The traveller was not only accompanied by the lively sympathy of his friends, he was also employed in their business, as then among acquaintances there was more mutual accommodation than now. He was amply supplied with clothes, letters of recommendation, cold meat, and prudent precepts; but he was also burdened with commissions, purchases of every kind, and delicate business; also with the collecting of debts, the engaging of tutors, nay, even with reconnoitring and mediating in affairs of the heart. If he travelled to some great fair, he must take care of certain special coffers and chests to satisfy the wishes of his acquaintances. This kind of reciprocal service was absolutely needful, for the conveyance of money and packages by the post was still very dear and not always very sure. Betwixt neighbouring cities therefore a regular messenger service was established, as for example in Thuringia, where it continues to the present day. These messengers--frequently women--carried letters and errands on fixed days, alike through snow and under a scorching sun; they had charge of all kinds of purchases, and, as trustworthy persons, enjoyed the confidence of the magistrates, who entrusted them with official letters and public papers, and when they arrived at their destination had an appointed place, where letters and return parcels for their native home were delivered to them. If the intercourse between two places was very active, a goods conveyance, with compartments with drawers in it, of which sometimes two associated families had the key, was sent backwards and forwards.
Scanty and spare was the housekeeping of the citizens; few of them were sufficiently wealthy to be able to invest their household arrangements and their life with any polish; and the rich were always in danger of falling into unseemly luxury, such as corrupted the courts and the families of the nobility. Those who had a comfortable competency lived very simply, only showing their wealth by their hospitality and the adornment of their house and table on festive occasions. Therefore feasts were ungenial state affairs, for which the whole household was deranged. Nothing distinguishes the man of the world more than the easy style of his society. Strict were the regulations in the citizen's household: everything was precisely defined, even on the smallest points, as to what one was to render to or receive from another. The interchange of good wishes and compliments, that is to say, the courtesies of conversation, and even the trinkgeld, all had their accurately prescribed form and amount. Through these innumerable little regulations, social intercourse acquired a stiff formality which strongly contrasts with the freedom from constraint of the present day. It was still customary to be bled and take medicine on appointed days, to pay your bills and make visits at stated intervals. Equally fixed were the enjoyments of the year: the cake which was suitable to every day, the roast goose, and, if possible, the sledge-drives. Fixed was the arrangement of the house: the massive furniture which had been bought by the bridal couple on their first settling down, the stuffed chair which had perhaps been bought at an auction by the husband as a student, the folding-table for writing, and the cupboards, had been the companions of many generations. But underneath this network of old customs freer views began to germinate: already did the troublesome question arise--wherefore? even with respect to the most trifling usages. Everywhere might individuals be found who set themselves with philosophic independence against these customs, which appeared to them not to be founded on reason; in many more did there work a deep impulse to freedom, self-dependence, and a new purport of life, which they held apart from the multitude and from society, which had the effect of giving them an appearance of originality. The interiors of the houses were still undecorated; the ground-floor, with its polished boards, had no other ornament than the bright colour of the wood, which was preserved by incessant washing, which made the dwelling at least once a week damp and uncomfortable. The stairs and entrance-hall were still frequently strewn with white sand. But they liked to have their rooms nicely fitted up; the furniture, among which the commode was a new invention, was carefully worked and beautifully inlaid. Painting was still uncommon on the walls; but the distempered plaster walls were in little esteem: papers were preferred. The wealthy liked to have the stamped leather, which gave the room a particularly comfortable aspect; leather was also much liked as covers for furniture. Copper and tin utensils were still the pride of the housewife. They were used on "state" occasions: this new and significant word had penetrated into the kitchen. At Nuremberg, for example, there were in wealthy families state kitchens, which used to be opened to small societies for morning collations, at which cold meats were served. In such kitchens pewter and copper glittered all around like bright mirrors; even the wood for burning, which lay there piled up in great heaps, was covered with bright tin, all only for show and amusement, as now the kitchen of a little girl. But porcelain had already begun to be placed alongside the pewter; in refined Saxony, more especially, the wealthy housewife seldom failed to have a table set out with china cups, jugs, and little ornamental figures. And the fashionable pet of the ladies, the pug, might by a wayward movement produce a crash which endangered the peace of the house. Just at that time this curious animal stood at the height of his repute; it had come into the world no one knew from whence, and it passed away from it again equally unperceived. But the heart of the housewife was attached to her weaving as well as her pewter and porcelain. The linen damask was very beautifully prepared, with artistic patterns which we still admire; to possess such damask table-covers was a most particular pleasure, and great value was also set upon fine body-linen; the ruffled shirt which Gellert received as a present from Lucius was not forgotten in the description of his audience.
