Transeat cum cæteris erroribus, was Lessing's comment on the event. He was the poorer by another hope, and not only poorer in spirit but in fact. The promised salary had not been paid, the sale of his rich library would not suffice for his debts and needs, and he had moreover hampered himself with a printing-press that only helped yet more to cripple his means. His position was a sorry one. Literary work was once more his only resource. It happened that he had from the first been in arrears with his journal, first advisedly, then from a tendency to procrastination that befell him whenever the first white heat of interest had been expended. He now determined to continue it, employing it as a vehicle for his own opinions under the cover of criticisms of the national theatre, which he still hoped against hope might not be utterly defunct.
The 'Dramaturgy' is the permanent result of this shipwrecked undertaking, itself a fragment--for after a while Lessing wearied of it, and piratical reprints robbed him of the slender profit--but a fragment like the 'Laokoon,' full of suggestive truths and flashes of elucidation. As an entire work it is not as homogeneous in design as the 'Laokoon'; no connected or definite thread of reasoning pervades it, its perusal requires more independent thought from the reader, who must form his own conclusions, they are not worked out before him as in the 'Laokoon.' But in its ultimate results it is no less valuable, and has been no less effective. It freed the German stage from bondage to French pseudo-classicisms by its scornful exposure of the perversions practised by the Gallic authors under the cloak of Aristotelian laws. Lessing showed the divergence between real and absolute, and fanciful and perverted rules. He pointed out how the three unities insisted on by the French had been often violated by them in the spirit if not in the letter. He demonstrated the real meaning of Aristotle; and enabled, by his exact classical knowledge, to place himself on the actual stand-point of the ancients, he exposed the meretricious imitations of the French, that had been too long passed off as genuine. He referred the Germans to Shakespeare as a far truer follower of Sophocles than Voltaire or Corneille, and he illustrated his conclusions by excerpts and digressions remote from the subject presumed to be under treatment, and which had first started this train of thought. Until now the French had prescribed the sole standard of good taste. Lessing wished to destroy this unthinking veneration, and lead his nation back to the true sources of inspiration, and he fought with an iconoclastic zeal against all distortions, and all confusions of æsthetic boundaries. In a measure, indeed, the 'Dramaturgy' supplements the 'Laokoon', for in the latter work Lessing had distinctly referred to the drama as the highest expression of poetry, and he had placed poetry above the arts of design in its results and capacities. Once more he displays his subtlety in discriminating between the various constituents of the complex feelings produced by art, and his rare faculty of combining æsthetic sensibility with logical criticism constitutes one of his grand claims to originality. The 'Dramaturgy' must be regarded rather as a collection of [Greek: epea pteroenta], than a systematic book. This remark applies, indeed, to all Lessing's prose writings.
The 'Dramaturgy' was not the only work that occupied Lessing at Hamburg. A certain Professor Klotz had been for some time past attacking Lessing's writings, and had done this in a spirit of arrogant superiority that roused his ire. A remark that Lessing had been guilty of "an unpardonable fault," in an archaeological matter, wherein Klotz himself was plainly in error, brought matters to a crisis, and drew down on Klotz a series of 'Letters treating of Antiquarian Subjects,' that utterly demolished both the man and his conclusions. A private feud gave occasion to this publication, but, like all that Lessing wrote, it is full of matter of permanent worth. Cameos and engraved gems form the ground-work of the controversy that was waged fast and furiously for some months, until at last Lessing silenced his adversary. The archaeological studies that it necessitated had awakened afresh Lessing's artistic interests and provoked the charming little essay, 'How the Ancients represented Death,' that starting as a polemic against Klotz, ended in becoming a finished and exquisite whole.
