The Autobiography of Goethe Truth and Poetry · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
TENTH BOOK.
We now followed the down-rushing brooks through Bärenthal. The thick forests on both the heights remain unused by the hand of man. Here trunks of trees lie rotting on each other by thousands, and young scions sprout up without number from their half-mouldered progenitors. Here, in conversation with some companions on foot, the name Von Dieterich again struck our ears, which we had often heard honourably mentioned already in these woody regions. The activity and cleverness of this man, his wealth, and the use and applications of it, all seemed in proportion. He could with justice take delight in the acquisitions which he increased, and enjoy the profits he secured. The more I saw of the world, the more pleasure I took, not only in the universally famous names, but in those also, especially, which were mentioned in particular regions with reverence and love: and thus I easily learned here, by a few questions, that Von Dieterich, earlier than others, had known how to make successful use of the mountain treasures, iron, coal, and wood, and had worked his way to an ever-growing opulence. Niederbrunn, where we now arrived, was a new proof of this. He had purchased this little place from the Count of Leiningen and other part-owners, to erect important iron-works in the place. Here in these baths, already founded by the Romans, floated around me the spirit of antiquity, venerable relics of which, in fragments of bas-reliefs and inscriptions, capitals and shafts, shone out strangely towards me, from farm-houses, amidst household lumber and furniture.
A Protestant country clergyman is, perhaps, the most beautiful subject for a modern idyl; he appears, like Melchizedek, as priest and king in one person. To the most innocent situation which can be imagined on earth, to that of a husbandman, he is, for the most part, united by similarity of occupation, as well as by equality in family relationships; he is a father, a master of a family, an agriculturist, and thus perfectly a member of the community. On this pure, beautiful, earthly foundation, rests his higher calling: to him is it given to guide men through life, to take care** of their spiritual education, to bless them at all the leading epochs of their existence, to instruct, to strengthen, to console them, and, if consolation is not sufficient for the present, to call up and guarantee the hope of a happier future. Imagine such a man, with pure human sentiments, strong enough not to deviate from them under any circumstances, and by this already elevated above the multitude, of whom one cannot expect purity and firmness; give him the learning necessary for his office, as well as a cheerful, equable activity, which is even passionate, as it neglects no moment to do good,--and you will have him well endowed. But at the same time add the necessary limitation, so that he must not only pause in a small circle, but may also perchance pass over to a smaller; grant him good-nature, placability, resolution, and everything else praiseworthy that springs from a decided character, and over all this a cheerful spirit of compliance, and a smiling toleration of his own failings and those of others,--then you will have put together pretty well the image of our excellent Wakefield.
I may suppose that my readers know this work, and have it in memory; whoever hears it named for the first time here, as well as he who is induced to read it again, will thank me. For the former, I would merely make the cursory remark, that the vicar's wife is of that good, busy sort, who allows herself and her own to want for nothing, but who is also somewhat vain of herself and her own. There are two daughters,--Olivia, handsome and more devoted to the external, and Sophia, charming and more given to the internal; nor will I omit to mention an industrious son, Moses, who is somewhat blunt and emulous of his father. If Herder could be accused of any fault in his reading aloud, it was impatience; he did not wait until the hearer had heard and comprehended a certain part of the progress, so as to be able to feel and think correctly about it; hurrying on, he would see their effect at once, and yet he was displeased even with this when it manifested itself. He blamed the excess of feeling which overflowed from me more and more at every step. I felt like a man, like a young man; everything was living, true, and present before me. He, considering only the intrinsic contents and form, saw clearly, indeed, that I was overpowered by the subject-matter, and this he would not allow. Then Peglow's reflections, which were not of the most refined, were still worse received; but he was especially angry at our want of keenness in not seeing beforehand the contrasts of which the author often makes use, and in suffering ourselves to be moved and carried away by them without remarking the oft-returning artifice. He would not pardon us for not seeing at once, or at least suspecting at the very beginning, where Burchell is on the point of discovering himself by passing over in his narration from the third to the first person, that he himself is the lord of whom he is speaking; and when, finally, we rejoiced like children at the discovery and the transformation of the poor, needy wanderer, into a rich, powerful lord, he immediately recalled the passage, which, according to the author's plan, we had overlooked, and read us a powerful lecture on our stupidity. It wall be seen from this that he regarded the work merely as a production of art, and required the same of us, who were yet wandering in that state where it is very allowable to let works of art affect us like productions of nature.
