_.\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside, surprised_).\n\nThe Prince!\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _bows coldly to the_ KING.]\n\nKING (_equally coldly_).\n\nGood morning.\n\nQUEEN (_to the_ PRINCESS).\n\nMy dear child, I here present to you the Envoy of the King of England,\nBaronet Hotham.\n\nWILHELMINE (_bows, speaks aside_).\n\nThe Prince's friend? How am I to understand all this?\n\nKING.\n\nPardon me, wife, the Prince of Baireuth should take precedence. My dear\nchild, I present to you here the Prince Hereditary of Baireuth.\n\nPRINCE (_bows, speaks aside to_ WILHELMINE).\n\nDo not lose courage. It will all work out for the best.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nHave you good news from Ansbach, dear Prince?\n\nPRINCE. (_aside_).\n\nThis eternal mistake of hers. [_Aloud_.] Your Majesty, I hear there is a\nplan on foot to transplant Ansbach to Baireuth.\n\nKING. (_has been only half listening_).\n\nHush! Let us cast aside all these earthly thoughts and plans and\nprepare ourselves for a work of sacred import. Sit down by your mother,\nWilhelmine.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat is going to happen?\n\nKING.\n\nYou, Prince, as my natural aide--here! Baronet Hotham, you are in the\ncentre.\n\n[_The lackeys place the table in the centre of the room and then go\noff._]\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nHotham--the commercial treaties--\n\n[HOTHAM _sits down at the centre of the table, opens the portfolio which\nhe has brought with him, lays out sheets of paper, and examines his\npen._]\n\nKING (_folding his hands_).\n\nIn God's name--[_After a pause_] If I should ask you, my faithful\nspouse, companion of my life, what a happy marriage is--\n\nQUEEN.\n\nHas that anything to do with our daughter's wedding-contract?\n\nKING.\n\nDo not interrupt me. _You_ may not be conscious of it--but I am fully\naware of how much this solemn moment imports.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nPlease Your Majesty--I have already written \"In God's name.\"\n\nKING (_looks surprised and pleased_).\n\nDid you really write that?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nIt is customary to print it at the head of these and similar contracts.\n\nKING.\n\nPrinting is not as good--the letter killeth, saith the Scriptures; but\nyou may begin now.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWe are concerned here with an affiliation between two nations which,\nalthough differing in language, manners, and customs, still have so many\npoints of contact that they should seize every opportunity to come\ncloser to each other.\n\nKING.\n\nCouldn't you weave in something there about the English being really\ndescended from the Germans?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThat would lead us too far afield.\n\nKING.\n\nOh, very well, as you say. It was a good beginning.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nSuch an opportunity now offers in the mutually expressed wish of the\ndynasties of England and Prussia, to unite in the bonds of holy\nmatrimony two of their illustrious scions. The Prince of Wales sues for\nthe hand of Princess Wilhelmine.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nThe Prince of Wales?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nHis suit is accepted attendant upon the conditions here following.\n\nWILHELMINE. _Accepted?_\n\nKING.\n\nHush! Do not disturb this solemn procedure by idle chatter.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nBut--but how is this possible--\n\nPRINCE (_to the_ PRINCESS).\n\nYour Highness, the conditions are but just being drawn up.\n\nQUEEN (_aside to the_ PRINCESS).\n\nDo not interrupt. What must the envoy of the elegant court of St. James\nthink of the manners of our Prussian Princesses!\n\nKING.\n\nThese chattering women! Very good, Baronet Hotham; the beginning was\nexcellent. Don't you think so, Prince?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nCertainly, Your Majesty. [_Aside_] It was odious.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nAnd the conditions? [_Aside_] I am eager to hear about the dowry.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nFirst paragraph--\n\nKING.\n\nPardon me, I can tell you that in fewer words. I give my daughter as\ndowry, forty thousand thalers, and a yearly pin-money of two thousand\nthalers. I will bear the expense of the wedding. But that is all.\n\nQUEEN (_rising_).\n\nI trust that this is not Your Majesty's real intention. Baronet Hotham,\nI beg you will not include such a declaration in the protocol.\n\nKING (_seated_).\n\nNot include it in the protocol? H'm--h'm--forty thousand thalers in\ncash--too little?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe question of dowry will offer but little difficulty to a country as\nrich as England. Far more important are the political matters which, in\nthe case of so intimate an alliance, must come up for especial\nconsideration.\n\nKING.\n\nPolitical matters?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI mean--certain questions and points of discussion which, with your\ngracious permission, I would now like to present to you.\n\nKING.\n\nQuestions? Points of discussion? Do you see anything to object to in my\ndaughter? [_He rises._]\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYour Majesty, there are certain--advantages for both nations--\n\nKING.\n\nAdvantages for Prussia? [_He sits down again._] You may speak then.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nTo take up one point. For this marriage England will confirm without\nhindrance Your Majesty's investiture of the Duchies J\u00fclich and Berg.\n\nKING.\n\nVery decent; thanks.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nHotham, you fox!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nAnd furthermore Parliament declares itself willing--\n\nKING.\n\nDeclares itself willing--\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat has Parliament to do with it? Am I marrying the two houses of\nParliament?\n\nQUEEN (_half aloud_).\n\nBe quiet. You don't understand. In England, all political parties have\nsomething to say in such matters.\n\nKING (_half aside_). Yes, child, that would be the country for your\nmother, wouldn't it? Well?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nParliament declares itself willing, in case Your Majesty wishes to\ncomplete the conquest of Swedish Pommerania, to let the matter pass\nwithout an interpellation.\n\nQUEEN (_pleased and excited_).\n\nVery polite indeed. I should not have believed Parliament would be so\namiable. Just think, Wilhelmine, Parliament promises not to\ninterpellate.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat sort of a new political torture is that?\n\nKING (_to the_ PRINCESS).\n\nTo interpellate means to harass and embarrass the government by\ncontinual contradictions, interruptions, and objections. That's why your\nmother understood it at once. Much obliged, my gear Hotham. My kindest\ngreetings to Parliament. But continue--continue!\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nI am on tenter-hooks.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nFor these many tokens of unselfish cordiality, for further manifold\nproofs of political complaisance, to be reviewed by me in detail later,\nproofs of a sincere desire to be enduringly united with a brother\nnation--\n\nKING.\n\nWell?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nFor all this we ask but one little concession, which would make this\nmarriage a true blessing for both countries.\n\nKING.\n\nOut with it!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nPrussian industry has now reached a standard which renders England\ndesirous of testing its products under certain conditions of\nimportation. For this--\n\nKING.\n\nFor this?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nEngland would feel grateful if the former friendly understanding,\ninterrupted somewhat since Your Majesty's illustrious accession to the\nthrone, if the former friendly commercial understanding--\n\nKING.\n\nUnderstanding?\n\nHOTHAM. Could be restored; and if Your Majesty would graciously decide,\non the occasion of this auspicious union, welcomed in England with such\nrejoicing, to repeal, in part, the present--prohibitive regulations--\n\nKING.\n\nWhat?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nIn a word, England asks for a new commercial treaty.\n\nKING.\n\nNew commercial treaty? Commercial--[_He rises, there is a slight\npause._] The meeting is adjourned.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nWhat's that?\n\nKING.\n\nIs it for this then, that I have sought to raise and ennoble the\ncivilization of my country, that I have furthered commerce and industry,\npromoted shipping, given an asylum within the state to thousands of\nreligious refugees from France--for this, that now, as the price for the\nhonor of an alliance with England, I should open the door and let in the\nforbidden English merchandise--to the ruin of my own subjects?\n\n[_He goes to the table and rings. A lackey appears._]\n\nKING.\n\nMy ministers!\n\nQUEEN.\n\nWhat? You would sacrifice your daughter's happiness?\n\n\nSCENE IV\n\n\nGRUMBKOW, SECKENDORF _and three generals come in._\n\nKING.\n\nStep nearer, gentlemen. I have allowed you to remain in uncertainty\nconcerning a dispatch which arrived this morning from Hanover. You shall\nnow hear my formal answer to it. Prince, poet, do not be alarmed. Our\nfestivities will take place for all that, our cannon will thunder, our\nlanterns will blaze through the night. Prince, do you want to put me\nunder eternal obligation to you?\n\nPRINCE (_misunderstanding_).\n\nYour Majesty! Can it be possible?\n\nKING.\n\nDo you want to make me your debtor forever?\n\nPRINCE (_joyfully_).\n\nI? Wilhel--!\n\nKING.\n\nTake to horse, Prince, and ride off within the hour, as my special envoy\nto Vienna.\n\nPRINCE, GRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF (_together_).\n\nTo Vienna?\n\nKING.\n\nMy daughter's hand is promised to Vienna. Within a fortnight a scion of\nthe illustrious Imperial House will enter the walls of our capital.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYour Majesty compels me, in the eventuality of an Arch-Duke's arrival,\nto make a certain declaration herewith--\n\nKING.\n\nAnd that is?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe Prince of Wales--is already here.\n\nALL.\n\nThe Prince of Wales--in Berlin?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe Prince of Wales arrived three hours ago.\n\nGRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF.\n\nImpossible!\n\nQUEEN (_triumphant_).\n\nI breathe again.\n\nKING (_in real consternation, but controling himself_).\n\nBaronet Hotham, I confess that this news surprises, nay, moves me\ngreatly. But you can lay it to the account of your own egotistical\npolitics if I declare to you that no stranger in Berlin exists for me,\nuntil he has been properly registered at the gates of the capital. If\nyou _will_ drive me to the last stand, if you would make the ground of\nmy own country too hot for me--then tell the Prince of Wales that\nalthough I am deeply touched by his affection for my family, still,\nunder conditions threatening the peace of my country, the welfare of my\nsubjects--I must beg of him to return whence he came. Prince, you ride\nto Vienna as envoy of this monarchy. Wilhelmine, the Imperial Crown\nwill console you. And as for you, Madame [_aside to the Queen_], has not\nyour pride found its limits at last?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nI have pledged my word to England.\n\nKING (_good-naturedly_).\n\nBut if it isn't possible--\n\n[_Comes nearer cordially, holds out his hand._]\n\nQUEEN (_touched, hesitating_).\n\nAn hour ago, possibly--[_firm and decided again_], but now--the\npersonal presence of the Prince of Wales has taken the decision out of\nour hands.\n\nKING.\n\nVery well--he who _will_ have war--[_To_ HOTHAM] Have you any other\ninstructions than those we have already heard?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nNone, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nThen come to me, Prince, for the contract with Vienna. A German state in\nEngland's stead! 'Tis better so, gentlemen, better so. I will cleave to\nGermany with all my soul. Foreign egotism shall teach German peoples and\nPrinces how to be truly united. [_He goes out into his study._ GRUMBKOW,\nSECKENDORF _and the generals follow._]\n\nQUEEN (_to_ HOTHAM).\n\nSir, you have been witness to a scene which confirms for you the truth\nas to my position here, the truth that is not yet credited in England.\nWilhelmine, the news of the arrival of the Prince of Wales gives me\nfresh hope. Ride to Vienna, Prince--become, if you must, a traitor to a\ncause which will conquer, despite the intrigues of my enemies. Give me\nyour arm, Lord Hotham. The Prince of Wales in Berlin! I can hardly\nrealize it. Bring him to me and prepare him for everything--but no--do\nnot mention to him--those revolting forty thousand thalers.\n\n[_She goes out with_ OTHAM.]\n\n\nSCENE V\n\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat do you say to your friend now? The Prince of Wales in Berlin!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI do not know where I am in all this tangle. Hotham is a traitor, an\ningrate who has betrayed me, betrayed us all.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nBe more cautious in the future when you talk of friendship--and love.\nFarewell.\n\n[_She turns to follow the_ QUEEN.]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nPrincess, is this your farewell--while I prepare to meet death or\ndespair?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIt's not so easy to die in Vienna.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd you believe that I will leave you now, when the glamour of the\npersonal presence of a Prince of Wales may dazzle your eye--perhaps even\nyour heart?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nI must, I realize it now, begin to consider my heart only from the\npolitical point of view.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou doubt my sincerity, Princess? You distrust a heart which has truly\nloved but once--once and for all time--loved you, Wilhelmine!\n\nWILHELMINE (_aside_).\n\nCan such language be deception?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI realize what I owe to you, Princess. Frankness before the world, an\nhonest suit for your hand--even in face of the danger of losing you\nforever. I will go to the King. I will tell him, yes, I will tell him\nnow that I cannot do as he wishes. I will throw myself at his feet and\nconfess with honest sincerity that I love you. Do you wish it?\n\nWILHELMINE (_hesitating_).\n\nNo--never, no.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou are trembling, Princess. Oh, I know your dutiful heart shudders at\nthe thought of defying your parents, of following the call of your own\ninclination. But--tell me, do you trust your father's heart?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nIt is full of kindness and love.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nVery well, then. He has honored me, he has shown confidence in me; the\narrival of the Prince of Wales provokes him to rebuke such hardiness. I\nwill show him what is in my heart, and then, Wilhelmine--then? If he\nrefuse the hand I ask--\n\nWILHELMINE (_turning from him_).\n\nYou will--find consolation?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd if he grant it?\n\nWILHELMINE (_overcome by her emotion, allows her heart full sway, but is\nstill roguish and maidenly_).\n\n\nThen--I fear that you will not keep your word--to punish me for\ntorturing you so cruelly.\n\n[_She goes out quickly._]\n\n\nSCENE VI\n\n\nPRINCE (_alone_).\n\nShe loves me. Then _one_ thing is sure! I will now take the straight\nroad into the very jaws of the lion. What else remains? Betrayed by\nHotham, there is naught but Wilhelmine's love--and my own courage.\n\n[_He goes toward the_ KING'S _door._]\n\n\nSCENE VII\n\n\nEVERSMANN _comes from the_ KING'S _room._\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nWhither, Your Highness?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nTo the King.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nYou will find him very angry.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAngry at whom?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nAngry at you, Prince.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou are joking!\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThe Duke of Weissenfels is to undertake the mission to Vienna.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWhat does that mean?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nInvestigation by the Attorney-General--just come to the King's ears.\nThe man _was_ a wigmaker.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou are quite mad. I must speak to the King. It concerns the most\nimportant affair of my whole life. [_Starts for the door again._]\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nPardon me, Prince, His Majesty sends you this letter.\n\nPRINCE (_takes the letter_).\n\n\"To my son, the Crown Prince of Prussia, to be delivered personally in\nRheinsberg within twenty-four hours; kindness of the Prince of\nBaireuth.\" Why this--this is a formal decree of banishment from Berlin!\nHow could it happen just now?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nIt's merely a polite hint. Everything is discovered--and not only the\nmatter of _Rapini\u00e8re._ His Majesty knows you now as the emissary of the\nCrown Prince, sent to stir up a revolution here in Berlin and in the\npalace. The wigmaker confessed it all. I suspected Your Highness from\nthe first. Wish you a pleasant journey to Rheinsberg.\n\n[_He goes out._]\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBetrayed--forsaken by all--\n\nHOTHAM (_coming hastily from the_ QUEEN'S _room_).\n\nGood news, Prince. The Princess is under arrest again.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd you call that good news, traitor!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThere is more, Prince. The traitor is pleased to hear that you also have\nfallen under the ban of the royal displeasure.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou are pleased to hear that?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe traitor assures you on his honor that there could be no better means\nof fulfilling your heart's desire.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWould you drive me mad?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nTo throw a preliminary cold shower on your doubt [_looks about\ncautiously_] kindly read this portion of a letter I have but just\nreceived.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nA billet-doux from your Prince of Wales?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nRead it, please.\n\nPRINCE (_reads_).\n\n\"London, June the fifth--\"\n\nHOTHAM (_indicating a line lower down_).\n\nThere--read there.\n\nPRINCE (_reads_).\n\n\"You ask for news from court. We are very poor in such news just now.\nThe Prince of Wales is still hunting wild boars in the Welsh mountains.\"\nThe Prince is--not in Berlin?\n\nHOTHAM (_still cautious, but smiling_).\n\nJust as little as you are in the Palace of St. James at this moment.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBut what am I to think? What am I to believe?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYou are to believe that you could well afford to place more confidence\nin Hotham's friendship, devotion--and cleverness.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe Prince of Wales is not in Berlin?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nH'st! _We_ know he is not here--but he _is_ here for all the others. The\nPrince of Wales is here, there, behind the screen, up the chimney, in\nthe air, under the earth, nowhere where he would be in our way, but\nanywhere where we might need him for the merriest comedy in all the\nworld.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHotham! Then I am not deceived in your friendship?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nJust as little, since our commercial treaty is doomed, as I am mistaken\nin your chances, despite arrest and displeasure. But come now, come to\nthat friendly goblin who will work for us--to the mysterious spirit on\nwhose account we will keep this corner of the world in anxiety and\nterror--your doughty rival but your still doughtier ally.\n\nPRINCE (_in laughing surprise_).\n\nYou mean?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe Prince of Wales. [_They both go out._]\n\n\n\nACT IV\n\n\n\n_Anteroom in the_ KING'S _apartments. The same as in_ SCENE I _of_ ACT\nII. _Writing materials on the table._\n\n\nSCENE I\n\n\nEVERSMANN _comes from the_ KING'S _room._\n\nSECKENDORF (_puts his head in at another door_).\n\nPst! Eversmann! Have you seen him yet?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nSeen whom, Count?\n\nSECKENDORF. The Prince of Wales. He is indeed in Berlin--he has been\nseen everywhere. _Unter den Linden_--by the river--even beyond\nTreptow--a frail figure of a man, stooping slightly--his left shoulder\nhigher than the right. When he speaks you see that one eye-tooth is\nmissing--\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThe King will not recognize the presence of the Prince of Wales.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nWe are being deceived, Eversmann. The King has recognized it. [_Low._]\nOr can it be that you have not heard of that most strange--most\nremarkable command that has gone out to the Castle Guards--a command\nwhich upsets all our deductions and plans? All sentries have orders to\nlet a white domino, if such a one should appear at night about the\ncastle, pass unhindered and even unchallenged. Do you not see the\nthoughtfulness for the Prince of Wales in that? It is he who is to visit\nHis Majesty secretly in disguise. Eversmann, all our pro-Austrian plans\nare in danger. [_There is a knock at the door._] Every noise startles me\nthese days.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nIt is the court tailor most likely, pardon me. [_He goes to the door._]\nHa, ha! the white domino!\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nThe court tailor? What can the court tailor be doing here? And a white\ndomino? Vienna's interests are in danger. The King does favor England. I\nmust have certainty. This is the moment when I must show my whole power.\n\n\nSCENE II\n\n\nHOTHAM (_comes in, bows_).\n\nHis Majesty graciously consented to give me a farewell audience.\n\n[EVERSMANN _returns with a little package which he opens, drawing\nout a white domino._]\n\nEVERSMANN (_to_ HOTHAM).\n\nI will announce you at once, sir. [_To_ SECKENDORF, _smiling._] Now,\nCount Seckendorf, if you wish to _see_ the Prince of Wales [_Pointing to\nthe domino_] here he is.\n\n[_He goes out into the_ KING'S _room._]\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nThat the Prince of Wales?\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nA white domino the Prince of Wales?\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nWhat's the key to this new riddle?\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nCan there be some secret doings here?\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nI will question Baronet Hotham cautiously.\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nMayhap this much-decorated gentleman can give me some information.\n\nSECKENDORF (_clearing his throat_).\n\nMay I ask--how His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, is enjoying\nhimself in Berlin? I am Count Seckendorf.\n\nHOTHAM. Most happy to meet you. As Your Excellency perceives, he is at\nthis moment in the very best hands. [_Points after_ EVERSMANN.]\n\nSECKENDORF (_startled, aside_).\n\nIn the best hands? Is he mocking me or is he deceived himself? It looks\nas though he too were in the conspiracy.\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nThis misunderstanding whets my curiosity.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nYou are in error, Baronet, if you believe that we have opposed the suit\nof the Prince of Wales. Procure me an opportunity to speak to the\nPrince, and I will consider it an honor to be allowed to repeat this\nassurance in his own presence.\n\nHOTHAM (_pointing to the_ KING's _door_).\n\nThe door of His Majesty's Cabinet is, I am told, always open to the\nImperial Envoy.\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nThe King's Cabinet! Where the Court tailor has just taken the white\ndomino [_Aloud_.] H'm! Baronet Hotham, do you happen to be acquainted\nwith the legend of the White Lady, connected for centuries with the\nhistory of the House of Brandenberg?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI am, Your Excellency. And I hear that the White Lady has been seen\nagain recently.\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nRecently? It _is_ a conspiracy. They are deceiving us under cloak of the\nmystery of the White Lady. The Prince of Wales and the King have a\nthorough understanding with each other. [_Aloud_.] Baronet Hotham, this\nis double-dealing. Be honest! Confess that the Prince is not only here,\nbut that he is received by the King at any hour.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWhat grounds have you for your belief?\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nIt was neatly done, to bring up the talk about the White Lady just at\nthis time.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe King may have his own reasons for that.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nThe King? The King has his--ha, ha! And you believe that no one sees\nthrough this fine game? You do not realize that there are eyes which\neven at night can see certain persons stealing across the courtyards of\nthe Royal Palace? That there are ears which can hear plainly how such\npersons are let pass unchallenged because--ha, ha, ha!--because these\npersons wear white dominos? My dear sir, you must lay your plans more\ncarefully if you would not have them patent to the simplest deductions.\nBut do not trust too much to the King's indulgence toward the Prince of\nWales. He is his nephew; he may not wish him compromised. Therefore he\nallows him to pass in and out in disguise. But, believe me, that is all\nthe Prince has to hope for here. And I at least should be very sorry for\na young diplomat, just beginning his career as you are, who cannot\nprofit by a direct hint from a statesman of twenty years' experience,\nwhose power of diplomatic manipulation has not yet been excelled. [_He\ngoes out_.]\n\n\nSCENE III\n\n\nHOTHAM (_alone_).\n\nThen the sentries let the white domino pass unchallenged, out of\nconsideration for a Prince of Wales who does not exist? And the white\ndomino is taken into the King's study? Here are two definite facts. The\nKing himself plans some midnight adventure, and does not wish\ninterference on the part of his sentries. His favorites, prying into\neverything, but winning only imperfect knowledge, connect the sentry\norder with the ghost of the Prince of Wales, and presuppose a tender\nthoughtfulness for the young adventurer on family or political grounds.\nDelicious! [_He sits down to write on a paper he has taken from his\nportfolio_.] Why, then--with the excuse of introducing the Prince of\nWales, I might bring the poor Prince of Baireuth, banished from the\npalace and from the city, back again quite unhindered to his captive\nprincess--and even to the Queen. The sun shines once more--but there is\nanother storm to conquer first. The King approaches. [_The KING comes\nan, dressed for the street. GRUMBKOW and EVERSMANN follow_.]\n\nKING (_still outside_).\n\nWho is it, you say?\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nBaronet Hotham.\n\nKING (_coming in_).\n\nTell him that I send my regards to him and his English price-lists. We\nin Berlin are not cottonwards inclined just at present.\n\nGRUMBKOW (_designating the bowing HOTHAM_).\n\nBaronet Hotham desires to pay his respects to Your Majesty personally.\n\nKING.\n\nTell him Prussia is putting her best foot forward. German manufacturers\nneed a chance to catch up with what the English already know about\nspinning and weaving.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nBaronet Hotham is about to ask Your Majesty in person for his dismissal.\n\nKING (_paying no attention_).\n\nThe incident is closed. My ministers can attend to it now. I prefer the\ncustomary procedure. [_He sits down_.]\n\nGRUMBKOW (_in the centre_).\n\nYou see, Baronet Hotham--\n\nHOTHAM (_to GRUMBKOW_).\n\nGeneral, will you say to His Majesty that I deeply regret having failed\nin my mission? Tell him--\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nHis Majesty is present.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nTell him that a country's industries need centuries of preparation to be\nable to sell at the low prices quoted by English merchants. Tell him--\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nWill you not address His Majesty in person?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI prefer the customary procedure.\n\nKING (_sitting, absorbed in his note-book_).\n\nVery good. And now, Grumbkow, tell him, for the account of the Prince of\nWales--that I'm planning to build a couple of new gates in Berlin, but\nfor the present he'll have to put up with the old ones through which to\nleave the city.\n\nGRUMBKOW. Very good.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nAnd kindly add, General von Grumbkow, that as one may suppose the\nPrincess Wilhelmine to cherish the same feeling for her cousin, the\nPrince of Wales, as--\n\nKING.\n\nPay no attention to that, Grumbkow. But announce to the gentleman that\nmy children are accustomed to obey my wishes, and that the affair with\nVienna is as good as settled. Understand?\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nVery well, Your Majesty.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nAnd you might add, General von Grumbkow, that I have a favor to beg of\nHis Majesty before departing.\n\nKING.\n\nGrumbkow, you might casually inquire what sort of a favor it is he\nwants.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nGeneral--\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nBaronet Hotham.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nIf His Majesty should seem inclined, out of the nobility of his heart,\nto make amends for the cruel manner in which he has just dismissed an\nardent admirer of his military greatness, then tell him that I know of a\nfinely-built, strong young man, a close friend of mine, of good family,\nwho would deem it an honor to serve up from the ranks under His\nMajesty's glorious flag.\n\nKING.\n\nGrumbkow, you may tell Baronet Hotham that his personality and manner\nhave pleased me greatly, and that I most heartily wish all Englishmen\nwere of his sort. In the matter of the young man, you may ask him if the\nrecruit will furnish his own equipment.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nKindly state, General, that the young man will take service in His\nMajesty's army, fully equipped according to regulations, his hair and\nhis heart in the right place, and that he furthermore brings with him a\nneat little inheritance of his own.\n\nKING (_more and more pleased_).\n\nQuite what one might expect from a born Englishman. Grumbkow, ask the\nBaronet whether the young man, who is doubtless destined to introduce\nPrussian tactics into England, would serve better on foot or to horse.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nHe begs for a place with the Dragoons of the Guard in Potsdam.\n\nKING.\n\nPotsdam? That won't do. They all want to serve in the Guard. No--no....\nBut he can--for a while, at least--join the Glasenapp Musketiers in\nPasewalk. That's a fine regiment, too.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nPlease express my sincere thanks to His Majesty. The young recruit will\nhave the honor to present himself personally to His Majesty in a few\ndays.\n\nKING.\n\nGrumbkow, suppose we offered Baronet Hotham, as a sign of our\nfriendship, a position as recruiting officer?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nHe would decline this honor, but he would beg another favor.\n\nKING.\n\nAnd that is--?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nIn all journals, in all records of travel, we read of a certain\ngathering in Berlin which goes beyond anything an Englishman can imagine\nin the way of clubs or private affairs.\n\nKING.\n\nDear me--our police permit that sort of thing in Berlin? Really, I am\nmost curious.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nA certain genial personage gathers around him several times weekly, in a\nsmall, low-ceilinged room in the palace, a small but select circle of\nmen on whom be bestows his confidence. Sitting on wooden stools, often\nin their shirt-sleeves, beer tankards before them on the great open\ntable, Dutch clay pipes in their mouths, they entertain each other in\nthe most unrestrained manner in spite of the exalted position held by\nmost of these men. Some who do not smoke hold cold pipes between their\nteeth, that they may not mar the harmony of the picture. One member of\nthe circle is singled out nightly as an object for mirth, and the choice\nis made by lot. Each and every one can in turn become the butt of merry\nsatire. To have been present at a meeting of this oddest of all court\ngatherings would furnish me with the most notable memory I could carry\naway from Berlin.\n\nKING.\n\nEgad, Grumbkow! I believe he means our Smoker.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe world-renowned Prussian \"tobacco-conference.\"\n\nKING.\n\nAnd you have--the gentleman has--no. [_He rises_.] I shan't use the\ncustomary procedure any more. Baronet Hotham, you have heard of my\nSmokers? You have said nice things about them. That reconciles me--can\nyou smoke?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYes, Your Majesty, the light Dutch Varinas, at least.\n\nKING.\n\nI have that--and the Porto-Rican and Hungarian tobaccos as well. In\nfact, I'm having quite a good sort grown here in the Mark Brandenberg\nnow.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI fear I should have to decline trying that.\n\nKING.\n\nGive me your hand, Baronet. Come to our conference tonight. We will wash\ndown our diplomatic disagreement with a good drink of beer, and blue\nclouds of smoke from our pipes shall waft away all the intrigues, plots\nand counter-plots.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nBut--Your Majesty, who is to furnish the source of amusement tonight?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWill Your Majesty take me as the scapegoat?\n\nKING.\n\nOho, Baronet! it will be a hot skirmish. He who has been under fire from\na dozen such old soldiers needs a week or two to recover from the\nexperience.\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nA pleasing fate indeed, to play the fox to such hounds!\n\nKING.\n\nWe'll find some one to be the central figure this evening. You must be\namong the laughers, and then you can tell us something of the\ncock-fights and the boxing-bouts in England. That sort of amusement\npleases me mightily, and I would permit it to come into this country\nwithout excise or other duty. Very well, then, the Smoker is at eight\no'clock. Your pardon for this queer audience of dismissal. Bring a brave\nthirst with you. For in the matter of drinking we pay no attention to\nthe customary procedure.\n\n[_He goes out, followed by all except HOTHAM_.]\n\n\nSCENE IV\n\n\nHOTHAM (_alone_).\n\nExcellent! We adapt ourselves to circumstances and circumstances adapt\nthemselves to us. Now for my letter to the Queen. [_He sits down, takes\na partly written letter from his portfolio and reads it_.] \"Exalted\nLady: Your wish to see the Prince of Wales is a command for your devoted\nservant. Unless all plans should go awry I will have the honor to lead\nthe Prince of Wales this very night into the presence of his Royal Aunt.\nHe hopes not only for the happiness of pressing a kiss on Your Majesty's\nhand, but desires, with all the longing of an ardent heart, finally to\nlook upon his dear affianced, the Princess Wilhelmine. Use all your\npower to free the Princess from her imprisonment for this evening.\" [_He\nbegins to write_.] \"I would suggest that you advise the Princess to wrap\nherself in a white domino. This disguise will carry her safely past the\npalace sentries.\" There--the young people can see each other again, can\nstorm the fortress of the mother's heart, and can win for themselves the\nsupport of public opinion, as represented by the invited guests. [_He\nseals the letter_.] Now if I could find the Prince--Ah, there he is!\n\nPRINCE (_looking in cautiously_).\n\nHotham, I've been looking for you everywhere. What do you think has just\nhappened to me?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nAnother Royal mission?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI can scarce believe it myself. Disconsolate, I was preparing for the\njourney, and stopped to cast one last look up to the windows behind\nwhich my beloved sits captive--a lackey of the King's suite approached\nme. I anticipated some new humiliation. But imagine my astonishment at\nthe surprise in store for me. You know the value the King sets on his\nnightly smoking-bouts. He invites to these gatherings only persons for\nwhom he has especial plans. Now picture my amazement when I learned that\nHis Majesty begs me, before my departure tonight, to do him the pleasure\nto attend his Smoker!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYou have an invitation?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYou're--you're laughing. [_HOTHAM laughs heartily_.] What are you\nlaughing at?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nIt's unspeakably comical.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nComical? I should consider it rather tragical, when a sovereign first\nhumiliates us and then suddenly heaps amiabilities upon us. What is the\nmatter with you.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nStand up straight-breast thrown out--head up--hands at your side--no,\nmore to the back--\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWhat do you mean?\n\nHOTHAM (_pulling his hair_).\n\nFine growth--fine strong growth.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWhat are you doing to my hair? And you're still laughing!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nAs a consequence of a most droll diplomatic transaction, I also have\nbeen honored with an invitation to the Smoker. And that I may enjoy the\ntrue savor of the customary and, methinks, sometimes strongly realistic\nentertainment of such occasions, those in charge have bestirred\nthemselves to find royal game for the baiting.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd I am to be--the game? This is too much! I will be there, Hotham; I\nwill take my place humbly at the foot of the great table, but I warn you\nthat my patience is exhausted. I will show them that I have weapons to\nparry the jibes of rough soldiers, weapons I have not yet brought into\nplay. I will be there, I will listen with apparent calm to what they are\nplanning to do to me--but then--then I will draw from _my_ quiver! I\nwill send arrow after arrow at this brutal despotism--and should the\nshafts be too weak to penetrate their leathern harness, then, Hotham,\nthen out with my sword and at them!\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nBravo, Prince! Excellent! That's the right mood! That is the language\none must use in this court. The hour draws near. It would take us too\nfar a-field were I to detail my plans to you now. I will first dispatch\nthis letter to the Queen. Then, as we set out for the Smoker--but I see\nyou are in no mood for explanations. Cherish this noble anger, Prince!\nRage as much as you will--snort like an angry tiger. [_Takes him by the\narm and leads him out_.] More--more--heap it up--there, now you are\nready to aid my plan, which is none other than to have you win the King\nby forcing him to respect you. [_They go out_.]\n\n\nSCENE V\n\n\n_A plain low-ceilinged room in the palace. The walls are gray. The main\nentrance is in the centre. One door at the left, a small window at the\nright.\n\nLackeys carry in an oaken table and place a number of wooden stools\naround it. Then they bring tankards on wooden platters and set them in a\ncircle on the table. A brazier with live coals is also brought in. The\nlackeys go out.\n\nThe_ KING _comes from the door on the left in easy, undress house\nuniform. He has a short Dutch pipe in his mouth, he shuts the door\ncarefully behind him._\n\nKING.\n\nAre they gathering already\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThere's noise enough outside there.\n\nKING.\n\nMy only recreation! While I may keep this little diversion, I am willing\nto bear the burdens and cares of government. Are the clay cannons\nloaded?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nAye--and some are fuming already outside there.\n\nKING.\n\nIs the beer right fresh? And a little bitter, eh?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nIt might be better.\n\nKING.\n\nThose Bernau brewers had best have a care--I may pay an unexpected visit\nto their brewery. How about the white smock I ordered?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nReady, at hand.\n\nKING.\n\nWhen the meeting is over--you know what I have planned\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nEverything is ready for Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nYou may go now. The door is to be opened at the stroke of ten.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nYes, Your Majesty. [_He goes out_.]\n\n[_The_ KING _walks to the window, remaining there for a few moments.\nThere is a pause_.]\n\nKING.\n\nLight in my wife's apartments again! Three rooms illuminated where one\nwould have been enough--and tallow so expensive now. A dozen women have\nbeen invited there tonight, and a great conspiracy is going forward,\nwith the Prince of Wales received incognito--all to defy me. But wait a\nbit--I'll be with you. This day has begun weightily and shall end\nweightily.\n\n\nSCENE VI\n\n\n_A small clock strikes ten. The door to the right is thrown open and the\nmembers of the Tobacco-Conference come in, led by_ GRUMBKOW _and_\nSECKENDORF. _There are about ten of them besides the principal actors.\nThey come in solemnly, wearing their hats, carrying pipes in their\nmouths. Passing the_ KING _they touch their hats and remove their pipes\nfor a moment._ HOTHAM _and the_ PRINCE of BAIREUTH _come last of all.\nThe_ KING _stands to the left and lets the procession move past him\ntoward the right of the room._\n\nGRUMBKOW (_with the prescribed greeting_).\n\nGood evening, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nGood evening, Grumbkow.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nGood evening, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nGood evening, Seckendorf.\n\nCOUNT SCHWERIN.\n\nGood evening, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nGood evening, Schwerin. Does it taste good?\n\nSCHWERIN.\n\nFine! Thanks, Your Majesty.\n\nCOUNT WARTENSLEBEN.\n\nGood evening, Your Majesty.\n\nKING.\n\nGood evening, Wartensleben. Pipe draw well?\n\nWARTENSLEBEN.\n\nYes. Thanks, Your Majesty. [_He moves past the_ KING _. The others pass\none after the other, or sometimes several at once, with similar\ngreetings_.]\n\nKING.\n\nTake your seats, gentlemen--no formalities--free choice--the smoke of\nwar levels all rank.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nBut the subject, Your Majesty, the subject promised for this evening?\n\nKING.\n\nHa, ha! The target? There it comes.\n\n[HOTHAM _and the_ PRINCE OF BAIREUTH _come in_.]\n\nALL.\n\nThe Prince of Baireuth?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nGood evening.\n\nKING.\n\nRight, oh! Prince, that you are come. Now, at least, you will have\nsomething good about my family to tell them in Rheinsberg. [_Aside_.]\nSpy! [_Aloud_.] But your pipe is cold.\n\nPRINCE (_with suppressed anger_).\n\nI am hoping that I may find fire enough here.\n\n[_The company sit down, the_ KING _and_ GRUMBKOW _at one end of the\ntable,_ HOTHAM _and the_ PRINCE _at the other_.]\n\nKING.\n\nLay on, gentlemen--there stand the care-chasers.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nTo His Majesty's health!\n\nKING.\n\nNo, let us rather drink, after such a day of annoyance and sorrow--let\nus rather drink to cheer, jollity, and a happy turn of wit!\n\n[_They touch glasses with one another._ EVERMANN _moves about, serving\nthe guests, passing coal for the pipes, and so forth_.]\n\nKING (_aside_).\n\nGrumbkow, I wager it will be right jolly tonight.\n\nGRUMBKOW (_aside_).\n\nWe'll soon begin to tap the Prince.\n\nKING (_aside_).\n\nBe merciful. His brow is already bedewed with the sweat of anxiety.\n[_Aloud_.] Tell me. Prince, since you have windbagged yourself about so\nmuch of the world--do they smoke tobacco in Versailles also?\n\n[Illustration: KING FREDERICK WILLIAM I AND HIS \"TOBACCO COLLEGIUM\"\nADOLPH VON MENZEL]\n\n PRINCE.\n\nNo. Your Majesty, but I've seen sailors in London who chew it.\n\nKING.\n\nBrr! Grumbkow, we'll not introduce that fashion here. It's not because\nof the taste, but such meals would be right costly.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nOur sailors use tobacco as a remedy for scurvy.\n\nSECKENDORF.\n\nWhat is scurvy?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThe scurvy, Count, is a disease which begins with an evil tongue.\n\nKING (_aside_).\n\nTake notice, Grumbkow, he's pricked. On with the attack.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nEversmann, have the newest Dutch journals arrived?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nYes, Your Excellency; full of lies, as usual.\n\nKING.\n\nLies? Then, according to the proverb, that explains why our beer is so\nsour.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nTell me, Eversmann, is there no news from Ansbach in the journals?\n\nHOTHAM (_aside to_ PRINCE).\n\nArm yourself.\n\nEVERSMANN (_impertinently_).\n\nWhy should there be news from such a little country?\n\nKING.\n\nBe quiet! Prussia also was once a little country. Tell me rather, what\ndo the Dutch write about Prussia?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nOutrageous things. They say that many deserters have again fled from\nPotsdam.\n\nKING.\n\nThat's not a lie, unfortunately.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBut they express themselves with more politeness in Holland.\n\nKING.\n\nHow then, Prince?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nThey say that Your Majesty's Guards consist mostly of men who suffer\nfrom an abnormal growth. These giants, so they say, have periods where\nthey shoot up to such an extent that they grow and grow beyond the\ntree-tops and disappear altogether from human ken.\n\nKING.\n\nHa, ha! Wittily expressed. But drink, Prince, drink.