The dress worn in public was still regarded by serious men as a matter of station; the Pietists had accustomed the citizen to wear dark or sober colours; but fine textures, buttons, unpretending embroidery and linen, demonstrated not less than perukes and swords the high-bred man. This was the dress to be worn in public, and must especially be put on when going out; and as it was inconvenient and--at least the perukes--difficult to put on and to powder without the help of others, a contrast wan produced by this between home and society which proscribed social intercourse at certain hours in the day, and made it formal and elaborate. At home a dressing-gown was worn, in which literary men received visits, and the "best" dress was carefully spared. Many things which appear to us as common necessaries were still quite unknown, and the absence of many comforts was not felt. In the year 1745 an Austrian non-commissioned officer begged of an imprisoned officer, from whom he had taken a watch, to wind it up for him; he had never had one in his hands. The worthy Semler had become a professor before he obtained by the aid of a bookseller his first silver watch; and he complained, about 1780, that then every master of arts, nay, every student thought he must have a watch; now, in every family of similar station, the third-form boy has a silver, and the student a gold watch.
Besides the landed nobility, only the highest state officials and the richest merchants kept their own carriage and horses, and this more rarely than fifty years before. But literary men were then often advised by physicians not to fear the dangers of riding; schools were established, and riding-horses let out for hire. It did not indeed happen to every one as to the invalid Gellert, to have as a present for the second time, after the death of his renowned Dapple, a horse from the Elector's stables, with velvet saddle and housings embroidered in gold, which the dear professor, much moved after his manner, accepted, though with the greatest distrust as to the good temper of the horse, and was never weary of speaking of it to his acquaintance, whilst his groom showed the prodigy for money to the Leipzigers. As the dress of that day made people very sensitive to damp, sedan-chairs came into fashion; they were as frequently used as now the droschky; the bearers were known by a kind of livery, had their appointed stations, and were to be found wherever the nobility and the public appeared in numbers: at great dances, on Sunday at the church doors, and at the theatres.
Strict was the discipline of the house. In the morning, even in those families that were not Pietists, short prayers were read with the children and servants, a verse was sung, a prayer or exhortation followed, and then a hymn. They rose and retired to bed early. The intercourse at home was formal: extreme respect, with ceremonious forms, was required of both children and servants; and husbands and wives among the gentry still continued generally to speak to each other in the third person plural.
All who appertained to the family, whether friends or distant acquaintance, in their simple and often needy life, were invested with great importance. Still were advancement, interest, and favours sought for and expected, through the friends of the family. To protect and become a partisan was a duty; therefore it was considered great good fortune to have noble and influential acquaintances; and in order to secure this it was necessary to be mindful of congratulations on birthdays and verses at family festivals. Under such protection people sought their fortunes in the world. Devotion to the great was immense: it was still correct to kiss the hand of a patron. When Count Schwerin, on the 11th of August, 1741, received the oath of allegiance for his sovereign in the royal salon at Breslau, the Protestant church inspector, Burg, on shaking hands with him, wished to kiss his hand. The Breslauers were not astonished at this obsequiousness, but only that a field-marshal should have embraced and kissed a citizen theologian.
Sponsorship was, among the citizens, the foundation of a still nearer relation: the godfather was bound to provide for the advancement of his godchild; and this parental relation lasted to the end of his life. If he was wealthy, the parents gladly allowed him a decisive voice as to the future of their child, but it was also expected that he should show his goodwill by his last testament.
This life of citizens in humble circumstances developed certain peculiarities of character and education. First a softness of nature which, about 1750, was called tender and sentimental. The foundation of this remarkable softness was implanted in the soul by the great war and its political results, and Pietism had strikingly developed it. Almost every one had the habit of exciting and stirring up themselves and others. In the last century, family prayer had been heartless and formal; now, the edifying contemplations and moral reflections of the father of a family gave occasion for dramatic scenes within it. Extemporary prayers especially, accustomed the members of a family to express openly what was really in their hearts. Vows and promises, solemn exhortations and pathetic reconciliations betwixt husbands and wives, parents and children, sentimental scenes, were as much sought after and enjoyed as they are now avoided. Even in schools the easy excitability of that generation frequently came to light. When a worthy teacher was in trouble, he caused the scholars to sing verses which harmonised with his frame of mind, and it was agreeable to him to feel that the boys understood him and showed their sympathy in their devotions. In the same way the preacher in the pulpit loved to make his congregation the confidants of his own struggles and convictions; his sorrows and joys, repentance and inward peace, were listened to with respect and consecrated by prayer.
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.
