e goes flaming forth
in his ministry. A soul more robust, great-hearted, and
manly does not appear in history, for some centuries
at the least. Danger is nothing; persecution nothing.
It only puts the keener edge on his well-tempered spirit.
He is content and joyful at bearing all the reproaches man
can lay on him. There was nothing sham in Paul. He
felt what he said, which is common enough. But he lived
what he felt, which is not so common. What wonder that
such a man made converts, overcame violence, and helped
the truth to triumph ? It were wonderful, if he had not.
Take away the life and influence of Paul, the Christian
world is a different thing; we cannot tell what it would
have been. Under his hands, and those of his coadjutors,
the new faith spreads from heart to heart, till many thou-
sands own the name, and amid all the persecution that fol-
lows, the pious of the earth celebrate such a jubilee as
the sun never saw before.
However it was not among the great and refined, but the
low and the rude, that the faith found its early confessors.
Men came up faint and hungry, from the high-ways and
hedges of society, to eat the bread of life at God's table.
They ate and were filled. Here it is that all Religions
take their rise. The sublime faith of the Hebrews began in
a horde of slaves. The Christian has a carpenter for its
revealer; fishermen for its first disciples; a tent-maker for
its chief apostle. Yet these men could stand before kings'
courts — and Felix trembled at Paul's reasoning. Yes, the
world trembled at such reasoning. And when whole mul-
titudes gave in their adhesion; when the common means
of tyranny, prisons, racks, and the cross failed to repress
“this detestable superstition," as ill-natured Tacitus calls
it; but when two thousand men and women, delicate
maidens, and men newly married, come to the Prætor, and


1842.]
309
Primitive Christianity.
say, “ We are Christians all ; kill us if you will ; we cannot
change;" then for the first time official persons begin to
look into the matter, and inquire for the cause, which
makes women heroines, and young men martyrs. There
are always enough to join any folly because it is new. But
when the headsman's axe gleams under his apron, or slaves
erect a score of crosses in the market-place, and men see
the mangled limbs of brothers, fathers, and sons huddled
into bloody sacks, or thrown to the dogs, it requires some
heart to bear up, accept a new faith, and renounce mortal
life.
It is sometimes asked, what made so many converts to Chris-
tianity, under such fearful circumstances ? The answer de-
pends on the man. Most men apply the universal solvent, and
call it a miracle — an overstepping of the laws of mind.
The Apostles had miraculous authority ; Peter had miracu-
lous revelations ; Paul a miraculous conversion ; both vis-
ions, and other miraculous assistance all their life. That
they taught by miracles. But what could it be? The au-
thority of the teachers ? The authority of a Jewish peas-
ant would not have passed for much at Ephesus or Alex-
andria, at Lycaonia or Rome. Were they infallibly inspired,
so that they could not err, in doctrine, or practice? Thus it
has been taught. But their opponents did not believe it;
their friends knew nothing of it, or there had been no sharp
dissension between Paul and Barnabas, nor any disagree-
ment of Paul with Peter. They themselves seem never to
have dreamed of such an infallibility, or they would not
change their plans and doctrine as Peter did, nor need
instruction as Titus, Timothy, and all the primitive teachers
to whom James sent the circular epistle of the first synod.
If they had believed themselves infallibly inspired, they
would not assemble a council of all to decide, what each
infallible person could determine, as well as all the spirits
and angels together. Still less could any discussion arise
among the apostles as to the course to be pursued. Was
it their learning that gave them success? They could not
even interpret the Psalms, without making the most obvious
mistakes, as any one may see, who reads the book of Acts.
Was it their eloquence, their miraculous gift of tongues ?
What was the eloquence of Peter, or James, when Paul,
their chief apostle, was weak in bodily presence, and con-


310
(Jan.
.
Primitive Christianity.
and divinitytrine was true and do than eloque
temptible in speech ? No, it was none of these things.
They had somewhat more convincing than authority ; wiser
than learning; more persuasive than eloquence. Men
felt the doctrine was true and divine. They saw its truth
and divinity mirrored in the life of these rough men; they
heard the voice of God in their own hearts say, it is true.
They tried it by the standard God has placed in the leart,
and it stood the test. They saw the effect it had on Chris-
tians themselves, and said, “Here at least is something di-
vine, for men do not gather grapes of thorns." When men
came out from hearing Peter or Paul set forth the Chris-
tian doctrine and apply it to life, they did not say, “what a
moving speaker ; how beautifully he divides the word;'
how he mixes the light of the sun, and the roar of torrents,
and the sublimity of the stars, as it were, in his speech;
what a melting voice; what graceful gestures; what beauti-
ful similes gathered from all the arts, sciences, poetry, and
nature herself.” It was not with such reflections they
entertained their journey home. They said, " what shall
we do to be saved ?”
Primitive Christianity was a wonderful element, as it
came into the world. Like a two-edged sword, it cut down
through all the follies and falseness of four thousand years.
It acknowledged what was good and true in all systems,
and sought to show its own agreement with goodness and
truth, wherever found. It told men what they were. It
bade them hope, look upon the light, and aspire after the
most noble end — to be complete men, to be reconciled to
the will of God, and so become one with him. It gave the
world assurance of a man, by showing one whose life was
beautiful as his doctrine, and his doctrine combined all the
excellence of all former teachers, and went before the
world, thousands of years. It told men there was one
God — who had made of one blood all the nations of the
earth, and was a father to each man. It showed that all men
are brothers. Believing in these doctrines, seeing the great-
ness of man's nature in the very ruins sin had wrought;
filled with the beauty of a good life, the comforting thought,
that God is always near, and ready to help, no wonder men
felt moved in their heart. The life of the apostles and early
Christians, the self-denial they practised, their readiness to
endure persecution, their love one for the other, beautifully
enforced the words of truth and love.