I did not suffer myself to be at all perplexed by Herder's invectives; for young people have the happiness or unhappiness, that, when once anything has produced an effect on them, this effect must be wrought out within themselves; from which much good, as well as much mischief, arises. The above work had left with me a great impression, for which I could not account, but properly speaking, I felt myself in harmony with that ironical tone of mind which elevates itself above every object, above fortune and misfortune, good and evil, death and life, and thus attains to the possession of a truly poetical world. I could not, indeed, become conscious of this until later; it was enough that it gave me much to do at the moment; but I could by no means have expected to be so soon transposed from this fictitious world into a similar real one. [Side-note: Pleasures of Travelling Incognito.]
My fellow-boarder, Weyland, who enlivened his quiet, laborious life by visiting from time to time his friends and relations in the country (for he was a native of Alsace), did me many services on my little excursions, by introducing me to different localities and families, sometimes in person, sometimes by recommendations. He had often spoken to me about a country clergyman who lived near Drusenheim, six leagues from Strasburg, in possession of a good benefice, with an intelligent wife and a pair of amiable daughters. The hospitality and agreeableness of this family were always highly extolled. It scarcely needed so much to draw thither a young knight who had already accustomed himself to spend all his leisure days and hours on horseback and in the open air. We decided therefore upon this trip, and my friend had to promise that on introducing me he would say neither good nor ill of me, but would treat me with general indifference, and would allow me to make my appearance clad, if not meanly, yet somewhat poorly and negligently. He consented to this, and promised himself some sport from it.
It is a pardonable whim in men of consequence, to place their exterior advantages in concealment now and then, so as to allow their own internal human nature to operate with the greater purity. For this reason the incognito of princes, and the adventures resulting therefrom, are always highly pleasing; these appear disguised divinities, who can reckon at double its value all the good offices shown to them as individuals, and are in such a position that they can either make light of the disagreeable or avoid it. That Jupiter should be well pleased in his incognito with Philemon and Baucis, and Henry the Fourth with his peasants after a hunting party, is quite conformable to nature, and we like it well; but that a young man without importance or name, should take it into his head to derive some pleasure from an incognito, might be construed by many as an unpardonable piece of arrogance. Yet since the question here is not of such views and actions, so far as they are praiseworthy or blameable, but so far as they can manifest themselves and actually occur, we will on this occasion, for the sake of our own amusement, pardon the youngster his self-conceit; and the more so, as I must here allege, that from youth upwards, a love for disguising myself had been excited in me even by my stem father.
This time, too, partly by some cast-off clothes of my own, partly by some borrowed garments and by the manner of combing my hair, I had, if not disfigured myself, yet at least decked myself out so oddly, that my friend could not help laughing on the way, especially as I knew how to imitate perfectly the bearing and gestures of such figures when they sit on horseback, and which are called "Latin riders." The fine road, the most splendid weather, and the neighbourhood of the Rhine, put us in the best humour. At Drusenheim we stopped a moment, he to make himself spruce, and I to rehearse my part, out of which I was afraid I should now and then fall. The country here has the characteristics of all the open, level Alsace. We rode on a pleasant foot-path over the meadows, soon reached Sesenheim, left our horses at the tavern, and walked leisurely towards the parsonage. "Do not be put out," said Weyland, showing me the house from a distance, "because it looks like an old miserable farm-house, it is so much the younger inside." We stepped into the court-yard; the whole pleased me well: for it had exactly that which is called picturesque, and which had so magically interested me in Dutch art. The effect which time produces on all human work was strongly perceptible. House, barn, and stable were just at that point of dilapidation where, indecisive and doubtful between preserving and rebuilding, one often neglects the one without being able to accomplish the other.
The confidential tone of the man was something peculiar; he talked to me as if he had known me for ten years, while there was nothing in his look from which I could have suspected that he was directing any attention to me. At last my friend came in with the mother. She seemed to look at me with quite different eyes. Her countenance was regular, and the expression of it intelligent; she must have been beautiful in her youth. Her figure was tall and spare, but not more so than became her years, and when seen from behind, she had yet quite a youthful and pleasing appearance. The elder daughter then came bouncing in briskly; she inquired after Frederica, just as both the others had also done. The father assured them that he had not seen her since all three had gone out together. The daughter again went out at the door to look for her sister; the mother brought us some refreshment, and Weyland, with the old couple, continued the conversation, which referred to nothing but known persons and circumstances; as, indeed, it is usually the case when acquaintances meet after some length of time, that they make inquiries, and mutually give each other information about the members of a large circle. I listened, and now learned how much I had to promise myself from this circle.