Those who so thought, were then the spiritual leaders of the people, the scholars and followers of Leibnitz, Thomasius, and Wolf,--estimable, good, and perhaps very learned men; and also the maidens and wives of the best families. It was certainly an ancient German custom to subordinate the individual; in this most important concern of life, to the judgment and interests of the family; undoubtedly marriage was considered more especially the great business of life which was to be arranged with strict adherence to duty, and not according to the delusive ideas of the fancy. But these sober, sensible views were beginning in 1750 to give way to the higher requirements of the individual Already were men inclined to indulge themselves with a richer mental life and greater independence. When Caroline Lucius modestly but firmly declined the offered hand of the Precentor of Thomas's Church, Gellert felt a little ashamed that he had judged his correspondent by the ordinary criterion, and in his letters afterwards a sincere respect may be observed.
But, however frequently the wooing was deficient in the magic of the most beautiful of earthly passions, the marriages, as far as we can judge, were not on that account the less happy. That one must suit oneself in life is a very popular rule of wisdom. The man who proposed to share a respectable position and a certain income with the object of his choice, offered her much, according to the views of that time; she was to show her gratitude by unceasing faithful service, and to lighten his arduous, laborious life--nay, already had a more exalted feeling taken root in the souls of women, which we may well call the poetry of home. The amount of knowledge acquired by a German woman was on the whole small. If people of rank could not spell, this may be explained by the fluctuations in education between French and German,--by a mongrel culture which spoilt the style even of men, not only of Frederic II. and other rulers, but also of the highest officials, like the Imperial ambassador who wrote to Gellert, and begged him to send back his letter with corrections, that he might thereby learn the secret of good writing. But even the German trained daughter of a well-educated citizen family was generally deficient both in style and correctness of writing. Many women, indeed, learnt French, and in Protestant Germany Italian was more frequently studied than at present; even the students of Halle, under the guidance of their teacher, caused Italian treatises to be printed. In other respects education appears to have done little for women; even instruction in music, beyond the practice of light airs on the harpsichord, was rare.
But so much the more was the practice of house duties inculcated. To look after the welfare and comfort of those around them, of parents and brothers, and afterwards of husbands and children, was the task of the grown-up daughters. That this should be the object of their life was unceasingly impressed upon them; it was understood according to every one's own views. And this care was no longer limited, as in the sixteenth century, to giving orders in the kitchen, the preparation of electuaries, and the arrangements of the linen: women were, during the last century, brought imperceptibly into a worthier position with respect to their husbands--they had become their friends and confidants. Although with perhaps scanty knowledge, many of them could boast of firm minds, clear judgment, and depth of feeling; concerning some of these, information has accidentally remained to us. We find it, also, in the wives of simple artisans. If the men, under the influence of the State and of Pietism, became more timid and less independent, the women of the same period were manifestly more elevated. We will draw a comparison with the past. Let us remember Kate Bora, who begged of the laborious Luther to suffer her to be near him. She sits there for hours silent, holds his pen for him, and gazes with her large eyes on the mysterious head, of her husband; and, anxiously gathering, together in her own mind all her poor knowledge, suddenly breaks out with the question, which, transposing it into the position of 1750, would run thus: "Is the Elector of Brandenburg brother to the King of Prussia?" and when Luther laughingly replies, "He is the same man," his feeling, notwithstanding all his affection, is--"poor simplicity."[86]
On the other hand, in 1723, Elizabeth Gesner, sits opposite her husband in the sitting-room of the Conrectorat at Weimar; he is working at his "Chrestomathie des Cicero," and writes with one hand while he rocks the cradle with the other. Meanwhile Elizabeth industriously mends the clothes of her children, and playfully disputes with the little ones, who object to the patches, till at last the mother proposes to them to cut out the new pieces as sun, moon, and stars, and to sew them on in this beautiful form. The bright light which then shone from the heart of the housewife through the poorly furnished room, and the cheerful smile that played on the countenance of the husband, may be discovered from his account. When she died, after a long and happy union, the grey-headed scholar said: "One of us must remain alone, and I had rather be the forlorn one myself than that she should be so." He followed her a few months later. Again, soon after 1750, we find Frau Professorin Semlerin at Halle, sitting with her industrious husband, some feminine work in her hand; both rejoice that they are together, that he uses his study only as a receptacle for his books, and that she considers all society as a separation from her husband. He has so accustomed himself to work in her presence, that neither the play and laughter, nor even the loud noise, of his children disturb him; he has an unbounded respect for the discretion and judgment of his wife. She rules with unlimited sway in her household; if the excitable man is disquieted by any adverse occurrence, she knows how to smooth it down quickly, in her gentle way. She is his true friend and his best counsellor, even in his relations with the University; his firm support, always full of love and patience, yet she has learnt little, and her letters abound in errors of writing. There will be farther notice of her.
