The generation of 1750 had more especially a craving for excitement and exaltation of feeling. A feeling, an action, or a man was easily reckoned great; grand epithets were heaped upon friends; and, again, your own sorrows and the misfortunes of others were enjoyed with a certain gloomy satisfaction. Tears flowed readily both over your own sufferings and those of others; and also from joy, gratitude, devotion, or admiration; but it was not through foreign literature, not by Gellert, nor by the literary worshippers of Klopstock, that this sentimentality was implanted: it lay deep in the national character. When, in 1749, the young Doctor Semler took leave of the University of Halle, he was very sorrowful, for he had secretly adored the daughter of his dear teacher, Professor Baumgarten, notwithstanding he had at his home, Saalfeld, another love of his youthful days; this sorrow affected him so powerfully, that with difficulty he took his Doctors degree. He, however, succeeded, and after having done so, he delivered, before his model Baumgarten--who was in the chair as president--an extempore Latin gratulatory oration, so impassioned, that not only he himself, but also most of his hearers, wept. Again, at home he sat down and wept over his fate, and his truehearted comrade wept with him almost the whole afternoon. That he should shed tears at his departure was natural, but he still wept when in the course of his long journey he arrived at Merseburg; and when, on reaching home, he gave the laudatory letter of Baumgarten to his father, the latter wept also for joy.
In this case the emotion was justifiable, and tears flowed from the heart; but it could not fail to happen that the habit of self-consciousness, and of watching each inward emotion, degenerated into acting a part, and admiration of noble affections, into affectation.
This soon showed itself in the German language. The higher emotions still found no adequate expression. The language of books still dominated, and all the nobler feelings of men had to adapt themselves to its forms and periods. Just at that time however this language had gained a certain degree of aptitude in expressing clearly and simply the calm, methodic work of the reflecting mind; but when passionate feelings sought expression in words, they were still restrained within the threadbare forms of the ancient rhetoric, and nestled in the dry leaves of old phrases. The Pietists had to invent a phraseology of their own for their peculiar feelings, and these expressions soon degenerated into mannerism. It was the same case with those new turns of expression by which highly-gifted individuals sought to enrich the language of the heart. If a poet spoke of feeling the soft tremor of a friendly kiss, hundreds imitated him, delighted with the high-flown expression. Thus, also, tears of sorrow and of gratitude, and the sweets of friendship, became stereotyped phrases, which at last had little meaning in them.
And this poverty of language became general. Almost everywhere, when we expect the simple expression of an inward feeling, we find a display of reflections which is as repulsive in letters and speeches, as in poems. This speciality of the old time becomes insupportable to us, and we readily accuse it of hypocrisy, callousness, and hollowness. But our ancestors have a sufficient excuse. They could not do otherwise. Still did there remain in their souls somewhat of the epic constraint of the middle ages, the yearning for an outpouring of greater passion, for enthusiasm, and for the melody of feeling: it becomes almost morbid; everywhere there is an aspiration after a higher self-development; everywhere a seeking and a longing; but still do their feelings lack power, and their increased knowledge the corresponding free culture of the character; and so do the poets, who have always been the leaders of the people. Even in the amiable character that figures in the dawn of a higher life, in Ewald von Kleist, the lyrical strivings are very remarkable. Already are his descriptions rich in beautiful details, and an abundance of poetical conceptions group themselves spontaneously around the leading idea of his poem, which almost always rests on an honourable and deep-seated feeling; but, amid all his poetical imagery, he could not give utterance to an elevated poetical frame of mind, and still less cause the full harmony of a beautiful feeling to echo in the listener's heart. For his tones were not yet powerful enough, nor were those of his older contemporaries who, so painfully sought after all that was beautiful and noble in the soul, and so often boasted to have found it.
But the self-contemplation of the educated did not extend to the inward life alone: they were equally watchful of their outward appearance, and of the impression which they made on others. In this respect they appear to us ridiculously refined. The tight dress and powder, the fact of being unusually smart, put men in a state of agitation and formal cheerfulness which easily became affectation. The stereotyped forms of social intercourse, and the rhetorical compliments, were so artificial, that society became like a play, and the Germans of 1750 actors who made themselves laughable if they did not act cleverly. When any one approached a patron, he had to take care that his pace was not too quick, nor too bold, nor too shy--that his voice was properly subdued, and that he held his hat in his left arm, so that it formed a proper angle; he had to prepare himself beforehand, that his address of salutation might not be too long and too commonplace, and just respectful enough to awaken goodwill; he had to pay much attention to the intonation of his voice, so that what had been well considered before might have the effect of being natural. If any one wished to kiss the hand of a lady or gentleman of distinction, he took pains even in this act to express a feeling suitable to the occasion; whether, as a sign of confidential respect, he pressed it against his eyes and brow, as well as to his mouth, how long he kept the hand, and how slowly he released it, all this was very important, and, if possible, well considered beforehand; any mistake committed, occasioned afterwards probably great trouble to the guilty party. He who had to exhibit himself before a larger assembly, took into serious consideration the position and demeanour by which he could produce an effect. However troubled was the young Semler when he stood before the professor's chair for his doctor's degree, yet he did not forget "to take a peculiar but not offensive attitude," in which he answered his opponents so rapidly, that he scarce waited for the end of their speech; nor did he forget to tell, how indifferent the "tender emotions of his heart" had made him to every possible objection of his antagonist. The women had also to study well, not only the motions of their fans, but their smiles and the casting-down of their eyes; it was required that they should do it unaffectedly, with grace and tact.