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nI imagined that Your Highness read only French journals.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI would rather read Prussian newspapers. But, thanks to General von\nGrumbkow's policies, no newspaper dare appear in Prussia.\n\nKING.\n\nHa, ha! There you have it! [_Aside_.] See, see, he's not afraid to speak\nhis mind. 'Twill be a merry night.\n\nHOTHAM (_aside to_ PRINCE).\n\nNot too sharp--be milder at first.\n\nGRUMBKOW (_aside_).\n\nSeckendorf, it's time to exercise your wit.\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nHush--I'm getting something ready. I will choose my own time.\n\nKING.\n\nBut you're not drinking, Prince. You're expected to drink here.\n[_Aside_.] Eversmann, keep his glass well filled--\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nThey want to make you drunk. Push your tankard nearer my place.\n\nKING.\n\nYou know the old Dessauer, Prince?\n\nPRINCE (surprised).\n\nWhy, Your Majesty--\n\nKING.\n\nBut do you know for what great invention mankind is indebted to the old\nDessauer?\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nDo you know that, Hotham?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nDamn their cross questioning--say it was gaiters.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nYour Majesty wishes to know what--what the old Dessauer invented?\n\nKING.\n\nYes, what did the old Dessauer invent?\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nAha, you see, now we have caught him.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nIt can't be gunpowder, because Count Seckendorf has already discovered\nthat. [_All laugh_.]\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nNever mind, Grumbkow, I'll wait the fitting moment.\n\nKING.\n\nHe invented _iron ramrods_. Now, you see, my son in Rheinsberg, for all\nhis Homers and Voltaires, and whatever their heathen names may be, that\nhe gathers round him, couldn't think of anything like that. [_Aside_.]\nIs he drinking, Eversmann?\n\nHOTHAM (_to_ PRINCE).\n\nDon't let slip your advantage.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nWho the devil could think of iron ramrods!\n\nGRUMBKOW (_rising_).\n\nWe'll drink a pleasant journey to His Highness, the Prince Hereditary of\nBaireuth. [_They all rise except the_ KING.]\n\nALL.\n\nA pleasant journey.\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nYou're done for--you've lost everything.\n\nPRINCE (_aside_).\n\nIt was shameful perfidy!\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nMake him respect you--be as brutal as he is--pretend to be drunk. [_They\nall sit down after having touched glasses amid laughter_.]\n\nPRINCE (_rises, his tankard in his hand. Speaks as if slightly\nintoxicated_).\n\nGentlemen--\n\nKING (_aside_).\n\nI believe he's hipped.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAnd--and--and--I thank you. [_He sits down. They all laugh_.]\n\nKING.\n\nBravo, Prince, you are a most excellent speaker.\n\nGRUMBKOW.\n\nHe's done for, Your Majesty: we must have him make a speech now.\n\nKING.\n\nYes. Give us a speech, Prince.\n\nALL.\n\nA speech--speech!\n\n[The PRINCE _rests his head in his hands and does not rise_.]\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe question is--what shall he talk about?\n\nKING.\n\nAbout anything--whatever he chooses.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nI could suggest an interesting subject.\n\nKING.\n\nOut with it.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWhat if he were to discuss some member of this merry company?\n\nKING.\n\n'Tis done! And that we need waste no time in choice--let him\ndiscuss--me.\n\nALL (_startled_).\n\nYour Majesty?\n\nKING.\n\nIt's very warm here. [_Opens his coat_.] Let's make ourselves\ncomfortable, Eversmann. Well, Prince--begin. Give us a speech about me.\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nPlease--\n\nKING.\n\nNo hesitation--let it be as if I had just died--\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYour Majesty--\n\nKING.\n\nQuiet! Silence all. The Prince of Baireuth will give us a speech about\nme. [_Aside_.] _In vino veritas_. I am curious to know whether such a\nFrench windbag is composed entirely of falsehoods.\n\nHOTHAM (_aside_).\n\nThis is the decisive moment.\n\nPRINCE (_steps forward, he staggers slightly then controls himself_).\n\nMerry company!\n\nKING.\n\nMerry? I'm dead.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nNo matter, they're merry just the same.\n\nKING.\n\nGad! is that true?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nMerry company--cheerful mourners--permit me to interrupt your enjoyment\nby a few painful remarks on the qualities of the deceased.\n\nKING.\n\nPainful remarks? That's a good beginning.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nFriedrich Wilhelm I., King of Prussia, was a great man, in whose\ncharacter were united the strangest contradictions.\n\nKING.\n\nContradictions!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAs with all those who owe their education to their own efforts, so his\nmind, noble in itself, fell under the influence of disturbing emotions,\nthe saddest of which was distrust.\n\nKING.\n\nThese are nice things I hear.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHe brought his country to a high degree of prosperity, he simplified\nadministration, he improved judicial procedure. But the enjoyment of all\nthese blessings was spoiled for him by his own fault.\n\nKING.\n\nWell--well--by his own fault!\n\nSECKENDORF (_aside_).\n\nThe young man must indeed have been drinking heavily.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nHis vivacity of spirit kept him in a continual unrest which was as\npainful to others as to himself. When fatigued he could not conceal his\ndesire for pleasant recreation, but his tastes were sufficiently simple\nto let him prefer satisfying this desire in the bosom of his own family.\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nThere'll be a misfortune, surely!\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBut even here, where he might have reposed on a couch of roses, this\nunfortunate sovereign made for himself a bed of thorns. His son's\nunhappy history is so well known that I can pass over it in silence....\n\nKING.\n\nIn silence--?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nFriedrich Wilhelm could not understand the freedom of the human will. He\nwould have grafted stem to stem, son on father, youth on age. In\nplanning to bestow the hand of his charming daughter, now here, now\nthere, it never came to his mind that her heart might have a right to\nchoose--it never occurred to him to ask: \"Does my choice make you happy,\nchild?\"\n\nKING.\n\nEversmann, take this pipe.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nNow he is departed. Those minions who during his lifetime came between\nthe heart of the mother and the heart of the husband and father, those\nminions tremble now. It remains to be seen how the misunderstood son\nwill dispose of them. The father's deeds will remain the foundation of\nthis state. But a milder spirit will reign in the land; the arts and\nsciences will outdistance the fame of cannon and bullet. And the soaring\neagle of Prussia will now truly fulfil his device, _Nec Soli\nCedis_--or, to put it in German, \"Even the sun's glance shall not\ndazzle thee! Even the sun shall stand aside from out thy path!\" [_He\nrecollects himself, and after a pause returns to the table, again\npretending drunkenness_.] Hotham, give me something to drink.\n\nKING (_after a pause_).\n\nWhat hour is it?\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nEleven past, Your Majesty. (_Aside_.) If we should meet the Prince of\nWales now, woe unto him.\n\nKING (_taking a tankard from the table_).\n\nPrince, when you have come to your senses tomorrow, let them tell you\nthat the King touched glasses with you.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nAt Your Majesty's service.\n\nKING.\n\nHe doesn't understand, Hotham. Translate it into sober language for him.\nGood night, gentlemen. [_He turns again and looks at the_ PRINCE\n_thoughtfully, repeating the words_.] \"Does my choice make you happy,\nchild?\" [_Looking at the_ PRINCE.] Pity he's only a bookish man.\n\n[EVERSMANN _takes up a candlestick with officious haste, brushes angrily\npast the triumphant_ HOTHAM _and throws a glance of suppressed rage at\nthe_ PRINCE.]\n\nEVERSMANN.\n\nMay I light Your Majesty--on your visit to--\n\nKING (_interrupts him with the_ PRINCE'S _words_).\n\n\"These minions tremble--\" [_After a pause, during which he glances over\nthem all_] I would be alone. [_He goes out_.]\n\n\n\nACT V\n\n\n\n_A drawing-room in the_ QUEEN's _apartments. A window to the right.\nThree doors, centre, right, and left. Tables and chairs. Candles on the\ntables, playing-cards, and tea service_.\n\n\nSCENE I\n\n\nKAMKE _stands on a step-ladder fastening a large curtain over the\nwindow. Two lackeys are assisting him_.\n\nKAMKE (_on the ladder_).\n\nThere! And now be ready to receive the ladies at the little side\nstairway. They will arrive in sedan chairs. No noise, do you\nhear--softly--softly. [_The lackeys go out_.]\n\nSONNSFELD (_comes in from the left_).\n\nAh, at last a festival of which the Prussian Court need not be ashamed.\nKamke, why are you draping that window?\n\nKAMKE.\n\nSo that our festival may not be observed. [_Coming down off the\nladder_.] Then you too are concerned in this conspiracy?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nThe Queen has taken all responsibility. She risks her own freedom for\nthat of her daughter, and will receive the Prince of Wales tonight in\nstrictest incognito. Is everything in readiness?\n\nKAMKE.\n\nYou're planning to free the Princess from her imprisonment? That is high\ntreason, remember.\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nIt must succeed, at whatever cost. The Queen wishes to see the Princess\namid the circle of friends whom she has invited this evening for a\nsecret purpose. The Princess has been instructed. She knows that I will\ncome to her room and remain there in her place to deceive the sentry.\nShe will meet you in the Blue Room.\n\nKAMKE.\n\nThe Blue Room--where--for the last few nights the White Lady has been\nseen?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nShe will meet you there--\n\nKAMKE (_horrified_).\n\nMe?\n\nSONNSFELD.\n\nShe will speak to you--\n\nKAMKE.\n\nMe?\n\nSONNSFELD (_pulling him to the door at the right_).\n\nYes, me--I mean you--and you will lead her from the Blue Room--you will\ntake her hand and bring her safely hither by the surest and quickest\nroute.\n\nKAMKE.\n\nMy lady--whom--whom? The Princess Wilhelmine?\n\nSONNSFELD (_going out_).\n\nNo, no, Kamke, the White Lady--but come quickly now, quickly.\n\n[_They both go out_.]\n\n\nSCENE II\n\n\nFRAU VON VIERECK, FRAU VON HOLZENDORF, _and about six more ladies enter\ncautiously, one by one, through the centre door_.\n\nVIERECK.\n\nHush! Step cautiously!\n\nHOLZENDORF (_whispering_).\n\nIt's all quiet here--if only these wretched shoes of mine didn't creak\nso.\n\nVIERECK (_whispering_).\n\nWhat can Her Majesty the Queen be planning for tonight?\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nHas His Majesty the King gone from home?\n\nVIERECK.\n\nI heard it said, at the French Embassy, that His Highness, the Crown\nPrince, had come from Rheinsberg--\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nDoubtless at the same time with His Highness, the Prince of Wales\n\nVIERECK (_low_).\n\nAt the moment both are at the King's Smoker.--They say the Crown Prince\nhas again disagreed with his father on questions concerning the future\nadministration of the state.\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nIs it possible?\n\nVIERECK.\n\nAnd they say that the Prince of Baireuth tried to bring about a\nreconciliation, but that the Prince of Wales took the part of the Crown\nPrince.\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nThe Prince of Wales? Then he has been received?\n\nVIERECK.\n\nAnd the King, so they say, in the heat of the argument, commanded that\nPrincess Wilhelmine, the cause of the quarrel, be sent to K\u00fcstrin at\nonce.\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nGood Heavens, ladies! There are cards on the table. Hush! I hear a\nnoise.\n\nVIERECK.\n\nIt is the Queen.\n\n[_The_ QUEEN _comes in in full toilet. She is excited and yet timorous.\nThe ladies bow_.]\n\nQUEEN.\n\nWelcome, ladies. I am happy to have about me once again the circle of\nthose who, I know, are devoted to me. Pray sit down. I have decided to\nbe more sociable in future and to have you with me oftener than I have\ndone of late. Will you have a game of cards, Frau von Viereck?\n\nVIERECK.\n\nCards, Your Majesty? For eighteen years now I cannot recall having seen\na card in the palace.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nWe will change all that. Ladies, you have not yet heard my plans, you do\nnot yet know what surprises this evening has in store for you--\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nSurprises, Your Majesty?\n\nQUEEN (_indicating a card-table near the window_).\n\nSit down there, my dear Holzendorf. Try your luck with Frau von Viereck.\n\nVIERECK (_aside_).\n\nHeavens--play cards there? When every outline of my shadow can plainly\nbe seen through that curtain?\n\nQUEEN (_sitting_).\n\nWhy do you hesitate?\n\nVIERECK.\n\nHave we Your Majesty's permission to draw the tables nearer together?\nThere--there is so much air at this window.\n\n[_The lackeys place the table farther from the window_.]\n\nQUEEN.\n\nYes, ladies, this evening a new era begins for our monarchy. I will\nbreak at last with the established etiquette. [_Lackeys come in with\ntrays_.] Order what pleases you. The beverages of China and the Levant\nshall from now on no longer be strangers to our court.\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nWhat is this? Tea?\n\nVIERECK.\n\nAnd coffee? These forbidden beverages?\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nIf His Majesty the King--\n\nQUEEN.\n\nHave no fear. Give your feelings full sway--express yourself without\nfear, in assurance of perfect safety--[_There is a knock at the door,\nright_.] Was not that a knock?\n\nVIERECK (_aside, trembling_).\n\nWhat does this mean?\n\n[_The knock is repeated. The ladies all rise as if frightened_.]\n\nQUEEN.\n\nBe calm, ladies. There is no danger. The evening will offer one surprise\nafter another. Who, do you imagine, is at that door now?\n\n[_The knock is repeated. The ladies all rise as if frightened_.]\n\nHOLZENDORF.\n\nThe hand seems none of the most delicate.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nAnd yet it is. That knock expresses the impetuous longing of a being\nwhom my courage has freed from a humiliating situation. You may resume\nyour seats, ladies. Do not allow yourselves to be disturbed by anything\nthat may occur, not even by any surprise. This is but the beginning of\nmany things that will come to pass this evening. And so I cry--in\noverflowing emotion--[_There is another knock_.] \"Moderate your\nimpatience, beloved being; you shall find here what you seek--your\nmother!\" [_She opens the door_.]\n\n\nSCENE III\n\n\n_The_ KING _steps in. He is wrapped in a white cloak, his hat pulled\ndown over his face_.\n\nKING.\n\nYes, your mother.\n\n[_The ladies all rise with exclamations of horror. The_ KING _removes\nhis hat_.]\n\nQUEEN (_aside, crushed_).\n\nThe King!\n\nKING (_angry, but forcing himself to be affable_).\n\nOn my word, how fine we are here, very fine indeed! And how nice it does\nlook with so many lights burning. [_He blows out several_.] Why are you\nhiding yourselves, ladies? Did you expect such a visitor?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nYour Majesty\n\n[_The ladies place themselves so that they screen the table. They hide\nthe cards quickly_.]\n\nKING.\n\nDo not let me disturb you, ladies. What is your particular entertainment\nthis evening? Enjoying a cup of soup, Frau von Holzendorf? [_Comes\nnearer_.] Oho--the silver service? [_He looks into cups_.] What's that?\nTea? Chocolate? Coffee?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nYour Majesty will surely--permit us--to keep pace with our age.\n\nKING.\n\nFrau von Viereck, you, I imagine, have been keeping pace with your age\nlong enough. About thirty years ago you'd give an old boy like myself a\nhandshake occasionally.\n\n[_Slyly he holds out his hand to her_.]\n\nVIERECK (_tries to hide the cards behind her back_).\n\nYour Majesty--such graciousness--\n\n[_She holds out one hand_.]\n\nKING.\n\nBoth, Fran von Viereck--let me have both.\n\n[VIERECK _lets the cards fall behind her back_.]\n\nKING.\n\nWhat's that? Did you not drop something? My God! Cards! [_He stands as\nif speechless_.] Playing-cards! [_To the_ QUEEN.] Cards, madam--a\nChristian court--and cards! I am sure, Frau von Viereck, you were merely\nprophesying from those cards. I know, ladies, that you were only telling\nyour fortunes from the cards. I am quite sure, Frau von Viereck, that\nyou were merely endeavoring to ascertain whether you would bury your\nfifth husband also. Surely--or--is it possible? Money on the tables!\n[_He clasps his hands in horror_.] You--have-been-playing?--at my\ncourt?--playing-cards? [_There is a knock at the door to the left_.] Who\nknocks there?\n\nQUEEN (_aside_).\n\nIt is Wilhelmine or the Prince of Wales! I am lost!\n\n[_Another gentle knock is heard_.]\n\nKING.\n\nYou are awaiting more visitors? Come in!\n\n[_He goes to the door himself and opens it_.]\n\n\nSCENE IV\n\n\nWILHELMINE, _wearing a white veil and domino, comes in cautiously_.\n\nKING.\n\nA veiled lady! And such mysterious visitors are received here? [_He\nlifts the veil_.] What do I see! Wilhelmine!\n\nWILHELMINE (_throwing herself at his feet_).\n\nFather! Forgive me!\n\nKING.\n\nForgive you! This invasion of the State Prison--this attack on my\nsovereign will?\n\nWILHELMINE (_rising, aside_).\n\nThis is a nice reception.\n\n[_There is a knock from the left_.]\n\nKING.\n\nWas that not another knock? [_A stronger knock_.] This castle is\nhaunted, I do believe. And I have indeed been fortunate enough to\nprevent the outbreak of a conspiracy! [_A louder knock_.] Who is there\nat that door? You will not answer? Then I must open it myself.\n\nQUEEN (_steps before him_).\n\nNo, you will not.\n\nKING.\n\nYou would hinder me from discovering who are enemies of the Crown? I\nwill open that door.\n\nQUEEN.\n\nNever!\n\nKING.\n\nYou defy me? You set yourself in opposition to the King?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nYes. I feel within me the power to do it. Ladies, hear now why I invited\nyou to these rooms tonight--why I asked you to appear before your queen.\nYes, Sire, the purpose of this hour was that the threads of your\npolitical scheming might be torn apart by two hands destined to be\nunited for life.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\n_Two_ hands!\n\nQUEEN.\n\nWilhelmine, I freed you from a captivity unworthy the daughter of a\nKing. Open that door, Sire; you will find there my nephew, my future\nson-in-law, the Prince of Wales.\n\nALL.\n\nThe Prince of Wales!\n\nKING (_when he has gained control of himself_).\n\nMadame, you have achieved your purpose. You have torn asunder the ties\nthat bound me to my family, that bound me to life. You know that my\nhonor, that my good name, are more to me than all political\ncalculations. You know that this scene here at night, this secret\nunderstanding with one who in my eyes is merely an adventurous stranger,\nhas ruined Wilhelmine's reputation forever. You may enjoy your triumph\nat your future widow's-seat, Oranienbaum, to which place I now banish\nyou, according to our House's laws, for the few remaining years of my\nlife.\n\nWILHELMINE (_hurrying to the_ KING's _side_).\n\nNo--no, not that.\n\nKING.\n\nMadame, admit the Prince of Wales.\n\n\nSCENE V\n\n\n_The_ QUEEN, _breathing heavily, staggers to the door. After a moment's\nupward glance she opens it. The_ PRINCE OF BAIREUTH _comes in, wrapped\nin a white cloak_. HOTHAM _follows, carrying a pointed metal helmet,\nsuch as belonged to the Prussian uniform of that day. The helmet must\nnot be seen at first_.\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nWhat? Whom do I see?\n\nALL.\n\nThe Prince of Baireuth?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nBaronet, what does this mean? Where is the Prince of Wales?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nYour Majesty, I am all astonishment. I have but just learned that the\nprince is now on a journey to Scotland.\n\nALL.\n\nWhat's that?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nThe Prince is not in Berlin?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nWhile some trustworthy witnesses insist that the Prince was actually\nhere, others again assert that he returned to England the very moment in\nwhich he realized that his patriotic interests--the interests of the\ncotton industry--could not be reconciled with the inclinations of his\nheart.\n\nKING.\n\nAnd what is the Prince of Baireuth doing here?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nHe seeks, as we do, the Prince of Wales, with whom he desires a duel to\nthe death.\n\n[_All exclaim_.]\n\nKING.\n\nA duel? And why?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nBecause this poor Prince of a tiny country does not begrudge the heir to\na World-Power his fleet, his army, nor his treasures; but he refuses to\nyield _one_ treasure to him except at the price of his heart's\nblood--and that treasure is the hand of Princess Wilhelmine, whom\nhe loves. [_General emotion_.]\n\nKING.\n\nWhom he loves? My daughter's hand? But does the Prince of Baireuth\nunderstand sword-craft?\n\n[HOTHAM _takes off the_ PRINCE'S _cloak and places the helmet on his\nhead. The_ PRINCE _stands there in the uniform of a grenadier of the\nperiod. His hair is braided into a long pigtail. He stands motionless in\na military attitude_.]\n\nKING.\n\nWhat's this I see? The Prince of Baireuth a grenadier?\nWith--_pigtail--and--sword_--?\n\nHOTHAM.\n\nThe equipment of the young recruit of the Glasenapp Regiment. I have the\nhonor to present him to Your Majesty before his departure for Pasewalk.\n\nKING.\n\nA German Prince, who deems it an honor to serve up from the ranks in my\narmy? [_Commands_.] Battalion--left wheel! Battalion--forward march!\n\n[PRINCE _executes manoeuvers and marches to_ WILHELMINE.]\n\nKING.\n\nHalt! [_To_ WILHELMINE] Is the enemy yonder disposed to accept the\ncapitulation on this side?\n\nWILHELMINE.\n\nUntil death!\n\nKING.\n\nEntire regiment--right wheel! Forward march--right, left, twenty-one,\ntwenty-two--\n\n[_All three march over to the_ QUEEN _who stands to the left of the\nroom_.]\n\nKING.\n\nHalt!\n\nWILHELMINE AND THE PRINCE (_kneeling at the_ QUEEN'S _feet_).\n\nMother!\n\nKING.\n\nThere was no such order given.\n\nPRINCE.\n\nBut it was the hearts' impulse.\n\nHOTHAM (_good-naturedly, whispering to the_ QUEEN).\n\nYour Majesty, won't you correct the mistakes of these two young\nrecruits?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nOut of my sight, you traitor to your Royal House! Arise, Wilhelmine.\n[_To the_ KING, _hesitating_.] But we still have Austria....\n\nKING.\n\nBut Austria hasn't us. The minions--eh, prince! Tomorrow there'll be\ndismissals--dismissals and pensionings! Well, mother, shall we take him\nfor a son-in-law?\n\nQUEEN.\n\nOn the condition that I--that I fix the amount of the dowry.\n\nKING.\n\nAnd also that you [_embracing the_ QUEEN] remain close to my heart. Now\nonly Friedrich is lacking. And all this is the result of your--your\ncotton industries! Baronet Hotham? Thanks for this splendid recruit.\n[_In_ HOTHAM'S _ear, audibly_] How did he sober up so soon?\n\nPRINCE.\n\nI crave your forgiveness Your Majesty--I am still drunk with joy.\n\nKING.\n\nForgiveness? For your speech, my son? If that which you have said shall\none day be written into the book of history, then my old heart is quite\ncontent, and has but the wish that they might add: \"With his Sword he\nwould be King, but with his Pigtail--merely the first citizen of his\nState.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nGERMAN LYRIC POETRY FROM 1830 to 1848\n\nBY JOHN S. NOLLEN, PH.D.\n\nPresident of Lake Forest College\n\n\nThe years from 1830 to 1848 were distinctively revolutionary years in\nGermany, which until then had remained strongly conservative. The spirit\nof political and social reformation, which had caused the great upheaval\nof the French Revolution late in the eighteenth century, had made itself\nfelt much more slowly across the Rhine. Even the generous enthusiasm\nthat animated the German people in the War of Liberation against\nNapoleon in 1813 had ebbed away into disappointment and lethargy when\nthe German princes forgot their pledges of internal reform. The policy\nof the German and Austrian rulers was dominated by the reactionary\nAustrian Prime Minister, Prince Metternich, a consistent champion of\naristocratic ideas and of the \"divine right of Kings.\" The \"Revolution\nof July,\" 1830, however, which overthrew the Bourbon dynasty in France,\nhad its counterpart in popular movements that forced the granting of\nconstitutions or other liberal concessions in several German states;\nand, though the policy of Metternich still remained dominant, the\nliberal sentiment grew in power until the February revolution of 1848 in\nParis inspired similar upheavals in all Germany. Metternich himself was\nnow compelled to retire, Frederick William IV. of Prussia granted his\npeople a constitution, and the other German states seethed with revolt;\nbut the great liberal plan to unify Germany under the leadership of\nPrussia was nullified by Frederick William's refusal to accept the\nimperial crown from a democratic assembly.\n\nThe lyric poetry of Germany in these years inevitably reflected the\nliberal sentiment of the time; it is always the radical emotion of any\nrevolutionary period that finds the most effective lyric expression, the\nconservative state of mind being more characteristically prosaic. For\nthe group of ardent spirits who made themselves the heralds of the new\nday, one of their number, the novelist and dramatist Karl Gutzkow, found\nthe name \"Young Germany.\" Just as the \"Storm and Stress\" of 1770 to\n1780, and the Romantic movement of the opening nineteenth century,\nrepresented a spirit of sharp revolt against the then dominant\npseudo-classicism and rationalism, so \"Young Germany\" reacted\npassionately against the moonlight sentimentality of the popular\nromantic poets, as well as against the stupid political conservatism of\nthe time. The aim of the Young Germans was to bring literature down from\nthe clouds into vital contact with the immediate problems of the day.\nThus there was developed a body of literature strongly polemic in\npurpose, quite hostile to the ideals of detachment and disinterested\nworship of beauty that Goethe and Schiller in their classical period had\npreached and practised. This literature took the form of fiction, drama,\nand journalism, as well as of poetry. Indeed, the only important lyric\npoet of the Young German group was HEINRICH HEINE (1797-1856), who had\nbegun his career with the most intimate poetry of personal confession,\nin which the simplicity of the folk-song and the nature-feeling of the\nromanticist are strongly tinged with wit and cynicism. Heine's\nimpatience with German conditions led him to expatriate himself, and\nfrom his retreat in Paris to aim venomous shafts of satire at his native\nland, with its \"three dozen masters\" and its philistine conservative\nnightcaps and dumplings. This brilliant poet, with his marvelous mastery\nof German lyric tones, expressed a wide range of poetic inspiration; but\nhe loved particularly to conceive of himself as an apostle of liberty,\nan outpost of the revolutionary army, and none so well as he could tip\nthe barb with biting sarcasm and satire. Heine's personality was full\nof seemingly inconsistent traits. He was both fanciful and rational,\nserious and flippant, tender and cynical, reverent and impious; and he\ncould be at once a patriot and an alien. He was, to use his own phrase,\nan \"unfrocked romanticist\"--at once a brilliant representative of the\npoetry of self-expression and personal caprice, and an exemplar and\nprophet of a new ideal, the \"holy alliance of poetry with the cause of\nthe nations.\"\n\nThe different attitudes of thoughtful men toward the influences of the\ntime were variously reflected in the work of three leading poets, all\nolder than Heine, who contributed largely to the lyric output of the\nperiod. ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO (1781-1835), of aristocratic French\ndescent, and using all the familiar romantic forms and motives, was yet\nthoroughly democratic and prophetically modern in his unalloyed sympathy\nwith the impoverished victims of the social order. It was something new\nfor German poetry to find inspiration in the wrath of a beggar who\ncannot pay his dog-tax, the sardonic piety of an old widow reduced to\npenury by the exactions of the \"gracious prince,\" or the laborious\nresignation of an aged washerwoman.--The Silesian nobleman JOSEPH VON\nEICHENDORFF (1788-1857), Prussian officer and civil official, was a\nconsistent conservative in his political attitude, a pious Catholic, and\na romanticist in every fibre of his poetic soul. His lyrics are the\npurest echoes of folk-song and folk-lore, and the simplicity and\ngenuineness of his art give an undying charm to his songs of idyllic\nmeadows and woodlands, post-chaises, carefree wanderers, and lovely\nmaidens in picturesque settings; all suffused with gentle yearning and\nmelting into soft melody. Eichendorff's patriotism was of the\ntraditional type, echoing faintly the battle-hymns of the War of\nLiberation. For the great liberal movement of the thirties and forties\nhe had neither sympathy nor comprehension.--FRIEDRICH R\u00dcCKERT\n(1788-1866), endowed with a fatal facility of lyric expression, a\nvirtuoso for whom no _tour-de-force_ was too difficult, lived most of\nhis life aloof from the political and social movements of his time. In\nhis youth his _Sonnets in Armor_ had done sturdy service in the national\nawakening against Napoleon, but his maturer years were devoted to\ndomestic and academic interests. Every impression of his life, whether\ndeep or fleeting, was material for a poem or a cycle. He handled with\nconsummate skill the odd or complicated metres of eastern and southern\nlyric forms, and he was most versatile as a translator of foreign\npoetry, ancient and modern, occidental and oriental. His unusual formal\ntalent and mastery of language were a constant temptation to rapid and\nsuperficial versifying; but there are in the vast mass of his production\nmany genuine poems of great beauty.\n\nTwo other poets of quite distinctive quality stood aloof from the\npolitical interests of the time. The talented Westphalian Catholic\npoetess ANNETTE VON DROSTE-H\u00dcLSHOFF (1797-1848) has a place apart in her\ngeneration, not only for the fine religious poems of her _Christian\nYear_ (similar in plan to Keble's cycle), but also for her nature-lyrics\nand songs of common life, which are marked by minute realistic detail\nand refreshing originality of observation and sentiment. This pious\ngentlewoman, usually so maidenly in her reserve, nevertheless expressed\nsomething of the spirit of emancipation in her quiet protest against the\nnarrow conventional limits of the feminine life. But she would have\nrecoiled with horror from the reckless propaganda for sex-freedom that\nwas a part of the Young German campaign, as she also repudiated the\nviolence of the revolutionists of 1848.--If there is something masculine\nin Fr\u00e4ulein von Droste's firm and plastic touch, there is something\nalmost feminine in the finely-chiseled lyrics of the Protestant pastor\nEDUARD M\u00d6RIKE (1804-1875), whose _Poems_ appeared in the same year\n(1838), and blended the folk-song simplicity and melody of an\nEichendorff with the classical form-sense of a Keats. This Suabian\ncountry vicar, the youngest member of the group about Uhland, lived in\nthe utmost serenity amid the troubles of revolutionary agitation,\ndevoted to his art, turning the common experiences of every day into\nforms of beauty, or reviving with charming na\u00efvet\u00e9 the romantic figures\nof medieval poetry.\n\nWe emerge completely from the quietude and piety of these individualists\nwhen we come to a group of men who were distinctively political poets.\nHere we find the direct lyric expression of the revolutionary movement.\nThe first in the field was ANASTASIUS GR\u00dcN (the pen-name of Count Anton\nvon Auersperg, 1806-1876). This Austrian nobleman boldly attacked the\nreactionary policy of Metternich in his _Saunterings of a Viennese Poet_\n(1831); with biting irony he pictures the fate of the Greek patriot\nHypsilantes, broken in health by the \"hospitality\" of Austrian\nprison-fortresses, or describes the all-powerful minister-of-state\nenjoying his social triumphs in the palace ball-room, while Austria\nstands outside the gate vainly pleading for liberty. In another\ncollection entitled _Debris_ (1836) there are whole-hearted protests\nagainst the political martyrdom of the best patriots, and the oppressive\ndespotism under which Italy groaned, with which Gr\u00fcn contrasts the\nblessings of liberty in America.\n\nAnastasius Gr\u00fcn was the forerunner. The period of the real dominance of\npolitical poetry began with 1840, when a petty official in a Rhenish\nvillage, Nikolaus Becker, electrified Germany with a martial poem, _The\nGerman Rhine_, inspired by French threats of war with Prussia and of the\nconquest of the Rhine territory. The same events inspired Max\nSchneckenburger's _Wacht am Rhein_, which at the time could not compete\nin popularity with Becker's poem, but in later years has quite\nsupplanted it as a permanent national song. German officialdom, which\nhad looked askance at all political poetry, easily saw the value to the\nnational defense of such patriotic strains, and now encouraged these\nnational singers with gifts and honors. But political poetry could not\nbe kept within officially recognized bounds. Inevitably it became\npartisan and revolutionary in character. HEINRICH HOFFMANN (who styled\nhimself VON FALLERS-LEBEN after his birthplace; 1798-1874), one of the\nmost prolific lyric poets of Germany, had the knack of expressing the\ncommon feeling in poems that became genuine national songs; the most\nfamous of these, _Deutschland, Deutschland \u00fcber alles_ (1841), is still\nsung wherever those who love Germany congregate. But from this\nexpression of the common German tradition Hoffmann went on to espouse\nthe liberal cause, and he had his taste of martyrdom when he lost his\nprofessorship at Breslau because of his ironical _Unpolitical Songs_\n(1840-42). Hoffmann was essentially an improviser, and sang only too\ncopiously in all the tones and fashions of German verse.\n\nFERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876) gained immediate fame with the\nbrilliant color and tropical exuberance of his early oriental lyrics, of\nwhich the much-declaimed _Lion's Ride_ is an excellent example. But\nFreiligrath's strongest work was in the field of political poetry. He,\ntoo, made sacrifices for the faith that was in him; he gave up a royal\npension and twice went into voluntary exile in order to be free to\nexpress his liberal sentiments. He began, indeed, with the denial of any\npartisan bias; but when the Revolution of 1848 broke, no other poet\nfound more daring and eloquent words for the spirit of revolt and of\ndemocratic enthusiasm than Freiligrath. And when the war of 1870 again\nbrought new hope of German unity, Freiligrath sang in stirring measures\nthis national awakening.\n\nGEORG HERWEGH (1817-1875), also driven into exile by his opposition to\nthe government, created a sensation with his _Poems of the Living_\n(1841), which in ringing refrains incited to revolutionary action. But\nwhen the deed followed the word, and Herwegh led an invading column of\nlaborers into Baden in 1848, he lacked the courage of the martyr and\nfled from the peril of death. _GOTTFRIED KINKEL_ (1815-1882) also took\npart in the insurrection in Baden, was captured, and condemned to life\nimprisonment, but escaped with the aid of Carl Schurz in 1850. FRANZ\nDINGELSTEDT (1814-1881), on the other hand, found his sarcastic _Songs\nof a Political Night-Watchman_ (1842) no bar to appointment as director\nof the theatres of Munich, Weimar and Vienna.\n\nWhile the poets of the revolution were busily at work, the conservatives\nwere not altogether voiceless; nor were the notes of the romantic lyric\nsilenced. Indeed, men like Hoffmann, Herwegh, and Kinkel could not deny\nthe strong influence of the romantic motives and tones upon much of\ntheir best poetry. One lyrist greater than any of them was dominated by\nthe romantic tradition--an Austrian nobleman of mingled German, Slavonic\nand Hungarian blood, NIKOLAUS LENAU (the pen-name of Nikolaus Franz\nNiembsch Edler von Strehlenau, 1802-1850). A gifted musician, Lenau was\nalso a master of the melody of words, and his nature-feeling was\nunusually deep and true. Abnormally proud, self-centred and sensitive as\nhe was, Lenau was born to unhappiness and disillusionment; his journey\nto America, begun with the most generous anticipations, ended in\nhomesickness and bitter disappointment. Before he had reached middle\nlife, his genius went out in the darkness of insanity. The picturesque\nand the tragic fascinated Lenau; he could sing with genuine sympathy the\nfate of dismembered Poland, or the lawless freedom of Hungarian rebels\nand gipsies; but for the great political movements of the day he had\nlittle regard. In the melodious interpretation of nature in sad and\nquiet moods he had no rival.\n\nVery different was the wholesome and chivalrous nature of the young\nMoravian Count MORITZ VON STRACHWITZ (1822-1847), whose ballads are\nunmatched in German literature for spirit and fire. Strachwitz despised\nthe democratic agitation of the revolutionists, and sang with fine\nenthusiasm the coming of the strong man, who, after all the intrigues of\nthe demagogues, like another Alexander should cut the Gordian knot with\nthe sword.\n\nWith EMANUEL GEIBEL (1815-1884) we come to the voice of fair compromise\nbetween the extremes. Geibel was a conservative liberal, honestly\npatriotic without partisanship. Thus his _Twelve Sonnets for\nSchleswig-Holstein_ (1846) were broadly German in inspiration, and his\nlove of liberty was matched by his aristocratic hatred of the mob.\nGeibel succeeded in once more gaining the widest popularity, in days\nfilled with partisan clamor, for the pure lyric of romantic inspiration.\nHe was in a true sense the poet-laureate of his generation. Lacking in\nreal originality, he was yet sincere in the expression of his emotion,\nand his faultless form clothed the utterance of a soul of rare purity\nand nobility.\n\nAs in the days after the War of Liberation, so in the years following\nthe revolutionary movements of 1848, the generous hopes of the people\nseemed doomed to perish in weariness and disappointment, and the voice\nof democratic poetry was silenced. In the reaction that followed the\nintoxication of liberal enthusiasm, with the failure of the attempt to\nunify Germany under Prussian leadership, the German lands relapsed into\ndull acquiescence in the old regime. But the seed of the new day had\nbeen sown, and the harvest came in due time. Strachwitz's intuition was\njustified; the strong man did appear, in the person of Bismarck, and the\n\"Gordian knot\" was cut with the sword of the war of 1870. But the\nliberal dream of 1848 was realized, also, in the creation of a unified\nand powerful German Empire on a constitutional basis.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n[Illustration: ANASTASIUS GR\u00dcN]\n\nANASTASIUS GR\u00dcN\n\n\n  A SALON SCENE[14] (1831)\n\n  Evening: In the festive halls the light of many candles gleams,\n  Shedding from the mirrors' crystal thousand-fold reflected beams.\n  In the sea of light are gliding, with a stately, solemn air,\n  Honored, venerable matrons, ladies young and very fair.\n\n  And among them wander slowly, clad in festive garments grand,\n  Here the valiant sons of battle, there the rulers of the land.\n  But on one that I see moving every eye is fixed with fear--\n  Few indeed among the chosen have the courage to draw near.\n\n  He it is by whose firm guidance Austrians' fortunes rise or sink,\n  He who in the Princes' Congress for them all must act and think.\n  But behold him now! How gracious, courteous, gentle he's to all,\n  And how modest, unassuming, and how kind to great and small!\n\n  In the light his orders sparkle with a faint and careless grace,\n  But a friendly, gentle smile is always playing on his face\n  When he plucks the ruddy rose leaves that some rounded bosom wears,\n  Or when, like to withered blossoms, kingdoms he asunder tears.\n\n  Equally enchanting is it, when he praises golden curls,\n  Or when, from anointed heads, the royal crowns away he hurls.\n  Yes, methinks 'tis heavenly rapture, which delights the happy man\n  Whom his words to Elba's fastness or to Munkacs' prison ban.\n\n  Could all Europe now but see him, so engaging, so gallant,\n  How the ladies, young and old, his winning smiles delight, enchant;\n  How the church's pious clergy, and the doughty men of war,\n  And the state's distinguished servants by his grace enraptured are.\n\n  Man of state and man of counsel, since you're in a mood so kind,\n  Since you're showing to all present such a gracious frame of mind,\n  See, without, a needy client standing waiting at your door\n  Whom the slightest sign of favor will make happy evermore.\n\n  And you do not need to fear him; he's intelligent and fair;\n  Hidden 'neath his homely garments, knife nor dagger does he wear.\n  'Tis the Austrian people, open, honest, courteous as can be.\n  See, they're pleading: \"May we ask you for the freedom to be free?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: NICOLAUS LENAU]\n\nNIKOLAUS LENAU\n\n\n  PRAYER[15] (1832)\n\n  Eye of darkness, dim dominioned,\n    Stay, enchant me with thy might,\n  Earnest, gentle, dreamy-pinioned,\n    Sweet, unfathomable night.\n\n  With magician's mantle cover\n    All this day-world from my sight,\n  That for aye thy form may hover\n    O'er my being, lovely night.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SEDGE SONGS[16] (1832)\n\n  I\n\n  In the west the sun departing\n    Leaves the weary day asleep,\n  And the willows trail their streamers\n    In these waters still and deep.\n\n  Flow, my bitter tears, flow ever;\n    All I love I leave behind;\n  Sadly whisper here the willows,\n    And the reed shakes in the wind.\n\n  Into my deep lonely sufferings\n    Tenderly you shine afar,\n  As athwart these reeds and rushes\n    Trembles soft yon evening star.\n\n  II\n\n  Oft at eve I love to saunter\n    Where the sedge sighs drearily,\n  By entangled hidden footpaths,\n    Love! and then I think of thee.\n\n  When the woods gloom dark and darker,\n    Sedges in the night-wind moan,\n  Then a faint mysterious wailing\n    Bids me weep, still weep alone.\n\n  And methinks I hear it wafted,\n    Thy sweet voice, remote yet clear,\n  Till thy song, descending slowly,\n    Sinks into the silent mere.\n\n  III\n\n  Angry sunset sky,\n    Thunder-clouds o'erhead,\n  Every breeze doth fly,\n    Sultry air and dead.\n\n  From the lurid storm\n    Pallid lightnings break,\n  Their swift transient form\n    Flashes through the lake.\n\n  And I seem to see\n    Thyself, wondrous nigh--\n  Streaming wild and free\n    Thy long tresses fly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  [Illustration: EVENING ON THE SHORE HANS AM ENDE]\n\n  SONGS BY THE LAKE[17] (1832)\n\n  I\n\n  In the sky the sun is failing,\n    And the weary day would sleep,\n  Here the willow fronds are trailing\n    In the water still and deep.\n\n  From my darling I must sever:\n    Stream, oh tears, stream forth amain!\n  In the breeze the rushes quiver\n    And the willow sighs in pain.\n\n  On my soul in silence grieving\n    Mild thou gleamest from afar,\n  As through rushes interweaving\n    Gleams the mirrored evening star.\n\n  IV\n\n  Sunset dull and drear;\n    Dark the clouds drive past;\n  Sultry, full of fear,\n    All the winds fly fast.\n\n  Through the sky's wild rack\n    Shoots the lightning pale;\n  O'er the waters black\n    Burns its flickering trail.\n\n  In the vivid glare\n    Half I see thy form,\n  And thy streaming hair\n    Flutters in the storm.\n\n  V\n\n  On the lake as it reposes\n    Dwells the moon with glow serene\n  Interweaving pallid roses\n    With the rushes' crown of green.\n\n  Stags from out the hillside bushes\n    Gaze aloft into the night,\n  Waterfowl amid the rushes\n    Vaguely stir with flutterings light\n\n  Down my tear-dim glance I bend now,\n    While through all my soul a rare\n  Thrill of thought toward thee doth tend now\n    Like an ecstasy of prayer.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE POSTILION[18] (1833)\n\n  Passing lovely was the night,\n    Silver clouds flew o'er us,\n  Spring, methought, with splendor dight\n    Led the happy chorus.\n\n  Sleep-entranced lay wood and dale,\n    Empty now each by-way;\n  No one but the moonlight pale\n    Roamed upon the highway.\n\n  Breezes wandering in the gloom\n    Soft their footsteps numbered\n  Through Dame Nature's sleeping-room\n    Where her children slumbered.\n\n  Timidly the brook stole by,\n    While the beds of blossom\n  Breathed their perfume joyously\n    On the still night's bosom.\n\n  My postilion, heedless all,\n    Cracked his whip most gaily,\n  And his merry trumpet-call\n    Rang o'er hill and valley.\n\n  Hoofs beat steadily the while,\n    As the horses gamboled,\n  And along the shady aisle\n    Spiritedly rambled.\n\n  Grove and meadow gliding past\n    Vanished at a glimmer:\n  Peaceful towns were gone as fast,\n    Like to dreams that shimmer.\n\n  Midway in the Maytide trance\n    Tombs were shining whitely;\n  'Twas the churchyard met our glance--\n    None might view it lightly.\n\n  Close against the mountain braced\n    Ran the long white wall there,\n  And the cross, in sorrow placed,\n    Silent rose o'er all there.\n\n  Jehu straight, his humor spent,\n    Left his tuneful courses;\n  On the cross his gaze he bent\n    Then pulled up his horses.\n\n  \"Here's where horse and coach must wait--\n    You may think it odd, sir:--\n  But up yonder, lies my mate\n    Underneath the sod, sir.\n\n  \"Better lad was never born--\n    (Sir 'twas God's own pity!)\n  No one else could blow the horn\n    Half as shrill and pretty.\n\n  \"So I stop beside the wall\n    Every time I pass here,\n  And I blow his favorite call\n    To him under grass here.\"\n\n  Toward the churchyard then he blew\n    One call after other,\n  That they might go ringing through\n    To his sleeping brother.\n\n  From the cliff each lively note\n    Echoing resounded,\n  As it were the dead man's throat\n    Answering strains had sounded.