Similar women, simple, deep-feeling, pious, clear-headed, firm and decided, sometimes also with extraordinary vigour and cheerfulness, were at this period so frequent that we may truly reckon them as characteristic of the time. They are the ancestresses and mothers, to whose worth the literary men, poets, and artists who have sprung up in the following generations may attribute a portion of their success. It was not able men, but good housewives,--not the poetry of passion, but the home life of the family,--to which we owe our training during the first half of the last century.
And if we, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who lived when Goethe and Schiller grew up, smile at the constraint of the feelings which appears in the wooings and betrothals of 1750; at the want of genuine tenderness, in spite of the general yearning for tender and pathetic feelings; and at the incapacity to give full expression in language and demeanour to the most exquisite of passions, we must remember, that just then the nation stood at the portals of a new time which was to change this poverty into wealth. The reign of Pietism had introduced a mild sentimentality into the nation; the philosophy of mathematics had spread over language and life a calm brightness, and the following fifty years of intense political activity and powerful productiveness in every realm of science were to bring the nation a richer development of the mental life. After this took place, the German was so far fortified by the good spirit of his home, that, even after the most horrible devastation and destruction, his soul was strengthened, through the interests of private life, for greater tasks and more manly labours. After Spener, Wolf, and Goethe came the volunteers of 1813.
But here we will verify what has been said of the condition, character, and wooing of Germans about the year 1750 by the record of a contemporary. He who speaks has already been mentioned several times in the preceding pages; he is one of whom science will ever preserve a kindly remembrance. Johann Salomo Semler, Professor of Theology at Halle, who lived from 1725 to 1791, was one of the first who broke loose from the orthodox faith of the Protestant Church; and, following their own investigations, ventured, with the help of the scientific culture of the period, to form a judgment on the origin and changes of the church dogmas. His youth was passed in struggle with Pietism, but at the same time, under its dominion, his warm heart clung, as long as it continued to beat, like Luther and the Pietists, to the child-like relation to his God and Father; but, as a scholar, this same man who, in respect to the daily occurrences of life, was so often yielding, uncertain, and dependent on those around him, became bold, decided, and sometimes radical. With him began the criticism of holy traditions; he was the first who ventured to handle systematically the historical development and changes of Christianity, and exhibited theology as an historical process, and as a momentum in the gradual development of the human mind, not logically, and with very deficient understanding of ancient times, but yet according to the laws of science. He veiled from himself the opposition between his faith and his researches in science, by making a rigid distinction, like the Pietists, betwixt religion and theology--betwixt the eternal cravings of human nature, which were satisfied by the old revered forms of revealed faith, and the eternal impulse of the mind to understand every earthly phenomenon. He has been called the Father of Rationalism; in truth he was only an enlightened Pietist, one of those who seem called to prepare, by the union of opposite conceptions, a new life. He was born in Saalfeld, the son of an ecclesiastic, a scholar at Halle of the learned Baumgarten; then for a year the rédacteur of the newspaper at Coburg, and for a year professor of history and poetry at the Nuremberg University of Altorf. He was called back by Baumgarten to Halle, where he, for nearly forty years, combated the old Pietists victoriously, and died one of the most worthy heads of the great University. The following is the account which he himself gives of his love and wooing; it cannot be given here without some small alteration in the language, for Semler has--what is characteristic of him--little in his style of the broad, sure method of his philosophical contemporaries, but much of the indistinct mode of speech of the Pietists. He does not use figurative language nor primitive phrases, but he loves, like them, a certain mysterious circumlocution and remote allusions, that sometimes make the meaning almost incomprehensible and require slow reading. Yet it is necessary to remember one thing, that the following narrative may not disappoint expectation: he who here narrates was in fact a man of worth and refined feeling, who rightly enjoyed the full esteem and veneration of those who lived with him.
Semler has gone through the separation from the family of Baumgarten, has returned as Master of Arts from Halle to his father's house at Saalfeld, and has there renewed his acquaintance with a young lady friend. He relates thus:--
"My residence in Saalfeld did not last long, but was not quite satisfactory to me. I saw, it is true, that worthy friend very often, and we enjoyed ourselves together as much as with our virtuous gravity we could; but there was nothing in it of the rapture or of the great joy which our new contemporaries[87] describe as superhuman in so many novels, or, still more, paint poetically and represent quite sentimentally. It was truly as if we anticipated that this rare harmony of two souls and characters was something too elevated for such a union to fail to our lot. This improbability seemed to me to arise from her situation; to her, from mine, from very different grounds. My prospects were remote, as I could not attain the great happiness of becoming 'Conrector,' to which position even, she was prepared to lower herself. I saw also that I must shortly incur some debts which I could not mention to so estimable a person. Thus I found myself unavoidably dependent, as it were, on any chance prospect. But her parents were rather old, and her brothers and sisters entirely unprovided for: how could she think of pledging herself to me on an uncertainty, and, by making it known, render herself inaccessible to more fortunate admirers? Meanwhile, with tender sadness, we promised each other everything we could, and were convinced of our mutual integrity, but also determined not to place each other in a difficult position.
