The Autobiography of Goethe Truth and Poetry · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THIRTEENTH BOOK.
It was agreed with Merck, that in the fine season we should meet at Coblentz at Frau von Laroche's. I sent to Frankfort my baggage and whatever I might want on my way down the Lahn by an opportunity which offered, and now wandered down that beautiful river, so lovely in its windings, so various in its shores, free as to my resolution, but oppressed as to my feelings--in a condition, when the presence of silently-living nature is so beneficial to us. My eye, accustomed to discern those beauties of a landscape that suited the painter, and were above him, rioted in the contemplation of near and distant objects, of bushy rocks, of sunny heights, of damp valleys, of enthroned castles, and of the blue range of mountains inviting us from the distance.
I wandered on the right bank of the river, which at some depth and distance below me, and partly concealed by a rich bush of willows, glided along in the sunlight. Then again arose in me the old wish, worthily to imitate such objects. By chance I had a handsome pocket-knife in my left hand, and at the moment, from the depth of my soul, arose, as it were, an absolute command, according to which, without delay, I was to fling this knife into the river. If I saw it fall, my wish to become an artist would be fulfilled, but if the sinking of the knife was concealed by the overhanging bush of willows, I was to abandon the wish and the endeavour. This whim had no sooner arisen in me than it was executed. For, without regarding the usefulness of the knife, which comprised many instruments in itself, I cast it with the left hand, as I held it, violently towards the river. But here I had to experience that deceptive ambiguity of oracles, of which, in antiquity, such bitter complaints were made. The sinking of the knife into the water was concealed from me by the extreme twigs of the willows, but the water, which rose from the fall, sprang up like a strong fountain, and was perfectly visible. I did not interpret this phenomenon in my favour, and the doubt which it excited in me was afterwards the cause that I pursued these exercises more interruptedly and more negligently, and gave occasion for the import of the oracle to fulfil itself. For the moment at least the external world was spoiled for me, I abandoned myself to my imaginations and feelings, and left the well-situated castles and districts of Weilburg, Limburg, Diez, and Nassau one by one behind me, generally walking alone, but often for a short time associating myself with another.
I was not long the only guest in the house. As a member of the congress which was held here, partly with an artistic view, partly as a matter of feeling, Leuchselring, who came up from Düsseldorf, was likewise appointed. This man, possessing a fine knowledge of modern literature, had, on different travels, but especially during a residence in Switzerland, made many acquaintances, and as he was pleasant and insinuating, had gained much favour. He carried with him several boxes, which contained the confidential correspondence with many friends; for there was altogether such a general openness among people, that one could not speak or write to a single individual, without considering it directed to many. One explored one's own heart and that of others, and with the indifference of the government towards such a communication, the great rapidity of the Taxisch[1] post, the security of the seal, and the reasonableness of the postage, this moral and literary intercourse soon spread itself around. Such correspondences, especially with important persons, were carefully collected, and extracts from them were often read at friendly meetings. Thus, as political discourses had little interest, one became pretty well acquainted with the extent of the moral world. Leuchselring's boxes contained many treasures in this sense. The letters of one Julie Bondeli were very much esteemed; she was famed as a lady of sense and merit, and a friend of Rousseau. Whoever had stood in any relation to this extraordinary man, took part in the glory which emanated from him, and in his name a silent community had been disseminated far and wide.
I liked to be present at these readings, as I was thus transported into an unknown world, and learned to know the real truth of many an event that had just passed. All indeed was not valuable, and Herr von Laroche, a cheerful man of the world and of business, who, although a Catholic, had already in his writings made free with the monks and priesthood, thought that he here saw a fraternity, where many a worthless individual supported himself by a connexion with persons of importance, by which, in the end, he, but not they, were admired. Generally this excellent man withdrew from the company when the boxes were opened. Even if he did listen to some letters now and then, a waggish remark was to be expected. Among other things, he once said that by this correspondence he was still more convinced of what he had always believed, namely, that ladies might spare their sealing-wax, as they need only fasten their letters with pins, and might be assured that they would reach their address unopened. In the same way he was accustomed to jest with everything that lay out of the sphere of life and activity, and in this followed the disposition of his lord and master, Count Stadion, minister to the Elector of Mayence, who certainly was not fitted to counterbalance the worldliness and coldness of the boy by a reverence for everything like mysterious foreboding.