\n\n  On we went through field and hedge,\n    Loosened bridles jingling;\n  Long that echo from the ledge\n    In my ear kept tingling.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  TO THE BELOVED FROM AFAR[19] (1838)\n\n  His sweet rose here oversea\n    I must gather sadly;\n  Which, beloved, unto thee\n    I would bring how gladly!\n\n  But alas! if o'er the foam\n    I this flower should carry,\n  It would fade ere I could come;\n    Roses may not tarry.\n\n  Farther let no mortal fare\n    Who would be a wooer,\n  Than unwithered he may bear\n    Blushing roses to her,\n\n  Or than nightingale may fly\n    For her nesting grasses,\n  Or than with the west wind's sigh\n    Her soft warbling passes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE THREE GIPSIES[20]\n\n  Three gipsy men I saw one day\n    Stretched out on the grass together,\n  As wearily o'er the sandy way\n    My wagon brushed the heather.\n\n  The first of the three was fiddling there\n    In the glow of evening pallid,\n  Playing a wild and passionate air,\n    The tune of some gipsy ballad.\n\n  From the second's pipe the smoke-wreaths curled,\n    He watched them melt at his leisure.\n  So full of content, it seemed the world\n    Had naught to add to his pleasure.\n\n  And what of the third?--He was fast asleep,\n    His harp to a bough confided;\n  The breezes across the strings did sweep,\n    A dream o'er his heart-strings glided.\n\n  The garb of all was worn and frayed,\n    With tatters grotesquely mended;\n  But flouting the world, and undismayed,\n    The three with fate contended.\n\n  They showed me how, by three-fold scoff,\n    When cares of life perplex us,\n  To smoke, or sleep, or fiddle them off,\n    And scorn the ills that vex us.\n\n  I passed them, but my gaze for long\n    Dwelt on the trio surly--\n  Their dark bronze features sharp and strong,\n    Their loose hair black and curly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  MY HEART[21] (1844)\n\n  Sleepless night, the rushing rain,\n  While my heart with ceaseless pain\n  Hears the mournful past subsiding\n  Or the uncertain future striding.\n\n  Heart, 'tis fatal thus to harken,\n  Let not fear thy courage darken,\n  Though the past be all regretting\n  And the future helpless fretting.\n\n  Onward, let what's mortal die.\n  Is the storm near, beat thou high.\n  Who came safe o'er Galilee\n  Makes the voyage now in thee.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEDUARD M\u00d6RIKE\n\n  AN ERROR CHANCED[22] (1824)\n\n  An error chanced in the moonlight garden\n  Of a once inviolate love.\n  Shuddering I came on an outworn deceit,\n  And with sorrowing look, yet cruel,\n  Bade I the slender\n  Enchanting maiden\n  Leave me and wander far.\n  Alas! her lofty forehead\n  Was bowed, for she loved me well;\n  Yet did she go in silence\n  Into the dim gray\n  World outside.\n\n  Sick since then,\n  Wounded and woeful heart!\n  Never shall it be whole.\n\n  Meseems that, spun of the air, a thread of magic\n  Binds her yet to me, an unrestful bond;\n  It draws, it draws me faint with love toward her.\n  Might it yet be some day that on my threshold\n  I should find her, as erst, in the morning twilight,\n  Her traveler's bundle beside her,\n  And her eye true-heartedly looking up to me,\n  Saying, \"See, I've come back,\n  Back once more from the lonely world!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  A SONG FOR TWO IN THE NIGHT[23] (1825)\n\n  _She_. How soft the night wind strokes the meadow grasses\n              And, breathing music, through the woodland passes!\n              Now that the upstart day is dumb,\n              One hears from the still earth a whispering throng\n              Of forces animate, with murmured song\n              Joining the zephyrs' well-attun\u00e8d hum.\n\n  _He_. I catch the tone from wondrous voices brimming,\n              Which sensuous on the warm wind drifts to me,\n              While, streaked with misty light uncertainly,\n              The very heavens in the glow are swimming.\n\n  _She_. The air like woven fabric seems to wave,\n              Then more transparent and more lustrous groweth;\n              Meantime a muted melody outgoeth\n              From happy fairies in their purple cave.\n              To sphere-wrought harmony\n              Sing they, and busily\n              The thread upon their silver spindles floweth.\n\n  _He_. Oh lovely night! how effortless and free\n              O'er samite black-though green by day--thou movest!\n              And to the whirring music that thou lovest\n              Thy foot advances imperceptibly.\n              Thus hour by hour thy step doth measure--\n              In tranc\u00e8d self-forgetful pleasure\n              Thou'rt rapt; creation's soul is rapt with thee!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  [Illustration: EDUARD M\u00d6RIKE WEISS]\n\n  EARLY AWAY[24] (1828)\n\n  The morning frost shines gray\n    Along the misty field\n  Beneath the pallid way\n    Of early dawn revealed.\n\n  Amid the glow one sees\n    The day-star disappear;\n  Yet o'er the western trees\n    The moon is shining clear.\n\n  So, too, I send my glance\n    On distant scenes to dwell;\n  I see in torturing trance\n    The night of our farewell.\n\n  Blue eyes, a lake of bliss,\n    Swim dark before my sight,\n  Thy breath, I feel, thy kiss;\n    I hear thy whispering light.\n\n  My cheek upon thy breast\n    The streaming tears bedew,\n  Till, purple-black, is cast\n    A veil across my view.\n\n  The sun comes out; he glows,\n    And straight my dreams depart,\n  While from the cliffs he throws\n    A chill across my heart.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE FORSAKEN MAIDEN[25] (1829)\n\n  Early when cocks do crow\n    Ere the stars dwindle,\n  Down to the hearth I go,\n    Fire must I kindle.\n\n  Fair leap the flames on high,\n    Sparks they whirl drunken;\n  I watch them listlessly\n    In sorrow sunken.\n\n  Sudden it comes to me,\n    Youth so fair seeming,\n  That all the night of thee\n    I have been dreaming.\n\n  Tears then on tears do run\n    For my false lover;\n  Thus has the day begun--\n    Would it were over!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WEYLA'S SONG[26] (1831)\n\n  Thou art Orplede, my land\n  Remotely gleaming;\n  The mist arises from thy sun-bright strand\n  To where the faces of the gods are beaming.\n\n  Primeval rivers spring renewed\n  Thy silver girdle weaving, child!\n  Before the godhead bow subdued\n  Kings, thy worshipers and watchers mild.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SECLUSION[27] (1832)\n\n  Let, oh world, ah let me be!\n  Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure.\n  Leave alone this heart to treasure\n  All its joy, its misery.\n\n  What my grief I can not say,\n  'Tis a strange, a wistful sorrow;\n  Yet through tears at every morrow\n  I behold the light of day.\n\n  When my weary soul finds rest\n  Oft a beam of rapture brightens\n  All the gloom of cloud, and lightens\n  This oppression in my breast.\n\n  Let, oh world, all, let me be!\n  Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure.\n  Leave alone this heart to treasure\n  All its joy, its misery.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE SOLDIER'S BETROTHED[28] (1837)\n\n  Oh dear, if the king only knew\n  How brave is my sweetheart, how true!\n  He would give his heart's blood for the king,\n  But for me he would do the same thing.\n\n  My love has no ribbon or star,\n  No cross such as gentlemen wear,\n  A gen'ral he'll never become;\n  If only they'd leave him at home!\n\n  For stars there are three shining bright\n  O'er the Church of St. Mary each night;\n  We are bound by a rose-woven band,\n  And a house-cross is always at hand.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE OLD WEATHERCOCK: AN IDYLL[29] (1840, 1852)\n\n  At Cleversulzbach in the Underland\n  A hundred and thirteen years did I stand\n  Up on the tower in wind and rain,\n  An ornament and a weathervane.\n  Through night and tempest gazing down,\n  Like a good old cock I watched the town.\n  The lightning oft my form has grazed,\n  The frost my scarlet comb o'erglazed,\n  And many a warm long summer's day,\n  In times when all seek shade who may,\n  The scorching sun with rage unslaked\n  My golden body well has baked.\n  So in my age all black I'd grown,\n  My beauteous glint and gleam was gone,\n  Till I at length, despised by all,\n  Was lifted from my pedestal.\n  Ah well! 'tis thus we run our race,\n  Another now must have my place.\n  Go strut, and preen, but don't forget\n  What court the wind will pay you yet!\n\n  Farewell, sweet landscape, mount and dell!\n  Vineyard and forest, fare ye well!\n  Belov\u00e8d tower, the roof's high ridge,\n  Churchyard and streamlet with its bridge;\n  Oh fountain, where the cattle throng\n  And sheep come trooping all day long,\n  With Hans to urge them on their way.\n  And Eva on the piebald gray!\n  Ye storks and swallows with your clatter,\n  And sparrows, how I'll miss your chatter!\n  For every bit of dirt seems dear\n  Which o'er my form you used to smear.\n  Goodby, my worthy friend the pastor,\n  And you, poor driveling old schoolmaster.\n  'Tis o'er, what cheered my heart so long.\n  The sound of organ, bells and song.\n\n  So from my, lofty perch I crew,\n  And would have sung much longer too,\n  When came a crooked devil's minion,\n  The slater 'twas in my opinion.\n  Who after many a knock and shake\n  Detached me wholly from my stake.\n  My poor old heart was broke at last\n  When from the roof he pulled me past\n  The bells which from their station glared\n  And on my fate in wonder stared,\n  But vexed themselves no more about me,\n  Thinking they'd hang as well without me.\n\n  Then to the scrap-heap I was brought,\n  For twopence by the blacksmith bought,\n  Which as he paid he said 'twas wonder\n  How much folk wanted for such plunder.\n  And there at noon of that same day\n  In grief before his hut I lay.\n  The time being May, a little tree\n  Shed snow-white blossoms over me,\n  While other chickens by the dozen\n  Unheeding cackled round their cousin.\n  'Twas then the pastor happened by,\n  Spoke to the smith, then smiling, \"Hi!\n  And have you come to this, poor cock\n  A strange bird, Andrew, for your flock!\n  He'll hardly do to broil or roast;\n  For me though, I may fairly boast\n  Things must go hard if I've no place\n  For old church servants in hard case.\n  Bring him along then speedily\n  And drink a glass of wine with me.\"\n\n  The sooty lout with quick assent\n  Laughed, picked me up, and off we went.\n  A little more, and from my throat\n  Toward heaven I'd sent a joyous note.\n  Within the manse the strange new guest\n  Astounded all from most to least;\n  But soon each face, before afraid,\n  The glowing light of joy displayed.\n  Wife, maids and menfolks, girls and boys\n  Surrounded with a seven-fold noise\n  The giant rooster in the hall,\n  Welcoming, looking, handling all.\n  The man of God with jealous care\n  Took me himself and climbed the stair\n  To his own study, while the pack\n  Came stumbling after at his back.\n\n  Within these walls is peace enshrined!\n  Entering, we left the world behind.\n  I seemed to breathe a magic air,\n  Essence of books and learning rare,\n  Geranium scent and mignonette,\n  And faint tobacco lingering yet.\n  (To me of course all this was new.)\n  An ancient stove I noticed, too,\n  In the left corner in full view.\n  Quite like a tower its bulk was raised\n  Until its peak the ceiling grazed,\n  With pillared strength and flowery grace,\n  O most delightful resting-place!\n  On the top wreath as on a mast\n  The blacksmith set me firm and fast.\n\n  Behold my stove with reverent eyes!\n  Cathedral-like its noble size;\n  With store of pictures overwrought,\n  And rhymes that tell of pious thought.\n  Of such I learned full many a word,\n  While the old stove from out its hoard\n  Would draw them forth for young and old,\n  When the snow fell and winds blew cold.\n  Here you may see where on the tile\n  Stands Bishop Hatto's towered isle,\n  While rats and mice on every side\n  Swim through the Rhine's opposing tide.\n  The armed grooms in vain wage war,\n\n  The host of tails grows more and more,\n  Till thousands ranged in close array\n  Leap from the walls on those at bay\n  And seize the bishop in his room:\n  An awful death is now his doom;\n  Devoured straightway shall he be\n  To pay the price of perjury.\n  --There too Belshazzar's banquet shines,\n  Voluptuous women, costly wines;\n  But in the amaz\u00e8d sight of all\n  The dread hand writes upon the wall.\n  --Lastly the pictures represent\n  How Sarah listens in the tent\n  While God Almighty, come to earth,\n  Foretells to Abraham the birth\n  Of Isaac and his seed thereafter.\n  Sarah cannot restrain her laughter,\n  Since both are well advanced in years.\n  God asks when he the laughter hears:\n  \"Doth Sarah laugh then at God's will,\n  And doubt if this he may fulfil?\"\n  Her indiscretion to recall\n  She says, \"I did not laugh at all.\"\n  Which commonly would be a lie;\n  But God prefers to pass it by,\n  Since 'tis not done with malice dark,\n  And she's a lady patriarch.\n\n  Now that I'm here, I think with reason\n  That winter is the fairest season\n  How smooth the daily current flows\n  To ev'ry week's belov\u00e8d close!\n  --Just about nine on Friday night,\n  Sole by the lamp's reposeful light\n  My master with a mind perplexed\n  Sets out to choose his Sunday text.\n  Before the stove a while he stands,\n  Walks to and fro with twisted hands,\n  And vainly struggles to determine\n  The theme on which to thread his sermon.\n  Now and again amid his doubt\n  He lifts the window and looks out.\n  --Oh cooling surge of starlit air,\n  Pour on my brow your tide so rare!\n  I see where Verrenberg doth glimmer,\n  And Shepherds' Knoll with snows a-shimmer.\n  He sits him down to write at last,\n  Dips pen and makes the A and O,\n  Which o'er his \"Preface\" always go.\n  I meanwhile from my post on high\n  Ne'er from my master turn an eye,\n  Look at him now, with far-off gaze\n  Pondering, testing every phrase;\n  The snuffer once he seizes quick\n  And cleans of soot the flaming wick;\n  Then oft in deep abstraction, he\n  Murmurs a sentence audibly,\n  Which I with outstretched bill peck up\n  And fill with lore my eager crop.\n  So do we come by smooth gradation\n  To where begins the \"Application.\"\n  \"Eleven!\" comes the watchman's shout.\n  My master hears and turns about.\n  \"Bedtime!\" He rises, takes the light,\n  Nor ever hears my shrill \"good-night!\"\n  Alone in darkness then I'd be;\n  That has no terrors, though, for me.\n  Behind the wainscot sharply picking\n  I hear a while the death-clock ticking,\n  I hear the marten vainly scoop\n  The earth around the chicken-coop.\n  Along the eaves the night-wind brushes,\n  And through far trees the tempest rushes--\n\n  Bird Wood's the name that forest bears,\n  Where rude old Winter raves and tears.\n  Now splits a beech with such a crack\n  That all the valleys echo it back.\n  --My goodness! when these sounds I hear\n  I'm glad a pious stove's so near,\n  Which warms you so the long hours through\n  That night seems fraught with blessings too.\n  --Just now I well might feel afraid,\n  When thieves and murderers ply their trade;\n  'Tis lucky, faith, for those who are\n  Secured from harm by bolt and bar.\n  How could I call so men would hear me\n  If some one raised a ladder near me?\n  When thoughts like this attack my brain\n  The sweat runs down my back like rain.\n  At two, thank God! again at three,\n  A cock-crow rises clear and free,\n  And with the morning bell at five\n  My whole heart, now once more alive,\n  High in my breast with rapture springs,\n  When finally the watchman sings\n  \"Arise, good friends, for Jesus' sake,\n  For bright and fair the day doth break.\"\n\n  Soon after this, an hour at most,\n  My spurs are growing stiff with frost\n  When in comes Lisa, hums some snatches,\n  And rakes the fire until it catches.\n  Then from below, quite savory too,\n  I scent the steam of onion stew.\n  At length my master enters gay,\n  Fresh for the business of the day.\n  On Saturday a worthy priest\n  Should keep his room, his house at least;\n  Not visit or distract his brain,\n  Turning his thoughts to things profane.\n  My master was not tempted so,\n  But once--don't let it out, you know--\n  He squandered all his precious wits\n  Making a titmouse trap for Fritz--\n  Right here, and talked and had a smoke;\n  To me, I'll own, it seemed a joke.\n\n  The blessed Sabbath now is here.\n  The church-bells call both far and near,\n  The organ sounds so loud to me\n  I think I'm in the sacristy.\n  There's not a soul in all the house;\n  I hear a fly, and then a mouse.\n  The sunlight now the window reaches\n  And through the cactus stems it stretches,\n  Fain o'er the walnut desk to glide,\n  Some ancient cabinet-maker's pride.\n  There it beholds with searching looks\n  Concordances and children's books,\n  On wafer-box and seal it dances\n  And lights the inkwell with its glances;\n  Across the sand it strikes its wedge,\n  Is cut upon the penknife's edge,\n  Across the armchair freely roams,\n  Then to the bookcase with its tomes.\n  There clad in parchment and in leather\n  The Suabian Fathers stand together:\n  Andrea, Bengel, Riegers two,\n  And Oetinger are well in view.\n  The sun each golden name reads o'er\n  And with a kiss he gilds yet more.\n  As Hiller's \"Harp\" his fingers touch--\n  Hark! does it ring? It lacks not much.\n\n  With that a spider slim and small\n  Begins upon my frame to crawl,\n  And, never asking my goodwill,\n  Suspends his web from neck to bill.\n  I don't disturb myself a whit,\n  Just wait and watch him for a bit.\n  For him it is a lucky hap\n  That I'm disposed to take a nap.--\n  But tell me now if anywhere\n  An old church cock might better fare.\n\n  A twinge of longing now and then\n  Will vex, no doubt, the happiest men.\n  In summer I could wish outside\n  Upon the dove-cote roof to bide,\n  With just beneath the garden bright\n  And stretch of greensward too in sight.\n  Or else again in winter time,\n  When, as today, the weather's prime:--\n  Now I've begun, I'll say it out\n  We've got a sleigh here, staunch and stout,\n  All colored, yellow, black and green;\n  Just freshly painted, neat and clean;\n  And on the dashboard proudly strutting\n  A strange, new-fangled fowl is sitting:\n  Now if they'd have me fixed up right--\n  The whole expense would be but slight--\n  I'd stand there quite as well as he\n  And none need feel ashamed of me!\n  --Fool! I reply, accept your fate,\n  And be not so immoderate.\n  Perhaps 'twould suit your high behest\n  If some one, for a common jest,\n  Would take you, stove and all, away\n  And set you up there on the sleigh,\n  With all the family round you too:\n  Man, woman, child--the whole blest crew!\n  Old image, what! so shameless yet,\n  And prone on gauds your mind to set?\n  Think on your latter end at last!\n  Your hundredth year's already past.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THINK OF IT, MY SOUL![30] (1852)\n\n  Somewhere a pine is green,\n  Just where who knoweth,\n  And in a garth unseen\n  A rose-tree bloweth.\n  These are ordained for thee--\n  Think, oh soul, fixedly--\n  Over thy grave to be;\n  Swift the time floweth.\n\n  Two black steeds on the down\n  Briskly are faring,\n  Or on their way to town\n  Canter uncaring.\n  These may with heavy tread\n  Slowly convey the dead\n  E'en ere the shoes be shed\n  They now are wearing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ERINNA TO SAPPHO[31] (1863)\n\n  (Erinna was a Greek poetess, a friend and pupil of Sappho of Lesbos.\n  She died at the age of nineteen.)\n\n  \"Many the paths to Hades,\" an ancient proverb\n  Tells us, \"and one of them thou thyself shalt follow,\n  Doubt not!\" My sweetest Sappho, who can doubt it?\n  Tells not each day the old tale?\n  Yet the foreboding word in a youthful bosom\n  Rankles not, as a fisher bred by the seashore,\n  Deafened by use, perceives the breaker's thunder no more.\n  --Strangely, however, today my heart misgave me. Attend:\n  Sunny the glow of morn-tide, pouring\n  Through the trees of my well-walled garden,\n  Roused the slugabed (so of late thou calledst Erinna)\n  Early up from her sultry couch.\n  Full was my soul of quiet, although my blood beat\n  Quick with uncertain waves o'er the thin cheek's pallor.\n  Then, as I loosed the plaits of my shining tresses,\n  Parting with nard-moist comb above my forehead\n  The veil of hair--in the glass my own glance met me.\n  Eyes, strange eyes, I said, what will ye?\n  Spirit of me, that within there dwelled securely as yet,\n  Occultly wed to my living senses--\n  Demon-like, half smiling thy solemn message,\n  Thou dost nod to me, Death presaging!\n  --Ha! all at once like lightning a thrill went through me,\n  Or as a deadly arrow with sable feathers\n  Whizzing had grazed my temples,\n  So that, with hands pressed over my face, a long time\n  Dumb-struck I sat, while my thought reeled at the frightful abyss.\n\n  Tearless at first I pondered,\n  Weighing the terror of Death;\n  Till I bethought me of thee, my Sappho,\n  And of my comrades all,\n  And of the muses' lore,\n  When straightway the tears ran fast.\n\n  But there on the table gleamed a beautiful hair-net, thy gift,\n  Costly handwork of Byssos, spangled with golden bees.\n  This, when next in the flowery festal season\n  We shall worship the glorious child of Demeter,\n  This will I offer to her for thy and my sake,\n  So may she favor us both (for she much availeth),\n  That no mourning lock thou untimely sever\n  From thy beloved head for thy poor Erinna.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nMOZART'S JOURNEY FROM VIENNA TO PRAGUE\n(about 1850)\n\nA ROMANCE OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE\n\nBY EDUARD M\u00d6RIKE\n\nTRANSLATED BY FLORENCE LEONARD\n\n\nIn the fall of the year 1787 Mozart and his wife undertook a journey to\nPrague, where he was to finish and bring out his masterpiece, _Don\nJuan_.\n\nEleven o'clock of the fourteenth of September found them well on their\nway and in the best of spirits. They had been traveling two days, and\nwere about one hundred and twenty miles from Vienna, among the beautiful\nM\u00e4hrische mountains. The splendid coach, drawn by three post-horses,\nbelonged to an elderly Frau Volkstett, wife of General Volkstett, who\nprided herself on her intimacy with the Mozarts and on the favors she\nhad shown them. The carriage was painted a bright yellowish-red, the\nbody adorned with garlands of gay-colored flowers, the wheels finished\nwith narrow stripes of gold. The high top was fitted with stiff leather\ncurtains, now drawn back and fastened.\n\nThe dress of the travelers was simple, for the new clothes to be worn at\ncourt were carefully packed in the trunk. Mozart wore an embroidered\nwaistcoat of a somewhat faded blue, his ordinary brown coat--with a row\nof large, curiously fashioned gilt buttons--black silk stockings and\nsmall-clothes, and shoes with gilt buckles. As the day grew warm,\nunusually warm for September, he had taken off both hat and coat and was\nsitting in his shirt-sleeves, bare headed, serenely chatting. His thick\nhair, drawn back into a braid, was powdered even more carelessly than\nusual.\n\nFrau Mozart's hair, a wealth of light brown curls, never disfigured by\npowder, fell, half unfastened, upon her shoulders. She wore a\ntraveling-suit of striped stuff--light green and white.\n\nThey were slowly ascending a gentle slope, where rich fields alternated\nwith long stretches of woodland, when Mozart exclaimed: \"How many woods\nwe have passed every day of our journey, and I hardly noticed them, much\nless thought of going into them! Postilion, stop and let your horses\nrest a bit, while we get some of those blue-bells yonder in the shade!\"\n\nAs they rose to leave the coach they became aware of a slight accident\nfor which the master had to take the blame. Through his carelessness a\nbottle of choice perfume had lost its cork, and its contents had run,\nunperceived, over clothing and carriage cushions. \"I might have known\nit,\" lamented Frau Mozart, \"I have smelled it this long while! Oh dear!\nA whole bottle of real 'Ros\u00e9e d'Aurore!' I was as careful of it as if it\nhad been gold!\"\n\n\"Never mind, little goose,\" was Mozart's comforting answer. \"This was\nthe only way that your sacred smelling-stuff would do us any good. The\nair was like an oven here, and all your fanning made it no cooler. But\npresently the carriage was comfortable--you said it was because I poured\na couple of drops on my _jabot_--and we could talk and enjoy our journey\ninstead of hanging our heads like sheep in a butcher's cart. It will\nlast all the rest of the way. Come now, let us stick our two Vienna\nnoses into this green wilderness!\"\n\nThey climbed the bank arm-in-arm, and strolled into the shade of the\npines, which grew deeper and deeper, till only here and there a stray\nsunbeam lighted up the green mossy carpet. So cool was the air that\nMozart soon had to put on the coat, which, but for his prudent wife, he\nwould have left behind.\n\nPresently he stopped and looked up through the rows of lofty\ntree-trunks. \"How beautiful!\" he cried. \"It is like being\nin church! This is a real wood, a whole family of trees! No human\nhand planted them, but they seem to have come and stood there just\nbecause it is pleasant to live and grow in company. To think that I have\ntraveled half over Europe, have seen the Alps and the ocean, and yet,\nhappening to come into an ordinary Bohemian pine-woods, I am astonished\nthat such a thing actually exists; not as a poetic fiction like the\nnymphs and fauns, but really living, drawn out of the earth by moisture\nand sunshine! Imagine the deer, with his wonderful antlers, at home\nhere, and the mischievous squirrel, the wood-cock, and the jay!\" He\nstooped and picked a mushroom, praised its deep red color and delicate\nwhite lines, and put a handful of cones into his pocket.\n\n\"Any one would think that you had never walked a dozen steps in the\nPrater,\" said his wife; \"these same rare cones and mushrooms are to be\nfound there too!\"\n\n\"The Prater! Heavens, how can you mention it! What is there in the\nPrater but carriages and swords, gowns and fans, music and hubbub! As\nfor the trees, large as they are--well, even the acorns on the ground\nseem like second cousins to the old corks lying beside them! You could\nwalk there two hours, and still smell waiters and sauces!\"\n\n\"Oh, what a speech from a man whose greatest pleasure is to eat a good\nsupper in the Prater!\"\n\nAfter they had returned to the carriage and sat watching the smiling\nfields which stretched away to the mountains behind them, Mozart\nexclaimed: \"Indeed the earth is beautiful, and no one can be blamed for\nwanting to stay on it as long as possible. Thank God, I feel as fresh\nand strong as ever, and ready for a thousand things as soon as my new\nopera is finished and brought out. But how much there is in the outside\nworld, and how much at home, both wonderful and beautiful, that I know\nnothing about! Beauties of nature, sciences, and both fine arts and\nuseful arts! That black charcoal-burner there by his kiln knows just as\nmuch as I do about many things. And I should like well enough to look\ninto some subjects that aren't connected with my own trade!\"\n\n\"The other day,\" interrupted his wife, \"I came across your old\npocket-calendar for '85. There were three or four special memoranda at\nthe end. One read: 'About the middle of October they are to cast the\ngreat lions at the imperial brass foundry.' Another was underlined twice\n'Call on Professor Gottner.' Who is he?\"\n\n\"Oh Oh yes, I remember! That kind old gentleman in the observatory, who\ninvites me there now and then. I meant, long ago, to take you to see the\nmoon and the man in it. They have a new telescope, so strong that they\ncan see distinctly mountains and valleys and chasms, and, on the side\nwhere the sun does not fall, the shadows of the mountains. Two years ago\nI planned to go there! Shameful!\"\n\n\"Well, the moon will not run away!\"\n\n\"But it is so with everything. It is too hard to think of all that one\nputs off and loses, not duties to God and to man only, but pure\npleasures--those small innocent pleasures which are within one's grasp\nevery day!\"\n\nMadame Mozart could not or would not turn his thoughts into another\nchannel, and could only agree with him as he went on: \"Have I ever been\nable to have a whole hour of pleasure with my own children? Even they\ncan be only half enjoyed! The boys have one ride on my knee, chase me\nonce around the room, and stop. I must shake them off and go! I cannot\nremember that we have had once a whole day in the country together, at\nEaster or Whitsuntide, in garden or woods or meadows to grow young again\namong the children and flowers. And meanwhile life is gradually slipping\nand running and rushing away from us! Dear Lord! To think of it!\"\n\nWith such self-reproach began a serious conversation. How sad that\nMozart, passionate as he was, keenly alive to all the beauties of the\nworld, and full of the highest aspirations, never knew peace and\ncontentment, in spite of all that he enjoyed and created\nin his short life. The reason is easily found in those weaknesses,\napparently unconquerable, which were so large a part of his\ncharacter. The man's needs were many; his fondness for society\nextraordinarily great. Honored and sought by all the families of\nrank, he seldom refused an invitation to a f\u00eate or social gathering of\nany sort. He had, besides, his own circle of friends whom he entertained\nof a Sunday evening, and often at dinner at his own well-ordered table.\nOccasionally, to the inconvenience of his wife, he would bring in\nunexpected guests of diverse gifts, any one whom he might happen to\nmeet--amateurs, fellow-artists, singers, poets. An idle hanger-on whose\nonly merit lay in his companionable mood or in his jests, was as welcome\nas a gifted connoisseur or a distinguished musician. But the greater\npart of his recreation Mozart sought away from home. He was to be found\nalmost every afternoon at billiards in the Kaffeehaus, and many an\nevening at the inn. He enjoyed both driving and riding, frequented balls\nand masquerades--a finished dancer--and took part in popular\ncelebrations also, masquerading regularly on St. Bridget's Day as\nPierrot.\n\nThese pleasures, sometimes wild and extravagant, sometimes quieter in\ntone, were designed to refresh the severely taxed brain after extreme\nlabors; and in the mysterious ways of genius they bore fruit in later\ndays. But unfortunately he was so bent on enjoying to the full every\nmoment of pleasure that there was room for no other consideration,\nwhether of prudence or duty, of self-preservation or of economy. Both in\nhis amusements and in his creative activity Mozart knew no limits. Part\nof the night was always devoted to composition; early in the morning,\noften even while in bed, he finished his work. Then, driving or walking,\nhe made the rounds of his lessons, which generally took a part of the\nafternoon also. \"We take a great deal of trouble for our pupils, and it\nis often hard not to lose patience,\" he wrote to one of his\npatrons. \"Because we are well recommended as pianists and\nteachers of music we load ourselves down with pupils, and\nare always willing to add another; if only the bills are\npromptly paid it does not matter whether the new student be a\nHungarian mustachio from the engineer corps, whom Satan has tempted to\nwade through thorough-bass and counterpoint, or the haughtiest little\ncountess who receives us in a fury, as she would Master Coquerel, the\nhair-dresser, if we do not arrive on the stroke of the hour.\" So, when\nweary with the occupations of his profession, school-work, and\nrehearsals as well as private lessons, and in need of refreshment, he\ngave his nerves a seeming restorative only in new excitement. His health\nbegan to suffer, and ever-recurring fits of melancholy were certainly\nfostered, if not actually induced, by his ill health; and the\npremonition of his early death, which for a long time haunted him, was\nfinally fulfilled. The deepest melancholy and remorse were the bitter\nfruits of every pleasure which he tasted; yet we know that even these\ntroubled streams emptied pure and clear in the deep spring from which\nall joy and all woe flowed in marvelous melodies.\n\nThe effects of Mozart's illness showed most plainly when at home. The\ntemptation to spend his money foolishly and carelessly was very great.\nIt was due, as a matter of course, to one of his most lovely traits. If\nany one in need came to him to borrow money or to ask his name as\nsecurity, he consented at once with smiling generosity and without\nmaking arrangements to insure the return of the loan. The means which\nsuch generosity, added to the needs of his household, required, were out\nof all proportion to his actual income. The sums which he received from\ntheatres and concerts, from publishers and pupils, together with the\nEmperor's pension, were the smaller because the public taste was far\nfrom declaring itself in favor of Mozart's compositions. The very\nbeauty, depth, and fulness of his music were, in general, opposed to the\neasily understood compositions then in favor. To be sure,\nthe Viennese public could not get enough of _Die Entf\u00fchrung\naus dem Serail_, thanks to its popular element. But, on the\nother hand, several years later _Figaro_ made a most unexpected\nand lamentable fiasco, in comparison with the success of its\npleasing, though quite insignificant rival _Cosa rara_--and not\nalone through the intrigue of the manager. It was the same _Figaro_\nwhich, soon after, the cultivated and unprejudiced people of Prague\nreceived with such enthusiasm that the master, in gratitude, determined\nto write his next great opera for them.\n\nBut despite the unfavorable period and the influence of his enemies,\nMozart, if he had been more prudent and circumspect, might have received\na very considerable sum from his art. As it was, he was in arrears after\nevery enterprise, even when full houses shouted their applause to him.\nSo circumstances, his own nature, and his own faults conspired to keep\nhim from prosperity.\n\nAnd what a sad life was that of Frau Mozart! She was young and of a\ncheerful disposition, musical, and of a musical family, and had the best\nwill in the world to stop the mischief at the outset, and, failing in\nthat, to make up for the loss in great things by saving in small\naffairs. But she lacked, perhaps, skill and experience. She held the\npurse, and kept the account of the house expenses. Every claim, every\nbill, every vexation was carried to her. How often must she have choked\nback the tears when to such distress and want, painful embarrassment,\nand fear of open disgrace, was added the melancholy of her husband, in\nwhich he would remain for days, accomplishing nothing, refusing all\ncomfort, and either sighing and complaining, or sitting silent in a\ncorner, thinking continually of death! But she seldom lost courage, and\nalmost always her clear judgment found counsel and relief, though it\nmight be but temporary. In reality she could make no radical change in\nthe situation. If she persuaded him in seriousness or in jest, by\nentreaties or by coaxing, to eat his supper and spend his\nevening with his family, she had gained but little. Perhaps,\ntouched by the sight of his wife's distress, he would curse his bad\nhabits and promise all that she asked--even more. But to no purpose; he\nwould soon, unexpectedly, find himself in the old ruts again. One is\ntempted to believe that he could not do otherwise, and that a code of\nmorals, totally different from our ideas of right and wrong, of\nnecessity controlled him.\n\nYet Frau Constanze hoped continually for a favorable turn of affairs, a\ngreat improvement in their financial condition, which could hardly fail\nto follow Mozart's increasing fame. If the anxiety which always pressed\nupon him, more or less, could be lightened; if, instead of devoting half\nhis strength and time to earning money he could live only for his art,\nand, moreover, could enjoy with a clear conscience those pleasures which\nhe needed for body and mind, then he would grow calmer and more natural.\nShe hoped, indeed, for an opportunity to leave Vienna, for, in spite of\nhis affection for the place, she was convinced that he would never\nprosper there. Some decisive step toward the realization of her plans\nand wishes she promised herself as the result of the new opera, for\nwhich they were now on their way to Prague.\n\nThe composition was more than half written. Trusty friends and competent\njudges who had heard the beginning of the work talked of it with such\nenthusiasm that many of Mozart's enemies, even, were prepared to hear,\nwithin six months, that his _Don Juan_ had taken all Germany by storm.\nHis more prudent and moderate friends, who took into consideration the\nstate of the public taste, hardly expected an immediate and universal\nsuccess; and with these the master himself secretly agreed.\n\nConstanze, however, was like all women. If once they hope, particularly\nin a righteous cause, they are less apt than men are to give heed to\ndiscouraging features. She still held fast to her favorable opinion, and\nhad, even now, new occasion to defend it. She did so in her gay and\nlively fashion, the more earnestly because Mozart's spirits had fallen\ndecidedly in the course of the previous conversation. She described\nminutely how, after their return, she should use the hundred ducats\nwhich the manager at Prague would pay for the score. That sum would\nsupply their most pressing needs, and they could live comfortably till\nspring.\n\n\"Your Herr Bondine will make some money with this opera, you may be\nsure; and if he is half as honest as you think him, he will give you\nlater also a fair per cent. of the price that other theatres pay him for\ntheir copies of _Don Juan_. But, even if he doesn't, there are plenty of\nother good things that might happen to us; they are more probable too!\"\n\n\"What, for instance?\"\n\n\"A little bird told me that the King of Prussia needs a leader for his\norchestra.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"A general music director, I mean. Let me build you an air-castle! That\nweakness I got from my mother.\"\n\n\"Build away! The higher the better!\"\n\n\"No, my air-castles are very real ones! In a year from now they'll be\nreporting--\"\n\n\"If the Pope to Gretchen comes a-courting!\"\n\n\"Keep quiet, you ridiculous goose! I tell you by the first of next\nSeptember there will be no 'Imperial Court Composer' of the name of Wolf\nMozart to be found in Vienna.\"\n\n\"May the foxes bite you for that!\"\n\n\"I hear already what our old friends are saying and gossiping about us.\"\n\n\"What, then?\"\n\n\"Well, a little after nine o'clock one fine morning our old friend and\nadmirer Frau Volkstett comes sailing at full speed across the Kahlmarkt.\nShe has been away for three months. That famous visit to her\nbrother-in-law in Saxony, that we have heard about every day, has at\nlast come off. She returned yesterday, and cannot wait any\nlonger to see her dear friend, the Colonel's wife. Upstairs she goes\nand knocks at the door, and does not wait for an answer. You may imagine\nthe rejoicing and the embracing an both sides. 'Now dearest, best Frau\nColonel,' she begins after the greetings are over, 'I have so many\nmessages for you. Guess from whom? I didn't come straight from Stendal,\nbut by way of Brandenburg.'\n\n\"'What! Not through Berlin! You haven't been with the Mozarts?' 'Yes,\nten heavenly days!' 'Oh, my dear, good Frau General, tell me all about\nthem! How are our dear people? Do they like Berlin as well as ever? I\ncan hardly imagine Mozart living in Berlin! How does he act? How does he\nlook?' 'Mozart! You should see him! This summer the King sent him to\nKarlsbad. When would that have occurred to his dear Emperor Joseph? They\nhad but just returned when I arrived. He is fairly radiant with health\nand good spirits, as sound and solid and lively as quicksilver, with\nhappiness and comfort beaming from his countenance.'\"\n\nAnd then the speaker began to paint in the brightest colors the glories\nof the new position. From their dwelling on Unter den Linden, from their\ngarden and country-house to the brilliant scenes of public activity and\nthe smaller circle of the court--where he was to play accompaniments for\nthe Queen--all were vividly described. She recited, with the greatest\nease, whole conversations, and the most delightful anecdotes. Indeed she\nseemed more familiar with Berlin, Potsdam, and Sans Souci than with the\npalace at Sch\u00f6nbrunn and the Emperor Joseph's castle. She was, moreover,\ncunning enough to depict our hero with many new domestic virtues which\nhad developed on the firm ground of the Berlin life, and among which\nFrau Volkstett had perceived (as a most remarkable phenomenon and a\nproof that extremes sometimes meet) the disposition of a veritable\nlittle miser--and it made him altogether most charming.\n\n\"'Yes, think of it! He is sure of his three thousand thalers,\nand for what? For directing a chamber concert once a week, and\nthe opera twice. Ah, Frau Colonel, I have seen him, our dear, precious\nlittle man, in the midst of his excellent orchestra who adore him! I sat\nwith Frau Mozart in her box almost opposite the King's box. And what was\non the posters, do you think? Look, please! I brought it for you,\nwrapped around a little souvenir from the Mozarts and myself. Look, read\nit, printed in letters a yard long!' 'Heaven forbid! Not _Tarare_!'\n'Yes! What cannot one live to see! Two years ago, when Mozart wrote _Don\nJuan_, and the wretched, malicious, yellow, old Salieri was preparing to\nrepeat in Vienna the triumph which he had won with his piece, in Paris,\nand to show our good plain public, contented with _Cosa rara_, a hawk or\ntwo; while he and his arch-accomplice were plotting to present _Don\nJuan_ just as they had presented _Figaro_, mutilated, ruined, I vowed\nthat if the infamous _Tarare_ was ever given, nothing should hire me to\ngo to see it. And I kept my word. When everybody else ran to hear\nit--you too, Frau Colonel--I sat by my fire with my cat in my lap, and\nate my supper. Several times after that, too. But now imagine! _Tarare_\non the Berlin stage, the work of his deadly foe, conducted by Mozart\nhimself!' 'You must certainly go,' he said, 'if it is only to be able to\nsay in Vienna whether I had a hair clipped from Absalom's head. I wish\nhe were here himself! The jealous old sheep should see that I do not\nneed to bungle another person's composition in order to show off my\nown.'\"\n\n\"Brava! Bravissima!\" shouted Mozart, and taking his wife by the ears he\nkissed her and teased her till the play with the bright bubbles of an\nimaginary future--which, sad to say, were never in the least to be\nrealized--ended finally in laughter and jollity.\n\nMeanwhile they had long ago reached the valley, and were approaching a\ntown, behind which lay the small modern palace of Count Schinzberg. In\nthis town they were to feed the horses, to rest, and to take their\nnoonday meal.\n\nThe inn where they stopped stood alone near the end of the village\nwhere an avenue of poplar trees led to the count's garden, not six\nhundred paces away. After they had alighted, Mozart, as usual, left to\nhis wife the arrangements for dinner, and ordered for himself a glass of\nwine, while she asked only for water and a quiet room where she could\nget a little sleep. The host led the way upstairs, and Mozart, now\nsinging, now whistling, brought up the rear. The room was newly\nwhitewashed, clean, and fresh. The ancient articles of furniture were of\nnoble descent; they had probably once adorned the dwelling of the Count.\nThe clean white bed was covered with a painted canopy, resting upon\nslender green posts, whose silken curtains were long ago replaced by a\nmore ordinary stuff. Constanze prepared for her nap, Mozart promising to\nwake her in time for dinner. She bolted the door behind him, and he\ndescended to seek entertainment in the coffee-room. Here, however, no\none but the host was to be seen, and, since his conversation suited\nMozart no better than his wine, the master proposed a walk to the palace\ngarden while dinner was preparing. Respectable strangers, he was told,\nwere allowed to enter the grounds; besides, the family were away for the\nday.\n\nA short walk brought him to the gate, which stood open; then he slowly\nfollowed a path overhung by tall old linden-trees, till he suddenly came\nupon the palace which stood a little to the left. It was a light,\nplaster building, in the Italian style, with a broad, double flight of\nsteps in front; the slate-covered roof was finished in the usual manner,\nwith a balustrade, and was adorned with statues of gods and goddesses.\n\nOur master turned toward the shrubbery, and, passing many flower-beds\nstill gay with blossoms, took his leisurely way through a dark grove of\npines until he came to an open space where a fountain was playing. The\nrather large oval basin was surrounded with carefully kept orange-trees,\ninterspersed with laurels and oleanders; a smooth gravel\nwalk upon which an arbor opened ran around the fountain. It was a most\ntempting resting-place, and Mozart threw himself down upon the rustic\nbench which stood by a table within the arbor.\n\nListening to the splash of the water, and watching an orange-tree which\nstood, heavy with fruit, apart from the rest, our friend was carried\naway by visions of the South and favorite memories of his childhood.\nSmiling thoughtfully, he reached toward the nearest orange, as if to\ntake the tempting fruit in his hand. But closely connected with that\nscene of his youth there flashed upon him a long-forgotten,\nhalf-effaced, musical memory, which he pondered long and tried to follow\nout. Then his glance brightened, and darted here and there; an idea had\ncome to him, and he worked it out eagerly. Absently he grasped the\norange again--it broke from the tree and remained in his hand. He looked\nat it, but did not see it; indeed, his artistic abstraction went so far\nthat, after rolling the fragrant fruit back and forth before his nose,\nwhile his lips moved silently with the melody which was singing itself\nto him, he presently took from his pocket an enameled case, and with a\nsmall silver-handled knife slowly cut open the fruit. Perhaps he had a\nvague sense of thirst, but, if so, the fragrance of the open fruit\nallayed it. He looked long at the inner surfaces, then fitted them\ngently together, opened them again, and again put them together.\n\nJust then steps approached the arbor. Mozart started, suddenly\nremembering where he was and what he had done. He was about to hide the\norange, but stopped, either from pride or because he was too late. A\ntall, broad-shouldered man in livery, the head-gardener, stood before\nhim. He had evidently seen the last guilty movement, and stopped,\namazed. Mozart, likewise, was too much surprised to speak, and, sitting\nas if nailed to his chair, half laughing yet blushing, looked the\ngardener somewhat boldly in the face with his big, blue eyes. Then--it\nwould have been most amusing for a third person--with a sort of defiant\ncourage he set the apparently uninjured orange in the middle of the\ntable.