The elder daughter again came hastily back into the room, uneasy at not having found her sister. They were anxious about her, and blamed her for this or that bad habit; only the father said, very composedly, "Let her alone; she has already come back!" At this instant she really entered the door; and then truly a most charming star arose in this rural heaven. Both daughters still wore nothing but German, as they used to call it, and this almost obsolete national costume became Frederica particularly well. A short, white, full skirt, with a furbelow, not so long but that the neatest little feet were visible up to the ankle; a tight white bodice and a black taffeta apron,--thus she stood on the boundary between country girl and city girl. Slender and light, she tripped along as if she had nothing to carry, and her neck seemed almost too delicate for the large fair braids on her elegant little head. From cheerful blue eyes she looked very plainly round, and her pretty turned-up nose peered as freely into the air as if there could be no care in the world; her straw hat hung on her arm, and thus, at the first glance, I had the delight of seeing her, and acknowledging her at once in all her grace and loveliness.
I now began to act my character with moderation, half ashamed to play a joke on such good people, whom I had time enough to observe: for the girls continued the previous conversation, and that with passion and some display of temper. All the neighbours and connexions were again brought forward, and there seemed, to my imagination, such a swarm of uncles and aunts, relations, cousins, comers, goers, gossips and guests, that I thought myself lodged in the liveliest world possible. All the members of the family had spoken some words with me, the mother looked at me every time she came in or went out, but Frederica first entered into conversation with me, and as I took up and glanced through some music that was lying around, she asked me if I played also? When I answered in the affirmative, she requested me to perform something; but the father would not allow this, for he maintained that it was proper to serve the guest first with some piece of music or a song. She played several things with some readiness, in the style which one usually hears in the country, and on a harpsichord, too, that the schoolmaster should have tuned long since, if he had only had time. She was now to sing a song also, a certain tender-melancholy affair; but she did not succeed in it. She rose up and said, smiling, or rather with that touch of serene joy which ever reposed, on her countenance, "If I sing badly, I cannot lay the blame on the harpsichord or the schoolmaster; but let us go out of doors; then you shall hear my Alsatian and Swiss songs; they sound much better."
The conversation at table extended my insight into this country and family circle, since the discourse was about various droll incidents which had happened now here, now there. Frederica, who sat by me, thence took occasion to describe to me different localities which it was worth while to visit. As one little story always calls forth another, I was able to mingle so much the better in the conversation, and to relate similar incidents, and as, besides this, a good country wine was by no means spared, I stood in danger of slipping out of my character, for which reason my more prudent friend took advantage of the beautiful moonlight, and proposed a walk, which was approved at once. He gave his arm to the elder, I to the younger, and thus we went through the wide field, paying more attention to the heavens above us than to the earth, which lost itself in extension around us. There was, however, nothing of moonshine in Frederica's discourse; by the clearness with which she spoke she turned night into day, and there was nothing in it which would have indicated or excited any feeling, except that her expressions related more than hitherto to me, since she represented to me her own situation, as well as the neighbourhood and her acquaintances, just as far as I should be acquainted with them; for she hoped, she added, I would make no exception, and would visit them again, as all strangers had willingly done who had once stopped with them.
It was very pleasant to me to listen silently to the description which she gave of the little world in which she moved, and of the persons whom she particularly valued. She thereby imparted to me a clear, and, at the same time, such an amiable idea of her situation, that it had a very strange effect on me; for I felt at once a deep regret that I had not lived with her sooner, and at the same time a truly painful envious feeling towards all who had hitherto had the good fortune to surround her. I at once watched closely, as if I had a right to do so, all her descriptions of men, whether they appeared under the names of neighbours, cousins, or gossips, and my conjectures inclined now this way, now that; but how could I have discovered anything in my complete ignorance of all the circumstances? She at last became more and more talkative, and I more and more silent. It was so pleasant to listen to her, and as I heard only her voice, while the form of her countenance, as well as the rest of the world, floated dimly in the twilight, it seemed to me as if I could see into her heart, which I could not but find very pure, since it unbosomed itself to me in such unembarrassed loquacity.