An irreconcilable hatred of the priesthood had established itself in this man, who served two spiritual electors, and had probably sprung from the contemplation of the rude, tasteless, mind-destroying foolery which the monks in Germany were accustomed to carry on in many parts, and thus hindered and destroyed every sort of cultivation. His letters on Monasticism caused great attention; they were received with great applause by all Protestants and many Catholics. If Herr von Laroche opposed everything that can be called sensibility, and even decidedly avoided the very appearance of it, he nevertheless did not conceal a tender paternal affection for his eldest daughter, who, indeed, was nothing else but amiable. She was rather short than tall of stature, and delicately built, her figure was free and graceful, her eyes very black, while nothing could be conceived purer and more blooming than her complexion. She also loved her father, and inclined to his sentiments. Being an active man of business, most of his time was consumed in works belonging to his calling; and as the guests who stopped at his house were really attracted by his wife and not by him, society afforded him but little pleasure. At table he was cheerful and entertaining, and at least endeavoured to keep his board free from the spice of sensibility.
"Whoever knows the views and mode of thought of Frau von Laroche--and by a long life and many writings, she has become honourably known to every German,--may perhaps suspect that a domestic incongruity must have arisen here. Nothing of the kind. She was the most wonderful woman; and I know no other to compare to her. Slenderly and delicately built, rather tall than short, she had, even to her more advanced years, managed to preserve a certain elegance both of form and of conduct, which pleasantly fluctuated between the conduct of a noble lady and that of one of the citizen class. Her dress had been the same for several years. A neat little cap with wings very well became her small head and delicate face, and her brown or grey clothing gave repose and dignity to her presence. She spoke well, and always knew how to give importance to what she said by an expression of feeling. Her conduct was perfectly the same towards every body. But with all this the greatest peculiarity of her character is not yet expressed; it is difficult to designate it. She seemed to take interest in everything, but really nothing acted upon her. She was gentle towards every one, and could endure everything without suffering; the jests of her husband, the tenderness of her friends, the sweetness of her children--to all this she replied in the same manner, and thus she always remained herself, without being affected in the world by good and evil, or in literature by excellence and weakness. To this disposition she owes that independence which she maintains even to an advanced age, through many sad, nay, sorrowful events. But not to be unjust, I must state that her sons, then children of dazzling beauty, often elicited from her an expression different from that which served her for daily use.
Nevertheless, amid those cheerful circumstances was internally developed that element of unsociableness which, both in cultivated and uncultivated circles, ordinarily shows its malign effects. Merck, at once cold and restless, had not long listened to that correspondence before he uttered aloud many waggish notions concerning the things which were the subjects of discourse, as well as the persons and their circumstances, while he revealed to me in secret the oddest things, which really were concealed under them. Political secrets were never touched on, nor indeed anything that could have had a definite connexion; he only made me attentive to persons who, without remarkable talents, contrive, by a certain tact, to obtain personal influence, and, by an acquaintance with many, try to make something out of themselves; and from this time forwards I had opportunity to observe several men of the sort. Since such persons usually change their place, and, as travellers come, now here, now there, they have the advantage of novelty, which should neither be envied nor spoiled; for this is a mere customary matter, which every traveller has often experienced to his benefit, and every resident to his detriment. Be that as it may, it is enough that from that time forward we cherished an uneasy, nay, envious attention to people of the sort, who went about on their own account, cast anchor in every city, and sought to gain an influence at least in some families. I have represented a tender and soft specimen of these guild-brethren in "Pater Brey," another of more aptness and bluntness in a carnival play to be hereafter published, which bears the title, _Satyros, or the deified Wood-devil._ This I have done, if not with fairness, at least with good humour.
However, the strange elements of our little society still worked quite tolerably one upon another; we were partly united by our own manner and style of breeding, and partly restrained by the peculiar conduct of our hostess, who, being but lightly touched by that which passed around her, always resigned herself to certain ideal notions, and while she understood how to utter them in a friendly and benevolent way, contrived to soften everything sharp that might arise in the company, and to smooth down all that was uneven. Merck had sounded a retreat just at the right time, so that the party separated on the best of terms. I went with him and his in a yacht, which was returning up the Rhine towards Mayence; and although this vessel went very slowly of itself, we nevertheless besought the captain not to hurry himself. Thus we enjoyed at leisure the infinitely various objects, which, in the most splendid weather, seem to increase in beauty every hour, and both in greatness and agreeableness ever to change anew; and I only wish that, while I utter the names, Rheinfels and St. Goar, Bacharach, Bingen, Ellfeld, and Biberich, every one of my readers may be able to recall these spots to memory.