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, sir,\" began the gardener rather angrily, as he\nlooked at Mozart's unprepossessing clothing, \"I do not know whom I have\nthe honor--\"\n\n\"Kapellmeister Mozart, of Vienna.\"\n\n\"You are acquainted in the palace, I presume.\"\n\n\"I am a stranger, merely passing through the village. Is the Count at\nhome?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"His wife?\"\n\n\"She is engaged and would hardly see you.\" Mozart rose, as if he would\ngo.\n\n\"With your permission, sir, how do you happen to be pilfering here?\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Mozart. \"Pilfering! The devil! Do you believe, then, that\nI meant to steal and eat that thing?\"\n\n\"I believe what I see, sir. Those oranges are counted, and I am\nresponsible for them. That tree was just to be carried to the house for\nan entertainment. I cannot let you go until I have reported the matter\nand you yourself have told how it happened.\"\n\n\"Very well. Be assured that I will wait here.\" The gardener hesitated,\nand Mozart, thinking that perhaps he expected a fee, felt in his pocket;\nbut he found nothing.\n\nTwo men now came by, lifted the tree upon a barrow and carried it away.\nMeanwhile Mozart had taken a piece of paper from his pocket-book, and,\nas the gardener did not stir, began to write:\n\n   \"_Dear Madam_.--Here I sit, miserable, in your Paradise, like Adam of\n  old, after he had tasted the apple. The mischief is done, and I cannot\n  even put the blame on a good Eve, for she is at the inn sleeping the\n  sleep of innocence in a canopy-bed, surrounded by Graces and Cupids. If\n  you require it I will give you an account of my offense, which is\n  incomprehensible even to myself.\n\n  \"I am covered with confusion, and remain\n\n  \"Your most obedient servant,\n\n  \"W. A. MOZART.\n\n  \"On the way to Prague.\"\n\nHe hastily folded the note and handed it to the impatient servant.\n\nThe fellow had scarcely gone when a carriage rolled up to the opposite\nside of the palace. In it was the Count, who had brought with him, from\na neighboring estate, his niece and her fianc\u00e9, a young and wealthy\nBaron. The betrothal had just taken place at the house of the latter's\ninvalid mother; but the event was also to be celebrated at the Count's\npalace, which had always been a second home to his niece. The Countess,\nwith her son, Lieutenant Max, had returned from the betrothal somewhat\nearlier, in order to complete arrangements at the palace. Now corridors\nand stairways were alive with servants, and only with difficulty did the\ngardener finally reach the antechamber and hand the note to the\nCountess. She did not stop to open it, but, without noticing what the\nmessenger said, hurried away. He waited and waited, but she did not come\nback. One servant after another ran past him--waiters, chambermaids,\nvalets; he asked for the Count, only to be told \"He is dressing.\" At\nlast he found Count Max in his own room; but he was talking with the\nBaron, and for fear the gardener would let slip something which the\nBaron was not to know beforehand, cut the message short with: \"Go along,\nI'll be there in a moment.\" Then there was quite a long while to wait\nbefore father and son at last appeared together, and heard the fatal\nnews.\n\n\"That is outrageous,\" cried the fat, good-natured, but somewhat hasty\nCount. \"That is an impossible story! A Vienna musician is he? Some\nragamuffin, who walks along the high-road and helps himself to whatever\nhe sees!\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, sir. He doesn't look just like that. I thinks he's\nnot quite right in the head, sir, and he seems to be very proud. He says\nhis name is 'Moser.' He is waiting downstairs. I told Franz to keep an\neye on him.\"\n\n\"The deuce! What good will that do, now? Even if I should have the fool\narrested, it wouldn't mend matters. I've told you a thousand times that\nthe front gates were to be kept locked! Besides, it couldn't have\nhappened if you had had things ready at the proper time!\"\n\nJust then the Countess, pleased and excited, entered the room with the\nopen note in her hand. \"Do you know who is downstairs?\" she exclaimed.\n\"For goodness' sake, read that note! Mozart from Vienna, the composer!\nSome body must go at once and invite him in! I'm afraid he will be gone!\nWhat will he think of me? You treated him very politely, I hope, Velten.\nWhat was it that happened?\"\n\n\"What happened?\" interrupted the Count, whose wrath was not immediately\nassuaged by the prospect of a visit from a famous man. \"The madman\npulled one of the nine oranges from the tree which was for Eugenie.\nMonster! So the point of our joke is gone, and Max may as well tear up\nhis poem.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" she answered, earnestly; \"the gap can easily be filled. Leave\nthat to me. But go, both of you, release the good man, and persuade him\nto come in, if you possibly can. He shall not go further today if we can\ncoax him to stay. If you do not find him in the garden, go to the inn\nand bring him and his wife too. Fate could not have provided a greater\ngift or a finer surprise for Eugenie today.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" answered Max, \"that was my first thought, too. Come, Papa!\nAnd\"--as they descended the staircase--\"you may be quite easy about the\nverses. The ninth Muse will not desert me; instead, I can use the\naccident to especial advantage.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"Not at all!\"\n\n\"Well, if that is so--I take your word for it--we will do the lunatic\nall possible honor.\"\n\nWhile all this was going on in the palace, our quasi-prisoner, not very\nanxious over the outcome of the affair, had busied himself some time in\nwriting. Then, as no one appeared, he began to walk uneasily up and\ndown. Presently came an urgent message from the inn, that dinner was\nready long ago and the postilion was anxious to start; would\nhe please come at once. So he packed up his papers and was just\nabout to leave, when the two men appeared before the arbor.\n\nThe Count greeted him in his jovial, rather noisy fashion, and would\nhear not a word of apology, but insisted that Mozart should accompany\nhim to the house, for the afternoon and evening at least.\n\n\"You are so well known to us, my dear Maestro, that I doubt if you could\nfind a family where your name is spoken more often, or with greater\nenthusiasm. My niece sings and plays, she spends almost the whole day at\nher piano, knows your works by heart, and has had the greatest desire to\nmeet you, particularly since the last of your concerts. She had been\npromised an invitation from Princess Gallizin, in Vienna, in a few\nweeks--a house where you often play, I hear. But now you are going to\nPrague, and no one knows whether you will ever come back to us. Take\ntoday and tomorrow for rest; let us send away your traveling carriage\nand be responsible for the remainder of your journey.\"\n\nThe composer, who would willingly have sacrificed upon the altar of\nfriendship or of pleasure ten times as much as was asked of him now, did\nnot hesitate long. He insisted, however, that very early next morning\nthey must continue their journey. Count Max craved the pleasure of\nbringing Frau Mozart and of attending to all necessary matters at the\ninn; he would walk over, and a carriage should follow immediately.\n\nCount Max inherited from both father and mother a lively imagination,\nand had, besides, talent and inclination for _belles lettres_. As an\nofficer he was distinguished rather for his learning and culture than\nbecause of fondness for military life. He was well read in French\nliterature, and at a time when German verse was of small account in the\nhigher circles had won appreciation for uncommon ease of style--writing\nafter such models as Hagedorn and G\u00f6tz. The betrothal had offered him,\nas we already learned, a particularly happy occasion for the exercise\nof his gifts.\n\nHe found Madame Mozart seated at the table, where she had already begun\nthe meal, talking with the inn-keeper's daughter. She was too well used\nto Mozart's habits of forming acquaintances and accepting impromptu\ninvitations to be greatly surprised at the appearance and message of the\nyoung officer. With undisguised pleasure she prepared to accompany him,\nand thoughtfully and quickly gave all necessary orders. Satchels were\nrepacked, the inn-keeper was paid, the postilion dismissed, and, without\ntoo great anxiety over her toilet, she herself made ready, and drove off\nin high spirits to the palace, never guessing in what a strange fashion\nher spouse had introduced himself there.\n\nHe, meanwhile, was most comfortably and delightfully entertained. He had\nmet Eugenie, a most lovely creature, fair and slender, gay in shining\ncrimson silk and costly lace, with a white ribbon studded with pearls in\nher hair. The Baron, too, was presented, a man of gentle and frank\ndisposition, but little older than his fianc\u00e9e and seemingly well suited\nto her.\n\nThe jovial host, almost too generous with his jests and stories, led the\nconversation; refreshments were offered, which our traveler did not\nrefuse. Then some one opened the piano, upon which _Figaro_ was lying,\nand Eugenie began to sing, to the Baron's accompaniment, Susanne's\npassionate aria in the garden scene. The embarrassment which for a\nmoment made her bright color come and go, fled with the first notes from\nher lips, and she sang as if inspired.\n\nMozart was evidently surprised. As she finished he went to her with\nunaffected pleasure. \"How can one praise you, dear child,\" he said.\n\"Such singing is like the sunshine, which praises itself best because it\ndoes every one good. It is to the soul like a refreshing bath to a\nchild; he laughs, and wonders, and is content. Not every day, I assure\nyou, do we composers hear ourselves sung with such purity\nand simplicity--with such perfection!\" and he seized her hand\nand kissed it heartily. Mozart's amiability and kindness, no less than\nhis high appreciation of her talent, touched Eugenie deeply, and her\neyes filled with tears of pleasure.\n\nAt that moment Madame Mozart entered, and immediately after appeared\nother guests who had been expected--a family of distant relatives, of\nwhom one, Franziska, had been from childhood Eugenie's intimate friend.\n\nWhen all the greetings and congratulations were over, Mozart seated\nhimself at the piano. He played a part of one of his concertos, which\nEugenie happened to be learning. It was a great delight to have the\nartist and his genius so near--within one's own walls. The composition\nwas one of those brilliant ones in which pure Beauty, in a fit of\ncaprice, seems to have lent herself to the service of Elegance, but,\nonly half disguised in changing forms and dazzling lights, betrays in\nevery movement her own nobility and pours out lavishly her glorious\npathos.\n\nThe Countess noticed that most of the listeners, even Eugenie herself,\nwere divided between seeing and hearing, although they gave the close\nattention and kept the perfect silence which were due to such enchanting\nplaying. Indeed it was not easy to resist a throng of distracting and\nwondering thoughts as one watched the composer--his erect, almost stiff\nposition, his good-natured face, the graceful movements of his small\nhands and curved fingers.\n\nTurning to Madame Mozart, as the playing ceased, the Count began: \"When\nit is necessary to give a compliment to a composer--not everybody's\nbusiness--how easy it is for kings and emperors. All words are equally\ngood and equally extraordinary in their mouths; they dare to say\nwhatever they please. And how comfortable it must be, for instance, to\nsit close behind Herr Mozart's chair, and, at the final chord of a\nbrilliant Fantasia, to clap the modest and learned man on the shoulder\nand say: 'My dear Mozart, you are a Jack-at-all-trades!' And the word goes\nlike wild-fire through the hall: 'What did he say?' 'He said Mozart was a\nJack-at-all-trades!' and everybody who fiddles or pipes a song or\ncomposes is enraptured over the expression. In short, that is the way of\nthe great, the familiar manner of the emperors, and quite inimitable. I\nhave always envied the Friedrichs and the Josefs that faculty, but never\nmore than now when I quite despair of finding in my mind's pockets the\nsuitable coin!\"\n\nThe Count's jest provoked a laugh, as usual, and the guests followed\ntheir hostess toward the dining-hall, where the fragrance of flowers and\nrefreshingly cool air greeted them. They took their places at the table,\nMozart opposite Eugenie and the Baron. His neighbor on one side was a\nlittle elderly lady, an unmarried aunt of Franziska's; on the other side\nwas the charming young niece who soon commended herself to him by her\nwit and gaiety. Frau Constanze sat between the host and her friendly\nguide, the Lieutenant. The lower end of the table was empty. In the\ncentre stood two large _epergnes_, heaped with fruits and flowers. The\nwalls were hung with rich festoons, and all the appointments indicated\nan extensive banquet. Upon tables and side-boards were the choicest\nwines, from the deepest red to the pale yellow, whose sparkling foam\ncrowns the second half of the feast. For some time the conversation,\ncarried on from all sides, had been general. But when the Count, who,\nfrom the first, had been hinting at Mozart's adventure in the garden,\ncame mysteriously nearer and nearer to it, so that some were smiling,\nothers puzzling their brains to know what it all meant, Mozart at last\ntook the cue.\n\n\"I will truthfully confess,\" he began, \"how I came to have the honor of\nan acquaintance with this noble house. I do not play a very dignified\nr\u00f4le in the tale; in fact, I came within a hair's breadth of sitting,\nnot here at this bountiful table, but hungry and alone in the most\nremote dungeon of the palace, watching the spider-webs on the wall.\"\n\n\"It must, indeed, be a pretty story,\" cried Madame Mozart.\n\nThen Mozart related minutely all that we already know, to the great\nentertainment of his audience. There was no end to the merriment, even\nthe gentle Eugenie shaking with uncontrollable laughter.\n\n\"Well,\" he went on, \"according to the proverb I need not mind your\nlaughter, for I have made my small profit out of the affair, as you will\nsoon see. But first hear how it happened that an old fellow could so\nforget himself. A reminiscence of my childhood was to blame for it.\n\n\"In the spring of 1770, a thirteen-year-old boy, I traveled with my\nfather in Italy. We went from Rome to Naples, where I had already played\ntwice in the conservatory and several times in other places.\n\n\"The nobility and clergy had shown us many attentions, but especially\nattracted to us was a certain Abb\u00e9, who flattered himself that he was a\nconnoisseur, and who, moreover, had some influence at court. The day\nbefore we left he conducted us, with some other acquaintances, into a\nroyal garden, the Villa Reale, situated upon a beautiful street, close\nto the sea. A company of Sicilian comedians were performing there--'Sons\nof Neptune' was one of the many names they gave themselves.\n\n\"With many distinguished spectators, among whom were the young and\nlovely Queen Carolina and two princesses, we sat on benches ranged in\nlong rows in a gallery shaded with awnings, while the waves splashed\nagainst the wall below. The many-colored sea reflected the glorious\nheavens; directly before us rose Vesuvius; on the left gleamed the\ngentle curve of the shore.\n\n\"The first part of the entertainment was rather uninteresting. A float\nwhich lay on the water had served as a stage. But the second part\nconsisted of rowing, swimming, and diving, and every detail has always\nremained fresh in my memory.\n\n\"From opposite sides of the water two graceful light boats approached\neach other, bent, as it seemed, upon a pleasure-trip. The larger one,\ngorgeously painted, with a gilded prow, was provided with a\nquarter-deck, and had, besides the rowers' seats, a slender mast and a\nsail. Five youths, ideally handsome, with bared shoulders and limbs,\nwere busy about the boat, or were amusing themselves with a like number\nof maidens, their sweethearts. One of these, who was sitting in the\ncentre of the deck twining wreaths of flowers, was noticeable as well\nfor her beauty as for her dress. The others waited upon her, stretched\nan awning to shield her from the sun, and passed her flowers from the\nbasket. One, a flute player, sat at her feet, and accompanied with her\nclear tones the singing of the others. The beauty in the centre had her\nown particular admirer; yet the pair seemed rather indifferent to each\nother, and I thought the youth almost rude.\n\n\"Meanwhile the other boat had come nearer. It was more simply fashioned,\nand carried youths only. The colors of the first boat were red, but the\ncrew of this one wore green. They stopped at sight of the others, nodded\ngreetings to the maidens, and made signs that they wished to become\nbetter acquainted. Thereupon the liveliest of the girls took a rose from\nher bosom, and roguishly held it on high, as if to ask whether such a\ngift would be welcome. She was answered with enthusiasm. The red youths\nlooked on, sullen and contemptuous, but could not object when several of\nthe maidens proposed to throw to the poor strangers at least enough to\nkeep them from starving. A basket of oranges--probably only yellow\nballs--stood on deck; and now began a charming display, accompanied by\nmusic from the quay.\n\n\"One of the girls tossed from light fingers a couple of oranges; back\nthey came from fingers in the other boat, as light. On they went, back\nand forth, and as one girl after another joined in the sport dozens of\noranges were soon flying through the air. Only one, the beauty in the\nmiddle of the boat, took no part, except to look on, curiously, from\nher comfortable couch. We could not sufficiently admire the skill on\nboth sides. The boats circled slowly about, turning now the prow, now\nthe sides, toward each other. There were about two dozen balls\ncontinually in the air, yet they seemed many more, sometimes falling in\nregular figures, sometimes rising high in lofty curves, almost never\ngoing astray, but seeming to be attracted by some mysterious power in\nthe outstretched hands.\n\n\"The ear was quite as well entertained as the eye--with charming\nmelodies, Sicilian airs, dances, Saltorelli, _Canzoni a ballo_--a long\nmedley woven together like a garland. The youngest princess, an\nimpulsive little creature, about my own age, kept nodding her head in\ntime to the music. Her smile and her eyes with their long lashes I can\nsee to this day.\n\n\"Now let me briefly describe the rest of the entertainment, though it\nhas nothing to do with my affair in the garden. You could hardly imagine\nanything prettier. The play with the balls gradually ceased, and then,\nall of a sudden, one of the youths of the green colors drew out of the\nwater a net with which he seemed to have been playing. To the general\nsurprise, a huge shining fish lay in it. The boy's companions sprang to\nseize it, but it slipped from their hands to the sea, as if it had\nreally been alive. This was only a ruse, however, to lure the red youths\nfrom their boat; and they fell into the trap. They, as well as those of\nthe green, threw themselves into the water after the fish. So began a\nlively and most amusing chase. At last the green swimmers, seeing their\nopportunity, boarded the red boat, which now had only the maidens to\ndefend it. The noblest of the enemy, as handsome as a god, hastened\njoyfully to the beautiful maiden, who received him with rapture,\nheedless of the despairing shrieks of the others. All efforts of the red\nto recover their boat were vain; they were beaten back with oars and\nweapons. Their futile rage and struggles, the cries and prayers of the\nmaidens, the music--now changed in tone--the waters--all made a scene\nbeyond description, and the audience applauded wildly. Then suddenly the\nsail was loosed, and out of it sprang to the bowsprit a rosy,\nsilver-winged boy, with bow and arrows and quiver; the oars began to\nmove, the sail filled, and the boat glided away, as if under the\nguidance of the god, to a little island. Thither, after signals of truce\nhad been exchanged, the red youths hastened after boarding the deserted\nboat. The unhappy maidens were released, but the fairest one of all\nsailed away, of her own free will, with her lover. And that was the end\nof the comedy.\"\n\n\"I think,\" whispered Eugenie to the Baron, in the pause that followed,\n\"that we had there a complete symphony in the true Mozart spirit. Am I\nnot right? Hasn't it just the grace of _Figaro_?\"\n\nBut just as the Baron would have repeated this remark to Mozart, the\ncomposer continued: \"It is seventeen years since I was in Italy. But who\nthat has once seen Italy, Naples especially, even with the eyes of a\nchild, will ever forget it? Yet I have never recalled that last\nbeautiful day more vividly than today in your garden. When I closed my\neyes the last veil vanished, and I saw the lovely spot--sea and shore,\nmountain and city, the gay throng of people, and the wonderful game of\nball. I seemed to hear the same music--a stream of joyful melodies, old\nand new, strange and familiar, one after another. Presently a little\ndance-song came along, in six-eighth measure, something quite new to me.\nHold on, I thought, that is a devilishly cute little tune! I listened\nmore closely. Good Heavens! That is Masetto, that is Zerlina!\" He smiled\nand nodded at Madame Mozart, who guessed what was coming.\n\n\"It was this way,\" he went on; \"there was a little, simple number of my\nfirst act unfinished--the duet and chorus of a country wedding. Two\nmonths ago, when in composing my score I came to this number, the right\ntheme did not present itself at the first attempt. It should be a simple\nchild-like melody, sparkling with joy--a fresh bunch of flowers tucked\nin among a maiden's fluttering ribbons. So, because one should not\nforce such a thing, and because such trifles often come of themselves, I\nleft that number, and was so engrossed in the rest of the work that I\nalmost forgot it. Today, while we were driving along, just outside the\nvillage, the text came into my head; but I cannot remember that I\nthought much about it. Yet, only an hour later, in the arbor by the\nfountain, I caught just the right _motif_, more happily than I could\nhave found it in any other way, at any other time. An artist has strange\nexperiences now and then, but such a thing never happened to me be fore.\nFor to find a melody exactly fitted to the verse--but I must not\nanticipate. The bird had only his head out of the shell, and I proceeded\nto pull off the rest of it! Meantime Zerlina's dance floated before my\neyes, and, somehow, too, the view on the Gulf of Naples. I heard the\nvoices of the bridal couple, and the chorus of peasants, men and girls.\"\nHere Mozart gayly hummed the beginning of the song. \"Meantime my hands\nhad done the mischief, Nemesis was lurking near, and suddenly appeared\nin the shape of the dreadful man in livery. Had an eruption of Vesuvius\nsuddenly destroyed and buried with its rain of ashes audience and\nactors, the whole majesty of Parthenope, on that heavenly day by the\nsea, I could not have been more surprised or horrified. The fiend!\nPeople do not easily make me so hot! His face was as hard as bronze--and\nvery like the terrible Emperor Tiberius, too! If the servant looks like\nthat, thought I, what must His Grace the Count be! But to tell the truth\nI counted--and not without reason--on the protection of the ladies. For\nI overheard the fat hostess of the inn telling my wife, Constanze there,\nwho is somewhat curious in disposition, all the most interesting facts\nabout the family, and so I knew--\"\n\nHere Madame Mozart had to interrupt him and give them most positive\nassurance that he was the one who asked the questions, and a lively and\namusing discussion followed.\n\n\"However that may be,\" he said at last, \"I heard something about a\nfavorite foster-daughter who, besides being beautiful, was goodness\nitself, and sang like an angel. '_Per Dio_!' I said to myself, as I\nremembered that, 'that will help you out of your scrape! Sit down and\nwrite out the song as far as you can, explain your behavior truthfully,\nand they will think it all a good joke.' No sooner said than done! I had\ntime enough, and found a blank piece of paper--and here is the result! I\nplace it in these fair hands, an impromptu wedding-song, if you will\naccept it!\"\n\nHe held out the neatly written manuscript toward Eugenie, but the Count\nanticipated her, and quickly taking it himself, said: \"Have patience a\nmoment longer, my dear!\"\n\nAt his signal the folding-doors of the salon opened, and servants\nappeared, bringing in the fateful orange-tree, which they put at the\nfoot of the table, placing on each side a slender myrtle-tree. An\ninscription fastened to the orange-tree proclaimed it the property of\nEugenie; but in front of it, upon a porcelain plate, was seen, as the\nnapkin which covered it was lifted, an orange, cut in pieces, and beside\nit the count placed Mozart's autograph note.\n\n\"I believe,\" said the Countess, after the mirth had subsided, \"that\nEugenie does not know what that tree really is. She does not recognize\nher old friend with all its fruit and blossoms.\"\n\nIncredulous, Eugenie looked first at the tree, then at her uncle. \"It\nisn't possible,\" she said; \"I knew very well that it couldn't be saved.\"\n\n\"And so you think that we have found another to take its place? That\nwould have been worth while! No! I shall have to do as they do in the\nplay, when the long-lost son or brother proves his identity by his moles\nand scars! Look at that knot, and at this crack, which you must have\nnoticed a hundred times. Is it your tree or isn't it?\"\n\nEugenie could doubt no longer, and her surprise and delight knew no\nbounds. To the Count's family this tree always suggested the story of a\nmost excellent woman, who lived more than a hundred years before their\nday, and who well deserves a word in passing.\n\nThe Count's grandfather--a statesman of such repute in Vienna that he\nhad been honored with the confidence of two successive rulers--was as\nhappy in his private life as in his public life; for he possessed a most\nexcellent wife, Renate Leonore. During her repeated visits to France she\ncame in contact with the brilliant court of Louis XIV., and with the\nmost distinguished men and women of the day. She sympathized with the\never-varying intellectual pleasures of the court without sacrificing in\nthe least her strong, inborn sense of honor and propriety. On this very\naccount, perhaps, she was the leader of a certain na\u00efve opposition, and\nher correspondence gives many a hint of the courage and independence\nwith which she could defend her sound principles and firm opinions, and\ncould attack her adversary in his weakest spot, all without giving\noffense.\n\nHer lively interest in all the personages whom one could meet at the\nhouse of a Ninon, in the centres of cultivation and learning, was\nnevertheless so modest and so well controlled that she was honored with\nthe friendship of one of the noblest women of the time--Mme. de S\u00e9vign\u00e9.\nThe Count, after his grandmother's death, had found in an old oaken\nchest, full of interesting papers, the most charming letters from the\nMarquise and her daughter.\n\nFrom the hand of Mme. de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, indeed, she had received, during a\nf\u00eate at Trianon, the sprig from an orange-tree, which she had planted\nand which became in Germany a flourishing tree. For perhaps twenty-five\nyears it grew under her care, and afterward was treated with the\ngreatest solicitude by children and grandchildren. Prized for its own\nactual worth, it was treasured the more as the living symbol of an age\nwhich, intellectually, was then regarded as little less than divine--an\nage in which we, today, can find little that is truly admirable, but\nwhich was preparing the way for events, only a few years distant from\nour innocent story, which shook the world.\n\nTo the bequest of her excellent ancestor Eugenie showed much devotion,\nand her uncle had often said that the tree should some day belong to\nher. The greater was her disappointment then, when, during her absence\nin the preceding spring, the leaves of the precious tree began to turn\nyellow and many branches died. The gardener gave it up for lost, since\nhe could find no particular cause for its fading, and did not succeed in\nreviving it. But the Count, advised by a skilful friend, had it placed\nin a room by itself and treated according to one of the strange and\nmysterious prescriptions which exist among the country folk, and his\nhope of surprising his beloved niece with her old friend in all its new\nstrength and fruitfulness was realized beyond expectation. Repressing\nhis impatience, and anxious, moreover, lest those oranges which had\nripened first should fall from the tree, he had postponed the surprise\nfor several weeks, until the day of the betrothal; and there is no need\nof further excuse for the good man's emotion, when, at the last moment,\nhe found that a stranger had robbed him of his pleasure.\n\nBut the Lieutenant had long before dinner found opportunity to arrange\nhis poetical contribution to the festive presentation, and had altered\nthe close of his verses, which might otherwise have been almost too\nserious. Now he rose and drew forth his manuscript, and, turning to\nEugenie, began to read.\n\nThe oft-sung tree of the Hesperides--so ran the story--sprang up, ages\nago, in the garden of Juno on a western island, as a wedding gift from\nMother Earth, and was watched over by three nymphs, gifted with song. A\nshoot from this tree had often wished for a similar fate, for the custom\nof bestowing one of his race on a royal bride had descended from gods to\nmortals. After long and vain waiting, the maiden to whom he might turn\nhis fond glances seemed at last to be found. She was kind to him and\nlingered by him often. But the proud laurel (devoted to the Muses), his\nneighbor beside the spring, roused his jealousy by threatening to steal\nfrom the talented beauty all thought of love for man. In vain the myrtle\ncomforted him and taught him patience by her own example; finally the\nabsence of his beloved increased his malady till it became well-nigh\nfatal.\n\nBut summer brought back the absent one, and, happily, with a changed\nheart. Town, palace, and garden received her with the greatest joy.\nRoses and lilies, more radiant than ever, looked up with modest rapture;\nshrubs and trees nodded greetings to her; but for one, the noblest, she\ncame alas! too late. His leaves were withered, and only the lifeless\nstem and the dry tips of his branches were left. He would never know his\nkind friend again. And how she wept and mourned over him!\n\nBut Apollo heard her voice from afar, and, coming nearer, looked with\ncompassion upon her grief. He touched the tree with his all-healing\nhands. Immediately the sap began to stir and rise in the trunk; young\nleaves unfolded; white, nectar-laden flowers opened here and there.\nYes--for what cannot the immortals do-the beautiful, round fruits\nappeared, three times three, the number of the nine sisters; they grew\nand grew, their young green changing before his eyes to the color of\ngold. Phoebus--so ended the poem--\n\n  Phoebus, in his work rejoicing,\n    Counts the fruit; but, ah! the sight\n  Tempts him. In another moment\n    Doth he yield to appetite.\n\n  Smiling, plucks the god of music\n    One sweet orange from the tree\n  \"Share with me the fruit, thou fair one,\n    And this, slice shall Amor's be.\"\n\nThe verses were received with shouts of applause, and Max was readily\npardoned for the unexpected ending which had so completely altered the\nreally charming effect which he had made in the first version.\n\nFranziska, whose ready wit had already been called out by the Count and\nMozart, suddenly left the table, and returning brought with her a large\nold English engraving which had hung, little heeded, in a distant room.\n\"It must be true, as I have always heard, that there is nothing new\nunder the sun,\" she cried, as she set up the picture at the end of the\ntable. \"Here in the Golden Age is the same scene which we have heard\nabout today. I hope that Apollo will recognize himself in this\nsituation.\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" answered Max. \"There we have the god just as he is bending\nthoughtfully over the sacred spring. And, look! behind him in the\nthicket is an old Satyr watching him. I would take my oath that Apollo\nis thinking of some long-forgotten Acadian dances which old Chiron\ntaught him to play on the cithern when he was young.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" applauded Franziska, who was standing behind Mozart's chair.\nTurning to him, she continued, \"Do you see that bough heavy with fruit,\nbending down toward the god?\"\n\n\"Yes; that is the olive-tree, which was sacred to him.\"\n\n\"Not at all. Those are the finest oranges. And in a moment--in a fit of\nabstraction--he will pick one.\"\n\n\"Instead,\" cried Mozart, \"he will stop this roguish mouth with a\nthousand kisses.\" And catching her by the arm he vowed that she should\nnot go until she had paid the forfeit--which was promptly done.\n\n\"Max, read us what is written beneath the picture,\" said the Countess.\n\n\"They are verses from a celebrated ode of Horace.[32] The poet Ramler,\nof Berlin, made a fine translation of them a while ago. It is in most\nbeautiful rhythm. How splendid is even this one passage:\n\n      \"--And he, who never more\n  Will from his shoulders lay aside the bow,\n  Who in the pure dew of Castalia's fountain\n  Laves loosened hair; who holds the Lycian thicket\n  And his own native wood--\n  Apollo! Delian and Patar\u00e9an King.\"\n\n\"Beautiful!\" exclaimed the Count, \"but it needs a little explanation\nhere and there. For instance, 'He who will never lay aside the bow,'\nwould, of course, mean in plain prose, 'He who was always a most\ndiligent fiddler.' But, Mozart, you are sowing discord in two gentle\nhearts.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Eugenie is envying her friend--and with good reason.\"\n\n\"Ah! you have discovered my weak point. But what would the Herr Baron\nsay?\"\n\n\"I could forgive for once.\"\n\n\"Very well, then; I shall not neglect my opportunity. But you need not\nbe alarmed, Herr Baron. There is no danger as long as the god does not\nlend me his countenance and his long yellow hair. I wish he would. I\nwould give him on the spot Mozart's braid and his very best hair-ribbon\nbesides.\"\n\n\"Apollo would have to be careful, in future, how he gracefully laved his\nnew French finery in the Castalian fountain,\" laughed Franziska.\n\nWith such exchange of jests the merriment grew; the wines were passed,\nmany a toast was offered, and Mozart soon fell into his way of talking\nin rhyme. The Lieutenant was an able second, and his father, also, would\nnot be outdone; indeed, once or twice the latter succeeded remarkably\nwell. But such conversations cannot well be repeated, because the very\nelements which make them irresistible at the time--the gaiety of the\nmood and the charm of personality in word and look--are lacking.\n\nAmong the toasts was one proposed by Franziska's aunt--that Mozart\nshould live to write many more immortal works. \"Exactly! I am with you\nin that,\" cried Mozart, and they eagerly touched glasses. Then the Count\nbegan to sing--with much power and certainty, thanks to his inspiration:\n\n  \"Here's to Mozart's latest score;\n  May he write us many more.\"\n\n  _Max_.\n\n  \"Works, da Ponte, such as you\n  (Mighty Schikaneder, too),\"\n\n  _Mozart_.\n\n  \"And Mozart, even, until now\n  Never thought of once, I vow.\"\n\n  _The Count_.\n\n  \"Works that you shall live to see,\n  Great arch-thief of Italy;\n  That shall drive you to despair,\n  Clever Signor Bonbonni\u00e8re.\"\n\n  _Max_.\n\n  \"You may have a hundred years,\"\n\n  _Mozart_.\n\n  \"Unless you with all your wares,\"\n\n  _All three, con forza_.\n\n  \"Straight _zum Teufel_ first repair,\n  Clever Monsieur Bonbonni\u00e8re.\"\n\nThe Count was loth to stop singing, and the last four lines of the\nimpromptu terzetto suddenly became a so-called \"endless canon,\" and\nFranziska's aunt had wit and confidence enough to add all sorts of\nornamentation in her quavering soprano. Mozart promised afterward to\nwrite out the song at leisure, according to the rules of the art, and he\ndid send it to the Count after he returned to Vienna.\n\nEugenie had long ago quietly examined her inheritance from the\nshrubbery of \"Tiberius,\" and presently some one asked to hear the new\nduet from her and Mozart. The uncle was glad to join in the chorus, and\nall rose and hastened to the piano, in the large salon.\n\nThe charming composition aroused the greatest enthusiasm; but its very\ncharacter was a temptation to put music to another use, and indeed it\nwas Mozart himself who gave the signal, as he left the piano, to ask\nFranziska for a waltz, while Max took up his violin. The Count was not\nslow in doing the honors for Madame Mozart, and one after another joined\nin the dance. Even Franziska's aunt became young again as she trod the\nminuet with the gallant Lieutenant. Finally, as Mozart and the fair\nEugenie finished the last dance, he claimed his promised privilege.\n\nIt was now almost sunset, and the garden was cool and pleasant. There\nthe Countess invited the ladies to rest and refresh themselves, while\nthe Count led the way to the billiard room, for Mozart was known to be\nfond of the game.\n\nWe will follow the ladies.\n\nAfter they had walked about they ascended a little slope, half inclosed\nby a high vine-covered trellis. From the hill they could look off into\nthe fields, and down into the streets of the village. The last rosy rays\nof sunlight shone in through the leaves.\n\n\"Could we not sit here for a little,\" suggested the Countess, \"if Madame\nMozart would tell us about herself and her husband?\"\n\nMadame Mozart was willing enough, and her eager listeners drew their\nchairs close about her.\n\n\"I will tell you a story that you must know in order to understand a\nlittle plan of mine. I wish to give to the Baroness-to-be a souvenir of\na very unusual kind. It is no article of luxury or of fashion but it is\ninteresting solely because of its history.\"\n\n\"What can it be, Eugenie?\" asked Franziska. \"Perhaps the ink-bottle of\nsome famous man.\" \"Not a bad guess. You shall see the treasure within\nan hour; it is in my trunk. Now for the story and with your permission\nit shall begin back a year or more.\n\n\"The winter before last, Mozart's health caused me much anxiety, on\naccount of his increasing nervousness and despondency. Although he was\nnow and then in unnaturally high spirits when in company, yet at home he\nwas generally silent and depressed, or sighing and ailing. The physician\nrecommended dieting and exercise in the country. But his patient paid\nlittle heed to the good advice; it was not easy to follow a prescription\nwhich took so much time and was so directly contrary to all his plans\nand habits. Then the doctor frightened him with a long lecture on\nbreathing, the human blood, corpuscles, phlogiston, and such unheard-of\nthings; there were dissertations on Nature and her purposes in eating,\ndrinking, and digestion--a subject of which Mozart was, till then, as\nignorant as a five-year-old child.\n\n\"The lesson made a distinct impression. For the doctor had hardly been\ngone a half hour when I found my husband, deep in thought but of a\ncheerful countenance, sitting in his room and examining a walking-stick\nwhich he had ferreted out of a closet full of old things. I supposed\nthat he had entirely forgotten it. It was a handsome stick, with a large\nhead of lapis lazuli, and had belonged to my father. But no one had ever\nbefore seen a cane in Mozart's hand, and I had to laugh at him.\n\n\"'You see,' he cried, 'I have surrendered myself to my cure, with all\nits appurtenances. I will drink the water, and take exercise every day\nin the open air, with this stick as my companion. I have been thinking\nabout it; there is our neighbor, the privy-councilor, who cannot even\ncross the street to visit his best friend without his cane; tradesmen\nand officers, chancellors and shop-keepers, when they go with their\nfamilies on Sunday for a stroll in the country, carry each one his\ntrusty cane. And I have noticed how in the Stephansplatz, a quarter of\nan hour before church or court, the worthy citizens stand talking in\ngroups and leaning on their stout sticks, which, one can see, are the\nfirm supports of their industry, order, and tranquillity. In short, this\nold-fashioned and rather homely custom must be a blessing and a comfort.\nYou may not believe it, but I am really impatient to go off with this\ngood friend for my first constitutional across the bridge. We are\nalready slightly acquainted, and I hope that we are partners for life.'\n\n\"The partnership was but a brief one, however. On the third day of their\nstrolls the companion failed to return. Another was procured, and lasted\nsomewhat longer; and, at any rate, I was thankful to Mozart's sudden\nfancy for canes, since it helped him for three whole weeks to carry out\nthe doctor's instructions. Good results began to appear; we had almost\nnever seen him so bright and cheerful. But after a while the fancy\npassed, and I was in despair again. Then it happened that, after a very\nfatiguing day, he went with some friends who were passing through Vienna\nto a musical soir\u00e9e. He promised faithfully that he would stay but an\nhour, but those are always the occasions when people most abuse his\nkindness, once he is seated at the piano and lost in music; for he sits\nthere like a man in a balloon, miles above the earth, where one cannot\nhear the clocks strike. I sent twice for him, in the middle of the\nnight; but the servant could not even get a word with him. At last, at\nthree in the morning, he came home, and I made up my mind that I must be\nvery severe with him all day.\"\n\nHere Madame Mozart passed over some circumstances in silence. It was not\nunlikely that the Signora Malerbi (a woman with whom Frau Constanze had\ngood reason to be angry) would have gone also to this soir\u00e9e. The young\nRoman singer had, through Mozart's influence, obtained a place in the\nopera, and without doubt her coquetry had assisted her in winning his\nfavor. Indeed, some gossips would have it that she had made a conquest\nof him, and had kept him for months on the rack. However that may have\nbeen, she conducted herself afterward in the most impertinent and\nungrateful manner, and even permitted herself to jest at the expense of\nher benefactor. So it was quite like her to speak of Mozart to one of\nher more fortunate admirers as _un piccolo grifo raso_ (a little\nwell-shaven pig). The comparison, worthy of a Circe, was the more\nirritating because one must confess that it contained a grain of truth.\n\nAs Mozart was returning from this soir\u00e9e (at which, as it happened, the\nsinger was not present), a somewhat excited friend was so indiscreet as\nto repeat to him the spiteful remark. It was the more amazing to him\nbecause it was the first unmistakable proof of the utter ingratitude of\nhis proteg\u00e9e. In his great indignation he did not notice the extreme\ncoolness of Frau Constanze's reception. Without stopping to take breath\nhe poured out his grievance, and well-nigh roused her pity; yet she held\nconscientiously to her determination that he should not so easily escape\npunishment. So when he awoke from a sound sleep shortly after noon, he\nfound neither wife nor children at home, and the table was spread for\nhim alone.\n\nEver since Mozart's marriage there had been little which could make him\nso unhappy as any slight cloud between his better half and himself. If\nhe had only known how heavy an anxiety had burdened her during the past\nfew days! But, as usual, she had put off as long as possible the\nunpleasant communication. Her money was now almost spent, and there was\nno prospect that they should soon have more. Although Mozart did not\nguess this state of affairs, yet his heart sank with discouragement and\nuncertainty. He did not wish to eat; he could not stay in the house. He\ndressed himself quickly, to go out into the air. On the table he left an\nopen note in Italian:\n\n  \"You have taken a fair revenge, and treated me quite as I deserved.\n  But be kind and smile again when I come home, I beg you. I should like\n  to turn Carthusian or Trappist and make amends for my sins.\"\n\nThen he took his hat, but not his cane--that had had its\nday--and set off.\n\nSince we have excused Frau Constanze from telling so much of her story\nwe may as well spare her a little longer. The good man sauntered along\npast the market toward the armory--it was a warm, sunshiny, summer\nafternoon--and slowly and thoughtfully crossed the Hof, and, turning to\nthe left, climbed the M\u00f6lkenbastei, thus avoiding the greetings of\nseveral acquaintances who were just entering the town.\n\nAlthough the silent sentinel who paced up and down beside the cannon did\nnot disturb him, he stopped but a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful\nview across the green meadows and over the suburbs to the Kahlenberg.\nThe peaceful calm of nature was too little in sympathy with his\nthoughts. With a sigh he set out across the esplanade, and so went on,\nwithout any particular aim, through the Alser-Vorstadt.\n\nAt the end of W\u00e4hringer Street there was an inn, with a bowling alley;\nthe proprietor, a master rope-maker, was as well known for his good beer\nas for the excellence of his ropes. Mozart heard the balls and saw a\ndozen or more guests within. A half-unconscious desire to forget himself\namong natural and unassuming people moved him to enter the garden. He\nsat down at one of the tables--but little shaded by the small\ntrees--with an inspector of the water-works and two other Philistines,\nordered his glass of beer, joined in their conversation, and watched the\nbowling.\n\nNot far from the bowling-ground, toward the house, was the open shop of\nthe rope-maker. It was a small room, full to overflowing; for, besides\nthe necessaries of his trade, he had for sale all kinds of dishes and\nutensils for kitchen, cellar, and farm-oil and wagon grease, also seeds\nof various kinds, and dill and cheap brandy. A girl, who had to serve\nthe guests and at the same time attend to the shop, was busy with a\ncountryman, who, leading his little boy by the hand, had just stepped up\nto make a few purchases--a measure for fruit, a brush, a whip. He\nwould choose one article, try it, lay it down, take up a second and a\nthird, and go back, uncertainly, to the first one; he could not decide\nupon any one. The girl went off several times to wait on the guests,\ncame back, and with the utmost patience helped him make his choice.