Undoubtedly this pressure of convenance was frequently, with the Germans, broken through by characteristic rectitude and firmness. But the stedfast enduring power of will, which we honour as man's highest quality, was then very rare in Germany. It was to be gained by experience and necessity, by the labour and practice of arduous duty; then it broke forth with surprising energy. But this quality was deficient in some manly characteristics. The pressure of a despotic state had continued for a century; it had made the citizen shy, dull, and fainthearted. This frame of mind had been promoted by Pietism. A continual contemplation of their own unworthiness diminished in more finely organized minds the capacity of enjoying themselves heartily, or of giving frank expression to their own nature. The severe training and immoderate exertions of memory of literary men, and their many night watches in close rooms amid the fumes of tobacco, only too often implanted disease. We may gather from many examples how frequently consumption and hypochondria destroyed the life of young scholars. And we find generally among the citizen families of that time, sentimental, irritable, sensitive natures, helpless and feckless in respect of all that was unusual to them. But that was not the worst. Not only the will, but the certainty of their convictions and the feeling of duty were easily extinguished by external influences. Of that quiet self-respect which we look for in a good and highly educated man, little is as yet to be seen. Money and outward honour still exercise too great a power even over the most upright Gellert, who was a pattern to his contemporaries of tender feeling and unselfishness, when a professor at Leipzig, was joyfully surprised that a foreign nobleman from Silesia, whom he did not personally know, but with whom he had once exchanged a few letters, offered his mother a yearly pension of twelve ducats. In his answer the assurance of tears of gratitude did not fail. He never felt a scruple in accepting sums of money from persons unknown to him. And one may venture to maintain that in 1750, throughout the whole of Germany, there was scarcely a man, even among the best, who would have refused an anonymous present.
When Frederick William the First called upon the professors of his University at Frankfort, to engage in a public disputation with his reader, Morgenstein, who stood on the lecturer's platform in a grotesque attire, with a fox's brush by his side, no one dared to gainsay the tyrannical whim, except Johann Jacob Moser, who considered himself in the relation of a stranger to the Brandenburgers, and preserved the proud consciousness of being in high consideration in the Imperial Court. And even he was so excited by the occurrence, that he fell dangerously ill. Where there exists such a deficiency of self-respect in men engaged in the struggle of life, their vanity grows exuberantly. It so clouded the minds of most men of that period, that but few leave an agreeable impression behind them; and it was no wonder that only the strongest were free from it. Men were sentimental and sensitive; it was a matter of decorum to pay compliments; respect for truth was less than now, and the necessity for politeness greater. He who exercised an influence on others by his intellectual labours, or by his own powers had won consideration in his sphere, was accustomed to receive much praise and honour, and missed it if withdrawn. He who had no rank or title, had acquired no office in the State, and did not enjoy the privileges of a superior position, was recklessly crushed and oppressed. Not merit, but the approbation of influential persons was of value; not learning alone availed with publishers and readers: a position at the University, and a great circle of auditors who bought and spread the works of the teacher, were necessary. Insecure was every earthly position; everywhere strong and arbitrary power prevailed. Even the greatest reputations trusted far more to the support of personal admirers, than to the sound dignity of merit. Thus every individual expression of praise and blame obtained an importance which we can now hardly comprehend. Every one was therefore careful to oblige others, in order to be approved of by strangers. German life was still deficient in an enlightened daily press, and many individuals were entirely without the discipline and restraint which is produced by a powerful public opinion.
Nothing is so difficult as to form a correct judgment of the morality in families of a far-distant period. For it is not sufficient to estimate the sum of striking errors, which in itself is very difficult; it is equally necessary to understand the individual injustice in particular cases which is often impossible. Among the citizens, the intercourse of both sexes was almost entirely confined to the family circles: larger societies were rare. In the houses of intimates, the habits of the young people were lively and unrestrained; the friends of the sisters and the comrades of the brothers became part of the family. The custom still continued of making confidences in jest which would now be considered objectionable. Embracing and kissing were not restricted to games of forfeits. Such a custom, however harmlessly and innocently carried on by the young people, was calculated to give rise to feelings of levity which we should view with regret, and it frequently gave birth to a certain bold freedom in the intercourse between the young men and maidens. Tender liaisons were quickly formed in families between the unmarried members; no one thought them wrong, and they were as speedily dissolved. These transient liaisons, full of sentiment, seldom increased to a deeper passion, nay, in general, the poetry of youth was extinguished by them. They seldom led, either, to betrothal or marriage; for marriage at that period, about 1750, was still as much an affair of business as of the heart. And the endless blessing of love and faithfulness, which just then began to dawn upon them, rested generally on other grounds than on the glow of a pure passion, or a deep-seated communion of feeling preceding the betrothal.
