I can say but little, though just as much as may be necessary, respecting a young man, whose name was afterwards but too often mentioned. This was Jerusalem, the son of the freely and tenderly thinking theologian. He also had an appointment with an embassy; his form was pleasing, of a middle height, and well built; his face was rather round than long; his features were soft and calm, and he had the other appurtenances of a handsome blond youth, with blue eyes, rather attractive than speaking. His dress was that introduced in Lower Germany in imitation of the English,—a blue frock, waistcoat and breeches of yellow leather, and boots with brown tops. The author never visited him, nor saw him at his own residence, but often met him among his friends. The expressions of this young man were moderate but kindly. He took interest in productions of the most different kinds, and especially loved those designs and sketches in which the the tranquil character of solitary spots is caught. On such occasions he showed Gesner's etchings, and encouraged the amateurs to study them. In all that mummery and knighthood he took no part, but lived for himself and his own sentiments. It was said he had a decided passion for the wife of one of as friends. In public they were never seen together. In general very little could be said of him, except that he occupied himself with English literature. As the son of an opulent man, he had no occasion either painfully to devote himself to business, or to make pressing applications for an early appointment.
Those etchings by Gesner increased the pleasure and interest in rural objects, and a little poem, which we passionately received into our circle, allowed us from henceforward to think of nothing else. Goldsmith's Deserted Village necessarily delighted every one at that grade of cultivation, in that sphere of thought. Not as living and active, but as a departed, vanished existence was described, all that one so readily looked upon, that one loved, prized, sought passionately in the present, to take part in it with the cheerfulness of youth. Highdays and holidays in the country, church consecrations and fairs, the solemn assemblage of the elders under the village linden-tree, supplanted in its turn by the lively delight of youth in dancing, while the more educated classes show their sympathy. How seemly did these pleasures appear, moderated as they were by an excellent country pastor, who understood how to smooth down and remove all that went too far,—that gave occasion to quarrel and dispute. Here again we found an honest Wakefield, in his well-known circle, yet no longer in his living bodily form, but as a shadow recalled by the soft mournful tones of the elegiac poet. The very thought of this picture is one of the happiest possible, when once the design is formed to evoke once more an innocent past with a graceful melancholy. And in this kindly endeavour, how well has the Englishman succeeded in every sense of the word! I shared the enthusiasm for this charming poem with Gotter, who was more felicitous than myself with the translation undertaken by us both; for I had too painfully tried to imitate in our language the delicate significance of the original, and thus had well agreed with single passages, but not with the whole.
If now, as they say, the greatest happiness rests on a sense of longing (sehnsucht), and if the genuine longing can only be directed to something unattainable, everything had fallen together to render the youth whom we now accompany on his wanderings the happiest of mortals. An affection for one betrothed to another, the effort to acquire the masterpieces of foreign literature for our own, the endeavour to imitate natural objects, not only with words, but also with style and pencil, without any proper technical knowledge,—each of these particulars would singly have sufficed to me melt the heart and oppress the bosom. But, that the sweetly suffering youth might be torn out of this state, and that new circumstances might be prepared for new disquiet, the following events occurred:—
Höpfner.
Höpfner, professor of law, was at Giessen. He was acknowledged and highly esteemed by Merck and Schlosser as clever in his office, and as a thinking and excellent man. I had long ago desired his acquaintance, and now, when these two friends thought to pay him a visit, to negotiate about some literary matters, it was agreed that I should likewise go to Giessen on this opportunity. Because, however—as generally happens with the wilfulness of glad and peaceful times—we could not easily do anything in the direct way, but, like genuine children, sought to get a jest even out of what was necessary, I was now, as an unknown person, to appear in a strange form, and once more satisfy my desire to appear disguised. One cheerful morning, before sunrise, I went from Wetzlar along the Lahne, up the charming valley; such ramblings again constituted my greatest felicity. I invented, connected, elaborated, and was quietly happy and cheerful with myself; I set right what the ever-contradictory world had clumsily and confusedly forced upon me. Arrived at the end of my journey, I looked out for Höpfner's residence, and knocked at his study. When he had cried out, "Come in!" I modestly appeared before him as a student who was going home from the universities, and wished on his way to become acquainted with the most worthy men. For his questions as to my more intimate circumstances, I was prepared; I made up a plausible, prosaic tale, with which he seemed satisfied, and as I gave myself out for a jurist, I did not come off badly; for I well knew his merits in this department, and also that he was occupied with natural law. Conversation, however, sometimes came to a stand, and it seemed as if he were looking for a Stammbuch[4] or for me to take my leave. Nevertheless, I managed to delay my departure, as I expected with certainty the arrival of Schlosser, whose punctuality was well known to me. He came in reality, and after a side glance, took little notice of me. Höpfner, however, drew me into conversation, and showed himself throughout as a humane and kindly man. I at last took my leave, and hastened to the inn, where I exchanged a few hurried words with Merck, and awaited further proceedings.