\n\nMozart, on a bench near the alley, saw and heard, with great amusement,\nall that was going on. As much as he was interested in the good,\nsensible girl, with her calm and earnest countenance, he was still more\nentertained by the countryman who, even after he had gone, left Mozart\nmuch to think about. The master, for the time being, had changed places\nwith him; he felt how important in his eyes was the small transaction,\nhow anxiously and conscientiously the prices, differing only by a few\nkreutzers, were considered. \"Now,\" he thought, \"the man will go home to\nhis wife and tell her of his purchases, and the children will all wait\nuntil the sack is opened, to see if it holds anything for them; while\nthe good wife will hasten to bring the supper and the mug of fresh\nhome-brewed cider, for which her husband has been keeping his appetite\nall day. If only I could be as happy and independent waiting only on\nNature, and enjoying her blessings though they be hard to win! But if my\nart demands of me a different kind of work, that I would not, after all,\nexchange for anything in the world, why should I meanwhile remain in\ncircumstances which are just the opposite of such a simple and innocent\nlife? If I had a little land in a pleasant spot near the village, and a\nlittle house, then I could really live. In the mornings I could work\ndiligently at my scores; all the rest of the time I could spend with my\nfamily. I could plant trees, visit my garden, in the fall gather apples\nand pears with my boys, now and then take a trip to town for an opera,\nor have a friend or two with me--what delight! Well, who knows what may\nhappen!\"\n\nHe walked up to the shop, spoke to the girl, and began to examine her\nstock more closely. His mind had not quite descended from its idyllic\nflight, and the clean, smooth, shining wood, with its fresh smell,\nattracted him. It suddenly occurred to him that he would pick out\nseveral articles for his wife, such as she might need or might like to\nhave. At his suggestion, Constanze had, a long time ago, rented a little\npiece of ground outside the K\u00e4rnthner Thor, and had raised a few\nvegetables; so now it seemed quite fitting to invest in a long rake and\na small rake and a spade. Then, as he looked further, he did honor to\nhis principles of economy by denying himself, with an effort and after\nsome deliberation, a most tempting churn. To make up for this, however,\nhe chose a deep dish with a cover and a prettily carved handle; for it\nseemed a most useful article. It was made of narrow strips of wood,\nlight and dark, and was carefully varnished. There was also a\nparticularly fine choice of spoons, bread-boards, and plates of all\nsizes, and a salt-box of simple construction to hang on the wall.\n\nAt last he spied a stout stick, which had a handle covered with leather\nand studded with brass nails. As the strange customer seemed somewhat\nundecided about this also, the girl remarked with a smile that that was\nhardly a suitable stick for a gentleman to carry. \"You are right,\nchild,\" he answered. \"I think I have seen butchers carry such sticks.\nNo, I will not have it. But all the other things which we have laid out\nyou may bring to me today or tomorrow.\" And he gave his name and\naddress. Then he went back to the table to finish his beer. Only one of\nhis former companions was sitting there, a master-tinker.\n\n\"The girl there has had a good day for once,\" he remarked. \"Her uncle\ngives her a commission on all that she sells.\"\n\nMozart was now more pleased with his purchase than ever. But his\ninterest was to become still greater. For, in a moment, as the girl\npassed near, the tinker called out, \"Well, Crescenz, how is your friend\nthe locksmith? Will he soon be filing his own iron?\" \"Oh,\" she answered\nwithout stopping, \"that iron is still growing deep in the mountain.\"\n\n\"She is a good goose,\" said the tinsmith. \"For a long time she kept\nhouse for her stepfather, and took care of him when he was ill; but\nafter he died it came out that he had spent all her money. Since that\nshe has lived with her uncle, and she is a treasure, in the shop, in the\ninn, and with the children. There is a fine young apprentice who would\nhave liked to marry her long ago, but there is a hitch somewhere.\"\n\n\"How so? Has he nothing to live on?\"\n\n\"They both have saved a little, but not enough. Now comes word of a good\nsituation and a part of a house in Ghent. Her uncle could easily lend\nthem the little money that they need, but of course he will not let her\ngo. He has good friends in the council and in the union, and the young\nfellow is meeting with all sorts of difficulties.\"\n\n\"The wretches!\" cried Mozart, so loud that the other looked around\nanxiously, fearing that they might have been overheard. \"And is there no\none who could speak the right word or show those fellows a fist? The\nvillains! We will get the best of them yet.\"\n\nThe tinker was on thorns. He tried, clumsily enough, to moderate his\nstatements, and almost contradicted himself. But Mozart would not\nlisten. \"Shame on you, how you chatter! That's just the way with all of\nyou as soon as you have to answer for anything!\" And with that he turned\non his heel and left the astonished tinker. He hastened to the girl, who\nwas busy with new guests: \"Come early tomorrow, and give my respects to\nyour good friend. I hope that your affairs will prosper.\" She was too\nbusy and too much surprised to thank him.\n\nHe retraced his way to the city at a quick pace, for the incident had\nstirred his blood. Wholly occupied with the affairs of the poor young\ncouple, he ran over in his mind a list of his friends and acquaintances\nwho might be able to help them. Then, since it was necessary to have\nmore particulars from the girl before he could decide upon any step, he\ndismissed the subject from his thoughts and hastened eagerly toward\nhome.\n\nHe confidently expected a more than cordial welcome and a kiss at the\ndoor, and longing redoubled his haste. Presently the postman called to\nhim and handed him a small but heavy parcel, which was addressed in a\nfair clear hand which he at once recognized. He stepped into the first\nshop to give the messenger his receipt, but when once in the street\nagain his impatience was not to be checked, so he broke the seal, and,\nnow walking, now standing still, devoured his letter.\n\n\"I was sitting at my sewing-table,\" continued Madame Mozart, in her\nstory, \"and heard my husband come upstairs and ask the servant for me.\nHis step and tone were more cheerful and gay than I had expected, and\nmore so than I quite liked. He went first to his room, but came\nimmediately to me. 'Good-evening!' he said. I answered him quietly,\nwithout looking up. After walking across the room once or twice, with a\nsmothered yawn he took up the fly-clap from behind the door--a most\nunusual proceeding--and remarking, 'Where do all these flies come from?'\nbegan to slap about, as loudly as possible. The noise is particularly\nunpleasant to him, and I had been careful not to let him hear it. 'H'm,'\nI thought, 'when he does it himself it's another matter.' Besides, I had\nnot noticed many flies. His strange behavior vexed me much. 'Six at a\nblow!' he cried. 'Do you see?' No answer. Then he laid something on the\ntable before me, so near that I could not help seeing it without lifting\nmy eyes from my work. It was nothing less than a heap of ducats. He kept\non with his nonsense behind my back, talking to himself, and giving a\nslap now and then. 'The disagreeable good-for-nothing beasts! What were\nthey put in the world for\"' _Pitsch_. 'To be killed, I suppose!'\n_Patsch_. 'Natural history teaches us how rapidly their numbers\nmultiply.' _Pitsch, patsch_. 'In my house they are soon dispatched. Ah,\n_maledette! disperate_! Here are twenty more. Do you want them?'\nAnd he came and laid down another pile of gold. I had had hard work to\nkeep from laughing, and could hold out no longer. He fell on my neck and\nwe laughed as if for a wager.\n\n\"'But where did the money come from' I asked, as he shook the last\npieces from the roll. 'From Prince Esterhazy,[33]rough Haydn. Read the\nletter.' I read:\n\n  \"'Eisenstadt, Etc.\n\n  \"'_My good friend_.--His Highness has, to my great delight, intrusted\n  me with the errand of sending to you these 60 ducats. We have been\n  playing your quartettes again, and his Highness was even more charmed\n  and delighted than at the first hearing, three months ago. He said to\n  me (I must write it word for word): \"When Mozart dedicated these\n  works to you, he thought to honor you alone. Yet he cannot take it\n  amiss if I find in them a compliment to myself also. Tell him that I\n  think as highly of his genius as you do, and more than that he could not\n  wish.\" \"Amen,\" said I. Are you satisfied?\n\n  \"'_Postscript_ (for the ear of the good wife).--Take care that the\n  acknowledgment be not too long delayed. A note from Mozart himself\n  would be best. We must not lose so favorable a breeze.'\n\n\"'You angel! You divine creature!' cried Mozart again and again. It\nwould be hard to say which pleased him most, the letter, or the praise\nof the prince, or the money. I confess that just then the money appealed\nmost to me. We passed a very happy evening, as you may guess.\n\n\"Of the affair in the suburb I heard neither that day nor the next. The\nwhole week went by; no Crescenz appeared, and my husband, in a whirl of\nengagements, soon forgot her. One Sunday evening we had a small\nmusicale. Captain Wasselt, Count Hardegg, and others were there. During\na pause I was called out, and there was the outfit. I went back to the\nroom and asked, 'Have you ordered a lot of woodenware from the\nAlservorsstadt?'\n\n\"'By thunder, so I did! I suppose the girl is here? Tell her to come\nin.'\n\n\"So in she came, quite at ease, with rakes, spades, and all,\nand apologized for her delay, saying that she had forgotten the\nname of the street and had only just found it. Mozart took the things\nfrom her, one after another, and handed them to me with great\nsatisfaction. I thanked him and was pleased with everything, praising\nand admiring, though I wondered all the time what he had bought the\ngarden tools for.\n\n\"'For your garden,' he said.\n\n\"'Goodness! we gave that up long ago, because the river did so much\ndamage; and besides we never had good luck with it. I told you, and you\ndidn't object.'\n\n\"'What! And so the asparagus that we had this spring--'\n\n\"'Was always from the market!'\n\n\"'Hear that! If I had only known it! And I praised it just out of pity\nfor your poor garden, when really the stalks were no bigger than Dutch\nquills.'\n\n\"The guests enjoyed the fun, and I had to give them some of the\nunnecessary articles at once. And when Mozart inquired of the girl about\nthe prospects of her marriage, and encouraged her to speak freely,\nassuring her that whatever assistance we could offer should be quietly\ngiven and cause her no trouble, she told her story with so much modesty\nand discretion that she quite won her audience, and was sent away much\nencouraged.\n\n\"'Those people must be helped,' said the Captain. 'The tricks of the\nunion do not amount to much. I know some one who will see to that. The\nimportant thing is a contribution toward the expenses of the house and\nthe furniture. Let us give a benefit concert, admission fee _ad\nlibitum_!'\n\n\"The suggestion found hearty approval. Somebody picked up the salt-box\nand said: 'We must have an historic introduction, with a description of\nHerr Mozart's purchase, and an account of his philanthropic spirit; and\nwe will put this box on the table to receive the contributions and\narrange the rakes as decorations.' This did not happen, however, though\nthe concert came off; and what with the receipts of the concert and\noutside contributions, the young couple had more than enough for their\nhousekeeping outfit, and also the other obstacles were quickly removed.\n\n\"The Duscheks, in Prague, dear friends of ours, with whom we are to\nstay, heard the story, and Frau Duschek asked for some of the woodenware\nas souvenirs. So I laid aside two which I thought were suitable, and was\ntaking them to her.\n\n\"But since we have made another artist friend by the way, one who is,\ntoo, about to provide her wedding furnishings, and who will not despise\nwhat Mozart has chosen, I will divide my gift, and you, Eugenie, may\nchoose between a lovely open-work rod for stirring chocolate and the\nsalt-box, which is decorated with a tasteful tulip. My advice is to take\nthe salt-box; salt, as I have heard, is a symbol of home and\nhospitality, and with the gift go the best and most affectionate\nwishes.\"\n\nSo ended Madame Mozart's story. How pleased and gratified her listeners\nwere is easily to be imagined. Their delight was redoubled when, in the\npresence of the whole party, the interesting articles were brought out,\nand the model of patriarchal simplicity was formally presented. This,\nthe Count vowed, should have in the silver-chest of its present owner\nand all her posterity, as important a place as that of the Florentine\nmaster's famous work.\n\nIt was, by this time, almost eight o'clock and tea-time, and soon our\nmaster was pressingly reminded of his promise to show his friends _Don\nJuan_, which lay under lock and key, but, happily, not too deep down in\nhis trunk. Mozart was ready and willing, and by the time he had told the\nstory of the plot and had brought the libretto, the lights were burning\nat the piano.\n\nWe could wish that our readers could here realize a touch, at least, of\nthat peculiar sensation with which a single chord, floating from a\nwindow as we pass, stops us and holds us spellbound--a touch of that\npleasant suspense with which we sit before the curtain in the theatre\nwhile the orchestra is still tuning! Or am I wrong? Can the soul stand\nmore deeply in awe of everlasting beauty than when pausing before any\nsublime and tragic work of art--Macbeth, OEdipus, or whatever it may be?\nMan wishes and yet fears to be moved beyond his ordinary habit; he feels\nthat the Infinite will touch him, and he shrinks before it in the very\nmoment when it draws him most strongly. Reverence for perfect art is\npresent, too; the thought of enjoying a heavenly miracle--of being able\nand being permitted to make it one's own--stirs an emotion--pride, if\nyou will--which is perhaps the purest and happiest of which we are\ncapable.\n\nThis little company, however, was on very different ground from ours.\nThey were about to hear, for the first time, a work which has been\nfamiliar to us from childhood. If one subtracts the very enviable\npleasure of hearing it through its creator, we have the advantage of\nthem; for in one hearing they could not fully appreciate and understand\nsuch a work, even if they had heard the whole of it.\n\nOf the eighteen numbers which were already written the composer did not\ngive the half (in the authority from which we have our statement we find\nonly the last number, the sextet, expressly mentioned), and he played\nthem in a free sort of transcription, singing here and there as he felt\ndisposed. Of his wife it is only told that she sang two arias. We might\nguess, since her voice was said to be as strong as it was sweet, that\nshe chose Donna Anna's _Or sai, chi l'onore_, and one of Zerlina's two\narias.\n\nIn all probability Eugenie and her fianc\u00e9 were the only listeners who,\nin spirit, taste, and judgment, were what Mozart could wish. They sat\nfar back in the room, Eugenie motionless as a statue, and so engrossed\nthat, in the short pauses when the rest of the audience expressed their\ninterest or showed their delight in involuntary exclamations, she\ngave only the briefest replies to the Baron's occasional remarks.\n\nWhen Mozart stopped, after the beautiful sextet, and conversation began\nagain, he showed himself particularly pleased with the Baron's comments.\nThey spoke of the close of the opera, and of the first performance,\nannounced for an early date in November; and when some one remarked that\ncertain portions yet to be written must be a gigantic task, the master\nsmiled, and Constanze said to the Countess, so loudly that Mozart must\nneeds hear: \"He has ideas which he works at secretly; before me,\nsometimes.\"\n\n\"You are playing your part badly, my dear,\" he interrupted. \"What if I\nshould want to begin anew? And, to tell the truth, I'd rather like to.\"\n\n\"Leporello!\" cried the Count, springing up and nodding to a servant.\n\"Bring some wine. Sillery--three bottles.\"\n\n\"No, if you please. That is past; my husband will not drink more than he\nstill has in his glass.\"\n\n\"May it bring him luck--and so to every one!\"\n\n\"Good heavens! What have I done,\" lamented Constanze, looking at the\nclock. \"It is nearly eleven, and we must start early tomorrow. How shall\nwe manage?\"\n\n\"Don't manage at all, dear Frau Mozart.\"\n\n\"Sometimes,\" began Mozart, \"things work out very strangely. What will my\nStanzl say when she learns that the piece of work which you are going to\nhear came to life at this very hour of the night, just before I was to\ngo on a journey?\"\n\n\"Is it possible! When? Oh! three weeks ago, when you were to go to\nEisenstadt.\"\n\n\"Exactly. This is how it came about. I came in after ten (you were fast\nasleep) from dinner at the Richters'. and intended to go to bed early,\nas I had promised, for I was to start very early in the morning.\nMeanwhile Veit had lighted the candles on the writing-table, as usual. I\nmade ready for bed mechanically, and then thought I would take just a\nlook at the last notes I had written. But, cruel fate! with woman's\ndeuced inconvenient spirit of order you had cleared up the room and\npacked the music--for the Prince wished to see a number or two from the\nopera. I hunted, grumbled, scolded-all in vain. Then my eye fell on a\nsealed envelope from Abbate--his pot-hooks in the address. Yes; he had\nsent me the rest of his revised text, which I had not hoped to see for\nmonths. I sat down with great curiosity and began to read, and was\nenraptured to find how well the fellow understood what I wanted. It was\nall much simpler, more condensed, and at the same time fuller. The scene\nin the churchyard and the _finale_, with the disappearance of the hero,\nwere greatly improved. 'But, my excellent poet,' I said to myself, 'you\nneed not have loaded me with heaven and hell a second time, so\ncarelessly.'\n\n\"Now, it is never my habit to write any number out of order, be it never\nso tempting; that is a mistake which may be too severely punished. Yet\nthere are exceptions, and, in short, the scene near the statue of the\ngovernor, the warning which, coming suddenly from the grave of the\nmurdered man, interrupts so horribly the laughter of the revelers--that\nscene was already in my head. I struck a chord, and felt that I had\nknocked at the right door, behind which lay all the legion of horrors to\nbe let loose in the _finale_. First came out an adagio--D-minor, only\nfour measures; then a second, with five. 'There will be an extraordinary\neffect in the theatre,' thought I, 'when the strongest wind instruments\naccompany the voice.' Now you shall hear it, as well as it can be done\nwithout the orchestra.\"\n\nHe snuffed out the candles beside him, and that fearful choral, \"Your\nlaughter shall be ended ere the dawn,\" rang through the death-like\nstillness of the room. The notes of the silver trumpet fell through the\nblue night as if from another sphere--ice-cold, cutting through nerve\nand marrow. \"Who is here? Answer!\" they heard Don Juan ask. Then the\nchoral, monotonous as before, bade the ruthless youth leave the dead in\npeace.\n\nAfter this warning had rung out its last notes, Mozart went on: \"Now, as\nyou can think, there was no stopping. When the ice begins to break at\nthe edge, the whole lake cracks and snaps from end to end.\nInvoluntarily, I took up the thread at Don Juan's midnight feast, when\nDonna Elvira has just departed and the ghost enters in response to the\ninvitation. Listen!\"\n\nAnd then the whole, long, horrible dialogue followed. When the human\nvoices have become silent, the voice of the dead speaks again. After\nthat first fearful greeting, in which the half-transformed being refuses\nthe earthly nourishment offered him, how strangely and horribly moves\nthe unsteady voice up and down in that singular scale! He demands speedy\nrepentance; the spirit's time is short, the way it must travel, long.\nAnd Don Juan, in monstrous obstinacy withstanding the eternal commands,\nbeneath the growing influence of the dark spirits, struggles and writhes\nand finally perishes, keeping to the last, nevertheless, that wonderful\nexpression of majesty in every gesture. How heart and flesh tremble with\ndelight and terror! It is a feeling like that with which one watches the\nmighty spectacle of an unrestrained force of nature, or the burning of a\nsplendid ship. In spite of ourselves, we sympathize with the blind\nmajesty, and, shuddering, share the pain of its self-destruction.\n\nThe composer paused. For a while no one could speak. Finally, the\nCountess, with voice still unsteady, said \"Will you give us some idea of\nyour own feelings when you laid down the pen that night?\"\n\nHe looked up at her as if waked from a dream, hesitated a moment, and\nthen said, half to the Countess, half to his wife: \"Yes, my head swam at\nlast. I had written this dialogue and the chorus of demons, in fever\nheat, by the open window, and, after resting a moment, I rose to go to\nyour room, that I might talk a little and cool off. But another thought\nstopped me half way to the door.\" His glance fell, and his voice\nbetrayed his emotion. \"I said to myself, 'If you should die tonight and\nleave your score just here, could you rest in your grave?' My eye fell\non the wick of the light in my hand and on the mountain of melted wax.\nThe thought that it suggested was painful. 'Then,' I went on, 'if after\nthis, sooner or later, some one else were to complete the opera, perhaps\neven an Italian, and found all the numbers but one, up to the\nseventeenth--so many sound, ripe fruits, lying ready to his hand in the\nlong grass-if he dreaded the finale, and found, unhoped for, the rocks\nfor its construction close by--he might well laugh in his sleeve.\nPerhaps he would be tempted to rob me of my honor. He would burn his\nfingers, though, for I have many a good friend who knows my stamp and\nwould see that I had my rights.'\n\n\"Then I thanked God and went back, and thanked your good angel, dear\nwife, who held his hand so long over your brow, and kept you sleeping so\nsoundly that you could not once call to me. When at last I did go to bed\nand you asked me the hour, I told you you were two hours younger than\nyou were, for it was nearly four; and now you will understand why you\ncould not get me to leave the feathers at six, and why you had to\ndismiss the coach and order it for another day.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered Constanze; \"but the sly man must not think that I\nwas so stupid as not to know something of what was going on. You didn't\nneed, on that account, to keep your beautiful new numbers all to\nyourself.\"\n\n\"That was not the reason.\"\n\n\"No, I know. You wanted to keep your treasure away from criticism yet a\nlittle while.\"\n\n\"I am glad,\" cried the good-natured host, \"that we shall not need to\ngrieve the heart of a noble Vienna coachman to-morrow, when Herr\nMozart cannot arise. The order, 'Hans, you may unharness!' always makes\none sad.\"\n\nThis indirect invitation for a longer stay, which was heartily seconded\nby the rest of the family, obliged the travelers to explain their urgent\nreason for declining it; yet they readily agreed that the start need not\nbe made so early as to interfere with a meeting at breakfast.\n\nThey stood, talking in groups, a little while longer. Mozart looked\nabout him, apparently for Eugenie; since she was not there he turned\nna\u00efvely with his question to Franziska.\n\n\"What do you think, on the whole, of our Don Juan? Can you prophesy\nanything good for him?\"\n\n\"In the name of my aunt, I will answer as well as I can,\" was the\nlaughing reply. \"My opinion is that if Don Juan does not set the world\nmad, the good Lord may shut up his music chests for years to come, and\ngive mankind to understand--\"\n\n\"And give mankind,\" corrected the Count, \"the bag-pipes to play on, and\nharden the hearts of the people so that they worship Baal.\"\n\n\"The Lord preserve us!\" laughed Mozart. \"But in the course of the next\nsixty or seventy years, long after I am gone, will arise many false\nprophets.\"\n\nEugenie approached, with the Baron and Max; the conversation took a new\nturn, growing ever more earnest and serious, and the composer, ere the\ncompany separated, rejoiced in many a word of encouragement and good\ncheer. Finally, long after midnight, all retired; nor, till then, had\nany one felt weary.\n\nNext day--for the fair weather still held--at ten o'clock a handsome\ncoach, loaded with the effects of the two travelers, stood in the\ncourtyard. The Count, with Mozart, was waiting for the horses to be put\nin, and asked the master how the carriage pleased him.\n\n\"Very well, indeed; it seems most comfortable.\" \"Good! Then be so kind\nas to keep it to remind you of me.\"\n\n\"What! You are not in earnest?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Holy Sixtus and Calixtus! Constanze, here!\" he called up to the window\nwhere, with the others, she sat looking out. \"The coach is mine. You\nwill ride hereafter in your own carriage.\"\n\nHe embraced the smiling donor, and examined his new possession on all\nsides; finally he threw open the door and jumped in, exclaiming: \"I feel\nas rich and happy as Ritter Gluck. What eyes they will make in Vienna!\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said the Countess, \"when you return from Prague, to see your\ncarriage again, all hung with wreaths.\"\n\nSoon after this last happy scene the much-praised carriage moved away\nwith the departing guests, and rolled rapidly toward the road to Prague.\nAt Wittingau the Count's horses were to be exchanged for post-horses,\nwith which they would continue their journey.\n\nWhen such excellent people have enlivened our houses by their presence,\nhave given us new impulses through their fresh spirits, and have made us\nfeel the blessings of dispensing hospitality, their departure leaves an\nuncomfortable sense of vacancy and interruption, at least for the rest\nof the day, and especially if we are left to ourselves. The latter case,\nat least, was not true with our friends in the palace. Franziska's\nparents and aunt soon followed the Mozarts. Franziska herself, the\nBaron, and Max of course, remained. Eugenie, with whom we are especially\nconcerned, because she appreciated more deeply than the others the\npriceless experience she had had--she, one would think, could not feel\nin the least unhappy or troubled. Her pure happiness in the truly\nbeloved man to whom she was now formally betrothed would drown all other\nconsiderations; rather, the most noble and lovely things which could\nmove her heart must be mingled with that other happiness. So would\nit have been, perhaps, if she could have lived only in the present, or\nin joyful retrospect. But she had been moved by anxiety while Frau\nMozart was telling her story, and the apprehension increased all the\nwhile that Mozart was playing, in spite of the ineffable charm beneath\nthe mysterious horror of the music, and was brought to a climax by his\nown story of his night work. She felt sure that this man's energy would\nspeedily and inevitably destroy him; that he could be but a fleeting\napparition in this world, which was unable to appreciate the profusion\nof his gifts.\n\nThis thought, mingled with many others and with echoes of Don Juan, had\nsurged through her troubled brain the night before, and it was almost\ndaylight when she fell asleep. Now, the three women had seated\nthemselves in the garden with their work; the men bore them company, and\nwhen the conversation, as was natural, turned upon Mozart, Eugenie did\nnot conceal her apprehensions. No one shared them in the least, although\nthe Baron understood her fully. She tried to rid herself of the feeling,\nand her friends, particularly her uncle, brought to her mind the most\npositive and cheering proofs that she was wrong. How gladly she heard\nthem! She was almost ready to believe that she had been foolishly\nalarmed.\n\nSome moments afterward, as she passed through the large hall which had\njust been swept and put in order, where the half-drawn green damask\ncurtains made a soft twilight, she stopped sadly before the piano. It\nwas like a dream, to think who had sat there but a few hours before. She\nlooked long and thoughtfully at the keys which _he_ had touched last;\nthen she softly closed the lid and took away the key, in jealous care\nlest some other hand should open it too soon. As she went away, she\nhappened to return to its place a book of songs; an old leaf fell out,\nthe copy of a Bohemian folk-song, which Franziska, and she too, had sung\nlong ago. She took it up, not without emotion, for in her present mood\nthe most natural occurrence might easily seem an oracle. And the\nsimple verses, as she read them through again, brought the hot tears to\nher eyes:\n\n  \"A pine-tree stands in a forest--who knows where?\n    A rose-tree in some garden fair doth grow;\n  Remember they are waiting there, my soul,\n    Till o'er thy grave they bend to whisper and to blow.\n\n  \"Far in the pasture two black colts are feeding.\n    Toward home they canter when the master calls;\n  They shall go slowly with thee to thy grave,\n    Perchance ere from their hoofs the gleaming iron falls.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ANNETTE VON DROSTE-H\u00dcLSHOFF]\n\nANNETTE ELIZABETH VON DROSTE-H\u00dcLSHOFF\n\n\n  PENTECOST[34] (1839)\n\n  The day was still, the sun's bright glare\n  Fell sheer upon the Temple's beauteous wall\n  Withered by tropic heat, the air\n  Let, like a bird, its listless pinions fall.\n  Behold a group, young men and gray,\n  And women, kneeling; silence holds them all;\n  They mutely pray!\n\n  Where is the faithful Comforter\n  Whom, parting, Thou didst promise to Thine own?\n  They trust Thy word which cannot err,\n  But sad and full of fear the time has grown.\n  The hour draws nigh; for forty days\n  And forty wakeful nights toward Thee we've thrown\n  Our weeping gaze.\n\n  Where is He? Hour on hour doth steal,\n  And minute after minute swells the doubt.\n  Where doth He bide? And though a seal\n  Be on the mouth, the soul must yet speak out.\n  Hot winds blow, in the sandy lake\n  The panting tiger moans and rolls about,\n  Parched is the snake.\n\n  But hark! a murmur rises now,\n  Swelling and swelling like a storm's advance,\n  Yet standing grass-blades do not bow,\n  And the still palm-tree listens in a trance.\n  Why seem these men to quake with fear\n  While each on other casts a wondering glance?\n  Behold! 'Tis here!\n\n  'Tis here, 'tis here! the quivering light\n  Rests on each head; what floods of ecstasy\n  Throng in our veins with wondrous might!\n  The future dawns; the flood-gates open free;\n  Resistless pours the mighty Word;\n  Now as a herald's call, now whisperingly,\n  Its tone is heard.\n\n  Oh Light, oh Comforter, but there\n  Alas! and but to them art Thou revealed\n  And not to us, not everywhere\n  Where drooping souls for comfort have appealed!\n  I yearn for day that never breaks;\n  Oh shine, before this eye is wholly sealed,\n  Which weeps and wakes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE HOUSE IN THE HEATH[35] (1841)\n\n  Beneath yon fir trees in the west,\n    The sunset round it glowing,\n  A cottage lies like bird on nest,\n    With thatch roof hardly showing.\n\n  And there across the window-sill\n    Leans out a white-starred heifer;\n  She snorts and stamps; then breathes her fill\n    Of evening's balmy zephyr.\n\n  Near-by reposes, hedged with thorn,\n    A garden neatly tended;\n  The sunflower looks about with scorn;\n    The bell-flower's head is bended.\n\n  And in the garden kneels a child,\n    She weeds or merely dallies,\n  A lily plucks with gesture mild\n    And wanders down the alleys.\n\n  A shepherd group in distance dim\n    Lie stretched upon the heather,\n  And with a simple evening hymn\n    Wake the still breeze together.\n\n  And from the roomy threshing hall\n    The hammer strokes ring cheery,\n  The plane gives forth a crunching drawl,\n    The rasping saw sounds weary.\n\n  The evening star now greets the scene\n    And smoothly soars above it,\n  And o'er the cottage stands serene;\n    He seems in truth to love it.\n\n  A vision with such beauty crowned,\n    Had pious monks observed it,\n  They straight upon a golden ground\n    Had painted and preserved it.\n\n  The carpenter, the herdsmen there\n    A pious choral sounding;\n  The maiden with the lily fair,\n    And peace the whole surrounding;\n\n  The wondrous star that beams on all\n    From out the fields of heaven--\n  May it not be that in the stall\n    The Christ is born this even?\n\n[Illustration: HANS AM ENDE THE FARM HOUSE]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE BOY ON THE MOOR[36] (1841)\n\n  'Tis an eerie thing o'er the moor to fare\n    When the eddies of peat-smoke justle,\n  When the wraiths of mist whirl here and there\n    And wind-blown tendrils tussle,\n      When every step starts a hidden spring\n      And the trodden moss-tufts hiss and sing\n  'Tis an eerie thing o'er the moor to fare\n    When the tangled reed-beds rustle.\n\n  The child with his primer sets out alone\n    And speeds as if he were hunted,\n  The wind goes by with a hollow moan--\n    There's a noise in the hedge-row stunted.\n      'Tis the turf-digger's ghost, near-by he dwells,\n      And for drink his master's turf he sells.\n  \"Whoo! whoo!\" comes a sound like a stray cow's groan;\n    The poor boy's courage is daunted.\n\n  Then stumps loom up beside the ditch,\n    Uncannily nod the bushes,\n  The boy running on, each nerve a twitch,\n    Through a jungle of spear-grass pushes.\n      And where it trickles and crackles apace\n      Is the Spinner's unholy hiding-place,\n  The home of the curs\u00e8d Spinning-witch\n    Who turns her wheel 'mid the rushes.\n\n  On, ever on, goes the fearsome rout,\n    In pursuit through that region fenny,\n  At each wild stride the bubbles burst out,\n    And the sounds from beneath are many.\n      Until at length from the midst of the din\n      Comes the squeak of a spectral violin,\n  That must be the rascally fiddler lout\n    Who ran off with the bridal penny!\n\n  The turf splits open, and from the hole\n    Bursts forth an unhappy sighing,\n  \"Alas, alas, for my wretched soul!\"\n    'Tis poor damned Margaret crying!\n      The lad he leaps like a wounded deer,\n      And were not his guardian angel near\n  Some digger might find in a marshy knoll\n    Where his little bleached bones were lying.\n\n  But the ground grows firmer beneath his feet,\n    And there from over the meadow\n  A lamp is flickering homely-sweet;\n    The boy at the edge of the shadow\n      Looks back as he pauses to take his breath,\n      And in his glance is the fear of death.\n  'Twas eerie there 'mid the sedge and peat,\n    Ah, that was a place to dread, O!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ON THE TOWER[37] (1842)\n\n  I stand aloft on the balcony,\n    The starlings around me crying,\n  And let like maenad my hair stream free\n    To the storm o'er the ramparts flying.\n  Oh headlong wind, on this narrow ledge\n    I would I could try thy muscle\n  And, breast to breast, two steps from the edge,\n    Fight it out in a deadly tussle.\n\n  Beneath me I see, like hounds at play,\n    How billow on billow dashes;\n  Yea, tossing aloft the glittering spray,\n    The fierce throng hisses and clashes.\n  Oh, might I leap into the raging flood\n    And urge on the pack to harry\n\n  The hidden glades of the coral wood,\n    For the walrus, a worthy quarry!\n  From yonder mast a flag streams out\n    As bold as a royal pennant;\n  I can watch the good ship lunge about\n    From this tower of which I am tenant;\n  But oh, might I be in the battling ship,\n    Might I seize the rudder and steer her,\n  How gay o'er the foaming reef we'd slip\n    Like the sea-gulls circling near her!\n\n  Were I a hunter wandering free,\n    Or a soldier in some sort of fashion,\n  Or if I at least a man might be,\n    The heav'ns would grant me my passion.\n\n  But now I must sit as fine and still\n    As a child in its best of dresses,\n  And only in secret may have my will\n    And give to the wind my tresses.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE DESOLATE HOUSE[38] (1842)\n\n  Deep in a dell a woodsman's house\n    Has sunk in wild dilapidation;\n  There buried under vines and boughs\n    I often sit in contemplation.\n  So dense the tangle that the day\n    Through heavy lashes can but glimmer;\n    The rocky cleft is rendered dimmer\n  By overshadowing tree-trunks gray.\n\n  Within that dell I love to hear\n    The flies with their tumultuous humming,\n  And solitary beetles near\n    Amid the bushes softly drumming.\n\n  And when the trickling cliffs of slate\n    The color from the sunset borrow,\n    Methinks an eye all red with sorrow\n  Looks down on me disconsolate.\n\n  The arbor peak with jagged edge\n    Wears many a vine-shoot long and meagre\n  And from the moss beneath the hedge\n    Creep forth carnations, nowise eager.\n  There from the moist cliff overhead\n    The muddy drippings oft bedew them,\n    Then creep in lazy streamlets through them\n  To sink within a fennel-bed.\n\n  Along the roof o'ergrown with moss\n    Has many a tuft of thatch projected,\n  A spider-web is built across\n    The window-jamb, else unprotected;\n  The wing of a gleaming dragon-fly\n    Hangs in it like some petal tender,\n    The body armed in golden splendor\n  Lies headless on the sill near-by.\n\n  A butterfly sometimes may chance\n    In heedless play to flutter hither\n  And stop in momentary trance\n    Where the narcissus blossoms wither;\n  A dove that through the grove has flown\n    Above this dell no more will utter\n    Her coo, one can but hear her flutter\n  And see her shadow on the stone.\n\n  And in the fireplace where the snow\n    Each winter down the chimney dashes\n  A mass of bell-capped toad-stools grow\n    On viscid heaps of moldering ashes.\n  High on a peg above the rest\n    A hank of rope-yarn limply dangles\n    Like rotted hair, and in the tangles\n  The swallow built her last year's nest.\n\n  An old dog-collar set with bells\n    Swings from a hook by clasp and tether,\n  With rude embroidery that spells\n    \"Diana\" worked upon the leather.\n  A flute too, when the woodsman died,\n    The men who dug his grave forgot here;\n    The dog, his only friend, they shot here\n  And laid her by her master's side.\n\n  But while I sit in reverie,\n    A field-mouse near me shrilly crying,\n  The squirrel barking from his tree,\n    And from the marsh the frogs replying--\n  Then eerie shudders o'er me shoot,\n    As if I caught from out the dingle\n    Diana's bells once more a-jingle\n  And echoes of the dead man's flute.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nTHE JEW'S BEECH-TREE (1841)\n\nBY ANNETTE ELIZABETH VON DROSTE-H\u00dcLSHOFF\n\nTRANSLATED BY LILLIE WINTER, A.B.\n\n\nFrederick Mergel, born in 1738, was the son of a so-called _Halbmeier_\nor property holder of low station in the village of B., which, however\nbadly built and smoky it may be, still engrosses the eye of every\ntraveler by the extremely picturesque beauty of its situation in a green\nwoody ravine of an important and historically noteworthy mountain chain.\nThe little country to which it belonged was, at that time, one of those\nsecluded corners of the earth, without trade or manufacturing, without\nhighways, where a strange face still excited interest and a journey of\nthirty miles made even one of the more important inhabitants the Ulysses\nof his vicinage--in short, a spot, as so many more that once could be\nfound in Germany, with all the failings and the virtues, all the\noriginality and the narrowness that can flourish only under such\nconditions.\n\nUnder very simple and often inadequate laws the inhabitants' ideas of\nright and wrong had, in some measure, become confused, or, rather, a\nsecond law had grown up beside the official, a law of public opinion, of\ncustom, and of long uncontested privilege. The property holders, who sat\nas judges in the lower courts, meted out punishments or rewards in\naccordance with their own notions, which were, in most cases, honest.\nThe common people did what seemed to them practicable and compatible\nwith a somewhat lax conscience, and it was only the loser to whom it\nsometimes occurred to look up dusty old documents. It is hard to view\nthat period without prejudice; since it has passed away it has been\neither haughtily criticised or foolishly praised; for those who lived\nthrough it are blinded by too many precious recollections, and the newer\ngeneration does not understand it. This much, however, one may assert,\nthat the shell was weaker, the kernel stronger, crime more frequent,\nwant of principle rarer. For he who acts according to his convictions,\nbe they ever so faulty, can never be entirely debased; whereas nothing\nkills the soul more surely than appealing to the written law when it is\nat variance with one's own sense of what is right.\n\nThe inhabitants of the little country of which we speak, being more\nrestless and enterprising than their neighbors, certain features of life\ncame out more sharply here than would have been the case elsewhere under\nlike conditions. Wood stealing and poaching were every-day occurrences,\nand in the numerous fights which ensued each one had to seek his own\nconsolation if his head was bruised. Since great and productive forests\nconstituted the chief wealth of the country, these forests were of\ncourse vigilantly watched over, less, however, by legal means than by\ncontinually renewed efforts to defeat violence and trickery with like\nweapons.\n\nThe village of B. was reputed to be the most arrogant, most cunning, and\nmost daring community in the entire principality. Perhaps its situation\nin the midst of the deep and proud solitude of the forest had early\nstrengthened the innate obstinacy of its inhabitants. The proximity of a\nriver which flowed into the sea and bore covered vessels large enough to\ntransport shipbuilding timber conveniently and safely to foreign ports,\nhelped much in encouraging the natural boldness of the wood-thieves; and\nthe fact that the entire neighborhood swarmed with foresters served only\nto aggravate matters, since in the oft-recurring skirmishes the peasants\nusually had the advantage. Thirty or forty wagons would start off\ntogether on beautiful moonlight nights with about twice as many men of\nevery age, from the half-grown boy to the seventy-year-old village\nmagistrate, who, as an experienced bell-wether, led the procession\nas proudly and self-consciously as when he took his seat in the\ncourt-room. Those who were left behind listened unconcernedly to the\ngrinding and pounding of the wheels dying away in the narrow passes, and\nslept calmly on. Now and then an occasional shot, a faint scream,\nstartled perhaps a young wife or an engaged girl; no one else paid any\nattention to it. At the first gray light of dawn the procession returned\njust as silently--every face bronzed, and here and there a bandaged\nhead, which did not matter. A few hours later the neighborhood would be\nalive with talk about the misfortune of one or more foresters, who were\nbeing carried out of the woods, beaten, blinded with snuff, and rendered\nunable to attend to their business for some time.\n\nIn this community Frederick Mergel was born, in a house which attested\nthe pretensions of its builder by the proud addition of a chimney and\nsomewhat less diminutive window panes, but at the same time bespoke the\nmiserable circumstances of its owner by its present state of\ndilapidation. What had once been a hedge around the yard and the garden\nhad given way to a neglected fence; the roof was damaged; other people's\ncattle grazed in the pastures; other people's corn grew in the field\nadjoining the yard; and the garden contained, with the exception of a\nfew woody rose bushes of a better time, more weeds than useful plants.\nStrokes of misfortune had, it is true, brought on much of this, but\ndisorder and mismanagement had played their part. Frederick's father,\nold Herman Mergel, was, in his bachelor days, a so-called orderly\ndrinker--that is, one who lay in the gutter on Sundays and holidays, but\nduring the week was as well behaved as any one, and so he had had no\ndifficulty in wooing and winning a right pretty and wealthy girl. There\nwas great merrymaking at the wedding. Mergel did not get so very drunk,\nand the bride's parents went home in the evening satisfied; but the next\nSunday the young wife, screaming and bloody, was seen running through\nthe village to her family, leaving behind all her good clothes and new\nhousehold furniture. Of course that meant great scandal and vexation for\nMergel, who naturally needed consolation; by afternoon therefore there\nwas not an unbroken pane of glass in his house and he was seen late at\nnight still lying on his threshold, raising, from time to time, the neck\nof a broken bottle to his mouth and pitifully lacerating his face and\nhands. The young wife remained with her parents, where she soon pined\naway and died. Whether it was remorse or shame that tormented Mergel, no\nmatter; he seemed to grow more and more in need of \"spiritual\"\nbolstering up, and soon began to be counted among the completely\ndemoralized good-for-nothings.\n\nThe household went to pieces, hired girls caused disgrace and damage; so\nyear after year passed. Mergel was and remained a distressed and finally\nrather pitiable widower, until all of a sudden he again appeared as a\nbridegroom. If the event itself was unexpected, the personality of the\nbride added still more to the general astonishment. Margaret Semmler was\na good, respectable person, in her forties, a village belle in her\nyouth, still respected for her good sense and thrift, and at the same\ntime not without some money. What had induced her to take this step was\nconsequently incomprehensible to every one. We think the reason is to be\nfound in her very consciousness of perfection. On the evening before the\nwedding she is reported to have said: \"A woman who is badly treated by\nher husband is either stupid or good-for-nothing; if I am unhappy, put\nit down as my fault.