The behaviour of the parties interested in the conclusion of a marriage strikes us as remarkable. If the man had the prospect of an employment which would enable him to keep a family, his acquaintances, men and women, exerted themselves to devise, propose, and negotiate a marriage for him. Match-making was then a duty which no one could easily escape. Grave scholars, distinguished officials, rulers and princesses of the country, assiduously transacted the like disinterested business. A marriageable man in a respectable position had to endure much from the admonitions, the mischievous hints, and numerous projects of his acquaintances. When Gellert first exchanged a few letters with Demoiselle Caroline Lucius,--whom he had never seen,--he asked her, in the first long letter with which he had favoured her, whether she would marry an acquaintance of his, the Precentor at St. Thomas's school. When Herr von Ebner, chancellor of the University of Altorf, spoke for the first time to the young Professor Semler, he made him the kind offer of providing a rich wife for him. The young Professor Pütter, who was at Vienna in his travels, had the offer of a wealthy merchant's daughter as a good partie, from a count, who was his neighbour at table, but entirely a stranger to him. This proposal, however, was declined. But, equally cool as the offers, were the decisions of the parties interested. Men and women decided upon marrying each other often after a passing view, or after they had exchanged a few words, never having had any affectionate intercourse. On both sides a good recommendation was the main point. The following is an example of a similar betrothal, which appeared to the parties interested as especially vehement and impassioned. The assessor of the Supreme Court of Judicature, von Summermann, became acquainted at the Schwalbach baths, in 1754, with a Fräulein von Bachellé, an amiable lady of the court of a disagreeable Langravine; he saw her frequently at country parties, to which both were invited by a married acquaintance. Some weeks later he revealed his wish to marry the Fräulein, to an acquaintance at Wetzlar, after he had cautiously collected information concerning the character of the young lady. The confidant,--it was Pütter--visited the innocent court lady: "After some short common-place conversation, I said that I had to make a proposal to her, to which I must beg for an answer. She replied shortly, 'What kind of proposal?' I equally shortly and frankly asked, 'Whether she could make up her mind to marry the Herr von Summermann?' 'Ah, you joke!' was her answer. I said, 'No, I do not, I am quite in earnest; here I have already a ring and yet another present (a silk purse with a hundred carlines), by which I can verify my proposal.' 'Now, if you are in earnest, and bring the proposal from Herr von Summermann, I do not hesitate a moment.' Thus she took the ring, but refused to accept the hundred carlines, and empowered me to convey her assent." The further course also of this very exciting business was extraordinary and dramatic. The happy lover had settled that his wooer should obtain for him more certain information. Now, it is true that a written line in this scribbling age might have been possible, but it appears that written information was considered too prolix, and it was undoubtedly then difficult to give it in one line without titles and congratulations; so it was determined that, as in "Tristan and Isolde," the result of an undertaking was telegraphed by a black or a white seal, so here by the transmission of a certain volume of a valuable legal work of the state chancery, it was to be signified that the proposal was accepted; another volume of the same work would have intimated the contrary. And the difference of the new conscientious period from the old one of Queen Isolde consisted only in this, that no false signal would be given.
But though in this union the heart to a certain degree asserted its rights, it was less often the case with men of education and capacity. Professor Achenwall, a distinguished law teacher at Göttingen, made an offer to a daughter of Johann Jacob Moser without ever having seen her, and she in like manner accepted; after her death he married a Demoiselle Jäger, of Gotha, to whom he proposed after he had seen her accidentally on a journey, passing some days in the house of an acquaintance. Thus it was generally the position and the household which was the object of women, as it still is in many circles of the people. The quiet dreams of the candidates for matrimony were frequently exactly as portrayed by the sober-minded Pütter: "The meals at the restaurant did not answer to their wishes; to eat alone was not to their mind; fellow-boarders were not to be reckoned upon; the household cares concerning the wash, beer, and sugar were disagreeable occupations; and in the evening, when tired after work, to pay visits to others when one did not know whether it was opportune, or to await the visits of others who were themselves in the same dilemma,--all these were circumstances of consideration, experience, and observation, which seemed to prove that one could not be happy continually in one's present position." Undoubtedly also the importance of this step was not all underrated: quiet deliberation lasted long, and a secret wavering between eligible parties was frequent. Therefore in general the matter was left to a benevolent Providence; and an accidental meeting, or the pressing recommendation of a certain person, was still always considered as a sign from above.