Old Fritz and the New Era Part 12

"Those were harsh, cruel words," sighed Frederick William.

"Harsh, cruel words," repeated Wilhelmine, sorrowfully. "They pierced my soul, and I shrieked at last from agony. Herr von Kircheisen was quite frightened, and begged me to excuse him, that he must thus speak to me, but the king had commanded him to repeat his very words. The carriage was at the door, he said, ready to convey me to my future dwelling, for I must immediately leave Berlin, and the king be informed of my setting out. The coachman received the order, and here I am, without knowing what I am to do, or whether I shall remain here."

"Yes, Wilhelmine, you are to remain here; at last we have a home, and a resting-place for our love and our children. This house is yours--you are mistress here, and you must welcome me as your guest."

"This house is mine!" she cried, joyfully. "Did you give it to me? How generous, and how extravagant you are! Protect me with the gift of your love, as if you were Jupiter and I Danae!"

"A beautiful picture, and, that it may be a reality, I will play the role of Jupiter and open the box."

He took a roll of gold, and let it fall upon Wilhelmine's head, her beautiful shoulders, and her arms, like a shower of gold. She shrieked and laughed, and sought to gather up the pieces which rolled ringing around her upon the floor. The prince seized another roll, and another still, till she was flooded with the glistening pieces. Then another and another, until Wilhelmine, laughing, screamed for grace, and sprang up, the gold rolling around her like teasing goblins.

CHAPTER IX. GERMAN LITERATURE AND THE KING.

The Minister Herzberg had, in the mean time, an interview with the king, informing him of the concluded purchase of the Schmettau villa, and of the emotion and grat.i.tude of the crown prince at his royal munificence.

"That affair is arranged, then," said Frederick. "If Fate wills that the prince should not return from this campaign, then this certain person and the two poor worms are provided for, who are destined to wander through the world nameless and fatherless."

"Let us hope that fate will not deal so harshly with the prince, or bring such sorrow upon your majesty."

"My dear sir, Fate is a hard-hearted creature, the tears of mankind are of no more importance to her than the raindrops falling from the roof.

She strides with gigantic power over men, crus.h.i.+ng them all in dust--the great as well as the little--the king as well as the beggar. For my part I yield to Fate without a murmur. Politicians and warriors are mere puppets in the hands of Providence. We act without knowing why, for we are unknowingly the tools of an invisible hand. Often the result of our actions is the reverse of our hopes! Let all things take their course, as it best pleases G.o.d, and let us not think to master Fate. [Footnote: The king's words.--"Posthumous Works," vol. x., p. 256.] That is my creed, Herzberg, and if I do not return from this infamous campaign, you will know that I have yielded to Fate without murmuring. You understand my wishes in all things; the current affairs of government should go on regularly. If any thing extraordinary occurs, let me be informed at once. Is there any news, Herzberg?"

"Nothing worth recounting, sire, except that the young Duke of Weimar is in town."

"I know it; he has announced himself. I cannot speak with him. I have asked my brother Henry to arrange the conditions under which he will allow us to enlist men for my army in his duchy. I hope he will be reasonable, and not prevent it. That is no news that the Duke of Weimar has arrived!"

"Not only the duke has arrived, but he has brought his dear friend with him whom the people in Saxe-Weimar say makes the good and bad weather."

"Who is the weather-maker?"

"Your majesty, this weather-maker is the author of 'The Sorrows of Young Werther,' Johann Wolfgang Goethe, who for four years has aroused the hearts and excited the imaginations of all Germany. If I am not deceived, a great future opens for this poet, and he will be a star of the first magnitude in the sky of German literature. I believe it would be well worth the trouble for your majesty to see him."

"Do not trouble me with your German literature, and your stars of the first magnitude! We must acknowledge our poverty with humility; belles-lettres have never achieved success upon our soil. Moreover, this star of the first magnitude--this Herr Goethe--I remember him well; I wish to know nothing of him. He has quite turned the heads of all the love-sick fools with his 'Sorrows of Young Werther.' You cannot count that a merit. The youth of Germany were sufficiently enamoured, without the love-whining romances of Herr Goethe to pour oil on the fire."

"Pardon me, sire, that I should presume to differ from you; but this book which your majesty condemns has not only produced a furor in Germany, but throughout Europe--throughout the world even. That which public opinion sustains in such a marked manner cannot be wholly unworthy. 'Vox populi, vox dei,' is a true maxim in all ages."

"It is not true!" cried the king. "The old Roman maxim is not applicable to our effeminate, degraded people. Nowadays, whoever flatters the people and glorifies their weaknesses, is a good fellow, and he is extolled to the skies. Public opinion calls him a genius and a Messiah.

Away with your nonsense! The 'Werther' of Herr Goethe has wrought no good; it has made the healthy sick, and has not restored invalids to health. Since its appearance a mad love-fever has seized all the young people, and silly sentimentalities and flirtations have become the fas.h.i.+on. These modern Werthers behave as if love were a tarantula, with the bite of which they must become mad, to be considered model young men. They groan and sigh, take moonlight walks, but they have no courage in their souls, and will never make good soldiers. This is the fault of Herr Werther, and his abominable lamentations. It is a miserable work, and not worth the trouble of talking about, for no earnest man will read it!"

"Pardon me, sire; your majesty has graciously permitted me to enter the lists as knight and champion of German literature, and sometimes to defend the German Muse, who stands unnoticed and unknown under the shadow of your throne; while the French lady, with her brilliant attire and painted cheeks, is always welcomed. I beg your majesty to believe that, although this romance may have done some harm, it has, on the other hand, done infinite service. A great and immortal merit cannot be denied to it."