About this time (1772) Lessing received encouragement from Vienna to settle in the Austrian dominions, but as the offers concerned the theatre he declined compliance, still feeling sore from his late experiences. The old desire to visit Italy was once more uppermost, his restless activity had exhausted the slender intellectual resources of Hamburg. But he was once more hampered by money difficulties. He vacillated for a while between remaining and leaving, and finally accepted an appointment at the Brunswick Court as librarian of the Wolfenbüttel Library, with the proviso that this appointment should not permanently interfere with his projected Italian journey. His salary was to be 600 thalers, with an official residence; his duties were undefined. The Duke, who recognised Lessing's eminence, wished to attach him to his Court, and desired that Lessing should use the library for his personal convenience rather than as its custodian. The post promised well, though Lessing entered on it with reluctance; his love of freedom causing him at any time to shrink from any definite appointment. He loved, as he himself expressed it, to be like the sparrow on the housetops, but considerations hitherto unknown contributed to induce him to seek a settled post and establish his affairs on a more permanent basis than heretofore. The wish to marry had become awakened in him at the mature age of forty; he had made the acquaintance in Hamburg of a Madame Koenig, a widow, the first woman who had seriously roused his interest. Business complications of her late husband's and the charge of a family made union impossible for some little time, but Lessing had not been long at Wolfenbüttel before a formal engagement was entered upon whose ultimate fulfilment it was confidently expected would not be too long deferred. It was deferred, however, for the space of six years--years that were the weariest and saddest in Lessing's life, and mark the only time when his healthful optimism, his sanguine cheerfulness broke into complaint and yielded to depression of mind. Physical causes were at work as well as mental. Wolfenbüttel was an old deserted capital, devoid of society, and Lessing, who loved to mingle with his fellow-creatures, saw himself banished from any intelligent human intercourse, unless he undertook the somewhat expensive journey to Brunswick. At Hamburg he had lived in an active and intellectual circle; here he found himself thrown back upon himself and books. His heart and thoughts were with Madame Koenig, her business affairs went badly; their rare meetings only further strengthened his desire to claim as his own this the only woman who understood him and felt with him. The promised leave of absence, too, for Italy, was constantly deferred under futile pretexts, and thus depressed, dispirited, Lessing could not feel within himself the capability of original production. At the same time he did not feel it right or wise to neglect the resources placed within his reach by the excellent library of which he was custodian; he ransacked its manuscript treasures, and published some of them. He also in a brief period of renewed happiness and mental vigour, that followed a visit to Hamburg and a meeting with Madame Koenig, wrote his famous tragedy 'Emilia Galotti.'
This drama is an illustration of the principles enunciated by Lessing in his 'Dramaturgy;' its condensation is a protest against the verbosity of the French, its form an approach to Shakespeare; while its tendency is a stricture on the abuses practised at petty Courts. The latter was a bold innovation, considering that at the time Lessing wrote and produced this play he was himself the servant of a Court, enlightened and liberal it is true, but libertine and despotic; and that parallels could not fail to be drawn by the malevolent between Brunswick and Guastalla. The story is a modernised version of that of Virginia, but the catastrophe is not equally harmonious, because not so absolutely necessitated by the conditions of modern society as by those of the ancient world. Still the play is in many respects inimitable; the manner in which the story is developed and unravelled renders it a model to young dramatists; nothing superfluous, nothing obscure, no needless retrogressions, no violent transitions. Lessing's contemporaries were not slow to recognise that he had presented them with a master-piece. He himself after its completion had sunk back into his former mood of irritated depression, and he would not even be present at the first representation. This mood was in great part physical, but was also the result of circumstances. He was anxious and uneasy. The hereditary prince had held out hopes to him, but their fulfilment was too long deferred; Madame Koenig's affairs grew more and more involved, the solitude of Wolfenbüttel more and more arid.
At last his restless spirit could brook this position no longer. Heedless of Madame Koenig's warning prayers not to bring matters to an abrupt crisis, to have patience with the Court whose financial position at the time was truly a sorry one, Lessing one day broke away from Wolfenbüttel and appeared at Berlin, whence he applied for an extended leave of absence to Vienna, where Madame Koenig's business had lately required her presence. He reassures her that he has not burnt his ships behind him, and this was true, but he wished to ascertain for himself how matters stood with her, and also if there was, any opening for him in that capital. He arrived at Vienna in March 1775, and found Madame Koenig's affairs so far advanced towards settlement as to justify him in entertaining hopes of a speedy union.