\" The result proved, unfortunately, that she had\noverestimated her strength. At first she impressed her husband; if he\nhad taken too much, he would not come home, or would creep into the\nbarn. But the yoke was too oppressive to be borne long, and soon they\nsaw him quite often staggering across the street right into his house,\nheard his wild shouting within, and saw Margaret hastily closing doors\nand windows. On one such day--it was no longer a Sunday now--they saw\nher rush out of the house in the evening, without hood or Shawl, with\nher hair flying wildly about her head. They saw her throw herself down\nin the garden beside a vegetable bed and dig up the earth with her\nhands, then, anxiously looking about her, quickly pick off some\nvegetables and slowly return with them in the direction of the house,\nbut, instead of entering it, go into the barn. It was said that this was\nthe first time that Mergel had struck her, although she never let such\nan admission pass her lips. The second year of this unhappy marriage was\nmarked by the coming of a son--one cannot say gladdened, for Margaret is\nreported to have wept bitterly when the child was handed to her.\nNevertheless, although born beneath a heart full of grief, Frederick was\na healthy, pretty child who grew strong in the fresh air. His father\nloved him dearly, never came home without bringing him a roll or\nsomething of that sort, and it was even thought he had become more\ntemperate since the birth of the boy; at least the noise in the house\ndecreased.\n\nFrederick was in his ninth year. It was about the Feast of the Three\nKings, a raw and stormy winter night. Herman had gone to a wedding, and\nhad started out early because the bride's house was three miles away.\nAlthough he had promised to return in the evening, Mistress Mergel\nhardly counted on it because a heavy snowfall had set in after sunset.\nAbout ten o'clock she banked the fire and made ready to go to bed.\nFrederick stood beside her, already half undressed, and listened, to the\nhowling of the wind and the rattling of the garret windows.\n\n\"Mother, isn't father coming home tonight?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, child; tomorrow.\"\n\n\"But why not, mother? He promised to.\"\n\n\"Oh, God, if he only kept every promise he makes!--Hurry now, hurry and\nget ready.\"\n\nThey had hardly gone to bed when a gale started to rage as though it\nwould carry the house along with it. The bed-stead quivered, and the\nchimney-stack rattled as if there were goblins in it.\n\n\"Mother, some one's knocking outside!\"\n\n\"Quiet, Fritzy; that's the loose board on the gable being shaken by the\nwind.\"\n\n\"No; mother, it's at the door.\"\n\n\"It does not lock; the latch is broken. Heavens, go to sleep! Don't\ndeprive me of my bit of rest at night!\"\n\n\"But what if father should come now!\"\n\nHis mother turned angrily in her bed. \"The devil holds him tight\nenough!\"\n\n\"Where is the devil, mother?\n\n\"Wait, you restless boy! He's standing at the door, ready to get you if\nyou don't keep quiet!\"\n\nFrederick became quiet. A little while longer he listened, and then fell\nasleep. A few hours later he awoke. The wind had changed, and hissed\nlike a snake through the cracks in the window near his ear. His shoulder\nwas stiff; he crept clear under his quilt and lay still and trembling\nwith fear. After a while he noticed that his mother was not asleep\neither. He heard her weep and moan between sobs: \"Hail, Mary!\" and \"Pray\nfor us poor sinners!\" The beads of the rosary slid by his face. An\ninvoluntary sigh escaped him. \"Frederick, are you awake?\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"Child, pray a little--you know half of the Paternoster already, don't\nyou?-that God protect us from flood and fire.\"\n\nFrederick thought of the devil, and wondered how he looked, anyway. The\nconfused noise and rumbling in the house seemed strange to him. He\nthought there must be something alive within and without. \"Listen,\nmother! I am sure I hear people knocking.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, child; but there's not an old board in the house that isn't\nrattling.\"\n\n\"Hark! Don't you hear? Someone's calling! Listen!\"\n\nHis mother sat up; the raging of the storm subsided a moment. Knocking\non the shutters, was distinctly audible, and several voices called:\n\"Margaret!. Mistress Margaret! Hey there! Open the door!\" Margaret\nejaculated violently, \"There, they're again bringing the swine home to\nme!\"\n\nThe rosary flew clattering down on the wooden chair; hastily she\nsnatched her clothes; she rushed to the hearth, and soon Frederick heard\nher walk across the hall with defiant steps. Margaret did not return;\nbut in the kitchen there was a loud murmuring of strange voices. Twice a\nstrange man came into the bedroom and seemed to be nervously searching\nfor something. Suddenly a lamp was brought in; two men were supporting\nhis mother. She was white as chalk and her eyes were closed; Frederick\nthought she was dead. He emitted a fearful scream, whereupon some one\nboxed his ear. That silenced him; and now he gradually gleaned from the\nremarks of the bystanders that his father had been found dead in the\nwoods by his Uncle Franz Semmler and by Huelsmeyer, and was now lying in\nthe kitchen.\n\nAs soon as Margaret regained consciousness she tried to get rid of the\nstrangers. Her brother remained with her, and Frederick, who was\nthreatened with severe punishment if he got out of bed, heard the fire\ncrackling in the kitchen all night and a noise like stroking something\nback and forth, and brushing it. There was little spoken and that\nquietly, but now and then sobs broke out that went through and through\nthe child, young as he was. Once he understood his uncle to say,\n\"Margaret, don't take it so badly; we will all have three masses read,\nand at Eastertide we'll make together a pilgrimage to the Holy Virgin of\nWerl.\"\n\nWhen the body was carried away two days later, Margaret sat on the\nhearth and covered her face with her apron. After a few minutes, when\neverything had become quiet, she mumbled, \"Ten years, ten crosses! But\nwe carried them together, after all, and now I am alone!\" Then louder,\n\"Fritzy, come here!\"\n\nFrederick approached her timidly; his mother had become quite uncanny to\nhim with her black ribbons and her haggard, troubled face. \"Fritzy,\" she\nsaid, \"will you now really be good and make me happy, or will you be\nnaughty and lie, or drink and steal?\"\n\n\"Mother, Huelsmeyer steals.\"\n\n\"Huelsmeyer? God forbid! Must I spank you? Who tells you such wicked\nthings?\"\n\n\"The other day he beat Aaron and took six groschen from him.\"\n\n\"If he took money from Aaron, no doubt the accursed Jew had first\ncheated him out of it. Huelsmeyer is a respectable householder, and the\nJews are all rascals!\"\n\n\"But, mother, Brandes also says that he steals wood and deer.\"\n\n\"Child, Brandes is a forester.\"\n\n\"Mother, do foresters tell lies?\"\n\nMargaret was silent a moment, and then said, \"Listen, Fritz! Our Lord\nmakes the wood grow free and the wild game moves from one landowner's\nproperty into another's. They can belong to no one. But you do not\nunderstand that yet. Now go into the shed and get me some fagots.\"\n\nFrederick had seen his father lying on the straw, where he was said to\nhave looked blue and fearful; but the boy never spoke of it and seemed\nindisposed to think of it. On the whole, the recollection of his father\nhad left behind a feeling of tenderness mingled with horror, for nothing\nso engrosses one as love and devotion on the part of a person who seems\nhardened against everything else; and in Frederick's case this sentiment\ngrew with the years, through the experience of many slights on the part\nof others. As a child he was very sensitive about having any one mention\nhis deceased father in a tone not altogether flattering to him--a cause\nfor grief that the none too delicate neighbors did not spare him. There\nis a tradition in those parts which denies rest in the grave to a person\nkilled by accident. Old Mergel had thus become the ghost of the forest\nof Brede; as a will o' the wisp he led a drunken man into the pond by a\nhair; the shepherd boys, when they crouched by their fires at night and\nthe owls screeched in the hollows, sometimes heard quite clearly in\nbroken accents his \"Just listen, sweet Lizzie;\" and an unprivileged\nwoodman who had fallen asleep under the broad oak and been overtaken by\nnightfall, had, upon awakening, seen his swollen blue face peeping\nthrough the branches. Frederick was obliged to hear much of this from\nother boys; then he would howl and strike any one who was near; once he\neven cut some one with his little knife and was, on this occasion,\npitilessly thrashed. After that he drove his mother's cows alone to the\nother end of the valley, where one could often see him lie in the grass\nfor hours in the same position, pulling up the thyme.\n\nHe was twelve years old when his mother received a visit from her\nyounger brother who lived in Brede and had not crossed his sister's\nthreshold since her foolish marriage.\n\nSimon Semmler was a short, restless, lean man with bulging fishlike eyes\nand a face altogether like a pike--an uncanny fellow, in whom\nexaggerated reserve often alternated with affability no less\naffected--who would have liked to pass for a shrewd intellect but was\nconsidered disagreeable instead. He was a quarrelsome chap, and\neverybody grew more anxious to avoid him the farther he advanced toward\nthat age when persons of limited intellect are apt to make up in\npretensions for what they lose in usefulness. Nevertheless poor Margaret\nwas glad to see him, as she had no other relatives living.\n\n\"Simon, is that you?\" she asked, trembling so that she had to steady\nherself on a chair. \"You want to see how I am getting along with my\ndirty boy?\"\n\nSimon looked at her earnestly and clasped her hand. \"You have grown old,\nMargaret.\"\n\nMargaret sighed. \"I've had much sorrow and all kinds of bad luck since I\nsaw you.\"\n\n\"Yes, girl, marry at leisure, repent in haste! Now you are old and the\nchild is small. Everything has its time. But when an old house is\nburning nothing will quench the fire.\" A flame, red as blood, flashed\nacross Margaret's care-worn face.\n\n\"But I hear your son is cunning and smart,\" Simon continued.\n\n\"Well, rather, but good withal,\" replied Margaret.\n\n\"H'm, some one once stole a cow; he was called 'good' too. But he is\nquiet and thoughtful, isn't he? He doesn't run around with the other\nboys?\"\n\n\"He is a peculiar child,\" said Margaret, as though to herself; \"it's not\na good thing.\"\n\nSimon laughed aloud. \"Your boy is timid because the others have given\nhim a few good thrashings. Don't worry, the lad will repay them!\nHuelsmeyer came to see me lately; said the boy was like a deer.\"\n\nWhat mother's heart does not rejoice when she hears her child praised?\nPoor Margaret seldom had this pleasure; every one called her boy\nmalicious and close-mouthed. Tears started to her eyes. \"Yes, thank God,\nhis limbs are straight!\"\n\n\"What does he look like?\" continued Simon.\n\n\"He's a good deal like you, Simon, a good deal.\" Simon laughed. \"Indeed,\nhe must be a rare fellow; I'm getting better-looking every day. Of\ncourse he shouldn't be wasting his time at school. You let him pasture\nthe cows? Just as well; what the teacher says isn't half true anyway.\nBut where does he pasture? In the Telgen glen? In the Roder woods? In\nthe Teutoburg forest? At night and early in the morning, too?\"\n\n\"All through the night; but what do you mean?\"\n\nSimon seemed not to hear this. He craned his neck toward the door.\n\"Look, there comes the youngster! His father's son! He swings his arms\nlike your departed husband. And just see! The lad actually has my light\nhair!\"\n\nA proud smile spread secretly over the mother's face; her Frederick's\nblond curls and Simon's reddish bristles! Without answering she broke a\nbranch from the hedge near-by and went to meet her son, apparently to\nhurry on a lazy cow, in reality, however, to whisper a few hasty, half\nthreatening words into his ear; for she knew his obstinate disposition,\nand Simon's manner today had seemed to her more intimidating than ever.\nBut everything ran smoothly beyond expectation; Frederick showed himself\nneither obdurate nor insolent-rather, somewhat embarrassed and anxious\nto please his uncle. And so matters progressed until, after half an\nhour's discussion, Simon proposed a kind of adoption of the boy, by\nvirtue of which he was not to take him entirely away from his mother but\nwas, nevertheless, to command the greater part of his time. And for this\nthe boy was eventually to inherit the old bachelor's fortune, which, to\nbe sure, couldn't have escaped him anyway. Margaret patiently allowed\nher brother to explain how great the advantages of the arrangement would\nbe to her, how slight the loss. She knew best what a sickly widow misses\nin the help of a twelve-year-old boy whom she has trained practically to\nreplace a daughter. But she kept silent and yielded to everything. She\nonly begged her brother to be firm, but not harsh, with the boy.\n\n\"He is good,\" she said, \"but I am a lonely woman; my son is not like one\nwho has been ruled by a father's hand.\"\n\nSimon nodded slyly. \"Leave it to me; we'll get along all right; and, do\nyou know what?--let me have the boy right now; I have two bags to fetch\nfrom the mill; the smallest is just right for him and that's how he'll\nlearn to help me. Come, Fritzy, put your wooden shoes on!\" And presently\nMargaret was watching them both as they walked away, Simon ahead with\nhis face set forward and the tails of his red coat flying out behind him\nlike flames, looking a good deal like a man of fire doing penance\nbeneath the sack he has stolen. Frederick followed him, tall and slender\nfor his age, with delicate, almost noble, features and long blond curls\nthat were better cared for than the rest of his exterior appearance\nwould have led one to expect; for the rest, ragged, sunburnt, with a\nlook of neglect and a certain hard melancholy in his countenance.\nNevertheless a strong family resemblance between the two could not be\nmistaken, and as Frederick slowly followed his leader, with his eyes\nriveted on the man who attracted him by the very strangeness of his\nappearance, involuntarily he reminded one of a person who with anxious\ninterest gazes on the picture of his future in a magic mirror.\n\nThey were now approaching the place in the Teutoburg Forest where the\nForest of Brede extends down the slope of the mountain and fills a very\ndark ravine. Until now they had spoken little. Simon seemed pensive, the\nboy absent-minded, and both were panting under their sacks. Suddenly\nSimon asked, \"Do you like whiskey?\" The boy did not answer. \"I say, do\nyou like whiskey? Does your mother give you some once in a while?\"\n\n\"Mother hasn't any herself,\" answered Frederick.\n\n\"Well, well, so much the better! Do you know the woods before us?\"\n\n\"It is the Forest of Brede.\"\n\n\"Do you know what happened here?\" Frederick remained silent. Meanwhile\nthey came nearer and nearer to the gloomy ravine.\n\n\"Does your mother still pray much?\" Simon began again.\n\n\"Yes, she tells her beads twice every evening.\"\n\n\"Really? And you pray with her?\"\n\nSomewhat ill at ease, the boy looked aside slyly and laughed. \"At\ntwilight before supper she tells her beads once--then I have not yet\nreturned with the cows; and again in bed--then I usually fall asleep.\"\n\n\"Well, well, my boy!\" These last words were spoken under the sheltering\nbranches of a broad beech-tree which arched the entrance to the glen. It\nwas now quite dark and the new, moon shone in the sky, but its weak rays\nserved only to lend a strange appearance to the objects they\noccasionally touched through an aperture between the branches. Frederick\nfollowed close behind his uncle; his breath came fast and, if one could\nhave distinguished his features, one would have noticed in them an\nexpression of tremendous agitation caused by imagination rather than\nterror. Thus both trudged ahead sturdily, Simon with the firm step of\nthe hardened wanderer, Frederick unsteadily and as if in a dream. It\nseemed to him that everything was in motion, and that the trees swayed\nin the lonely rays of the moon now towards one another, now away. Roots\nof trees and slippery places where water had gathered made his steps\nuncertain; several times he came near falling. Now some distance ahead\nthe darkness seemed to break, and presently both entered a rather large\nclearing. The moon shone down brightly and showed that only a short\nwhile ago the axe had raged here mercilessly. Everywhere stumps of trees\njutted up, some many feet above the ground, just as it had been most\nconvenient to cut through them in haste; the forbidden work must have\nbeen interrupted unexpectedly, for directly across the path lay a\nbeech-tree with its branches rising high above it, and its leaves, still\nfresh, trembling in the evening breeze. Simon stopped a moment and\nsurveyed the fallen tree-trunk with interest. In the centre of the open\nspace stood an old oak, broad in proportion to its height. A pale ray of\nlight that fell on its trunk through the branches showed that it was\nhollow, a fact that had probably saved it from the general destruction.\n\nHere Simon suddenly clutched the boy's arm. \"Frederick, do you know that\ntree? That is the broad oak.\" Frederick started, and with his cold hands\nclung to his uncle. \"See,\" Simon continued, \"here Uncle Franz and\nHuelsmeyer found your father, when without confession and extreme\nunction he had gone to the Devil in his drunkenness.\"\n\n\"Uncle, uncle!\" gasped Frederick.\n\n\"What's coming over you? I should hope you are not afraid? Devil of a\nboy, you're pinching my arm! Let go, let go!\" He tried to shake the boy\noff. \"On the whole your father was a good soul; God won't be too strict\nwith him. I loved him as well as my own brother.\" Frederick let go his\nuncle's arm; both walked the rest of the way through the forest in\nsilence, and soon the village of Brede lay before them with its mud\nhouses and its few better brick houses, one of which belonged to Simon.\n\nThe next evening Margaret sat at the door with her flax for fully an\nhour, awaiting her boy. It had been the first night she had passed\nwithout hearing her child's breathing beside her, and still Frederick\ndid not come. She was vexed and anxious, and yet knew that there was no\nreason for being so. The clock in the tower struck seven; the cattle\nreturned home; still he was not there, and she had to get up to look\nafter the cows.\n\nWhen she re\u00ebntered the dark kitchen, Frederick was standing on the\nhearth; he was bending forward and warming his hands over the coal fire.\nThe light played on his features and gave him an unpleasant look of\nleanness and nervous twitching. Margaret stopped at the door; the child\nseemed to her so strangely changed.\n\n\"Frederick, how's your uncle?\" The boy muttered a few unintelligible\nwords and leaned close against the chimney.\n\n\"Frederick, have you forgotten how to talk? Boy, open your mouth! Don't\nyou know I do not hear well with my right ear?\" The child raised his\nvoice and began to stammer so that Margaret failed to understand\nanything.\n\n\"What are you saying? Greeting from Master Semmler? Away again? Where?\nThe cows are at home already. You bad boy, I can't understand you. Wait,\nI'll have to see if you have no tongue in your mouth!\" She made a few\nangry steps forward. The child looked up to her with the pitiful\nexpression of a poor, half-grown dog that is learning to sit up on his\nhind legs. In his fear he began to stamp his feet and rub his back\nagainst the chimney.\n\nMargaret stood still; her glances became anxious. The boy looked as\nthough he had shrunk together. His clothes were not the same either; no,\nthat was not her child! And. yet--\"Frederick, Frederick!\" she cried.\n\nA closet door in the bedroom slammed and the real Frederick came out,\nwith a so-called clog-violin in one hand, that is, a wooden shoe strung\nwith three or four resined strings, and in his other hand a bow, quite\nbefitting the instrument. Then he went right up to his sorry double,\nwith an attitude of conscious dignity and independence on his part,\nwhich at that moment revealed distinctly the difference between the two\nboys who otherwise resembled each other so remarkably.\n\n\"Here, John!\" he said, and handed him the work of art with a patronizing\nair; \"here is the violin that I promised you. My play-days are over; now\nI must earn money.\"\n\nJohn cast another timid glance at Margaret, slowly stretched out his\nhand until he had tightly grasped the present, and then hid it\nstealthily under the flaps of his shabby coat.\n\nMargaret stood perfectly still and let the children do as they liked.\nHer thoughts had taken another, very serious, turn, and she looked\nrestlessly from one to the other. The strange boy had again bent over\nthe coals with an expression of momentary comfort which bordered on\nsimple-mindedness, while Frederick's features showed the alternating\nplay of a sympathy evidently more selfish than good-humored, and his\neyes, in almost glassy clearness, for the first time distinctly showed\nthe expression of that unrestrained ambition and tendency to swagger\nwhich afterwards revealed itself as so strong a motive in most of his\nactions.\n\nHis mother's call aroused him from his thoughts which were as new as\nthey were pleasant to him; again she was sitting at her spinning-wheel.\n\"Frederick,\" she said, hesitating, \"tell me--\" and then stopped.\nFrederick looked up and, hearing nothing more, again turned to his\ncharge. \"No, listen!\" And then, more softly: \"Who is that boy I What is\nhis name?\"\n\nFrederick answered, just as softly: \"That is Uncle Simon's swineherd; he\nhas a message for Huelsmeyer. Uncle gave me a pair of shoes and a\nhuckaback vest which the boy carried for me; in return I promised him my\nviolin; you see, he's a poor child. His name is John.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Margaret.\n\n\"What do you want, mother?\"\n\n\"What's his other name?\"\n\n\"Well--he has none, but, wait--yes, Nobody, John Nobody is his name. He\nhas no father,\" he added under his breath.\n\nMargaret arose and went into the bedroom. After a while she came out\nwith a harsh, gloomy expression on her countenance. \"Well, Frederick,\"\nshe said, \"let the boy go, so that he may attend to his errand. Boy, why\ndo you lie there in the ashes? Have you nothing to do at home?\" With the\nair of one who is persecuted the boy roused himself so hastily that all\nhis limbs got in his way, and the clog-violin almost fell into the fire.\n\n\"Wait, John,\" said Frederick proudly, \"I'll give you half of my bread\nand butter; it's too much for me anyhow. Mother always gives me a whole\nslice.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Margaret, \"he is going home.\"\n\n\"Yes, but he won't get anything to eat now. Uncle Simon eats at seven\no'clock.\"\n\nMargaret turned to the boy. \"Won't they save anything for you? Tell me!\nWho takes care of you?\"\n\n\"Nobody,\" stuttered the child.\n\n\"Nobody?\" she repeated; \"then take it, take it!\" she added nervously;\n\"your name is Nobody and nobody takes care of you. May God have pity on\nyou! And now see that you get away! Frederick, do not go with him, do\nyou hear? Do not go through the village together.\"\n\n\"Why, I only want to get wood out of the shed,\" answered Frederick. When\nboth boys had gone Margaret sank down in a chair and clasped her hands\nwith an expression of the deepest grief. Her face was as white as a\nsheet. \"A false oath, a false oath!\" she groaned. \"Simon, Simon, how\nwill you acquit yourself before God!\"\n\nThus she sat for a while, motionless, with her lips shut tight, as if\ncompletely unconscious. Frederick stood before her and had already\nspoken to her twice.\n\n\"What's the matter? What do you want?\" she cried, starting up.\n\n\"I have some money for you,\" he said, more astonished than frightened.\n\n\"Money? Where?\" She moved and the little coin fell jingling to the\nfloor. Frederick picked it up.\n\n\"Money from Uncle Simon, because I helped him work. Now I can earn\nsomething for myself.\"\n\n\"Money from Simon! Throw it away, away!--No, give it to the poor. But\nno, keep it!\" she whispered, scarcely audibly. \"We are poor ourselves;\nwho knows whether we won't be reduced to begging!\"\n\n\"I am to go back to Uncle Monday and help him with the sowing.\"\n\n\"You go back to him? No, no, never!\" She embraced her child wildly.\n\"Yet,\" she added, and a stream of tears suddenly rushed down her sunken\ncheeks, \"go; he is the only brother I have, and slander is great! But\nkeep God before your eyes, and do not forget your daily prayers!\"\nMargaret pressed her face against the wall and wept aloud. She had borne\nmany a heavy burden--her husband's harsh treatment, and, worse than\nthat, his death; and it was a bitter moment when the widow was compelled\ntop give over to a creditor the usufruct of her last piece of arable\nland, and her own plow stood useless in front of her house. But as badly\nas this she had never felt before; nevertheless, after she had wept\nthrough an evening and lain awake a whole night, she made herself\nbelieve that her brother Simon could not be so godless, that the boy\ncertainly did not belong to him; for resemblances can prove nothing.\nWhy, had she not herself lost a little sister forty years ago who looked\nexactly like the strange peddler! One is willing to believe almost\nanything when one has so little, and is liable to lose that little by\nunbelief!\n\nFrom this time on Frederick was seldom at home. Simon seemed to have\nlavished on his nephew all the more tender sentiments of which he was\ncapable; at least he missed him greatly and never ceased sending\nmessages if some business at home kept him at his mother's house for any\nlength of time. The boy was as if transformed since that time; his\ndreamy nature had left him entirely; he walked firmly, began to care for\nhis external appearance, and soon to have the reputation of being a\nhandsome, clever youth. His uncle, who could not be happy without\nschemes, sometimes undertook important public works--for example, road\nbuilding, at which Frederick was everywhere considered one of his best\nworkmen and his right-hand man; for although the boy's physical strength\nhad not yet attained its fullest development, scarcely any one could\nequal him in endurance. Heretofore Margaret had only loved her son; now\nshe began to be proud of him and even feel a kind of respect for him,\nseeing the young fellow develop so entirely without her aid, even\nwithout her advice, which she, like most people, considered invaluable;\nfor that reason she could not think highly enough of the boy's\ncapabilities which could dispense with such a precious means of\nfurtherance.\n\nIn his eighteenth year Frederick had already secured for himself an\nimportant reputation among the village youth by the successful execution\nof a wager that he could carry a wild boar for a distance of more than\ntwo miles without resting. Meanwhile participation in his glory was\nabout the only advantage that Margaret derived from these favorable\ncircumstances, since Frederick spent more and more on his external\nappearance and gradually began, to take it to heart if want of money\ncompelled him to be second to any one in that respect. Moreover, all his\npowers were directed toward making his living outside; quite in\ncontrast to his reputation all steady work around the house seemed\nirksome to him now, and he preferred to submit to a hard but short\nexertion which soon permitted him to follow his former occupation of\nherding the cattle, although it was beginning to be unsuitable for his\nage and at times drew upon him ridicule. That he silenced, however, by a\nfew blunt reprimands with his fist. So people grew accustomed to seeing\nhim, now dressed up and jolly as a recognized village beau and leader of\nthe young folks, and again as a ragged boy slinking along, lonely and\ndreamily, behind his cows, or lying in a forest clearing, apparently\nthoughtless, scratching the moss from the trees.\n\nAbout this time, however, the slumbering laws were roused somewhat by a\nband of forest thieves which, under the name of the \"Blue Smocks,\"\nsurpassed all its predecessors in cunning and boldness to such an extent\nthat even the most indulgent would have lost patience. Absolutely\ncontrary to the usual state of affairs, when the leading bucks of the\nherd could always be pointed out, it had thus far been impossible, in\nspite of all watchfulness, to specify even one member of this company of\nthieves. Their name they derived from their uniform clothing which made\nrecognition more difficult if a forester happened by chance to see a few\nstragglers disappear in the thicket. Like caterpillars they destroyed\neverything; whole tracts of forest-land would be cut down in a single\nnight and immediately made away with, leaving nothing to be found next\nmorning but chips and disordered heaps of brushwood. The fact that there\nwere never any wagon tracks leading towards a village, but always to and\nfrom the river, proved that the work was carried on under the\nprotection, perhaps with the co\u00f6peration, of the shipowners. There must\nhave been some very skilful spies in the band, for the foresters could\nwatch in vain for weeks at a time; nevertheless, the first night they\nfailed, from sheer fatigue, to watch, the devastation began again,\nwhether it was a stormy night or moonlight. It was strange that the\ncountry folk in the vicinity seemed just as ignorant and excited as the\nforesters themselves.\n\nOf several villages it could be asserted with certainty that they did\nnot belong to the \"Blue Smocks,\" while no strong suspicion could be\nattached to a single one, since the most suspected of all, the village\nof B., had to be acquitted. An accident had brought this about--a\nwedding, at which almost every resident of this village had notoriously\npassed the night, while during this very time the \"Blue Smocks\" had\ncarried out one of their most successful expeditions.\n\nThe damage to the forest, in the meanwhile, was so enormous that\npreventive measures were made more stringent than ever before; the\nforest was patrolled day and night; head-servants and domestics were\nprovided with firearms and sent to help the forest officers.\nNevertheless, their success was but slight, for the guards had often\nscarcely left one end of the forest when the \"Blue Smocks\" were already\nentering the other. This lasted more than a whole year; guards and \"Blue\nSmocks,\" \"Blue Smocks\" and guards, like sun and moon, ever alternating\nin the possession of the land and never meeting each other.\n\nIt was July, 1756, at three o'clock in the morning; the moon shone\nbrightly in the sky, but its light had begun to grow dim; and in the\nEast there was beginning to appear a narrow, yellow streak which\nbordered the horizon and closed the entrance to the narrow dale as with\na hand of gold. Frederick was lying in the grass in his accustomed\nposition, whittling a willow stick, the knotty end of which he was\ntrying to form roughly into the shape of an animal. He seemed to be very\ntired, yawned, rested his head against a weather-beaten stump and cast\nglances, more sleepy than the horizon, over the entrance of the glen\nwhich was almost overgrown with shrubbery and underbrush. Now and then\nhis eyes manifested life and assumed their characteristic glassy\nglitter, but immediately afterwards be half shut them again, and\nyawned, and stretched, as only lazy shepherds may. His dog lay some\ndistance away near the cows which, unconcerned by forest laws, feasted\nindiscriminately on tender saplings and the grass, and snuffed the fresh\nmorning air.\n\nOut of the forest there sounded from time to time a muffled, crashing\nnoise; it lasted but a few seconds, accompanied by a long echo on the\nmountain sides, and was repeated about every five or eight minutes.\nFrederick paid no attention to it; only at times, when the noise was\nexceptionally loud or long continued, he lifted his head and glanced\nslowly down the several paths which led to the valley.\n\nDay was already dawning; the birds were beginning to twitter softly and\nthe dew was rising noticeably from the ground. Frederick had slid down\nthe trunk and was staring, with his arms crossed back of his head, into\nthe rosy morning light softly stealing in. Suddenly he started, a light\nflashed across his face, and he listened a few moments with his body\nbent forward like a hunting dog which scents something in the air. Then\nhe quickly put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle.\n\"Fido, you cursed beast!\" He threw a stone and hit the unsuspecting dog\nwhich, frightened out of his sleep, first snarled and then, limping on\nthree feet and howling, went in search of consolation to the very place\nfrom which the hurt had come.\n\nAt the same moment the branches of a near-by bush were pushed back\nalmost without a rustle, and a man stepped out, dressed in a green\nhunting jacket, with a silver shield on his arm and his rifle cocked in\nhis hand. He cast a hurried glance over the glen and stared sharply at\nthe boy, then stepped forward, nodded toward the shrubbery, and\ngradually seven or eight men came into sight, all in the same costume,\nwith hunting knives in their belts and cocked weapons in their hands.\n\n\"Frederick, what was that?\" asked the one who had first appeared. \"I\nwish the cur would die on the spot. For all he knows, the cows could\nchew the ears off my head.\"\n\n\"The scoundrel has seen us,\" said another. \"Tomorrow you'll go on a trip\nwith a stone about your neck,\" Frederick went on, and kicked at the dog.\n\"Frederick, don't act like a fool! You know me, and you understand me\ntoo!\" A look accompanied these words, which had an immediate effect.\n\n\"Mr. Brandes, think of my mother!\"\n\n\"That's what I'm doing. Didn't you hear anything in the forest?\"\n\n\"In the forest?\" The boy threw a hasty glance at the forester's face.\n\"Your woodchoppers--nothing else.\"\n\n\"My woodchoppers!\" The naturally dark complexion of the forester changed\nto a deep brownish red. \"How many of them are there, and where are they\ndoing their job?\"\n\n\"Wherever you have sent them; I don't know.\"\n\nBrandes turned to his comrades. \"Go ahead; I'll follow directly.\" When\none by one they had disappeared in the thicket, Brandes stepped close up\nto the boy. \"Frederick,\" he said in tones of suppressed rage, \"my\npatience is worn out; I'd like to thrash you like a dog, and that's no\nworse than you deserve. You bundle of rags, without a tile in your roof\nto call your own! Thank God, you'll soon find yourself begging; and at\nmy door, your mother, the old witch, shan't get as much as a moldy\ncrust! But first both of you'll go to the dungeon!\"\n\nFrederick clutched a branch convulsively. He was pale as death, and his\neyes looked as if they would shoot out of his head like crystal\nbullets--but only for a moment. Then the greatest calmness, bordering on\ncomplete relaxation, returned. \"Sir,\" he said firmly, in an almost\ngentle voice, \"you have said something that you cannot defend, and so,\nperhaps, have I. Let us call it quits; and now I will tell you what you\nwish. If you did not engage the woodchoppers yourself, they must be the\n'Blue Smocks,' for not a wagon has come from the village; why, the road\nis right before me, and there are four wagons. I did not see them, but\nI heard them drive up the pass.\" He faltered a moment. \"Can you say that\nI have ever hewn a tree on your land, or even that I ever raised my axe\nin any other place but where I was ordered to? Think it over, whether\nyou can say that?\" A confused muttering was the forester's only answer;\nlike most blunt people, he repented easily. He turned, exasperated, and\nstarted toward the shrubbery. \"No, sir,\" called Frederick, \"if you want\nto follow the other foresters, they've gone up yonder by the\nbeech-tree.\"\n\n\"By the beech-tree!\" exclaimed Brandes doubtfully. \"No, across there,\ntoward Mast Gorge.\"\n\n\"I tell you, by the beech-tree; long Heinrich's gun-sling even caught on\nthe crooked branch; why, I saw it!\"\n\nThe forester turned into the path designated. Frederick had not changed\nhis position the whole time; half reclining, with his arm wound about a\ndry branch, he gazed immovably after the departing man, as he glided\nthrough the thickly wooded path with the long cautious steps\ncharacteristic of his profession, as noiseless as a lynx climbing into\nthe hen-roost. Here and there a branch sank behind him; the outlines of\nhis body became fainter and fainter. Then there was one final flash\nthrough the foliage; it was a steel button on his hunting jacket; and\nnow he was gone. During this gradual disappearance Frederick's face had\nlost its expression of coldness, and his features had finally become\nanxious and restless. Was he sorry, perhaps, that he had not asked the\nforester to keep his information secret? He took a few steps forward,\nthen stopped. \"It is too late,\" he mused, and reached for his hat. There\nwas a soft pecking in the thicket, not twenty paces from him. It was the\nforester sharpening his flint-stone. Frederick listened. \"No!\" he said\nin a decisive tone, gathered up his belongings, and hastily drove the\ncattle down into the hollow.\n\nAbout noon, Margaret was sitting by the hearth, boiling tea. Frederick\nhad come home sick; he had complained of a violent headache and had told\nher, upon her anxious questioning, how he had become deeply provoked\nwith the forester--in short, all about the incident just described, with\nthe exception of several details which he considered wiser to keep to\nhimself. Margaret gazed into the boiling water, silent and sad. She was\nnot unaccustomed to hear her son complain at times, but today he seemed\nmore shaken than ever. Was this perhaps the symptom of some illness?\nShe, sighed deeply and dropped a log of wood she had just lifted.\n\n\"Mother!\" called Frederick from the bedroom. \"What is it? Was that a\nshot?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! I don't know what you mean.\"\n\n\"I suppose it's the throbbing in my head,\" he replied. A neighbor\nstepped in and related in a low whisper some bit of unimportant gossip\nwhich Margaret listened to without interest. Then she went. \"Mother!\"\ncalled Frederick. Margaret went in to him. \"What did Huelsmeyer's wife\nsay?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing at all--lies, nonsense!\" Frederick sat up. \"About Gretchen\nSiemers; you know the old story well enough!--there isn't a word of\ntruth in it either.\"\n\nFrederick lay down again. \"I'll see if I can sleep,\" he said.\n\nMargaret was sitting by the hearth. She was spinning and thinking of\nrather unpleasant things. The village clock struck half-past eleven; the\ndoor opened and the court-clerk, Kapp, came in. \"Good day, Mrs. Mergel,\"\nhe said. \"Can you give me a drink of milk? I'm on my way from M.\" When\nMrs. Mergel brought what he wished, he asked \"Where is Frederick?\" She\nwas just then busy getting a plate out and did not hear the question. He\ndrank hesitatingly and in short draughts. Then he asked, \"Do you know\nthat last night the 'Blue Smocks' again cleared away a whole tract in\nthe Mast forest as bare as my hand?\"\n\n\"Oh, you don't mean it!\" she replied indifferently.\n\n\"The scoundrels!\" continued the clerk. \"They ruin everything; if only\nthey had a little regard at least for the young trees; but they go after\nlittle oaks of the thickness of my arm, too small even to make oars of!\nIt looks as if loss on the part of other people were just as gratifying\nto them as gain on their own part!\"\n\n\"It's a shame!\" said Margaret.\n\nThe clerk had finished his milk, but still he did not go. He seemed to\nhave something on his mind. \"Have you heard nothing about Brandes?\" he\nasked suddenly.\n\n\"Nothing; he never enters this house.\"\n\n\"Then you don't know what has happened to him?\"\n\n\"Why, what?\" asked Margaret, agitated.\n\n\"He is dead!\"\n\n\"Dead!\" she cried. \"What, dead? For God's sake! Why, only this morning\nhe passed by here, perfectly well, with his gun on his back!\"\n\n\"He is dead,\" repeated the clerk, eyeing her sharply, \"killed by the\n'Blue Smocks.' The body was brought into the village fifteen minutes\nago.\"\n\nMargaret clasped her hands. \"God in Heaven, do not judge him! He did not\nknow what he was doing!\"\n\n\"Him!\" cried the clerk--\"the curs\u00e8d murderer you mean?\"\n\nA heavy groan came from the bedroom. Margaret hurried there and the\nclerk followed her. Frederick was sitting upright in bed, with his face\nburied in his hands, and moaning like one dying. \"Frederick, how do you\nfeel?\" asked his mother.\n\n\"How do you feel?\" repeated the clerk.\n\n\"Oh, my body, my head!\" he wailed.\n\n\"What's the matter with him?\" inquired the clerk.\n\n\"Oh, God knows,\" she replied; \"he came home with the cows as early as\nfour o'clock because he felt sick.\" \"Frederick, Frederick, answer me!\nShall I go for the doctor?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" he groaned; \"it is only the colic; I'll be better soon.\" He\nlay down again; his face twitched convulsively with pain; then his color\nreturned. \"Go,\" he said, feebly; \"I must sleep; then it will pass away.\"\n\n\"Mistress Mergel,\" asked the clerk earnestly, \"are you sure that\nFrederick came home at four and did not go away again?\"\n\nShe stared in his face. \"Ask any child on the street. And go away?--I\nwish to God he could!\"\n\n\"Didn't he tell you anything about Brandes?\"\n\n\"In the name of God, yes--that Brandes had reviled him in the woods and\nreproached him with our poverty, the rascal! But God forgive me, he is\ndead! Go!\" she continued; \"have you come to insult honest people? Go!\"\n\nShe turned to her son again, as the clerk went out. \"Frederick, how do\nyou feel?\" asked his mother. \"Did you hear? Terrible, terrible--without\nconfession or absolution!\"\n\n\"Mother, mother, for God's sake, let me sleep. I can stand no more!\"\n\nAt this moment John Nobody entered the room; tall and thin like a\nbean-pole, but ragged and shy, as we had seen him five years before. His\nface was even paler than usual. \"Frederick,\" he stuttered, \"you are to\ncome to your Uncle immediately; he has work for you; without delay,\nnow!\"\n\nFrederick turned toward the wall. \"I won't come,\" he snapped, \"I am\nsick.\"\n\n\"But you must come,\" gasped John; \"he said I must bring you back.\"\n\nFrederick laughed scornfully. \"I'd like to see you!\"\n\n\"Let him alone; he can't,\" sighed Margaret; \"you see how it is.\" She\nwent out for a few minutes; when she returned, Frederick was already\ndressed. \"What are you thinking of?\" she cried. \"You cannot, you shall\nnot go!\"\n\n\"What must be, must,\" he replied, and was gone through the door with\nJohn.\n\n\"Oh, God,\" sobbed the mother, \"when children are small they trample our\nlaps, and when they are grown, our hearts!\"\n\nThe judicial investigation had begun, the deed was as clear as day; but\nthe evidence concerning the perpetrator was so scanty that, although all\ncircumstances pointed strongly towards the \"Blue Smocks,\" nothing but\nconjectures could be risked. One clue seemed to throw some light\nupon the matter; there were reasons, however, why but little dependence\ncould be placed on it. The absence of the owner of the estate had made\nit necessary for the clerk of the court to start the case himself. He\nwas sitting at his table; the room was crowded with peasants, partly\nthose who came out of curiosity, and partly those from whom the court\nhoped to receive some information, since actual witnesses were\nlacking--shepherds who had been watching their flocks that night,\nlaborers who had been working in near-by fields; all stood erect and\nfirm,, with their hands in their pockets, as if thus silently\nmanifesting their intention not to interfere.\n\nEight forest officers were heard; their evidence was entirely identical.\nBrandes, on the tenth day of the month, had ordered them to go the\nrounds because he had evidently secured information concerning a plan of\nthe \"Blue Smocks\"; he had, however, expressed himself but vaguely\nregarding the matter. At about two o'clock at night they had gone out\nand had come upon many traces of destruction, which put the\nhead-forester in a very bad humor; otherwise, everything had been quiet.\nAbout four o'clock Brandes had said, \"We have been led astray; let us go\nhome.\" When they had come around Bremer mountain and the wind had\nchanged at the same time, they had distinctly heard chopping in the Mast\nforest and concluded from the quick succession of the strokes that the\n\"Blue Smocks\" were at work. They had deliberated a while whether it were\npractical to attack the bold band with such a small force, and then had\nslowly approached the source of the sound without any fixed\ndetermination. Then followed the scene with Frederick. Finally, after\nBrandes had sent them away without instructions they had gone forward a\nwhile and then, when they noticed that the noise in the woods, still\nrather far away, had entirely ceased, they had stopped to wait for the\nhead-forester.\n\nThey had grown tired of waiting, and after about ten minutes had\ngone on toward the scene of devastation. It was all over; not another\nsound was to be heard in the forest; of twenty fallen trees eight were\nstill left, the rest had been made way with. It was incomprehensible to\nthem how this had been accomplished, since no wagon tracks were to be\nfound. Moreover, the dryness of the season and the fact that the earth\nwas strewn with pine-needles had prevented their distinguishing any\nfootprints, although the ground in the vicinity looked as if it had been\nfirmly stamped down. Then, having come to the conclusion that there was\nno point in waiting for the head-forester, they had quickly walked to\nthe other side of the wood in the hope of perhaps catching a glimpse of\nthe thieves. Here one of them had caught his bottle-string in the\nbrambles on the way out of the wood, and when he had looked around he\nhad seen something flash in the shrubbery; it was the belt-buckle of the\nhead-forester whom they then found lying behind the brambles, stretched\nout, with his right hand clutching the barrel of his gun, the other\nclenched, and his forehead split with an axe.\n\nThese were the statements of the foresters. It was then the peasants'\nturn, but no evidence could be obtained from them. Some declared they\nhad been at home or busy somewhere else at four o'clock, and they were\nall decent people, not to be suspected. The court had to content itself\nwith their negative testimonies.\n\nFrederick was called in. He entered with a manner in no respect\ndifferent from his usual one, neither strained nor bold. His hearing\nlasted some time, and some of the questions were rather shrewdly framed;\nhowever, he answered them frankly and decisively and related the\nincident between himself and the forester truthfully, on the whole,\nexcept the end, which he deemed expedient to keep to himself. His alibi\nat the time of the murder was easily proved. The forester lay at the end\nof the Mast forest more than three-quarters of an hour's walk from the\nravine where he had spoken with Frederick at four o'clock, and whence\nthe latter had driven his cows only ten minutes later. Every one had\nseen this; all the peasants present did their utmost to confirm it; to\nthis one he had spoken, to that one, nodded.