"What merit?" demanded the king, slowly taking a pinch of snuff; "I am very curious to know what merit that crazy, love-sick book has."

"Sire, it has the great merit to have enriched the German literature with a work whose masterly language alone raises it above every thing heretofore produced by a German author. It has emanc.i.p.ated our country's literature from its clumsy, awkward childhood, and presented it as an ardent, inspired youth, ready for combat, upon the lips of whom the G.o.ds have placed the right word to express every feeling and every thought--a youth who is capable of probing the depths of the human heart."

"I wish all this might have remained in the depths," cried Frederick, annoyed. "You have defended the German Muse before; but you remember that I am incorrigible. You cannot persuade me that bungling is master-work. It is not the poverty of the mind, but the fault of the language, which is not capable of expressing with brevity and precision.

For how could any one translate Tacitus into German without adding a ma.s.s of words and phrases? In French it is not necessary; one can express himself with brevity, and to the point."

"Sire, I shall permit myself to prove to you that the brevity of Tacitus can be imitated in the German language. I will translate a part of Tacitus, to give your majesty a proof."

"I will take you at your word! And I will answer you in a treatise upon German literature, its short-comings, and the means for its improvement.

[Footnote: This treatise appeared during the Bavarian war of succession, in the winter of 1779] Until then, a truce. I insist upon it--good German authors are entirely wanting to us Germans. They may appear a long time after I have joined Voltaire and Algarotti in the Elysian Fields." [Footnote: The king's words.--See "Posthumous Works," vol. II., p. 293.]

"They are already here," cried Herzberg, zealously. "We have, for example, Lessing, who has written two dramas, of which every nation might be proud--'Minna von Barnhelm, and Emilia Calotti.'"

"I know nothing of them," said the king, with indifference. "I have never heard of your Lessing."

"Your majesty, this wonderful comedy, 'Minna von Barnhelm,' was written for your majesty's glorification."

"The more the reason why I should not read it! A German comedy! That must be fine stuff for the German theatre, the most miserable of all.

In Germany, Melpomene has untutored admirers, some walking on stilts, others crawling in the mire, from the altars of the G.o.ddess. The Germans will ever be repulsed, as they are rebels to her laws, and understand not the art to move and interest the heart."

"But, sire, you have never deigned to become acquainted with 'Minna von Barnhelm' nor 'Emilia Calotti.'"

"Well, well, Herzberg, do not be so furious; you are a lover of German literature, and some allowance must be made for those who are in love.

You will not persuade me to read your things which you call German comedies and tragedies. I will take good care; my teeth are not strong enough to grind such hard bits. Now do not be angry, Herzberg. The first leisure hours that I have in this campaign I shall employ on my treatise."

"And the first leisure hours that I have," growled the minister, "I shall employ to translate a portion of Tacitus into our beautiful German language, to send to your majesty."

"You are incorrigible," said Frederick, smiling. "We shall see, and until then let us keep the peace, Herzberg. When one is about to go to war, it is well to be at peace with one's conscience and with his friends; so let us be good friends."

"Your majesty, your graciousness and kindness make me truly ashamed,"

said the minister, feelingly. "I beg pardon a thousand times, if I have allowed myself to be carried away with unbecoming violence in my zeal for our poor neglected German literature."

"I approve of your zeal, and it pleases me that you are a faithful knight, sans peur et sans reproche. I do not ascribe its poverty to the German nation, who have as much spirit and genius as any nation, the mental development of which has been r.e.t.a.r.ded by outward circ.u.mstances, which prevented her rising to an equality with her neighbors. We shall one day have cla.s.sical writers, and every one will read them to cultivate himself. Our neighbors will learn German, and it will be spoken with pleasure at courts; and it can well happen that our language, when perfectly formed, will spread throughout Europe. We shall have our German cla.s.sics also." [Footnote: The king's words--see "Posthumous Works," vol. III.]

The king smiled, well pleased, as he observed by stolen glances the n.o.ble, intelligent face of Herzberg brighten, and the gloomy clouds dispersed which had overshadowed it.

"Now, is it not true that you are again contented?" said the king, graciously.

"I am delighted with the prophecy for the German language, your majesty; and may I add something?"

"It will weigh on your heart if you do not tell it," said the king.

"I prophesy that this Goethe will one day belong to the cla.s.sic authors, and therefore I would beg once more of your majesty to grant him a gracious look, and invite him to your presence. If you find no pleasure in 'The Sorrows of Werther,' Goethe has created other beautiful works.

He is the author of the tragedy of 'Stella.'"

"That sentimental, immoral piece, which we forbid the representation of in Berlin, because it portrays a fellow who made love to two women at once, playing the double role of lover to his wife and his paramour, while he had a grown-up daughter! It is an immoral piece, which excites the tear-glands, and ends as 'Werther,' by the hero blowing his brains out. It is directed against all morals, and against marriage; therefore it was forbidden." [Footnote: The tragedy of "Stella" was represented in Berlin with great applause, and denounced by the king as immoral, in the year 1776, and the further representation forbidden.--See Plumke, "History of the Berlin Theatres."]

"But, sire, Herr Goethe has not only written 'Stella,' but 'Clavigo'

also, which--"

"Which he has copied exactly from the 'Memoires de Beaumarchais,'"

interrupted the king. "That is not a German, but a French production."