But the evil fortune that seemed to run like a fatal thread through Lessing's life whenever he found himself near the fulfilment of an ardent desire again asserted itself. He had not been ten days in Vienna before one of the younger princes of the house of Brunswick arrived there also on his way to Italy. He wished to have Lessing as his travelling companion. Thus a long cherished desire was to be realised at the moment when a far stronger one had usurped its place. Lessing debated for some time what he should do, but on consideration with Madame Koenig, it was decided to be unwise to offend the prince whose earnest wish for Lessing's companionship was supported by the Empress Maria Theresa, and moreover the projected journey was only to extend over eight weeks; consequently the parting and delay would be brief, while the ultimate consequences of having obliged the ducal house at personal inconvenience might be incalculable. The journey extended to nine months, and was a period of misery to Lessing. He never received a line from Madame Koenig all this time, her letters having all miscarried, thanks to the officious zeal of her Vienna acquaintances, and he tortured himself with fears lest she were ill or dead. Neither did he write to her, nor keep a diary, beyond the very briefest records of some discoveries in libraries. Not a word about the art, the scenery of the land he had so craved to see. He perceived quickly enough that it could offer all, and more than he had anticipated, but, added to his private anxieties, this travelling in the suite of a prince was not propitious to the proper enjoyment of Italy. Receptions, formal dinners, deputations, at all of which Lessing had to be present, engrossed the precious time that should have been devoted to more intellectual pursuits.
Transeat cum cæteris erroribus, Lessing might again have written when he returned to Germany in December. He hastened to Vienna to learn news of his beloved, and there a whole packet of her letters were put into his hands--those letters the want of which had preyed upon his heart. He was now more fully determined than ever to bring matters to a crisis; if the Brunswick Court would not improve his position he would seek employment elsewhere; at the very worst he could not fare worse than he was at present faring. His resolution triumphed, his salary was raised, his position improved, and on the 8th of October, 1776, he was at last united to the woman of his choice.
Then followed a very heyday of happiness to Lessing; he was at last content, at peace; his wife understood him and felt with him; she was his stay, his pride, his joy. But once more the evil fate was at work, and could not permit of ease to this poor victim she pursued so relentlessly. Early in January (1778) Lessing saw his wife and baby boy laid in the grave. The brief sunshine which had illumined his path had vanished for ever.
The letters written by him at the time are more pathetic in their stoic brevity than folios of lamentations. There were no further hopes of happiness for him on earth; he must just resign himself and work on at his appointed labour until he too should be laid to rest. He turned with an ardour that was almost furious to encounter the assailants of his last literary publication. Since his appointment as Wolfenbüttel librarian Lessing had from time to time published some of its manuscript treasures, and among these he had inserted portions of a work that had been intrusted to him, and which he deemed ought not to be withheld from the light of day. These were the famous Wolfenbüttel Fragments issued anonymously by Lessing, but really the work of a deceased Hamburger, Professor Reimarus. Their publication drew down upon Lessing a fury of rancorous abuse, and involved him in a vortex of controversy that lasted till his death. The chief and most vehement of his opponents was Pastor J. M. Goeze, whose insulting polemic reached him by the bedside of his dying wife. Its malignant and unjustified attacks roused Lessing's energy. He assailed Goeze with all the strength of his grief, for which he was thankful to find a safety-valve in controversy. The work of Reimarus had advocated rationalism; Lessing had distinctly placed himself in position of editor, and pronounced that he did not of necessity subscribe to the opinions therein enunciated, but he found in their reasoning much food for thought, and with his almost romantic passion for truth he deemed that such matter should not be withheld from the world. Goeze chose to consider that Lessing was sailing under false colours, that the fragments were his own composition, and that he was undermining the national faith. Lessing replied to Goeze's insults by a series of fourteen letters, entitled 'Anti-Goeze,' which actually silenced his opponent, who had never been known before to allow an adversary the last word. They are written in a serio-comic tone, and for sparkling wit, trenchant sarcasm, and dramatic dialectics surpass anything ever penned by Lessing. No less admirable is his accurate theological knowledge and his large-minded comprehension of the purposes of religion.