"My father had written to an old friend at Coburg, Kammerrath, Fick, and begged of him to make some friendly efforts for getting me a situation. This he did honourably and with the best intentions."--(Semler travelled to Coburg, obtained there the title of professor, but without salary; became editor of the "Coburg State and Literary Gazette," and lodged with the widow of Doctor Döbnerin, a cheerful, lively woman, who was glad to converse with him, and put many theological and historical questions to him. It was a quiet, respectable household: one daughter, the Demoiselle Döbnerin, was still at home, about whom the professor, who had much work and little income, concerned himself little. Thus he lived for a year; then he learnt from an acquaintance that a professor was wanted at the University of Altorf, which he could easily obtain, but he must present himself there. This information excited him much; he was powerfully attracted towards the University; he had seen no possibility of it; now a prospect was open to him, but he had no money for the journey--nay, he was in debt to his landlady for rent and board; he long pined away in silence.)
"The doctor's widow, my landlady, remarked that for some days I had not conversed with the cheerfulness that had before pleased her so well, because it gave her the opportunity of introducing her usual complaints and old tales; I was no longer of use to her in this, and, still worse, was always withdrawing from them. So she asked me what was the reason? I was so surprised, that I confessed I had a proposal to be professor at Altorf; it required a quick decision, and I must take it into serious consideration. This information, that I might soon leave, appeared to excite both mother and daughter, and I now began to be sharper in my observations than I had been formerly. Hitherto I had thought nothing about the daughter, who took care of everything in the house, and seldom remained after we had finished our meals, and only treated her according to the laws of civility; and I did not consider it a part of this civility, either to kiss her hand, or to indulge in small talk. The mother, with all her gay vivacity, had kept her daughter very strictly, as she was not quite pleased with the free mode of life which already began to prevail among her sex at Coburg. She maintained the old principles, in which she had herself been brought up in Saalfeld; she had few visitors at her house, as indeed she had not much time for it, so orderly was the manner in which the household was managed. It is true it was called avarice and parsimony, but for a city such housekeeping is very necessary; and those who so willingly spend their money, that they must borrow, should at least not judge ill of the indispensable benefactors from whom they borrow. I knew the daily tranquil enjoyment that pervaded this home, and I found therein assuredly far more happiness than in many others where there were splendour and bustle.
"Now I called to mind that some persons in Coburg had already warned me against this acquaintance, which I nevertheless found so uniformly blameless. I watched more narrowly, and it appeared to me as if I was regarded favourably; only when I came to draw my conclusions, whether I should endeavour to help myself by means of this quiet and virtuous daughter, my heart fell within me. What reason had I to entertain any hopes, as I had for nearly a whole year been guilty of marked inattention? She had already refused a professor, and I knew other proofs of her acting with independent and not over hasty deliberation, where many others, from an inclination to vanity, would have decided hastily. It was the less probable that she would accept me, as I had no outward advantages to offer. I nevertheless showed greater attention, both to mother and daughter, than I had done hitherto, but still undecided in my mind.
"At this time I wrote to my sister at Saalfeld; the contents of this letter were sad enough; it was to this effect, that on account of some small debts, merely caused by the difficulty of raising money, I should be obliged to renounce altogether the dear friend of that place, who nevertheless, I honoured profoundly. I was not in a position to follow the bent of my affections.
"If I was to attempt to borrow money in Saalfeld, my father would certainly prevent it, as I had clearly remarked, that he had always endeavoured to dissuade me from my plans, and admonished me not to run counter to Providence by over haste. I passed many sorrowful hours before I received an answer from Saalfeld, and still more when I did receive it, and found that this separation was finally settled. Very serious reflections upon many similar cases tranquillised me by degrees, although my high esteem for that worthy young person was unalterable.