We had sketched industriously, and had thus at least gained a deeper impression of the thousandfold changes of those splendid shores. At the same time, by being so much longer together, by a familiar communication on so many sorts of things, our connexion became so much the more intimate, that Merck gained a great influence over me, and I, as a good companion, became indispensable to him for a comfortable existence. My eye, sharpened by nature, again turned to the contemplation of art, for which the beautiful Frankfort collections afforded me the best opportunity, both in paintings and engravings, and I have been much indebted to the kindness of MM. Ettling and Ehrenreich, but especially to the excellent Nothnagel. To see nature in art became with me a passion, which, in its highest moments, must have appeared to others, passionate amateurs as they might be, almost like madness: and how could such an inclination be better fostered than by a constant observation of the excellent works of the Netherlanders? That I might make myself practically acquainted with these things, Nothnagel gave me a little room, where I found every thing that was requisite for oil painting, and painted after nature some simple subjects of still life, one of which, a tortoise-shell knife-handle, inlaid with silver, so astonished my master, who had last visited me an hour before, that he maintained one of his subordinate artists must have been with me during the time.
While I now sought to cultivate, foster, and maintain all the talent, taste, or other inclination that might live in me, I applied a good part of the day, according to my father's wish, in the duties of an advocate, for the practice of which I chanced to find the best opportunity. After the death of my grandfather, my uncle Textor had come into the council, and consigned to me the little offices to which I was equal; while the brothers Schlosser did the same. I made myself acquainted with the documents; my father also read them with much pleasure, as by means of his son, he again saw himself in an activity of which he had been long deprived. We talked the matters over, and with great facility; I then made the necessary statements. We had at hand an excellent copyist, on whom one could rely for all legal formalities; and this occupation was the more agreeable to me as it brought me closer to my father, who, being perfectly satisfied with my conduct in this respect, readily looked with an eye of indulgence on all my other pursuits, in the ardent expectation that I should now soon gather in a harvest of fame as an author.
Because now, in every epoch, all things are connected together, since the ruling views and opinions are ramified in the most various manner, so in the science of law those maxims were gradually pursued, according to which religion and morals were treated. Among the attorneys, as the younger people, and then among the judges, as the elder, a spirit of humanity was diffused, and all vied with each other in being as humane as possible, even in legal affairs. Prisons were improved, crimes excused, punishments lightened, legitimations rendered easy, separations and unequal marriages encouraged, and one of our eminent lawyers gained for himself the highest fame, when he contrived, by hard fighting, to gain for the son of an executioner an entrance into the college of surgeons. In vain did guilds and corporations oppose; one dam after another was broken through. The toleration of the religious parties towards each other was not merely taught, but practised, and the civil constitution was threatened with a still greater influence, when the effort was made to recommend to that good-humoured age, with understanding, acuteness, and power, toleration toward the Jews. Those new subjects for legal treatment, which lay without the law and tradition, and only laid claim to a fair examination, to a kindly sympathy, required at the same time a more natural and animated style. Here for us, the youngest, was opened a cheerful field, in which we bustled about with delight, and I still recollect that an imperial councillor's agent, in a case of the sort, sent me a very polite letter of commendation. The French _plaidoyés_ served us for patterns and for stimulants.
We were thus on the way to become better orators than jurists, a fact to which George Schlosser once called my attention, blaming me while doing so. I told him that I had read to my clients a controversial paper written with much energy in their favour, at which they had shown the greatest satisfaction. Upon this he replied to me, "In this case you have shown yourself more an author than an advocate. We must never ask how such a writing may please the client, but how it may please the judge." [Side-note: State of the German stage.] As the occupations to which one devotes one's day are never so serious and pressing that one cannot find time enough in the evening to go to the play, thus was it also with me, who, in the want of a really good stage, did not cease thinking of the German theatre, in order to discover how one might cooperate upon it with any degree of activity. Its condition in the second half of the last century is sufficiently known, and every one who wishes to be instructed about it finds assistance at hand everywhere. On this account I only intend to insert here a few general remarks.
The success of the stage rested more upon the personality of the actors than upon the value of the pieces. This was especially the case with pieces half or wholly extemporized, when everything depended on the humour and talent of the comic actors. The matter of such pieces must be taken out of the commonest life, in conformity with the people before whom they are acted. From this immediate application arises the greatest applause, which these plays have always gained. They were always at home in South Germany, where they are retained to the present day; and the change of persons alone renders it necessary to give, from time to time, some change to the character of the comic masks. However, the German theatre, in conformity with the serious character of the nation, soon took a turn towards the moral, which was still more accelerated by an external cause. For the question arose, among strict Christians, whether the theatre belonged to those sinful things which are to be shunned, at all events, or to those indifferent things which can be good to the good and bad to the bad. Some zealots denied the latter, and held fast the opinion that no clergyman should ever enter the theatre. Now the opposite opinion could not be maintained with energy, unless the theatre was declared to be not only harmless, but even useful. To be useful, it must be moral; and in this direction it developed itself in North Germany the more as, by a sort of half-taste, the comic character[2] was banished, and although intelligent persons took his part, was forced to retire, having already gone from the coarseness of the German _hanswurst_ (jack-pudding) into the neatness and delicacy of the Italian and French harlequins. Even Scapin and Crispin gradually vanished; the latter I saw played for the last time by Koch, in his old age.