\n\nThe court clerk sat ill-humored and embarrassed. Suddenly he reached\nbehind him and, presenting something gleaming to Frederick's gaze,\ncried: \"To whom does this belong?\" Frederick jumped back three paces,\nexclaiming, \"Lord Jesus! I thought you were going to brain me.\"\n\nHis eyes had quickly passed across the deadly tool and seemed to fix\nthemselves for a moment on a splinter broken out of the handle. \"I do\nnot know,\" he added firmly. It was the axe which they had found plunged\nin the head-forester's skull.\n\n\"Look at it carefully,\" continued the clerk. Frederick took it in his\nhand, looked at the top, the bottom, turned it over. \"One axe looks like\nanother,\" he then said, and laid it unconcernedly on the table. A\nblood-stain was visible; he seemed to shudder, but he repeated once more\nwith decision: \"I do not know it.\" The clerk of the court sighed with\ndispleasure. He himself knew of nothing more, and had only sought to\nbring about a possible disclosure through surprise. There was nothing\nleft to do but to close the hearing.\n\nTo those who are perhaps interested in the outcome of this affair, I\nmust say that the story was never cleared up, although much effort was\nmade to throw light upon it and several other judicial examinations\nfollowed. The sensation which the incident had caused and the more\nstringent measures adopted in consequence of it, seemed to have broken\nthe courage of the \"Blue Smocks\"; from now on it looked as though they\nhad entirely disappeared, and although many a wood-thief was caught\nafter that, they never found cause to connect him with the notorious\nband. Twenty years afterwards the axe lay as a useless _corpus delicti_\nin the archives of the court, where it is probably resting yet with its\nrust spots. In a made-up story it would be wrong thus to disappoint the\ncuriosity of the reader, but all this actually happened; I can add or\ndetract nothing. The next Sunday Frederick rose very early to go to\nconfession. It was the day of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin and\nthe parish priests were in the confessionals before dawn. He dressed in\nthe dark, and as quietly as possible left the narrow closet which had\nbeen consigned to him in Simon's house. His prayer-book, he thought,\nwould be lying on the mantelpiece in the kitchen, and he hoped to find\nit with the help of the faint moonlight. It was not there. He glanced\nsearchingly around, and started; at the bedroom door stood Simon,\nhalf-dressed; his rough figure, his uncombed, tangled hair, and the\npaleness of his face in the moonlight, gave him a horribly changed\nappearance. \"Can he possibly be walking in his sleep?\" thought\nFrederick, and kept quite still. \"Frederick, where are you going?\"\nwhispered the old man.\n\n\"Uncle, is that you? I am on my way to confession.\"\n\n\"That's what I thought; go, in the name of God, but confess like a good\nChristian.\"\n\n\"That I will,\" said Frederick.\n\nThink of the Ten Commandments: 'Thou shalt not bear witness against thy\nneighbor.'\"\n\n\"Not _false_ witness!\"\n\n\"No, none at all; you have been badly taught; he who accuses another in\nhis confession is unworthy to receive the Sacrament.\"\n\nBoth were silent. \"Uncle, what makes you think of this?\" Frederick\nfinally asked. \"Your conscience is not clear; you have lied to me.\"\n\n\"I? How?\"\n\n\"Where is your axe?\"\n\n\"My axe? On the barn-floor.\"\n\n\"Did you make a new handle for it? Where is the old one?\"\n\n\"You'll find it at daylight in the woodshed.\"\n\n\"Go,\" he continued scornfully. \"I thought you were a man; but you are\nlike an old woman who thinks the house must be on fire as soon as she\nsees smoke rising from her pot. See,\" he went on, \"if I know anything\nmore about this story than that doorpost there, may I never hope for\nsalvation. I was at home long before,\" he added. Frederick stood still,\noppressed and doubtful. He would have given much to be able to see his\nuncle's face. But while they were whispering, the sky had clouded over.\n\n\"I am very guilty,\" sighed Frederick, \"because I sent him the wrong way;\nalthough--but still, I never thought it would come to this, no,\ncertainly not! Uncle, I have you to thank for a troubled conscience.\"\n\n\"Well, go and confess!\" whispered Simon in a trembling voice. \"Desecrate\nthe Sacrament by tale-bearing, and set a spy on poor people who will\nmanage to find a way to snatch their bit of bread from between their\nteeth, even if he is not permitted to talk--go!\" Frederick stood,\nundecided; he heard a soft noise; the clouds cleared away, the moonlight\nagain fell on the bedroom door; it was closed. Frederick did not go to\nconfession that morning.\n\nThe impression which this incident had made on Frederick wore off only\ntoo soon. Who doubts that Simon did everything to lead his adopted son\ndown the same paths that he was following? And Frederick possessed\nqualities which made this only too easy: carelessness, excitability,\nand, above all, boundless pride, which did not always scorn pretense and\nended by doing its utmost to escape possible disgrace, by trying to\nrealize what it first had pretended to possess. He was not naturally\nignoble, but he fell into the habit of preferring inward to outward\nshame. One need only say that he habitually made a display while his\nmother starved.\n\nThis unfortunate change in his character was, however, the work of many\nyears, during which it was noticed that Margaret became more and more\nquiet on the subject of her son, and gradually came to a state of\ndemoralization which once would have been thought impossible. She became\ntimid, negligent, even slovenly, and many thought her brain had\nsuffered. Frederick, on the other hand, grew all the more\nself-assertive; he missed no fair or wedding, and since his irritable\nsense of honor would not permit him to overlook the secret\ndisapprobation of many, he was, so to speak, up in arms, not so much to\ndefy public opinion as to direct it into the channel which pleased him.\nExternally he was neat, sober, apparently affable, but crafty, boastful,\nand often coarse--a man in whom no one could take delight, least of all\nhis mother, and who, nevertheless, through his audacity, which every one\nfeared, and through his cunning, which they dreaded even more, had\nattained a certain preeminence in the village. The pre\u00ebminence came to\nbe acknowledged more and more as people became conscious of the fact\nthat they neither knew him nor could guess of what he might be capable.\nOnly one young fellow in the village, Will Huelsmeyer, who realized his\nown strength and good circumstances, dared to defy him. Since he was\nalso readier with his tongue than Frederick, and could always make a\npointed joke, he was the only one whom Frederick did not like to meet.\n\nFour years had passed. It was the month of October; the open autumn of\n1760, which filled every barn with corn and every cellar with wine, had\nalso lavished its riches on this corner of the earth, and more\nintoxicated people were seen and more fights and stupid tricks were\nheard of than ever before. Everywhere there were festivities; Blue\nMondays were the fashion, and whoever had laid aside a few dollars\nquickly wanted also a wife to help him feast today and starve tomorrow.\nA big, noteworthy wedding took place in the village, and the guests\ncould expect more than the one violin, generally out of tune, than the\nsingle glass of whiskey, and higher spirits than they themselves brought\nalong. Since the early morning all had been astir; clothing had been\naired in front of every door, and all day B. had looked like a\nfrippery-stall. Since many outsiders were expected, everybody was\nanxious to uphold the honor of the village.\n\nIt was seven o'clock in the evening and everything was in full swing;\nfun and laughter were rampant on every side, and the low rooms were\ncrowded to suffocation with blue, red, and yellow figures, like\npen-folds into which too large a herd had been huddled. On the barn\nfloor there was dancing--that is, whoever succeeded in capturing a\ntwo-foot space twirled around on it and tried to make up by shouting for\nwhat was lacking in motion. The orchestra was brilliant, the first\nviolinist as a recognized artist drowned out the second, and a great\nbass-viol with three strings was sounded _ad libitum_ by dilettantes,\nwhiskey and coffee flowed in abundance, all the guests were dripping\nwith perspiration--in short, it was a glorious affair.\n\nFrederick strutted about like a cock in his new sky-blue jacket and\nasserted his position as the first beau of the village. When the lord of\nthe manor and his family arrived he happened to be sitting behind the\nbass-viol, sounding the lowest string with great strength and much\ndecorum. \"John,\" he called imperiously, and up stepped his prot\u00e9g\u00e9 from\nthe dancing-floor, where he too had tried to swing his awkward legs and\nshout a cheer. Frederick handed him the bow, made his wishes known by a\nproud nod, and joined the dancers. \"Now, strike up, musician, the 'Pape\nvan Istrup!'\" The favorite dance was played, and Frederick cut such\ncapers before the company that the cows in the barn drew back their\nhorns and a lowing and a rattling of chains sounded from their stalls. A\nfoot high above the others, his blond head bobbed up and down like a\npike diving out of the waters, on every side girls screamed as he dashed\nhis long flaxen hair, by a quick movement of the head, into their faces\nas a sign of admiration.\n\n\"Now is the time,\" he said finally, and stepped up to the refreshment\ntable, dripping with perspiration. \"Here's to the gracious lords and\nladies and all the noble princes and princesses; and whoever doesn't\njoin in the toast will get such a boxing on the ears from me that he'll\nhear the angels singing!\" A loud _Vivat_ responded to the gallant toast.\nFrederick bowed. \"Take nothing amiss, gracious lords and ladies; we are\nbut ignorant peasant people.\" At this moment a disturbance arose at the\nend of the floor--shouting, scolding, laughter, all in confusion.\n\"Butter-thief, butter-thief!\" called a few children; and John Nobody\npushed his way, or rather was pushed, through the crowd, his head sunk\nbetween his shoulders and pressing with all his might toward the door.\n\n\"What's the matter? What are you doing to our John!\" called Frederick\nimperiously.\n\n\"You'll find out soon enough,\" coughed an old woman in a kitchen apron\nand with a dish-rag in her hand. \"Shame!\" John, the poor devil, who had\nto put up with the worst at home, had tried to secure for himself a\npaltry half pound of butter for the coming time of scarcity, and,\nwithout remembering that he had concealed it in his pocket, neatly\nwrapped in his handkerchief, had stepped near the kitchen fire, and now\nthe grease was disgracing him by running down his coat.\n\nThere was general excitement; the girls sprang back from fear of soiling\ntheir clothes, or pushed the culprit forward. Others made room as much\nout of pity as of caution. But Frederick stepped forward. \"Rogue!\" he\ncried; and a few hard slaps struck his patient prot\u00e9g\u00e9; then he pushed\nhim toward the door and gave him a good kick on the way. The gallant\ncame back dejected; his dignity was injured; the general laughter cut\nhim to the quick, although he tried to bring himself into the swing\nagain by a bold huzza!--It did not work. He was on the point of taking\nrefuge behind the bass-viol again, but before that he wanted to produce\nstill another brilliant effect; he drew out his silver watch, at that\ntime a rare and precious ornament. \"It is almost ten o'clock,\" he said.\n\"Now the Bride's Minuet! I will strike up.\"\n\n\"A beautiful watch!\" said the swineherd, and leaned forward in\nreverential curiosity.\n\n\"What did it cost?\" cried Will Huelsmeyer, Frederick's rival.\n\n\"Will you pay for it?\" asked Frederick. \"Have you paid for it?\"\nretorted Will. Frederick threw him a haughty glance and seized the bow\nin silent majesty. \"Well, well,\" Huelsmeyer went on, \"such things have\nhappened. As you know well enough, Franz Ebel had a beautiful watch too,\ntill Aaron the Jew took it away from him.\" Frederick did not answer, but\nnodded proudly to the first violin and they began to play with all their\nmight and main.\n\nMeanwhile the lord of the manor had stepped into the room where the\nwomen of the neighborhood were investing the bride with the white head\nband, the insignia of her new position. The young girl was crying\nbitterly, partly because custom so decreed, partly from honest\nnervousness. She was to manage a run-down household, under the eye of a\npeevish old man, whom, moreover, she was expected to love. He stood\nbeside her, by no means like the groom in the Song of Solomon who \"steps\ninto the chamber like the morning sun.\" \"You've cried enough now,\" he\nsaid crossly; \"remember, it isn't you who are making me happy; I am\nmaking you happy!\" She looked up to him humbly and seemed to feel that\nhe was right. The business was ended; the young wife had drunk to her\nhusband's health, some young wags had looked through the tripod to see\nif the bride's head band was straight, and they were all crowding again\ntoward the dancing-floor, whence there still resounded inextinguishable\nlaughter and noise. Frederick was no longer there. He had met with a\ngreat unbearable disgrace, when Aaron the Jew, a butcher and casual\nsecond-hand dealer from the nearest town, had suddenly appeared, and,\nafter a short unsatisfactory conversation, had dunned him before the\nwhole company for the sum of ten thalers in payment of a watch delivered\nat Eastertide. Frederick had gone away, as if annihilated, and the Jew\nfollowed him, shouting all the while: \"Oh, woe is me! Why didn't I\nlisten to sensible people! Didn't they tell me a hundred times you had\nall your possessions on your back and no bread in your cupboard!\" The\nroom shook with laughter. Some had pushed after them into the yard.\n\"Catch the Jew! Balance him against a pig!\" called some; others had\nbecome serious. \"Frederick looked as white as a sheet,\" said an old\nwoman, and the crowd separated as the carriage of the lord of the estate\nturned into the yard. Herr von S. was out of sorts on the way home, the\nusual and inevitable effect when the desire to maintain popularity\ninduced him to attend such feasts. He looked out of the carriage\nsilently. \"What two figures are those?\" He pointed to two dark forms\nrunning ahead of the wagon like two ostriches. Now they sneaked into the\ncastle. \"Another blessed pair of swine out of our own pen!\" sighed Herr\nvon S. Having arrived at home, he found the corridor crowded with all\nthe domestics standing around two lower-servants, who had sunk down pale\nand breathless on the steps.\n\nThey declared that they had been chased by old Mergel's ghost, when they\nwere coming home through the forest of Brede. First they had heard a\nrustling and crackling high above them, and then, up in the air, a\nrattling noise like sticks beating against one another; then suddenly\nhad sounded a shrieking yell and quite distinctly the words, \"O, my poor\nsoul!\" coming down from on high. One of them even claimed to have seen\nfiery eyes gleaming through the branches, and both had run as fast as\ntheir legs could carry them.\n\n\"Stupid nonsense!\" exclaimed the lord of the estate crossly, and went\ninto his room to change his clothes. The next morning the fountain in\nthe garden would not play, and it was discovered that some one had\nremoved a pipe, apparently to look for the head of a horse's skeleton\nwhich had the reputation of being an attested instrument against any\nwiles of witches or ghosts. \"H'm,\" said Baron von S.; \"what rogues do\nnot steal, fools destroy.\"\n\nThree days later a frightful storm was raging. It was midnight, but\nevery one in the castle was out of bed. The Baron stood at the window\nand looked anxiously out into the dark toward his fields. Leaves and\ntwigs flew against the panes; now and, then a brick fell and was dashed\nto pieces on the pavement of the courtyard. \"Terrible weather!\" said\nHerr von S. His wife looked out anxiously. \"Are you sure the fire is\nwell banked?\" she asked; \"Gretchen, look again; if not, put it all out\nwith water! Come, let us read the Gospel of St. John.\" They all knelt\ndown and the lady of the house began: \"In the beginning was the Word,\nand the Word was with God, and the Word was God.\" There was a terrible\nclap of thunder. All started; then there was a terrible scream and noise\nup the stairs. \"For God's sake! Is something burning?\" cried Frau von\nS., and sank down with her face on the chair. The door burst open and in\nrushed the wife of Aaron the Jew, pale as death, with her hair wildly\ndisheveled, dripping with rain. She threw herself on her knees before\nthe Baron. \"Justice!\" she cried, \"Justice! My husband is murdered!\" and\nshe fell in a faint.\n\nIt was only too true, and the ensuing investigation proved that Aaron\nthe Jew had lost his life by a single blow on the temples delivered by\nsome blunt instrument, probably a staff. On his left temple was the blue\nmark; beyond that there was no other injury. The statement of the Jewess\nand her servant, Samuel, ran thus: Three days ago Aaron had gone out in\nthe afternoon to buy cattle and had said at the time that he would\nprobably be gone overnight, because there were still several bad debtors\nin B. and S., on whom he would call for payment; in this case he would\nspend the night with the butcher, Solomon, in B. When he did not return\nhome the next day his wife had become greatly worried and had finally\nset out at three o'clock in the afternoon with her servant and the big\nbutcher dog. At the house of Solomon the Jew, no one knew anything about\nAaron; he had not been there at all. Then they had gone to all the\npeasants with whom they knew Aaron had intended to transact some\nbusiness. Only two had seen him, and those on the very day when he had\nleft home. Meanwhile it had become very late. Her great anxiety drove\nthe woman back home, where she cherished a faint hope of finding\nher husband after all. They had been overtaken by the storm in the\nForest of Brede and had sought shelter under a great beech on the\nmountain side. In the meantime the dog had been running about and acting\nstrangely, and had, in spite of repeated calling, finally run off into\nthe woods. Suddenly, during a lightning flash, the woman had seen\nsomething white beside her on the moss. It was her husband's staff, and\nalmost at the same moment the dog had broken through the shrubbery with\nsomething in his mouth; it was her husband's shoe. Before long they\nfound the Jew's body in a trench filled with dry leaves.\n\nThis was the report of the servant, supported only in general by the\nwife; her intense agitation had subsided and her senses now seemed half\nconfused or, rather, blunted. \"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!\"\nThese were her only words, which she at intervals ejaculated.\n\nThe same night the guards were summoned to take Frederick into custody.\nThey needed no warrant, because Herr von S. himself had been witness to\na scene which inevitably threw the strongest suspicion on him;\nfurthermore there was the ghost story of that night, the beating\ntogether of the sticks in the forest of Brede, the scream from above.\nSince the clerk of the court was at that time absent, Herr von S.\nhastened everything faster than would otherwise have been done.\nNevertheless dawn was already breaking when the riflemen as quietly as\npossible surrounded poor Margaret's house. The Baron himself knocked; it\nwas hardly a minute before the door was opened, and Margaret appeared,\nfully dressed. Herr von S. started; he scarcely recognized her, so pale\nand stony did she look. \"Where is Frederick?\" he asked in an unsteady\nvoice.\n\n\"Search for him!\" she answered, and sat down on a chair. The Baron\nhesitated a moment longer.\n\n\"Come in, come in,\" he then said roughly to the guards; \"what are we\nwaiting for?\" They stepped into Frederick's room. He was not there, but\nthe bed was still warm. They climbed to the garret, down the cellar,\nexamined the straw, looked behind every barrel, even into the oven; he\nwas not there. Some of them went into the garden, looked behind the\nfence and up into the apple trees; he was not to be found.\n\n\"Escaped!\" said the Baron with conflicting feelings; the sight of the\nold woman made a strong impression on him. \"Give me the key to that\ntrunk!\" Margaret did not answer. \"Give me the key,\" he repeated, and\nnoticed now for the first time that the key was already in the lock. The\ncontents of the trunk were brought into view--the fugitive's best Sunday\nclothes and his mother's poor finery, then two shrouds with black\nribbons, one made for a man, the other for a woman. Herr von S. was\ndeeply affected. Under everything else, at the very bottom of the trunk,\nlay the silver watch and some documents in a very legible hand, one of\nthese signed by a man who was strongly suspected of alliance with the\nforest-thieves. Herr von S. took them along to examine them, and the\nguards left the house without Margaret's giving another sign of life\nthan that of incessantly biting her lips and blinking her eyes.\n\nHaving arrived at the castle, the Baron found the court clerk, who had\nreturned the night before and declared he had slept through the whole\naffair because his Honor had not sent for him. \"You always come too\nlate,\" said Herr von S. crossly; \"wasn't there any old woman in the\nvillage to tell your maid about it? And why didn't they wake you up\nthen?\"\n\n\"Your Honor,\" replied Kapp, \"of course my Anne Marie learned of the\nincident an hour before I did; but she knew that your Honor was\ndirecting the matter yourself--and then,\" he added in a plaintive tone,\n\"that I was deathly tired!\"\n\n\"A fine police force!\" muttered the Baron. \"Every old hag in the village\nknows about a thing whenever it's supposed to be conducted in absolute\nsecrecy.\" Then he continued angrily: \"He'd have indeed to be a stupid\ndevil of a criminal who would let himself be caught!\"\n\nBoth were silent a moment. \"My driver lost his way in the dark,\" began\nthe clerk again; \"we were delayed over an hour in the wood; the weather\nwas awful; I thought the wind would blow the wagon over. At last, when\nthe rain slackened, we drove on in the name of God, heading toward the\nZellerfeld, unable to see our hands before our eyes. Then the coachman\nsaid: 'If only we don't get too near the stone-quarries!' I was\nfrightened myself; I had him stop, and struck a light, to find some\ncomfort at least in my pipe. Suddenly we heard a bell ring very near,\nperpendicularly under us. Your Honor will realize that I felt\ndreadfully. I jumped out of the wagon, for one can trust one's own\nlimbs, but not those of a horse. So I stood in the mud and rain without\nmoving, until presently, thank God, it began to dawn. And where had we\nstopped? Right near the Heerse ravine with the tower of Heerse directly\nunder us! If we had driven on twenty paces farther, we should all have\nbeen children of Death.\"\n\n\"That was indeed no joke!\" exclaimed the Baron, half conciliated.\nMeanwhile he had examined the papers that he had taken along. They were\ndunning letters for money lent, most of them from usurers. \"I had not\nthought,\" he muttered, \"that the Mergels were so deeply in debt.\" \"Yes,\nand that it must come to light in this way,\" replied Kapp; \"that will be\nno little cause for vexation to Mistress Margaret.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear me, she does not think of that now!\" With these words the\nBaron arose and left the room to proceed together with Kapp to the\njudicial examination of the body. The examination was short--death by\nviolence evident; the suspected criminal escaped; the evidence against\nhim very strong indeed, but not sufficient to establish his guilt\nwithout a personal confession; his flight at all events very suspicious.\nSo the judicial investigation had to be closed without satisfactory\nresults.\n\nThe Jews in the vicinity had manifested great interest. The widow's\nhouse was never empty of mourners and advisers. Within the memory of man\nnever had so many Jews been seen together in L. Extremely embittered by\nthe murder of their co-religionist they had spared neither pains nor\nmoney to trace the criminal. It is even known that one of them, commonly\ncalled \"Joel the Usurer,\" offered one of his customers, who owed him\nmany hundreds and whom he considered an especially sly fellow, remission\nof the entire sum if he could help him to arrest Mergel; for the belief\nwas general among the Jews that the murderer could not have escaped\nwithout efficient assistance, and was probably still in the vicinity.\nWhen, nevertheless, all this did no good, and the judicial investigation\nhad been declared closed, a number of the most prominent Israelites\nappeared in the castle the next morning to make a business proposition\nto the gracious lord. The object was the beech-tree, under which Aaron's\nstaff had been found and where the murder had probably been committed.\n\"Do you want to hew it down, now that it is in full leaf?\" asked the\nBaron.\n\n\"No, gracious Sir, it must remain standing winter and summer, as long as\nthere is a chip of it left.\"\n\n\"But then, if I should have the forest cut down, it would injure the\nyoung trees.\"\n\n\"Well, we do not want it for any ordinary price.\" They offered two\nhundred thalers. The deal was made, and all the foresters were strictly\nforbidden to injure the \"Jew's Beech\" in any way.\n\nSoon after, about sixty Jews with a Rabbi at their head were seen going\ntoward the Forest of Brede, all silent, with their eyes cast down. They\nstayed in the woods over an hour, and then returned just as seriously\nand ceremoniously through the village of B. up to the Zellerfeld, where\nthey separated and each went his own way. The next morning there was a\nHebrew inscription carved on the oak with an axe:[Hebrew:]\n\nAnd where was Frederick? Without doubt, gone, and far enough away to\nfind it no longer necessary to fear the short arms of such a weak\npolice force. Soon he was completely forgotten. His Uncle Simon seldom\nspoke of him, and then ill. The Jew's wife finally consoled herself and\ntook another husband. Only poor Margaret remained without consolation.\n\nAbout half a year afterward the lord of the estate read in the presence\nof the court clerk some letters just received. \"Remarkable, remarkable!\"\nhe exclaimed. \"Just think, Kapp, perhaps Mergel is innocent of the\nmurder. The chairman of the court of P. has just written me: 'Le vrai\nn'est pas toujours vraisemblable' (Truth does not always bear the marks\nof probability). I often find this out in my profession, and now I have\na new proof of it. Do you know that it is possible that your dear trusty\nFrederick Mergel killed the Jew no more than you or I? Unfortunately\nproofs are lacking, but the probability is great. A member of the\nSchlemming band (which, by-the-by, we now have, for the most part, under\nlock and key), named Ragged Moses, alleged in the last hearing that he\nrepented of nothing so much as of murdering one of his co-religionists,\nAaron, whom he had beaten to death in the woods, and had found only six\ngroschen on him.\n\n\"Unfortunately the examination was interrupted by the noon recess and,\nwhile we were at lunch, the dog of a Jew hanged himself with a garter.\nWhat do you say to that? Aaron is a common name, to be sure,\" etc.\n\n\"What do you say to that?\" repeated the Baron; \"and what reason then did\nthe fool of a fellow have for running away?\"\n\nThe court clerk reflected. \"Well, perhaps on account of the forest\nthefts which we were just then investigating. Isn't it said: 'The wicked\nman flees from his own shadow?' Mergel's conscience was dirty enough,\neven without this spot.\"\n\nWith these considerations they let the matter drop. Frederick had gone,\ndisappeared; and John Nobody--poor, neglected John--with him on the same\nday. A long, long time had passed--twenty-eight years, almost half a\nlifetime. The Baron was grown very old and gray, and his good-natured\nassistant, Kapp, had been long since buried. People, animals, and plants\nhad arisen, matured, passed away; only Castle B., gray and dignified as\nof old, still looked down on the cottages which, like palsied old\npeople, always seemed about to fall, yet always kept their balance.\n\nIt was Christmas Eve, December 24, 1788.\n\nThe narrow passes were covered with snow, probably about twelve feet\ndeep, and the penetrating, frosty air froze the window panes in the\nheated room. It was almost midnight, and yet faint lights flickered from\nthe snow mounds everywhere, and in every house the inmates were on their\nknees awaiting in prayer the advent of the holy Christmas festival, as\nis the custom in Catholic countries, or, at least, as was general in\nthose times. That night a figure moved slowly down from the heights of\nBrede toward the village. The wanderer seemed to be very tired or sick;\nhe groaned heavily and dragged himself with extreme difficulty through\nthe snow.\n\nHalf the way down he stopped, leaned on his staff, and gazed fixedly at\nthe lights. Everything was so quiet, so dead and cold; one could not\nhave helped thinking of will o' the wisps in cemeteries. At that moment\nthe clock struck twelve in the tower; as the last stroke died slowly\naway, soft singing arose in the nearest house and, spreading from house\nto house, ran through the whole village:\n\n  A little babe, a worthy child,\n    Was born to us today,\n  Of Mary Virgin undefiled;\n    We all rejoice and say:\n  Yea, had the Christ-child ne'er been born,\n  To lasting woe we'd all been sworn,\n    For He is our salvation.\n  O, thou our Jesus Christ adored,\n    A man in form but yet our Lord,\n  From Hell grant us Redemption.\n\nThe man on the mountain slope had sunk to his knees and with a trembling\nvoice made an effort to join in the song; it turned into nothing but\nloud sobbing, and large hot drops fell on the snow. The second verse\nbegan; he prayed along silently; then the third and the fourth. The song\nwas ended and the lights in the houses began to move. Then the man rose\nlaboriously and slunk slowly down to the village. He panted past several\nhouses, then stopped in front of one and knocked on the door softly.\n\n\"I wonder what that is!\" said a woman's voice inside. \"The door is\nrattling, and there's no wind blowing!\"\n\nHe knocked louder. \"For God's sake, let in a half-frozen man, who comes\nout of Turkish slavery!\"\n\nThere was whispering in the kitchen. \"Go to the inn,\" answered another\nvoice, \"the fifth house from here!\"\n\n\"In the name of our merciful God, let me in! I have no money.\"\n\nAfter some delay the door opened. A man came out with a lighted lamp.\n\"Come right in,\" he then said; \"you won't cut our heads off.\" In the\nkitchen there were, besides the man, a middle-aged woman, an old mother,\nand five children. All crowded around the newcomer and scrutinized him\nwith timid curiosity. A wretched figure! Wry-necked, with his back bent,\nhis whole body broken and powerless; long hair, white as snow, fell\nabout his face, which bore the distorted expression of long suffering.\nThe woman went silently to the hearth and added some fresh fagots. \"A\nbed we cannot give you,\" she said, \"but I will make a good litter of\nstraw here; you'll have to make the best of that.\"\n\n\"God reward you!\" answered the stranger; \"indeed I am used to worse than\nthat.\"\n\nThe man who had returned home was recognized as John Nobody, and he\nhimself avowed that it was he who had once fled with Frederick Mergel.\nThe next day the village was full of the adventures of the man who had\nso long been forgotten. Everybody wanted to see the man from Turkey,\nand they were almost surprised that he should still look like other\npeople. The young folks, to be sure, did not remember him, but the old\ncould still recognize his features perfectly, wretchedly disfigured\nthough he was.\n\n\"John, John, how gray you've grown!\" said an old woman; \"and where did\nyou get your wry neck?\"\n\n\"From carrying wood and water in slavery,\" he replied. \"And what has\nbecome of Mergel? You ran away together, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed; but I do not know where he is; we got separated. If you\nthink of him, pray for him,\" he added; \"he probably needs it.\"\n\nThey asked him why Frederick had disappeared, inasmuch as he had not\nmurdered the Jew. \"Not killed him!\" said John, and listened intently\nwhen they told him what the lord of the estate had purposely spread\nabroad in order to erase the spot from Mergel's name. \"So all was in\nvain,\" he said musing, \"all in vain--so much suffering!\"\n\nHe sighed deeply and asked, on his part, about many things. He was told\nthat Simon had been dead a long while, but had first fallen into\ncomplete poverty through lawsuits and bad debtors whom he could not sue\nbecause, it was said, the business relations between them had been\nquestionable. Finally he had been reduced to begging and had died on the\nstraw in a strange barn. Margaret had lived longer, but in absolute\nmental torpor. The people in the village had soon grown tired of helping\nher, because she let everything that they gave her go to ruin; for it\nis, after all, characteristic of people to abandon the most helpless,\nthose whom assistance does not relieve for any length of time and who\nare and always will be in need of aid. Nevertheless she had not suffered\nany actual want; the family of the Baron had cared for her, sent her\nmeals daily, and even provided medical treatment for her, when her\npitiable condition had developed into complete emaciation. In her house\nnow lived the son of the former swineherd, who had so admired\nFrederick's watch on that unfortunate night.\n\n\"All gone, all dead!\" sighed John.\n\nIn the evening, when it had grown dark and the moon was shining, he was\nseen limping about the cemetery in the snow; he did not pray over any\none grave, nor did he go very close to any, but he seemed to gaze\nfixedly at some of them from a distance. Thus he was found by Forester\nBrandes, the son of the murdered forester, whom the Baron had sent to\nbring John to the castle. Upon entering the living-room he looked about\nhim timidly, as though dazed by the light, and then at the Baron who was\nsitting in his armchair; he had aged greatly but still had his old\nbright eyes, and the little red cap was still on his head, as it had\nbeen twenty-eight years ago; beside him was the Baroness, his wife, also\ngrown old, very old.\n\n\"Now, John,\" said the Baron, \"do tell me all about your adventures.\nBut,\" as he surveyed him through his glasses, \"you wasted away terribly\nthere in Turkey, didn't you?\" John began telling how Mergel had called\nhim away from the hearth at night and said he must go away with him.\n\n\"But why did the foolish fellow ever run away?--I suppose you know that\nhe was innocent?\"\n\nJohn looked down.\n\n\"I don't know exactly; I think it was on account of some forest affairs.\nSimon had all kinds of dealings, you know; they never told me anything\nabout it, but I do not believe everything was as it should have been.\"\n\n\"But what did Frederick tell you?\"\n\n\"Nothing but that we must run away, that they were at our heels. So we\nran to Heerse; it was still dark then and we hid behind the big cross in\nthe churchyard until it grew somewhat lighter, because we were afraid of\nthe stone-quarries at Bellerfeld; and after we had been sitting a while\nwe suddenly heard snorting and stamping over us and saw long streaks of\nfire in the air directly over the church-tower of Heerse. We jumped up\nand ran straight ahead in the name of God as fast as we could, and, when\ndawn arose, we were actually on the right road to P.\" John seemed to\nshudder at the remembrance even now, and the Baron thought of his\ndeparted Kapp and his adventures on the slope of Heerse.\n\n\"Remarkable!\" he mused; \"you were so near each other! But go ahead.\"\n\nJohn now related how they had successfully passed through P. and across\nthe border, telling how, from that point, they had begged their way\nthrough to Freiburg in Breisgau as itinerant workmen. \"I had my\nhaversack with me, and Frederick a little bundle; so they believed us,\"\nhe went on. In Freiburg they had been induced to enlist in the Austrian\narmy; he had not been wanted, but Frederick had insisted. So he was put\nwith the commissariat. \"We stayed over the winter in Freiburg,\" he\ncontinued, \"and we got along pretty well; I did, too, because Frederick\noften advised me and helped me when I did something wrong. In the spring\nwe had to march to Hungary, and in the fall the war with the Turks broke\nout. I can't repeat very much about it because I was taken prisoner in\nthe very first encounter and from that time was a Turkish slave for\ntwenty-six years!\"\n\n\"God in Heaven, but that is terrible!\" exclaimed Frau von S.\n\n\"Bad enough! The Turks consider us Christians no better than dogs; the\nworst of it was that my strength left me with the hard work; I grew\nolder, too, and was still expected to do as in former years.\" He was\nsilent for a moment. \"Yes,\" he then said, \"it was beyond human strength\nand human patience, and I was unable to endure it. From there I got on a\nDutch vessel.\"\n\n\"But how did you get there?\" asked the Baron.\n\n\"They fished me out of the Bosphorus,\" replied John. The Baron looked at\nhim in astonishment and raised his finger in warning; but John\ncontinued. \"On the vessel I did not fare much better. The scurvy broke\nout; whoever was not absolutely helpless was compelled to work beyond\nhis strength, and the ship's tow ruled as severely as the Turkish whip.\nAt last,\" he concluded, \"when we arrived in Holland, at Amsterdam, they\nlet me go free because I was useless, and the merchant to whom the ship\nbelonged sympathized with me, too, and wanted to make me his porter.\nBut,\" he shook his head, \"I preferred to beg my way along back here.\"\n\n\"That was foolish enough!\" said the Baron.\n\nJohn sighed deeply. \"Oh, sir, I had to spend my life among Turks and\nheretics; should I not at least go to rest in a Catholic cemetery?\"\n\nThe lord of the estate had taken out his purse. \"Here, John, now go and\ncome back soon. You must tell me the whole story more in detail; today\nit was a bit confused. I suppose you are still very tired.\"\n\n\"Very tired,\" replied John; \"and\"--he pointed to his forehead--\"my\nthoughts are at times so curious I cannot exactly tell how things are.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said the baron; \"that is an old story. Now, go.\nHuelsmeyer will probably put you up for another night; come again\ntomorrow.\"\n\nHerr von S. felt the deepest sympathy with the poor chap; by the next\nday he had decided where to lodge him; he should take his meals in the\ncastle and his clothing could, of course, be provided for too. \"Sir,\"\nsaid John, \"I can still do something; I can make wooden spoons and you\ncan also send me on errands.\"\n\nHerr von S. shook his head sympathetically. \"But that wouldn't work so\nremarkably well.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir, if once I get started--I can't move very fast, but I'll\nget there somehow, and it won't be as hard as you might think, either.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Baron, doubtfully, \"do you want to try it? Here is a\nletter to P. There is no particular hurry.\" The next day John moved into\nhis little room in the house of a widow in the village. He carved\nspoons, ate at the castle, and did errands for the Baron. On the whole\nhe was getting along tolerably well; the Baron's family was very kind,\nand Herr von S. often conversed with him about Turkey, service in\nAustria, and the ocean. \"John could tell many things,\" he said to his\nwife, \"if he wasn't so downright simple.\"\n\n\"More melancholic than simple,\" she replied; \"I am always afraid he'll\nlose his wits some day.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" answered the Baron; \"he's been a simpleton all his\nlife; simple people never go crazy.\" Some time after, John stayed away\nmuch longer than usual on an errand. The good Frau von S. was greatly\nworried and was already on the point of sending out people, when they\nheard him limping up the stairs.\n\n\"You stayed out a long time, John,\" she said; \"I was beginning to think\nyou had lost your way in the forest of Brede.\"\n\n\"I went through Fir-tree Hollow.\"\n\n\"Why, that's a long roundabout way! Why didn't you go through the Brede\nWoods?\"\n\nHe looked up at her sadly. \"People told me the woods were cut down and\nthere were now so many paths this way and that way that I was afraid I\nwould not find my way out. I am growing old and shaky,\" he added slowly.\n\n\"Did you see,\" Frau von S. said afterwards to her husband, \"what a\nqueer, squinting look there was in his eyes? I tell you, Ernest, there's\na bad ending in store for him!\"\n\nMeanwhile September was approaching. The fields were empty, the leaves\nwere beginning to fall, and many a hectic person felt the scissors on his\nlife's thread. John, too, seemed to be suffering under the influence of\nthe approaching equinox; those who saw him at this time said he looked\nparticularly disturbed and talked to himself incessantly--something which\nhe used to do at times, but not very often. At last one evening he did\nnot come home. It was thought the Baron had sent him somewhere. The\nsecond day he was still not there. On the third his housekeeper grew\nanxious. She went to the castle and inquired. \"God forbid!\" said the\nBaron, \"I know nothing of him; but, quick!--call the forester and his\nson William! If the poor cripple,\" he added, in agitation, \"has fallen\neven into a dry pit, he cannot get out again. Who knows if he may not\neven have broken one of his distorted limbs! Take the dogs along,\" he\ncalled to the foresters on their way, \"and, first of all, search in the\nquarries; look among the stone-quarries,\" he called out louder.\n\nThe foresters returned home after a few hours; no trace had been found.\nHerr von S. was restless. \"When I think of such a man, forced to lie\nlike a stone and unable to help himself, I--but he may still be alive; a\nman can surely hold out three days without food.\" He set out himself;\ninquiry was made at every house, horns were blown everywhere, alarms\nwere sent out, and dogs set on the trail--in vain! A child had seen him\nsitting at the edge of the forest of Brede, carving a spoon. \"But he cut\nit right in two,\" said the little girl. That had happened two days\nbefore. In the afternoon there was another clue. Again a child had seen\nhim on the other side of the woods, where he had been sitting in the\nshrubbery, with his face resting on his knees as though he were asleep.\nThat was only the day before. It seemed he had kept rambling about the\nforest of Brede.\n\n\"If only that damned shrubbery weren't so dense! Not a soul can get\nthrough it,\" said the Baron. The dogs were driven to the place where the\nwoods had just been cut down; the searching-party blew their horns and\nhallooed, but finally returned home, dissatisfied, when they had\nconvinced themselves that the animals had made a thorough search of the\nwhole forest. \"Don't give up! Don't give up!\" begged Frau von S. \"It's\nbetter to take a few steps in vain than to leave anything undone.\" The\nBaron was almost as worried as she; his restlessness even drove him to\nJohn's room, although he was sure not to find him there. He had the room\nof the lost man opened. Here stood his bed still in disorder as he had\nleft it; there hung his good coat which the Baroness had had made for\nhim out of the Baron's old hunting-suit; on the table lay a bowl, six\nnew wooden spoons, and a box. Herr von S. opened the box; five groschen\nlay in it, neatly wrapped in paper, and four silver vest-buttons. The\nBaron examined them with interest. \"A remembrance from Mergel,\" he\nmuttered, and stepped out, for he felt quite oppressed in the musty,\nclose room. The search was continued until they had convinced themselves\nthat John was no longer in the vicinity--at least, not alive.\n\nSo, then, he had disappeared for the second time! Would they ever find\nhim again--perhaps some time, after many years, find his bones in a dry\npit? There was little hope of seeing him again alive, or, at all events,\ncertainly not after another twenty-eight years.\n\nOne morning two weeks later young Brandes was passing through the forest\nof Brede, on his way from inspecting his preserve. The day was unusually\nwarm for that time of the year; the air quivered; not a bird was\nsinging; only the ravens croaked monotonously in the branches and opened\ntheir beaks to the air. Brandes was very tired. He took off his cap,\nheated through by the sun; and then he put it on again; but one way was\nas unbearable as another, and working his way through the knee-high\nunderbrush was very laborious. Round about there was not a single tree\nsave the \"Jew's beech\"; for that he made, therefore, with all his might,\nand stretched himself on the shady moss under it, tired to death. The\ncoolness penetrated to his limbs so soothingly that he closed his eyes.\n\n\"Foul mushrooms!\" he muttered, half asleep. There is, you must know, in\nthat region a species of very juicy mushrooms which live only a few days\nand then shrivel up and emit an insufferable odor. Brandes thought he\nsmelt some of these unpleasant neighbors; he looked around him several\ntimes, but did not feel like getting up; meanwhile his dog leaped about,\nscratched at the trunk of the beech, and barked at the tree. \"What have\nyou there, Bello? A cat?\" muttered Brandes. He half opened his lids and\nthe Hebrew inscription met his eye, much distorted but still quite\nlegible. He shut his eyes again; the dog kept on barking and finally put\nhis cold nose against his master's face.\n\n\"Let me alone! What's the matter with you, anyway?\" Brandes was lying on\nhis back, looking up; suddenly he jumped up with a bound and sprang into\nthe thicket like one possessed.\n\nPale as death he reached the castle; a man was hanging in the \"Jew's\nBeech-tree\"; he had seen his limbs suspended directly above his face.\n\"And you did not cut him down, you fool?\" cried the Baron.\n\n\"Sir,\" gasped Brandes, \"if Your Honor had been there you would have\nrealized that the man is no longer alive. At first I thought it was the\nmushrooms!\" Nevertheless Herr von S. urged the greatest haste, and went\nout there himself.\n\nThey had arrived beneath the beech. \"I see nothing,\" said Herr von S.\n\"You must step over there, right here on this spot!\" Yes, it was true;\nthe Baron recognized his own old shoes. \"God, it is John! Prop up the\nladder!