"But so much the more I felt my very insignificant position; and, thus truly humiliated, I reproached myself continually. I asked myself whether I was to call upon this dutiful and virtuous daughter to give so much money for me, of which she certainly had as little thought as her mother; for it was undoubtedly not with this view that she had shown me so many courtesies. She had long considered me as having a decided inclination for some one; she often reminded me in a friendly way about Halle, and how I had often praised openly and with such great feeling the incomparable Dr. Baumgarten; and just because I had shown so much diffidence and lively feeling with regard to Halle, she had thought favourably of me, and had assumed that I had a settled engagement there. How was I now all at once to convince her that it was otherwise, without giving an open field for divers detrimental thoughts and observations on myself? I alone know how entirely depressed was my spirit at this time; how I spent my days and nights restless and dejected, till at last I learnt to bow myself to the universal law of God's government.
"I more than once perplexed myself again with strong doubts whether I was important enough for Divine Providence to occupy Himself with me, and whether all my anxieties were not the consequences of my faults and my inconsiderate conduct; in short, I could no longer continue in this depressing condition, as I had no time to lose in complaints. I must announce myself at Nuremberg so many days before Petri Pauli. Now I wrote two letters, one to the mother, and inclosed in it another to the daughter, wherein I revealed my views, but at the same time distinctly showed my present position, and appealed to their own knowledge and judgment of my principles, and confided myself to them. It was impossible for me by word of mouth to express so carefully and clearly all the necessary details.
"This letter I took with me when I went to supper, and placed it in the mother's prayer-book, which always lay by her place, so that the letter must, without fail, come into her hands this same evening. I did not otherwise allow anything to be perceived, but went away somewhat earlier than I had hitherto done, that there might be more time left for the discovery, and for their deliberation.
"In the letter I begged of the mother, if she found what I proposed was decidedly objectionable, that she would not lay the letters before her daughter, but would send them both back to me, and then would kindly ascribe my too great confidence to her indulgence. In proportion as my life had been hitherto solitary, the deeper was the impression made in my soul by my anxious and uncertain wishes; my spirit now began to raise itself more earnestly to God in a deep and entire submission, that I might more and more be weaned from the trivial occurrences of life and their results, by looking to eternity. I found an increase of tranquillity, and a contented submission to all the dispensations of Providence, which I had long so vainly endeavoured to create in myself.
"Three days passed, during which we met as inmates of the same house, as though nothing had passed between us which required an answer, and I was persuaded that it was a kind way of sparing my feelings, that my proposal was to be buried in silence, as they wished to relieve me from an unpleasant explanation. As usual, I was always too desponding. The following Sunday--it was the 10th of June, 1751--as I was leaving the table after dinner, the Frau Doctorin asked me to drink a cup of coffee with her that afternoon. Still she kept her countenance so completely, that I could not promise myself much advantage from this invitation. The next two hours I spent promenading in the open air, in a very composed state of mind, recalling many vanished ideas and wishes, and in much sorrow at the prospect of my shortly impending journey, which must now take me far from Saalfeld and Halle.[88] Thus I did not return very soon, and went straight to her room. I immediately discovered such an expression of natural, earnest, and approving friendship in the countenance of the mother, who came forward to meet me, that I could no longer doubt the success of my proposal, and my feelings also became equally visible when I began to speak. The feelings of all three were similar and showed themselves perceptibly in our eyes, a kind of joyful solemnity ensued, and we all three returned thanks to God. The mother laid before me the two letters, and asked, 'Do you confess that you have written these?' 'Oh, yes,' I said, and kissed her hand. She kissed me warmly, and assured me of her most hearty approbation.
"The daughter very soon after lost her heretofore shyness, and raised her eyes pleasantly, because she knew it did not displease her mother, and she had now a right to make herself pleasant. We had neither of us had any romantic training, otherwise she would not have waited for this till I had spoken and had obtained the mothers consent. Thus this affair, which was so difficult and so important for me, took a smooth course, without the intervention of any other person, or the employment of those arts or intrigues with which brides are entrapped by many.
"It is not necessary for me to tell the holy and humble thankfulness of my soul to God, nor how much I endeavoured to preserve my inward peace and tranquillity, in spite of the gossip that followed upon this my resolution.
"I immediately investigated the character of my bride; she had an agreeable aspect, although the smallpox, which she had passed through after she was grown up, had materially injured her complexion. Her education had been carried on partly under the eyes of a grandmother and an excellent aunt, partly by the mother, who kept a tutor for her and her brother. After the death of the father, the mother and daughter had lived in great retirement. But she had only the more cultivated all those qualifications which are most advantageous to her sex; her judgment was so good, that her mother generally preferred it to her own in household arrangements. The style of her letters was good, the handwriting pretty and even, and there were very few faults of orthography. In this she excelled all her many relations. Accounts she understood far better than her mother, and had, when scarcely fifteen years of age, during a long absence of her mother, so accurately reckoned up the details of an income of 1800 gulden, that there was nothing missing. She had for some years kept her own accounts in respect of a property which she had inherited from an uncle at Coburg, amounting to a thousand gulden or more. She had learned to dance, and held herself well, but was not particularly fond of it; her head-dresses she made herself, and many of her clothes, and always in good taste. This pleasure in the work of her own hands was considered by others of her own age, who had no such pleasure in it, as the result of great parsimony, which it certainly was not, as I shall presently show.