Richardson's novels had already made the citizen-world attentive to a more delicate morality. The severe and inevitable consequences of a feminine _faux pas_ were analysed in a frightful manner in _Clarissa._ Lessing's _Miss Sara Sampson_ treated the same theme: whilst the _Merchant of London_ exhibited a misguided youth in the most terrible situation. The French dramas had the same end, but proceeded more moderately, and contrived to please by some accommodation at the end. Diderot's _Père de Famille_, the _Honourable Criminal_, the _Vinegar Dealer_, the _Philosopher without knowing it, Eugenie_, and other works of the sort, suited that honest feeling of citizen and family which began more and more to prevail. With us, the _Grateful Son_, the _Deserter from Parental Love_, and all of their kin, went the same way. The _Minister, Clementini_, and other pieces by Gehler, the _German Father of a Family_, by Gemming, all brought agreeably to view the worth of the middle and even of the lower class, and delighted the great public. Eckhof by his noble personality, which gave to the actor's profession a dignity in which it had hitherto been deficient, elevated to an uncommon degree the leading characters in such pieces, since, as an honest man, the expression of honesty succeeded with him to perfection.
While now the German theatre was completely inclining to effeminacy, Schröder arose as an author and actor, and prompted by the connexion between Hamburg and England, adapted some English comedies. The material of these he could only use in the most general way, since the originals are for the most part formless, and if they begin well and according to a certain plan, they wander from the mark at last. The sole concern of their authors seems to be the introduction of the oddest scenes; and whoever is accustomed to a sustained work of art, at last unwillingly finds himself driven into the boundless. Besides this, a wild, immoral, vulgarly dissolute tone so decidedly pervades the whole, to an intolerable degree, that it must have been difficult to deprive the plan and the characters of all their bad manners. They are a coarse and at the same time dangerous food, which can only be enjoyed and digested by a large and half-corrupted populace at a certain time. Schröder did more for these things than is usually known; he thoroughly altered them, assimilated them to the German mind, and softened them as much as possible. But still a bitter kernel always remains in them, because the joke often depends on the ill-usage of persons, whether they deserve it or not. In these performances, which were also widely spread upon our stage, lay a secret counterpoise to that too delicate morality; and the action of both kinds of drama against each other fortunately prevented the monotony into which people would otherwise have fallen.
But as I must fear already that I have been carried beyond the time which is now the subject in hand, I return back to myself, to mention the impulse which I felt to occupy myself in my leisure hours with the theatrical plans which I had once devised. By my lasting interest in Shakspeare's works, I had so expanded my mind, that the narrow compass of the stage and the short time allotted to a representation, seemed to me by no means sufficient to bring forward something important. The life of the gallant Götz von Berlichingen, written by himself, impelled me into the historic mode of treatment; and my imagination so much extended itself, that my dramatic form also went beyond all theatrical bounds, and sought more and more to approach the living events. I had, as I proceeded, talked circumstantially on this subject with my sister, who was interested, heart and soul, in such things, and renewed this conversation so often, without going to any work, that she at last, growing impatient, and at the same time wishing me well, urgently entreated me not to be always casting my words into the air, but, once for all, to set down upon paper that which must have been so present to my mind. Determined by this impulse, I began one morning to write, without having made any previous sketch or plan. I wrote the first scenes, and in the evening they were read aloud to Cornelia.
She gave them much applause, but only conditionally, since she doubted that I should go on so; nay, she even expressed a decided unbelief in my perseverance. This only incited me the more; I wrote on the next day, and also the third. Hope increased with the daily communications, and from step to step everything gained more life, while the matter, moreover, had become thoroughly my own. Thus I kept, without interruption, to my work, which I pursued straight on, looking neither backwards nor forwards,--neither to the right nor to the left; and in about six weeks I had the pleasure to see the manuscript stitched. I communicated it to Merck, who spoke sensibly and kindly about it. I sent it to Herder, who, on the contrary, expressed himself unkindly and severely, and did not fail, in some lampoons written for the occasion, to give me nicknames on account of it. I did not allow myself to be perplexed by this, but took a clear view of my object. The die was now cast, and the only question was how to play the game best.
Ideas discussed in this chapter
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.