--so--now down--gently, gently! Don't let him fall! Good heaven,\nthe worms are at him already! But loose the knot anyway, and his\nnecktie!\" A broad scar was visible; the Baron drew back. \"Good God!\" he\nsaid; he bent over the body again, examined the scar with great care,\nand in his intense agitation was silent for some time. Then he turned to\nthe foresters. \"It is not right that the innocent should suffer for the\nguilty; just tell everybody this man here\"--he pointed to the dead\nbody--\"was Frederick Mergel.\"\n\nThe body was buried in the potter's field.\n\nAs far as all main events are concerned, this actually happened during\nthe month of September in the year 1789.\n\nThe Hebrew inscription on the tree read: \"When thou comest near this\nspot, thou wilt suffer what thou didst to me.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nFERDINAND FREILIGRATH\n\n\n  THE DURATION OF LOVE[39] (1831)\n\n  Oh! love while Love is left to thee;\n    Oh! love while Love is yet thine own;\n  The hour will come when bitterly\n    Thou'lt mourn by silent graves, alone!\n\n  And let thy breast with kindness glow,\n    And gentle thoughts within thee move,\n  While yet a heart, through weal and woe,\n    Beats to thine own in faithful love.\n\n  And who to thee his heart doth bare,\n    Take heed thou fondly cherish him;\n  And gladden thou his every hour,\n    And not an hour with sorrow dim!\n\n  And guard thy lips and keep them still;\n    Too soon escapes an angry word.\n  \"O God! I did not mean it ill!\"\n    But yet he sorrowed as he heard.\n\n  Oh! love while Love is left to thee;\n    Oh! love while Love is yet thine own;\n  The hour will come when bitterly\n    Thou'lt mourn by silent graves, alone.\n\n  Unheard, unheeded then, alas!\n    Kneeling, thou'lt hide thy streaming eyes\n  Amid the long, damp, churchyard grass,\n    Where, cold and low, thy loved one lies,\n\n  And murmur: \"Oh, look down on me,\n    Mourning my causeless anger still;\n  Forgive my hasty word to thee--\n    O God! I did not mean it ill!\"\n\n  He hears not now thy voice to bless,\n    In vain thine arms are flung to heaven!\n  And, hushed the loved lip's fond caress,\n    It answers not: \"I _have_ forgiven!\"\n\n  He _did_ forgive--long, long ago!\n    But many a burning tear he shed\n  O'er thine unkindness--softly now!\n    He slumbers with the silent dead.\n\n  Oh! love while Love is left to thee;\n    Oh! love while Love is yet thine own;\n  The hour will come when bitterly\n    Thou'lt mourn by silent graves--alone!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE EMIGRANTS[40] (1832)\n\n  I cannot take my eyes away\n    From you, ye busy, bustling band,\n  Your little all to see you lay\n    Each in the waiting boatman's hand.\n\n  Ye men, that from your necks set down\n    Your heavy baskets on the earth,\n  Of bread, from German corn baked brown,\n    By German wives, on German hearth.\n\n  And you, with braided tresses neat,\n    Black Forest maidens, slim and brown,\n  How careful, on the sloop's green seat,\n    You set your pails and pitchers down.\n\n[Illustration: J.P. HASENCLEVER FERDINAND FREILIGRATH]\n\n  Ah! oft have home's cool shady tanks\n    Those pails and pitchers filled for you;\n  By far Missouri's silent banks\n    Shall these the scenes of home renew--\n\n  The stone-rimmed fount, in village street,\n    Where oft ye stooped to chat and draw--\n  The hearth, and each familiar seat--\n    The pictured tiles your childhood saw.\n\n  Soon, in the far and wooded West\n    Shall log-house walls therewith be graced;\n  Soon, many a tired, tawny guest\n    Shall sweet refreshment from them taste.\n\n  From them shall drink the Cherokee,\n    Faint with the hot and dusty chase;\n  No more from German vintage, ye\n    Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace.\n\n  Oh say, why seek ye other lands?\n    The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn;\n  Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands;\n    In Spessart rings the Alp-herd's horn.\n\n  Ah, in strange forests you will yearn\n    For the green mountains of your home;\n  To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn;\n    In spirit o'er her vine-hills roam.\n\n  How will the form of days grown pale\n    In golden dreams float softly by,\n  Like some old legendary tale,\n    Before fond memory's moistened eye!\n  The boatman calls--go hence in peace!\n    God bless you, wife and child, and sire!\n  Bless all your fields with rich increase,\n    And crown each faithful heart's desire!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE LION'S RIDE [41] (1834)\n\n  King of deserts reigns the lion; will he through his realm go riding,\n  Down to the lagoon he paces, in the tall sedge there lies hiding.\n  Where gazelles and camelopards drink, he crouches by the shore;\n  Ominous, above the monster, moans the quivering sycamore.\n\n  When, at dusk, the ruddy hearth-fires in the Hottentot kraals are\n    glowing,\n  And the motley, changeful signals on the Table Mountain growing\n  Dim and distant--when the Caffre sweeps along the lone karroo--\n  When in the bush the antelope slumbers, and beside the stream the gnu--\n\n  Lo! majestically stalking, yonder comes the tall giraffe,\n  Hot with thirst, the gloomy waters of the dull lagoon to quaff;\n  O'er the naked waste behold her, with parched tongue, all panting\n    hasten--\n  Now she sucks the cool draught, kneeling, from the stagnant, slimy basin.\n\n  Hark, a rustling in the sedges! with a roar, the lion springs\n  On her back now. What a race-horse! Say, in proudest stalls of kings,\n  Saw one ever richer housings than the courser's motley hide,\n  On whose back the tawny monarch of the beasts tonight will ride?\n\n  Fixed his teeth are in the muscles of the nape, with greedy strain;\n  Round the giant courser's withers waves the rider's yellow mane.\n  With a hollow cry of anguish, leaps and flies the tortured steed;\n  See her, how with skin of leopard she combines the camel's speed!\n\n  See, with lightly beating footsteps, how she scours the moonlit plains!\n  From their sockets start the eyeballs; from the torn and bleeding veins,\n  Fast the thick, black drops come trickling, o'er the brown and dappled\n    neck,\n  And the flying beast's heart-beatings audible the stillness make.\n\n  Like the cloud, that, guiding Israel through the land of Yemen, shone,\n  Like a spirit of the desert, like a phantom, pale and wan,\n  O'er the desert's sandy ocean, like a waterspout at sea,\n  Whirls a yellow, cloudy column, tracking them where'er they flee.\n\n  On their track the vulture follows, flapping, croaking, through the air,\n  And the terrible hyena, plunderer of tombs, is there;\n  Follows them the stealthy panther--Cape-town's folds have known him well;\n  Them their monarch's dreadful pathway, blood and sweat full plainly tell.\n\n  On his living throne, they, quaking, see their ruler sitting there,\n  With sharp claw the painted cushion of his seat they see him tear.\n  Restless the giraffe must bear him on, till strength and life-blood fail\n    her;\n  Mastered by such daring rider, rearing, plunging, naught avail her.\n\n  To the desert's verge she staggers--sinks--one groan--and all is o'er.\n  Now the steed shall feast the rider, dead, and smeared with dust and\n    gore.\n  Far across, o'er Madagascar, faintly now the morning breaks;\n  Thus the king of beasts his journey nightly through his empire makes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE SPECTRE-CARAVAN[42] (1835)\n\n  'Twas at midnight, in the Desert, where we rested on the ground;\n  There my Bedouins were sleeping, and their steeds were stretched around;\n  In the farness lay the moonlight on the mountains of the Nile,\n  And the camel-bones that strewed the sands for many an arid mile.\n\n  With my saddle for a pillow did I prop my weary head,\n  And my caftan-cloth unfolded o'er my limbs was lightly spread,\n  While beside me, both as Captain and as watchman of my band,\n  Lay my Bazra sword and pistols twain a-shimmering on the sand.\n\n  And the stillness was unbroken, save at moments by a cry\n  From some stray belated vulture sailing blackly down the sky,\n  Or the snortings of a sleeping steed at waters fancy-seen,\n  Or the hurried warlike mutterings of some dreaming Bedouin.\n\n  When, behold!--a sudden sandquake--and atween the earth and moon\n  Rose a mighty Host of Shadows, as from out some dim lagoon;\n  Then our coursers gasped with terror, and a thrill shook every man,\n  And the cry was \"_Allah Akbar_!--'tis the Spectre-Caravan!\"\n\n  On they came, their hueless faces toward Mecca evermore;\n  On they came, long files of camels, and of women whom they bore;\n  Guides and merchants, youthful maidens, bearing pitchers like Rebecca,\n  And behind them troops of horsemen, dashing, hurrying on to Mecca!\n\n  More and more! the phantom-pageant overshadowed all the Plains,\n  Yea, the ghastly camel-bones arose, and grew to camel-trains;\n  And the whirling column-clouds of sand to forms in dusky garbs,\n  Here, afoot as Hadjee pilgrims--there, as warriors on their barbs!\n\n  Whence we knew the Night was come when all whom Death had sought and\n    found,\n  Long ago amid the sands whereon their bones yet bleach around,\n  Rise by legions from the darkness of their prisons low and lone,\n  And in dim procession march to kiss the Kaaba's Holy Stone.\n\n  More and more! the last in order have not passed across the plain,\n  Ere the first with slackened bridle fast are flying back again.\n  From Cape Verde's palmy summits, even to Bab-el-Mandeb's sands,\n  They have sped ere yet my charger, wildly rearing, breaks his bands!\n\n  Courage! hold the plunging horses; each man to his charger's head!\n  Tremble not as timid sheep-flocks tremble at the lion's tread.\n  Fear not, though yon waving mantles fan you as they hasten on;\n  Call on _Allah_! and the pageant, ere you look again, is gone!\n\n  Patience! till the morning breezes wave again your turban's plume;\n  Morning air and rosy dawning are their heralds to the tomb.\n  Once again to dust shall daylight doom these Wand'rers of the night;\n  See, it dawns!--A joyous welcome neigh our horses to the light!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: DUSK ON THE DEAD SEA EUGEN BRACHT]\n\n  HAD I AT MECCA'S GATE BEEN NOURISHED[43] (1836)\n\n  Had I at Mecca's gate been nourished,\n    Or dwelt on Yemen's glowing sand,\n  Or from my youth in Sinai flourished,\n    A sword were now within this hand.\n\n  Then would I ride across the mountains\n    Until to Jethro's land I came,\n  And rest my flock beside the fountains\n    Where once the bush broke forth in flame.\n\n  And ever with the evening's coolness\n    My kindred to the tent would throng,\n  When verses with impassioned fulness\n    Would stream from me in glowing song.\n\n  The treasure of my lips would dower\n    A mighty tribe, a mighty land,\n  And as with a magician's power\n    I'd rule, a monarch, 'mid the sand.\n\n  My list'ners are a nomad nation,\n    To whom the desert's voice is dear;\n  Who dread the simoon's devastation\n    And fall before his wrath in fear.\n\n  All day they gallop, never idle--\n    Save by the spring--till set of sun;\n  They dash with loosely swaying bridle\n    From Aden unto Lebanon.\n\n  At night upon the earth reclining\n    They watch amid their sleeping herds,\n  And read the scroll of heaven, shining\n    With golden-lettered mystic words.\n\n  They often hear strange voices mutter\n    From Sinai's earthquake-shattered, height,\n  While desert phantoms rise and flutter\n    In wreaths of smoke before their sight.\n\n  See!--through yon fissure deep and dim there\n    The demon's forehead glows amain,\n  For as with me so 'tis with him there--\n    In the skull's cavern seethes the brain.\n\n  Oh, land of tents and arrows flying!\n    Oh, desert people brave and wise!\n  Thou Arab on thy steed relying,--\n    A poem in fantastic guise!\n\n  Here in the dark I roam so blindly--\n    How cunning is the North, and cold!\n  Oh, for the East, the warm and kindly,\n    To sing and ride, a Bedouin bold!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WILD FLOWERS[44] (1840)\n\n  Alone I strode where the broad Rhine flowed,\n    The hedge with roses was covered,\n  And wondrous rare through all the air\n    The scent of the vineyards hovered.\n  The cornflowers blue, the poppies too,\n    Waved in the wheat so proudly!\n  From a cliff near-by the joyous cry\n    Of a falcon echoed loudly.\n\n  Then I thought ere long of the old love song:\n    Ah, would that I were a falcon!\n  With its melody as a falcon free,\n    And daring, too, as a falcon.\n  As I sang, thought I: Toward the sun I'll fly,\n    The very tune shall upbear me\n  To her window small with a bolt in the wall,\n    Where I'll beat till she shall hear me.\n\n  Where the rose is brave, and curtains wave,\n    And ships by the bank are lying,\n  Two brown eyes dream o'er the lazy stream--\n    Oh, thither would I be flying!\n\n  With talons long and strange wild song\n    I'd perch me at her feet then,\n  Or bold I'd spread my wings o'er her head,\n    And gladly we should greet then.\n\n  Though I gaily sang and gaily sprang,\n    No pinions had I to aid me;\n  I took my path through the corn in wrath--\n    So restless my love had made me.\n  Then branch and tree all ruthlessly\n    I stripped, nor ceased from my ranting\n  Till with hands all torn and heart forlorn\n    I sank down, weary and panting.\n\n  While I heard the sound from all around\n    Of frolicking lads and lasses,\n  Alone for hours I gathered flowers\n    And bound them together with grasses.\n  O crude bouquet, O rude bouquet!--\n    Though many a girl despise it,\n  Yet come there may the happy day\n    When thou, my love, shalt prize it.\n\n  In fitting place it well might grace\n    An honest farmer's dwelling\n  These cornflowers mild and poppies wild,\n    With others past my telling;\n  The osier fine, the blossoming vine,\n    The meadow-sweetening clover--\n  All vagrant stuff, and like enough\n    To him, thy vagrant lover.\n\n  His dark eye beams, his visage gleams,\n    His clenched hand--how it trembles!\n  His fierce blood burns, his mad heart yearns,\n    His brow the storm resembles.\n\n  He breathes oppressed, with laboring breast--\n    His weeds and he rejected!\n  His flowers, oh, see!--shall they and he\n    Lie here at thy door neglected?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: DEATH ON THE BARRICADE ALFRED RETHEL]\n\n  THE DEAD TO THE LIVING[45] (July, 1848)\n\n  The bullet in the marble breast, the gash upon the brow,\n  You raised us on the bloody planks with wild and wrathful vow!\n  High in the air you lifted us, that every writhe of pain\n  Might be an endless curse to _him_, at whose word we were slain;\n  That he might see us in the gloom, or in the daylight's shine,\n  Whether he turns his Bible's leaf, or quaffs his foaming wine;\n  That the dread memory on his soul should evermore be burned,\n  A wasting and destroying flame within its gloom inurned;\n  That every mouth with pain convulsed, and every gory wound,\n  Be round him in the terror-hour, when his last bell shall sound;\n  That every sob above us heard smite shuddering on his ear;\n  That each pale hand be clenched to strike, despite his dying fear--\n  Whether his sinking head still wear its mockery of a crown,\n  Or he should lay it, bound, dethroned, on bloody scaffold down!\n\n  Thus, with the bullet in the breast, the gash upon the brow,\n  You laid us at the altar's foot, with deep and solemn vow!\n  \"Come down!\" ye cried--he trembling came--even to our bloody bed;\n  \"Uncover!\" and 'twas tamely done!--(like a mean puppet led,\n  Sank he whose life had been a farce, with fear unwonted shaken).\n  Meanwhile his army fled the field, which, dying, we had taken!\n  Loudly in \"_Jesus, thou my trust_!\" the anthem'd voices peal;\n  Why did the victor-crowds forget the sterner trust of steel?\n\n  That morning followed on the night when we together fell,\n  And when ye made our burial, there was triumph in the knell!\n  Though crushed behind the barricades, and scarred in every limb,\n  The pride of conscious Victory lay on our foreheads grim!\n  We thought: the price is dearly paid, but the treasures _must_ be true,\n  And rested calmly in the graves we swore to fill for you!\n\n  Alas! for you--we were deceived! Four moons have scarcely run,\n  Since cowardly you've forfeited what we so bravely won!\n  Squandered and cast to every wind the gain our death had brought!\n  Aye, all, we know--each word and deed our spirit-ears have caught!\n  Like waves came thundering every sound of wrong the country through:\n  The foolish war with Denmark! Poland betrayed anew!\n  The vengeance of Vendean men in many a province stern!\n  The calling back of banished troops! The Prince's base return!\n  Wherever barricades were built, the lock on press and tongue!\n  On the free right of all debate, the daily-practised wrong!\n  The groaning clang of prison-doors in North and South afar!\n  For all who plead the People's right, Oppression's ancient bar!\n  The bond with Russia's Cossacks! The slander fierce and loud,\n  Alas! that has become your share, instead of laurels proud--\n  Ye who have borne the hardest brunt, that Freedom might advance,\n  Victorious in defeat and death--June-warriors of France!\n  Yes, wrong and treason everywhere, the Elbe and Rhine beside,\n  And beat, oh German men! your hearts, with calm and sluggish tide?\n  _No war within your apron's folds_? Out with it, fierce and bold!\n  The second, final war with all who Freedom would withhold!\n  Shout: \"The Republic!\" till it drowns the chiming minster bells,\n  Whose sound this swindle of your rights by crafty Austria tells!\n\n  In vain! 'Tis time your faltering hands should disentomb us yet,\n  And lift us on the planks, begirt with many a bayonet;\n  Not to the palace-court, as then, that _he_ may near us stand--\n  No; to the tent, the market-place, and through the wakening land!\n  Out through the broad land bear us--the dead Insurgents sent,\n  To join, upon our ghastly biers, the German Parliament.\n  Oh solemn sight! there we should lie, the grave-earth on each brow,\n  And faces sunken in decay--the proper Regents now!\n  There we should lie and say to you: \"Ere we could waste away,\n  Your Freedom-gift, ye archons brave, is rotting in decay!\n  The Corn is housed which burst the sod, when the March sun on us shone,\n  But before all other harvests was Freedom's March-seed mown!\n  Chance poppies, which the sickle spared, among the stubbles stand;\n  Oh, would that Wrath, the crimson Wrath, thus blossomed in the land!\"\n  And yet, it _does_ remain; it springs behind the reaper's track;\n  Too much had been already gained, too much been stolen back;\n  Too much of scorn, too much of shame, heaped daily on your head--\n  Wrath and Revenge _must_ still be left, believe it, from the Dead!\n  It _does_ remain, and it awakes--it shall and must awake!\n  The Revolution, half complete, yet wholly forth will break.\n  It waits the hour to rise in power, like an up-rolling storm,\n  With lifted arms and streaming hair--a wild and mighty form!\n  It grasps the rusted gun once more, and swings the battered blade,\n  While the red banners flap the air from every barricade!\n  Those banners lead the German Guards--the armies of the Free--\n  Till Princes fly their blazing thrones and hasten towards the sea!\n  The boding eagles leave the land--the lion's claws are shorn--\n  The sovereign People, roused and bold, await the Future's morn!\n  Now, till the wakening hour shall strike, we keep our scorn and wrath\n  For you, ye Living! who have dared to falter on your path!\n  Up, and prepare--_keep watch in arms!_ Oh, make the German sod,\n  Above our stiffened forms, all free, and blest by Freedom's God;\n  That this one bitter thought no more disturb us in our graves:\n  \"_They once were free--they fell--and now, forever they are Slaves!_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHURRAH, GERMANIA![46] (July 25, 1870)\n\n  Hurrah! thou lady proud and fair,\n    Hurrah! Germania mine!\n  What fire is in thine eye, as there\n    Thou bendest o'er the Rhine!\n  How in July's full blaze dost thou\n    Flash forth thy sword, and go,\n  With heart elate and knitted brow,\n    To strike the invader low!\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  No thought hadst thou, so calm and light,\n    Of war or battle plain,\n  But on thy broad fields, waving bright,\n    Didst mow the golden grain,\n  With clashing sickles, wreaths of corn,\n    Thy sheaves didst garner in,\n  When, hark! across the Rhine War's horn\n    Breaks through the merry din!\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  Down sickle then and wreath of wheat\n    Amidst the corn were cast,\n  And, starting fiercely to thy feet,\n    Thy heart beat loud and fast;\n  Then with a shout I heard thee call:\n    \"Well, since you will, you may!\n  Up, up, my children, one and all,\n    On to the Rhine! Away!\"\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  From port to port the summons flew,\n    Rang o'er our German wave;\n  The Oder on her harness drew,\n    The Elbe girt on her glaive;\n  Neckar and Weser swell the tide,\n    Main flashes to the sun,\n  Old feuds, old hates are dash'd aside,\n    All German men are one!\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  Suabian and Prussian, hand in hand,\n    North, South, one host, one vow!\n  \"What is the German's Fatherland?\"\n    Who asks that question now?\n  One soul, one arm, one close-knit frame,\n    One will are we today;\n  Hurrah, Germania! thou proud dame,\n    Oh, glorious time, hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  Germania now, let come what may,\n    Will stand unshook through all;\n\n  This is our country's festal day;\n    Now woe betide thee, Gaul!\n  Woe worth the hour a robber thrust\n    Thy sword into thy hand!\n  A curse upon him that we must\n    Unsheathe our German brand!\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  For home and hearth, for wife and child,\n    For all loved things that we\n  Are bound to keep all undefiled\n    From foreign ruffianry!\n  For German right, for German speech,\n    For German household ways,\n  For German homesteads, all and each,\n    Strike home through battle's blaze!\n      Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n  Up, Germans, up, with God! The die\n    Clicks loud--we wait the throw!\n  Oh, who may think without a sigh\n    What blood is doom'd to flow?\n  Yet, look thou up, with fearless heart!\n    Thou must, thou shalt prevail!\n  Great, glorious, free as ne'er thou wert,\n    All hail, Germania, hail!\n      Hurrah! Victoria!\n      Hurrah! Germania!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE TRUMPET OF GRAVELOTTE[47] (Aug. 16, 1870)\n\n  Death and Destruction they belched forth in vain,\n    We grimly defied their thunder;\n  Two columns of foot and batteries twain,\n    We rode and cleft them asunder.\n\n  With brandished sabres, with reins all slack,\n    Raised standards, and low-couched lances,\n  Thus we Uhlans and Cuirassiers wildly drove back,\n    And hotly repelled their advances.\n\n  But the ride was a ride of death and of blood;\n    With our thrusts we forced them to sever;\n  But of two whole regiments, lusty and good,\n    Out of two men, one rose never.\n\n  With breast shot through, with brow gaping wide,\n    They lay pale and cold in the valley,\n  Snatched away in their youth, in their manhood's pride--\n    Now, Trumpeter, sound to the rally!\n\n  And he took the trumpet, whose angry thrill\n    Urged us on to the glorious battle,\n  And he blew a blast--but all silent and still\n    Was the trump, save a dull hoarse rattle,\n\n  Save a voiceless wail, save a cry of woe,\n    That burst forth in fitful throbbing--\n  A bullet had pierced its metal through,\n    For the Dead the wounded was sobbing!\n\n  For the faithful, the brave, for our brethren all,\n    For the Watch on the Rhine, true-hearted!\n  Oh, the sound cut into our inmost soul!--\n    It brokenly wailed the Departed!\n\n  And now fell the night, and we galloped past,\n    Watch-fires were flaring and flying,\n  Our chargers snorted, the rain poured fast--\n    And we thought of the Dead and the Dying!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMORITZ GRAF VON STRACHWITZ\n\n\n  DOUGLAS OF THE BLEEDING HEART[48] (1842)\n\n  Earl Douglas, don thy helm so bright,\n    And buckle thy sword with speed,\n  Bind on thy sharpest spurs to-night\n    And saddle thy swiftest steed!\n\n  \"The death watch ticks in the hall of Scone,\n    All Scotland hears its warning,\n  King Robert in pains of death does groan,\n    He'll never see the morning.\"\n\n  For nigh on forty miles they sped\n    And spoke of words not four,\n  And horse and spur with blood were red\n    When they came to the palace door.\n\n  King Robert lay at the north tower's turn;\n    With death he'd begun to battle:\n  \"I hear the sword of Bannockburn\n    On the stairway clatter and rattle.\n\n  \"Ha! Welcome in God's name, gallant lord!\n    My end cometh presently,\n  And thou shalt harken my latest word\n    And write down my will for me:\n\n  \"'Twas on the day of Bannockburn,\n    When Scotland's star rose high,\n  'Twas on the day of Bannockburn\n    That a vow to God vowed I;\n\n  \"I vowed that, should He defend my right\n    And give me the victory there,\n  With a thousand lances I'd go to fight\n    For His holy sepulchre.\n\n  \"I'm perjured, for still my heart doth stand,\n    'Twas broken with care and strife;\n  The man who would rule o'er the Scottish land\n    May scarce lead a pilgrim's life.\n\n  \"But thou, when my voice has sunk to rest,\n    When grief and glory depart,\n  Shalt straightway cut from out my breast\n    My battle-o'erwearied heart.\n\n  \"Then thou shalt wrap the samite red\n    And lock it in yellow gold,\n  And when o'er my bier the mass is said,\n    Let the flag of the cross be unrolled.\n\n  \"Take a thousand steeds at thy command\n    And a thousand knights also,\n  And carry my heart to the Savior's land\n    That peace my soul may know.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Make ready, gallants, for the start,\n    Let plume from helmet sway!\n  The Douglas bears the Bruce's heart,\n    And who shall bar his way?\n\n  \"Now cut the ropes, ye seamen brave\n    And hoist the sail so free!\n  The king must to his dark, dark grave,\n    And we to the dark-blue sea.\"\n\n  Then into the east they sailed away\n    Full ninety days and nine,\n  And at the dawn of the hundredth day\n    They landed in Palestine.\n\n  Across the yellow desert they wound\n    As a shining river might flow,\n  The sun it pierced through their helmets' round\n    Like an arrow shot from a bow.\n\n  The desert was still, there breathed no gust,\n    All limply the flags were streaming,\n  When up to the sky rose a cloud of dust\n    Whence lightning of spears was gleaming.\n\n  The desert was thronged, the din grew loud,\n    The dust was on every side.\n  And thick as rain from each bursting cloud\n    Did the spear-armed Saracens ride.\n\n  Ten thousand lances glittered to right,\n    Ten thousand sparkled to left,\n  \"Allah il Allah!\" they shouted to right,\n    \"Il Allah!\" they echoed to left.\n\n  The Douglas drew his bridle rein,\n    And still stood earl and knight;\n  \"By the cross on which our Lord was slain\n    'Twill be a deadly fight!\"\n\n  A noble chain his neck embraced\n    In golden windings three.\n  The locket to his lips he placed\n    And kissed it fervently:\n\n  \"Since thou hast ever gone before,\n    O heart, by night and day,\n  E'en so today do thou once more\n    Precede me in the fray.\n\n  \"And now may God this boon bestow,\n    As I to thee have been true,\n  That I may strike a Christian blow\n    Against this heathen crew.\"\n\n  He threw his shield o'er his left side,\n    Bound on his helm so proud,\n  And as to battle he did ride,\n    He rose and called aloud:\n\n  \"Who brings this locket back to me\n    Be his the day's renown!\"\n  Then 'mid the paynims mightily\n    He hurled the king's heart down.\n\n  Each made the cross with his left thumb,\n    The right hand held the lance,\n  No fear had they though fiends had come\n    To check their bold advance.\n\n  A sudden crash, a headlong flight,\n    And mad death raging around--\n  But when the sun sank in the sea's blue light\n    From the desert there came no sound.\n\n  For the pride of the east was there laid low\n    In the sweep of the death-strewed plain,\n  And the sand so red in the afterglow\n    Would never be white again.\n\n  Of all the heathen, by God's good grace\n    Not one had escaped that harm,\n  Short patience have men of the Scottish race\n    And ever a long sword-arm!\n\n  But where had been the fellest strife,\n    There lay in the moonlight clear\n  The good Earl Douglas, reft of life\n    By a hellish heathen spear.\n\n  All cleft and rent was the mail he wore,\n    And finished his mortal smart.\n  Yet under his shield he clasped once more\n    King Robert Bruce's heart.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGEORG HERWEGH\n\n\n  THE STIRRUP-CUP[49] (1840)\n\n  The anxious night is gone at last,\n  Silent and mute we gallop past\n    And ride to our destiny.\n  How keen the morning breezes blow!\n  Hostess, one glass more ere we go,\n    We go to die!\n\n  Thou soft young grass, why now so green?\n  Soon like the rose shall be thy sheen,\n    My blood thee red shall dye.\n  The first quick sip with sword in hand\n  I drink, a toast to our native land,\n    For our native land to die.\n\n  Now for the next, the time is short,\n  The next to Freedom, the queen we court,--\n    The fiery cup drain dry!\n  These dregs--to whom shall we dedicate?\n  To thee, Imperial German State,\n    For the German State to die!\n\n  My sweetheart!--But there's no more wine--\n  The bullets whistle, the lance heads shine--\n    To her the glass where the fragments lie!\n  Up! Like a whirlwind into the fray!\n  O horseman's joy, at the break of day,\n    At the break of day to die!\n\n[Illustration: GEORG HERWEGH]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEMANUEL GEIBEL\n\n\n  THE WATCHMAN'S SONG[50] (1840)\n\n  Wake--awake! The cry rings out;\n  From the high watch-tower comes the shout.\n  Awake, imperial German land--\n  Ye by distant Danube dwelling,\n  And where the infant Rhine is swelling,\n  And where the bleak dunes pile their sand!\n    For hearth and home keep watch,\n    Sword from its scabbard snatch;\n      Every hour\n    For bitter fight\n    Prepare aright--\n  The day of combat is in sight!\n\n  Hear in the East the ominous cry\n  That tells a greedy foe draws nigh--\n  The vulture, thirsting for the strife.\n  Hear in the west the serpent's hiss\n  Whose siren-fangs are set for this,\n  To poison all your virtuous life.\n    Near is the vulture's swoop;\n    The serpent coils to stoop\n      For the stroke;\n    Then watch and pray\n    Until the day--\n  Your swords be sharpened for the fray!\n\n  Pure in life, in faith as strong,\n  Let no man do your courage wrong;\n  Be one, what time the trump shall sound.\n\n  Cleanse your souls by fervent prayer,\n  That so the Lord may find them fair\n  When He shall make His questioning round,\n    The Cross be still your pride,\n    Your banner and your guide\n      In the battle!\n    Who in the field\n    Their fealty yield\n  To God, victorious weapons wield.\n\n  Look Thou down from heaven above,\n  Thou Whom the angels praise and love--\n  Be gracious to our German land!\n  Speak from the clouds with thunder-voice;\n  Princes and people of Thy choice,\n  Unite them with a mighty hand.\n    Be Thou our fortress-tower,\n    Bring us through danger's hour.\n      Hallelujah!\n    Thine is today\n    And shall alway\n  Kingdom, and power, and glory stay!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: E. HADER EMANUEL GEIBEL]\n\n  THE CALL OF THE ROAD[51] (1841)\n\n  Sweet May it is come, and the trees are in bloom--\n  Who wills may sit listless with sorrow at home!\n  As the clouds go a-roving up there in the sky,\n  So away for a life of adventure am I!\n\n  Kind father, dear mother, God be with you now!\n  Who knows what my fortune is waiting to show?\n  There is many a road that I never have gone,\n  There is many a wine that I never have known.\n\n  Then up with the sun, and away where it leads,\n  High over the mountains and down through the meads!\n  The brooks they are singing, the trees hear the call;\n  My heart's like a lark and sings out with them all.\n\n  And at night, when I come to a cozy old nest,\n  \"Mine host, now a bottle--and make it your best!\n  And you, merry fiddler, tune up for a song,\n  A song of my sweetheart--I'll help it along!\"\n\n  If I come to no inn, then my slumber I'll snatch\n  'Neath the kindly blue sky, with the stars to keep watch.\n  The trees with their rustling will lull me to sleep;\n  Dawn's kisses will wake me, and up I shall leap.\n\n  Then ho! for the road, and the life that I love,\n  And God's pure air to cool your hot brow as you rove.\n  The heart sings for joy in the sun's merry beams--\n  All, wherefore so lovely, wide world of my dreams?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  AUTUMN DAYS[52] (1845)\n\n  Sunny days of the autumn,\n    Days that shall make me whole,\n  When a balm for wounds that were bleeding\n    Drops silently on the soul!\n\n  Now seem the hours to be brooding\n    In still, beneficent rest,\n  And with a quieter motion\n    Heaves now the laboring breast.\n\n  To rest from the world's endeavor,\n    To build on the soul's deep base--\n  That is my only craving,\n    In the stillness of love to gaze.\n\n  O'er the hills, through the dales I wander,\n    Where the shy sweet streamlets call,\n  Following each clear sunbeam,\n    Whether scorching or kind it fall.\n\n  There where the leaves are turning,\n    I harken with reverent ear;\n  All that is growing or dying,\n    Fading or blooming, I hear.\n\n  Blissful I learn my lesson--\n    How through the world's wide sweep\n  Matter and spirit together\n    Their concord eternal keep.\n\n  What blows in the rustling forest,\n    Takes life from the sun and rain,\n  Is a symbol of truth immortal\n    To the soul that can read it plain.\n\n  Each tiniest plant that blossoms\n    With the perfume of its birth\n  Holds in its cup the secret\n    Of the whole mysterious earth.\n\n  It looks down from the cliffs in silence,\n    Speaks in the waves' long swell--\n  But all its wonderful meaning\n    The poet alone can tell.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: LUDWIG RICHTER JOURNEYING]\n\n  THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS[53] (1856?)\n\n  On Cape Misenum shone a palace fair\n  Among the laurels by the summer sea;\n  Long colonnades, and wondrous artistry,\n  And all that should a gorgeous feast prepare.\n  Oft saw it scenes of midnight revelry\n  Where moved soft boys, their brows with ivy crowned,\n  And silver-footed damsels, capering round,\n  The thyrsus swung; with merry shouts of glee\n  And rippling laughter, and the lyre's soft tone,\n  It rang till fell the dew, and night was gone.\n\n  Tonight, how still! But here and there is traced\n  A lighted window; in the shadowy space\n  About the doors, slaves throng with awestruck face.\n  Litters draw nigh, and men spring out in haste;\n  And as each comes, a question runs its round\n  Through all the quivering circle of the spies\n  \"What says the leech? How goes it?\" Hush--no sound!\n  The end is near--the fierce old tiger dies!\n  Up there on purple cushion, in the light\n  Of flickering lamps, pale C\u00e6sar waits for morn;\n  His sallow face, by hideous ulcers torn,\n  Looks ghastlier than was e'er its wont tonight;\n  Hollow the eyes; the fire of fell disease\n  And burning fever runs through every limb;\n  None but the aged leech abides with him,\n  And Macro, trusted bearer of the keys.\n\n  And now, with stifled cry, by fears oppressed,\n  The sick man feebly throws his coverings off\n  \"Let me, O Greek, a cooling potion quaff!\n  Ice--ice! Vesuvius burns within my breast.\n  Gods! how it flames! Yet in my anguished brain\n  The torturing thoughts burn fiercer far, and worse ...\n  A thousand times their tireless strength I curse,\n  Yet cannot find refreshment. 'Tis in vain\n  I cry for Lethe; where the frankincense\n  Sends up its smoke, from all the ancient wars\n  The victims lift their faces, seamed with scars,\n  In grim reproachful gaze to call me hence.\n  Germanicus--Sejanus--Drusus rise ...\n  Who brought you hither? Has the grave no bars?\n  Ah, 'tis past bearing, how with corpse-cold eyes\n  Ye suck the life-blood from me pitilessly!\n  I know I slew you--but it had to be.\n  Was it my fault ye threw the losing dice?\n  Away! Alas--when ends my misery?\"\n\n  The grave physician held the cup; he drank\n  Its cooling at a draught, then feebly sank\n  Among the pillows, still with wandering eye\n  About the chamber, from his forehead dank\n  Wiping the dews: \"They're gone? No more they try\n  To fright me? Ah, perchance 'twas but the mist ...\n  Yet often have they come, by night--in what dread guise\n  None knows but I ... Come, sit thee near me ... hist!\n  And let me tell of dim old memories.\n\n  \"I too was young once, trusted in my star,\n  Had faith in men; but all the glamour of youth\n  Vanished too soon--and, piercing to the truth,\n  I found some evil each fair show to mar.\n  No thing I saw so high and free from blame\n  But worms were at its heart; each noble deed\n  Revealed self-seeking as its primal seed.\n  Love, honor, virtue--each was but a name!\n  Naught marked us off, vile creatures of the dust,\n  From ravening brutes, save on the smiling face\n  A honeyed falseness--in the heart so base\n  A craven weakness and a fiercer lust.\n  Where was a friend had not his friend betrayed\n  A brother guiltless of a brother's death,\n  A wife that hid no poisoned sting beneath\n  A fond embrace? Of one clay all were made!\n  Thus I became as they. Since only fear\n  Could tame that crew, I bade its form draw near.\n  It was a war I waged; I found a joy\n  Undreamed-of in their death-cries, and in blood\n  Full ankle-deep I waded--victor stood,\n  To find at last that horror too could cloy!\n  Now, grimly bearing what I may not mend,\n  Remorseless, unconsoled, I wait the end.\"\n\n  His dull voice sank to silence. Moaning low,\n  He met new pains: cold sweat stood on his brow.\n  In fearsome change his face the watchers saw\n  Grow like some hideous mask; till Macro came\n  Nearer the throne-like couch, and spoke a name\n  \"Shall I thy nephew call--Caligula?\n  Thy sickness waxes--\"\n\n                          Hissed the prince in scorn:\n  \"My curse upon thee, viper! What to thee\n  Is Caius? Still I live! And he was born\n  To ape the others--lies, greed, roguery,\n  And aught but manhood. If he had, 'twere vain;\n  No hero now Rome's downfall may restrain.\n  If gods there were, upon this ruined soil\n  No god could bring forth fruit; but that weak lad!\n  Nay, nay, not him--the spirits stern and sad\n  That dog my steps and mock at all my coil,\n  The Furies of the abyss that drive me mad,\n  Them--them and chaos--leave I of my toil\n  The heritage. For them the sceptre!\"\n\n                                       So\n  Up leaped he as he was, dire agony\n  Twisting his features, from the window high\n  Tore back the curtain, cast with frenzied throw\n  The wand of empire far into the night--\n  Then, senseless, crumbled.\n\n                              In the court below\n  A soldier stood at guard--a man of might,\n  Fair-haired and long of limb. Straight to his feet\n  It rolled, the rounded ivory, and upsprang\n  From off the polished marble with a clang\n\n  That seemed to say 'twas minded him to greet.\n  He took it up, unknowing what it meant;\n  And soon his thoughts pursued their former bent.\n  Of far-off, sombre German woods he dreamed;\n  He saw the waving tree-tops of the north,\n  He saw the comrades to their tryst go forth.\n  Each word true as their own sharp weapons seemed,\n  As much for friendship as for war their worth.\n  Then thought he of his wife; he saw her sit\n  In all the glory of her golden hair\n  Before their hut, whirling the spindle there\n  Send forth her thoughts across the leagues to flit\n  And reach him here. In that same woodland shrine\n  A merry boy was carving his first spear,\n  His blue eyes flashing boldly in scorn of fear,\n  As though he said--\"A sword--the world is mine!\"\n  Then swift he saw another vision come\n  Unbidden, hide the pictures of his home,\n  Press on his soul with irresistible might--\n  How once, far in the East, he stood to guard\n  The cross where hung a Man with visage marred--\n  And at His death the sun was plunged in night.\n  Long since, that day had faded in the West;\n  Yet could he ne'er the Sufferer's look forget--\n  The deep abyss of infinite sorrow, and yet\n  The fulness of all blessing it expressed.\n  Now (what could this portend?) to his old home\n  He saw that cross a conquering symbol come;\n  And lo, the assembled tribes of all his race\n  Innumerable moved, and o'er their host\n  On all their banners, as their proudest boast,\n  The same Man's image, a glory round His face ...\n\n  Sudden he started; from the halls above\n  Came harsh, quick shouts--the lord of the world was dead!\n  Awe struck the soldier stared where dawn hung red,\n  And saw the Future's mighty curtain move.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: Permission Macmillan and Co., New York, and George Bell &\nSons, Ltd., London.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Or in Goethe:\n\n  \"Zuschlagen kann die Masse,\n  Da ist sie respektabel;\n  Urteilen gelingt ihr miserabel.\"]\n\n[Footnote 3: _The Dial_, Vol. II, No. 1.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Cf. _Fanny Tarnow_ (1835), Z. Funck (1836), and _Otto\nBerdrow_, 2d Edition, 1902, p. 338 seq.]\n\n[Footnote 5: This is Rahel's expression, the tribute of admiration\nforced from the childless woman fresh from the Berlin salons, by the\nspectacle of Bettina romping with her children in the nursery.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Cf. Herman Grimm, _Briefwechsel_, 3 Aug. 1881, s. XVII:\n\"For her circle of relatives and friends in the descending line, Bettina\nhas remained a near relative of a higher order.\"]\n\n[Footnote 7: James Freeman Clarke's estimate of Margaret Fuller and her\ninfluence (_Memoirs_, I, 97) supplies interesting, though not specific\nconfirmation of the point of view here suggested.]\n\n[Footnote 8: In his _Aristeia der Mutter_. Werke, Weimarer Ausgabe, Bd.\n29, ss. 231-238, Goethe acknowledged Bettina's faithfulness and complete\ncredibility for these details. Cf. also Reinhold Steig, _Achim von Arnim\nand Clemens Brentano_, Stuttgart, 1894, s. 379.]\n\n[Footnote 9: Translator's Preface to _Eckermann's Conversations with\nGoethe_.]\n\n[Footnote 10: According to the investigations of R. Steig, _Achim von\nArnim and Clemens Brentano_ (1894), Bettina was born in the year 1788.\nInternal evidence is at hand to support this view. Bettina herself\nstated (_Briefwechsel_, 538) that she was sixteen when her enthusiasm\nfor Goethe first manifested itself as an elemental force. From another\npassage we learn that this was three years before her first meeting with\nthe poet in 1807, \"in the heyday between childhood and maidenhood.\" The\n\"Child\" of the first letters of the Correspondence was, accordingly,\njust nineteen. German authorities have accepted 1788 as Bettina's\nbirth-year, but English publications, including the Encyclop\u00e6dia\nBritannica (1911) still cling to 1785, the old date. Herman Grimm's\naccount of Bettina's interests at threescore (_Briefwechsel_, XIX, f.)\nreveals the same preoccupation with Goethe, Shakespeare, and Beethoven.\nShe died in the year 1859.]\n\n[Footnote 11: A mountain range between the Neckar and Main rivers.]\n\n[Footnote 12: The reference is to the _Elective Affinities_ of Goethe,\nin which Edward, the husband of Charlotte, is obsessed with a passion\nfor the latter's foster-daughter, Ottilie, which results in the death of\nthe two lovers.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Ottilie in _Elective Affinities_.]\n\n[Footnote 14: From _Spaziergaenge eines Wiener Poeten_. Translator:\nSarah T. Barrows.]\n\n[Footnote 15: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 16: Translator: Kate Freiligrath Kroeker. (From _A Century of\nGerman Lyrics_.)]\n\n[Footnote 17: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 18: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 19: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 20: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 21: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 22: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 23: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 24: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 25: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 26: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 27: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 28: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 29: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 30: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 31: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 32: _Invocation to Calliope_, Bk. III, Ode IV.]\n\n[Footnote 33: The friend and patron of Haydn, to whose support and\ninterest we owe many works of art.]\n\n[Footnote 34: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 35: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 36: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 37: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 38: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 39: Translator: M.G. in _Chambers' Journal_. Permission\nBernhard Tauchnitz, Leipzig.]\n\n[Footnote 40: Translator: C.T. Brooks. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz,\nLeipzig.]\n\n[Footnote 41: Translator: J.C. Mangan. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz,\nLeipzig.]\n\n[Footnote 42: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 43: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 44: Translator: Bayard Taylor. Permission Bernhard Tauchnitz,\nLeipzig.]\n\n[Footnote 45: _Pall Mall Gazette_, London. Permission Bernhard\nTauchnitz, Leipzig.]\n\n[Footnote 46: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission Bernhard\nTauchnitz, Leipzig.]\n\n[Footnote 47: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]\n\n[Footnote 48: Translator: William G. Howard.]\n\n[Footnote 49: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.]\n\n[Footnote 50: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.]\n\n[Footnote 51: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman]\n\n[Footnote 52: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.]\n\n[Footnote 53: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.]","title":"The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 07: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. in Twenty Volumes","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":160981}