Thus we chatted together far into the night, and I was awake again at the dawn. My desire to see her once more seemed unconquerable; but while I dressed myself, I was horrified at the accursed wardrobe I had so wantonly selected. The further I advanced in putting on my clothes, the meaner I seemed in my own eyes; for everything had been calculated for just this effect. My hair I might perchance have set to rights; but when at last I forced myself into the borrowed, worn-out grey coat, and the short sleeves gave me the most absurd appearance, I fell the more decidedly into despair, as I could see myself only piecemeal, in a little looking-glass since one part always looked more ridiculous than the other.
During this toilette my friend awoke, and with the satisfaction of a good conscience, and in the feeling of pleasurable hope for the day, looked out at me from the quilted silk coverlet. I had for a long time already envied him his fine clothes, as they hung over the chair, and had he been of my size, I would have carried them off before his eyes, changed my dress outside, and hurrying into the garden, left my cursed husk for him; he would have had good-humour enough to put himself into my clothes, and the tale would have found a merry ending early in the morning. But that was not now to be thought of, no more was any other feasible accommodation. To appear again before Frederica in the figure in which my friend could give me out as a laborious and accomplished but poor student of theology,--before Frederica, who the evening before had spoken so friendly to my disguised self,--that was altogether impossible. There I stood, vexed and thoughtful, and summoned all my power of invention; but it deserted me! But now when he, comfortably stretched out, after fixing his eyes upon me for a while, all at once burst out into a loud laugh, and exclaimed, "No! it is true, you do look most cursedly!" I replied impetuously, "And I know what I will do. Good bye, and make my excuses!" "Are you mad?" cried he, springing** out of bed and trying to detain me. But I was already out of the door, down the stairs, out of the house and yard, off to the tavern; in an instant my horse was saddled, and I hurried away in mad vexation, galloping towards Drusenheim, then through that place, and still further on.
As I now thought myself in safety, I rode more slowly, and now first felt how infinitely against my will I was going away. But I resigned myself to my fate, made present to my mind the promenade of yesterday evening with the greatest calmness, and cherished the secret hope of seeing her soon again. But this quiet feeling soon changed itself again into impatience, and I now determined to ride rapidly into the city, change my dress, take a good, fresh horse, since then, as my passion made me believe, I could at all events return before dinner, or, as was more probable, to the dessert, or towards evening, and beg my forgiveness. [Side-note: The Exchange of Clothes.] I was just about to put spurs to my horse to execute this plan, when another, and, as seemed to me, a very happy thought, passed through my mind. In the tavern at Drusenheim, the day before, I had noticed a son of the landlord very nicely dressed, who, early this morning, being busied about his rural arrangements, had saluted me from his court-yard. He was of my figure, and had for the moment reminded me of myself. No sooner thought than done! My horse was hardly turned round, when I found myself in Drusenheim; I brought him into the stable, and in a few words made the fellow my proposal, namely, that he should lend me his clothes, as I had something merry on foot at Sesenheim. I had no need to talk long; he agreed to the proposition with joy, and praised me for wishing to make some sport for the _Mamsells_; they were, he said, such capital people, especially Mamselle Riekchen,[3] and the parents, too, liked to see everything go on merrily and pleasantly. He considered me attentively, and as from my appearance he might have taken me for a poor starveling, he said, "If you wish to insinuate yourself, this is the right way." In the meanwhile we had already proceeded far in our toilette, and properly speaking he should not have trusted me with his holiday clothes on the strength of mine; but he was honest-hearted, and, moreover, had my horse in his stable. I soon stood there smart enough, gave myself a consequential air, and my friend seemed to regard his counterpart with complacency. "Topp,[4] Mr. Brother!" said he, giving me his hand, which I grasped heartily, "don't come too near my girl; she might make a mistake!"
My hair, which had now its full growth again, I could part at top, much like his, and as I looked at him repeatedly, I found it comical moderately to imitate his thicker eyebrows with a burnt cork, and bring mine nearer together in the middle, so that with my enigmatical intentions, I might make myself an external riddle likewise. "Now have you not," said I, as he handed me his be-ribboned hat, "something or other to be done at the parsonage, that I might announce myself there in a natural manner?" "Good!" replied he, "but then you must wait two hours yet. There is a woman confined at our house; I will offer to take the cake to the parson's wife,[5] and you may carry it over. Pride must pay its penalty, and so must a joke." I resolved to wait, but these two hours were infinitely long, and I was dying of impatience when the third hour passed before the cake came out of the oven. At last I got it quite hot, and hastened away with my credentials in the most beautiful sunshine, accompanied for a distance by my counterpart, who promised to come after me in the evening and bring me my clothes. This, however, I briskly declined, and stipulated that I should deliver up to him his own.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.