"We now associated more freely, and during the few remaining days of my stay, often walked together, especially in the great garden on the Lossau. There we sat, sometimes under the trees overlooking the city. She was so frank with me, that she said to me of her own accord, 'Now you must exert yourself, and take some control over me, to wean me from the faults which long solitude has engendered in me. I may, by my devotion perhaps, and by my pure good heart, recommend myself to you; but, as we must mix with many people and become a portion of the so-called great world, you must help me, that I may not then appear to disadvantage, till I can myself judge rightly with respect to externals. For you are superior to me in understanding and in the refinements of language and social intercourse.' This honesty brought tears into my eyes. She wept with me, asking whether I now repented, and whether I had not long known these defects of hers?
"In answer to this, I said, 'I have more cause to be uneasy than you, lest you should repent of having given your hand and heart to a Professor, whom you will soon find deficient in all external means, although very laborious. And now I will lay before you all my anxieties, entirely without reserve. You know it is true that my father can give me nothing; but you do not know that I cannot at present pay you for board and lodging, and that I must incur many small debts, that we may leave Coburg in suitable style.'
"She looked at me tenderly, and said: 'If you have really no other cause for uneasiness, I am truly very happy to say that I can help to place you in a better position. Think, therefore, only of making me more worthy of you, that I may not injure you in society. I am mistress of my own fortune, in the management of which I have hitherto sometimes asked advice of Dr. Berger, as my guardian. He esteems you too highly, for him to put the least obstacle in the way of my serving you when I wish to do so.'
"Thus this worthy person has always evinced an unselfish, honourable manner of thinking, and relieved me from all shame and uneasiness about my position.
"Now I began to think about my journey, that I might not arrive too late at Nuremberg.
"At Nuremberg there were still very many features of great antiquity, which made much impression on me. Birkmann, preacher at the church of St. Giles, had kindly offered that I should take up my quarters with him. I was received by him very lovingly, and he gave me a room up-stairs, in which were his books; a neighbourhood which was very useful to me, as I was able in the evening to search out some accounts of Nuremberg, that everything might not be so entirely strange to me. As soon as I possibly could I presented myself before the gentlemen of the council, in the great hall of the Council-house, at the hour when they entered the hall from their separate rooms. The great impression made on me by this grand building, and the unusual circumstances in which I was placed, had a good effect upon me, so that I with modesty and emotion spoke out freely, which, together with my pressing recommendations, obtained me the gracious approbation of these venerable persons. Herr von Ebner, whose own learning and noble manner of thinking filled every one with respect, desired me afterwards to be told that he expected me in the afternoon at his house. I sought to recover the composure of my mind, that I might be distracted as little as possible by so many unexpected events, and turn this visit the more to my advantage. As this gentleman was almost blind I was deprived of much assistance, for by an unaffected modest attitude, which I always liked, I had elsewhere frequently procured myself a hearing, even from those who hitherto had been prepossessed against me. After I had stood some minutes, and had expressed my feelings of gratitude in the best sentences I could utter, avoiding equally bombast and common-place, he said: 'Herr Professor, your voice and speech please me so much that I regret not being able to see you distinctly. Seat yourself near me; I must speak to you on various things. The great man whom we have lost, Professor Schwarz, has especially and confidentially recommended you to me; but there is truly no want of competitors for the place which he has vacated.' Now he came to my 'miscellaneas lectiones' parts of which had been read to him, and asked so many particulars that the conversation resembled an examination. At last he said to me, with evident pleasure, 'You are just the man; if I say it you will be chosen. I heartily wish you happiness for yourself and Altorf.' Then he caused Trident wine to be brought, and the servant was not to allow the glass to stand empty. Now he was so gracious, that when I rose he said, 'If I can provide you with a rich wife, tell me so straightforwardly.' I kissed his hand reverently, pressed it with my forehead, and said at once, with great feeling, 'I thank you.' 'I shall be all the better pleased,' he said, 'if you have no disquiet in your outward life.' He desired me, when I returned again from Altorf, to ask for him; meanwhile he took me into his garden, and wished to talk on other matters with me, which afterwards took place. I must say that such noble affability, and active regard, as were shown by the gentlemen of Nuremberg to their men of learning, I have seldom met with elsewhere.