The friends had resolved to ask Höpfner to dinner, and also that Christian Heinrich Schmidt who had played a part, though a very subordinate one, in German literature. For him the affair was really designed, and he was to be punished in a mirthful manner. When the guests had assembled in the dining-room, I asked, through the waiter, whether the gentlemen would allow me to dine with them. Schlosser, whom a certain earnestness well became, opposed this proposition, because they did not wish their conversation interrupted by a third party. But, on the pressing demand of the waiter and the advocacy of Höpfner, who assured the other that I was a very tolerable person, I was admitted, and at the commencement of the meal behaved as if modest and abashed. Schlosser and Merck put no restraint upon themselves, and went on about many subjects as freely as if no stranger were present. I now showed myself somewhat bolder, and did not allow myself to be disturbed when Schlosser threw out at me much that was in earnest, and Merck something sarcastic; but I directed against Schmidt all my darts, which fell sharply and surely on the uncovered places which I well knew.
I had been moderate over my pint of table-wine, but the gentlemen ordered better wine to be brought, and did not fail to give me some. After many affairs of the day had been talked over, conversation went into general matters, and the question was discussed, which will be repeated as long as there are authors in the world,—the question, namely, whether literature was rising or declining, progressing or retrograding? This question, about which old and young, those commencing and those retiring, seldom agree, was discussed with cheerfulness, though without any exact design of coming decidedly to terms about it. At last I took up the discourse, and said, "The different literatures, as it seems to me, have seasons, which alternating with each other, as in nature, bring forth certain phenomena, and assert themselves in due order. Hence I do not believe that any epoch of a literature can be praised or blamed on the whole; especially it displeases me when certain talents, which are brought out by their time, are raised and vaunted so highly, while others are censured and depreciated. The throat of the nightingale is excited by the spring, but at the same time also that of the cuckoo. The butterflies, which are so agreeable to the eye, and the gnats, which are so painful to the feelings, are called into being by the same heat of the sun. If this were duly considered, we should not hear the same complaints renewed every ten years, and the vain trouble which is taken to root out this or that offensive thing, would not so often be wasted." The party looked at me, wondering whence I had got so much wisdom and tolerance. I, however, continued quite calmly to compare literary phenomena with natural productions, and (I know not how) came to the molluscæ, of which I contrived to set forth all sorts of strange things. I said that there were creatures to whom a sort of body, nay, a certain figure, could not be denied; but that, since they had no bones, one never knew how to set about rightly with them, and they were nothing better than living slime; nevertheless, the sea must have such inhabitants. Since I carried the simile beyond its due limits to designate Schmidt, who was present, and that class of characterless littérateurs, I was reminded that a simile carried too far at last becomes nothing. "Well, then, I will return to the earth," I replied, "and speak of the ivy. As these creatures have no bones, so this has no trunk; but wherever it attaches itself, it likes to play the chief part. It belongs to old walls, in which there is nothing more to destroy; but from new buildings it is properly removed. It sucks up the goodness of the trees; and is most insupportable to me when it clambers up a post, and assures me that this is a living trunk, because it has covered it with leaves."
Joke upon P. H. Schmidt.
Notwithstanding I was again reproached with the obscurity and inapplicability of my similes, I became more and more warm against all parasitical creatures, and as far as my knowledge of nature then extended, managed the affair pretty well. I at last sang a vivat to all independent men, a pereat to those who forced themselves upon them, seized Höpfner's hand after dinner, shook it violently, declared him to be the best man in the world, and finally embraced both him and the others right heartily. My excellent new friend thought he was really dreaming, until Schlosser and Merk at last solved the riddle; and the discovered joke diffused a general hilarity, which was shared by Schmidt himself, who was appeased by an acknowledgment of his real merits, and the interest we took in his tastes.
This ingenious introduction could not do otherwise than animate and favour the literary congress, which was indeed, chiefly kept in view. Merck, active now in æsthetics, now in literature, now in commerce, had stimulated the well-thinking, well-informed Schlosser, whose knowledge extended to so many branches, to edit the Frankfort Gelehrte Anzeige (Learned Advertiser) for that year. They had associated to themselves Höpfner, and other university-men in Giessen, a meritorious schoolman, Rector Wenk in Darmstadt, and many other good men. Every one of them possessed enough historical and theoretical knowledge in his department, and the feeling of the times allowed these men to work in one spirit. The human and cosmopolitan is encouraged; really good men justly celebrated are protected against obtrusion of every kind; their defence is undertaken against enemies, and especially against scholars, who use what has been taught them to the detriment of their instructors. Nearly the most interesting articles are the critiques on other periodical publications, the Berlin Library (Bibliothek), the German Mercury, where the cleverness in so many departments, the judgment as well the fairness of the papers, is rightly admired.