"The preacher Birkmann travelled with me to Altorf. On the way I thought it right to give the excellent man to understand that Herr von Ebner had wished to make a good marriage for me; but I had found it necessary already at Coburg to discharge this duty, and free myself from the anxiety, so that all other well-meant arrangements were useless. Meanwhile I revolved many new thoughts in my mind.
"I arrived safely at Coburg, and brought the vocation with me. On the 26th August, 1751, the amiable Döbnerin was married to me in the sacristy."--
Thus far we give the account of the husband, who, in the further course of his autobiography, takes every opportunity of expressing his love and admiration for the wife of his choice, and composed a special eulogy on her after death. Unfortunately no letter has been preserved from the Frau Professorin, whose style was so much praised by the Professor. But a love-letter will be given of the year 1750, from one of her circle of Coburg acquaintance,[89] which one may presume gives pretty accurately the style of the Demoiselle Döbnerin; the same customary forms and artificial tenderness under which the warm feelings of a human heart are only occasionally perceptible. This letter, from a betrothed to her intended in Coburg, runs thus:--
"Chosen one of my heart! As I do not doubt that the holy Christmas season will have brought with it to my loved child all its best and most desired blessings, so do I hope that the good God will mercifully hear my fervent prayers, and pour upon him in rich measure so much health, bliss, and all pleasures, that I may continually have cause to praise Him. I also send my congratulations on the approaching new year, and will express my sincere heartfelt wishes in these few words: 'Most Highest, hear my prayer! for the sake of my dearest child take the half of my life and add it to his years, so will my temporal welfare which germinates through his goodness soon develope the ripe fruit of bliss, in spite of the foaming of envy and malevolence.'
"My love has given me very great pleasure by his agreeable letter, as I have seen that he, whose frequent occupations might easily cause me to be forgotten, has not been hindered from thinking most kindly of me, therefore I return my beloved my most bounden thanks. He was pleased in his dear letter to mention that the ring is ready, but it is not stated what I am to pay for it, I therefore expect in the next a few lines concerning this, and also touching the honourable brother-in-law.
"If my beloved desires that I should know or look after aught else, may it please him to speak out freely: his orders shall at all times be commands to me. To the most highly-esteemed Frau Mamma and the Frau Schwester I send my dutiful congratulations on this new year, and request of them further their gracious favour. My papa and mamma send equally their compliments, and wish my beloved to enjoy in undisturbed contentment all blessings and prosperity. We expect with great desire a kind answer, and my papa is the more desirous to receive one, as he himself dictated mamma's letter. I am anxious to learn what resolution his honour has come to touching this matter. I beg leave, my heart, to send with this a bad specimen of my workmanship for a waistcoat, humbly requesting his honour not to regard the smallness of its value, but rather the goodwill with which it is given, for I assure him there are not as many stitches in it, as there are good wishes accompanying it. In conclusion, I remain, with constant esteem,
"My beloved one's
"Most affectionate
"C. C. K.
"A. Monsieur, Monsieur ... at Coburg."
So cautious, formal, and florid were the love-letters of a true-hearted frank maiden, like the dear wife of Professor Semler.
But he himself, Johann Salomo Semler,--the father of modern theology, long the highly-honoured head of the University, who, in his scientific views, was a bolder, rasher man than his older contemporaries,--how should we judge him, if measured by the standard of our time? Because he has no money for his journey, and some debts in Coburg, he determines to marry; he informs his love in Saalfeld of his situation, and woos the daughter of his wealthy landlady, to whom hitherto he had appeared indifferent. The like of this in our time, speaking mildly, would be called--pitiful. And yet when the aged Professor gave his narrative to the public, he plainly assumed that his conduct would not appear dishonourable in the eyes of his contemporaries. There is no reason to doubt that the friends of his youth thought exactly the same, perhaps somewhat less conscientiously. When he was young, what rights had the heart of a poor scholar against a cold, tyrrannical world? Little as yet. What was the aim and object of his life? To learn and labour from early mom till dead of night, in order to instil his painfully gained knowledge into other souls, to spread by writings and teaching, all that was important and new that he searched out, descried, or conceived. Therein lay his highest duty and honour, the object and pride of his earthly days; to this must his private life be adapted and accommodated. Thus it was not only the few, that felt a burning ambition, it was a general feeling, as with Semler, in many hundreds who starved, bowed themselves before the powerful and changed their faith, in order to be able to live for science. There is nothing noble in this, but it is nevertheless a seeking after something nobler; it is the old German yearning for something to be devoted to, which is immeasurably more estimable than devotion to self. Let manly power be united with such a tone of mind, together with the feeling of being a ruler upon earth, and something will arise which all following ages will call great and good.