1842.]
311
Primitive Christianity.
One of the early champions of the faith appeals in tri-
umph to the excellence of Christians, which even Julian of
a later day was forced to confess. You know the Chris-
tians soon as you see them, he says; they are not found in
taverns, nor places of infamous resort; they neither game,
por lie, nor steal, attend the baths, or the theatres ; they
are not selfish but loving. The multitude looked on, at
first to see " whereunto the thing would grow.” They
saw, and said, see how these Christians love one another;
how the new religion takes down the selfishness of the
proud, makes avarice charitable, and the voluptuary self-
denying.
This new spirit of piety, of love to man, and love to
God, the active application of the great Christian maxims
to life, led to a manly religion ; not to that pale-faced piet-
ism which hangs its head on Sundays, and does nothing
but whine out its sentimental cant on week-days, in hopes
to make this drivelling pass current for real manly excellence.
No; it led to a noble, upright frame of mind, heart, and soul,
and in this way it conquered the world. The first apostles
of Christianity were persuasive, through the power of
truth. They told what they had felt. They had been
under the Law, and knew its thraldom; they had escaped
from the iron furnace, and could teach others the way.
No doubt the wisest of them was in darkness on many
points. Their general ignorance, in the eyes of the scholar,
must have stood in strange contrast with their clear view
of religious truth. It seems, as Paul says, that God had
chosen the foolish and the weak, to confound the mighty
and the wise. Now we have accomplished scholars, skilled
in all the lore of the world, accomplished orators; but
who does the work of Paul, and Timothy ? Out of the
mouth of babes and sucklings praise was perfected ; out
of the mouth of clerks and orators what do we get? —
Well said Jeremiah, “ The prophets shall become wind, and
the word not be in them.”
If we come from the days of the apostles to their suc-
cessors, and still later, we find the errors of the first teachers
have become magnified ; the truth of Christianity is dim;
men had wandered farther from that great light God sent
into the world. The errors of the Pagans, the Jews, the
errors of obstinate men, who loved to rule God's heritage


312
[Jan.
Primitive Christianity.
better than to be ensamples unto the flock, had worked
their way. The same freedom did not prevail as before.
The word of God had become a letter; men looked back,
not forward. Superstition came into the church. The
rites of Christianity — its accidents, not its substance -
held an undue place; ascetism was esteemed more than
hitherto. The body began to be reckoned unholy; Christ
regarded as a God, not a man living as God commands.
Then the Priest was separated from the people, and a flood
of evils came upon the church, and accomplished what per-
secution with her headsmen, and her armies never could
effect. Christianity was grossly corrupted long before it
ascended the throne of the world. But for this corruption
it would have found no place in the court of Rome or By-
zantium. Still in the writings of early Christians, of Tertul-
lian and Cyprian, for example, we find a real living spirit,
spite of the superstition, bigotry, and falseness too obvious
in the men. They spake because they had somewhat to
say, and were earnest in their speech. You come down
from the writings of Seneca to Cyprian, you miss the
elegant speech, the wonderful mastery over language, and the
stores of beautiful imagery, with which that hard, bombastic
Roman sets off his thought. But in the Christian — you find
an earnestness and a love of man, which the Roman had not,
and a fervent piety, to which he made no pretension. But
alas, for the superstition of the Bishop, bis austerity and
unchristian doctrines! It remains doubtful, whether an
enlightened man, who had attained a considerable growth
in religious excellence, would not justly have preferred the
Religion of Seneca to that of Cyprian ; but there is no doubt
such an one would have accepted with joyful faith the relig-
ion of Jesus — the primitive Christianity undefiled by men.
To come down from the Christianity of Christ, to the
Religion popularly taught in the churches of New England,
and we ask can it be this for which men suffered martyr-
dom — this, which changed the face of the world ? Is this
matter, for which sect contends with sect, to save the
Heathen world? Christianity was a simple thing in Paul's
time; in Christ's it was simpler still. But what is it now?
A modern writer somewhat quaintly says, the early writers
of the Christian church knew what Christianity was, they
were the fathers; the scholastics and philosophers of the


1842.]
313
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
dark ages knew what Reason was; they were the doctors ;
the religionists of modern times know neither what is Chris-
tianity, nor what Reason; they are the scrutators.
P.
BETTINE BRENTANO AND HER FRIEND GUNDERODE.
BETTINE BRENTANO's letters to Goethe, published under
the title of Goethe's Correspondence with a Child, are already
well known among us and met with a more cordial recep-
tion from readers in general than could have been expected.
Even those who are accustomed to measure the free move-
ments of art by the conventions that hedge the path of
daily life, who, in great original creations, seek only intima-
tions of the moral character borne by the author in his pri-
vate circle, and who, had they been the contemporaries
of Shakspeare, would have been shy of visiting the person
who took pleasure in the delineation of a Falstaff;— even
those whom Byron sneers at as “the garrison people," suf-
fered themselves to be surprised in their intrenchments, by
the exuberance and wild, youthful play of Bettine's genius,
and gave themselves up to receive her thoughts and feelings
in the spirit which led her to express them. They felt that
here was one whose only impulse was to live, — to unfold
and realize her nature, and they forgot to measure what
she did by her position in society.
There have been a few exceptions of persons who
judged the work unworthily, who showed entire insensibil-
ity to its fulness of original thought and inspired fidelity to
nature, and vulgarized by their impure looks the innocent
vagaries of youthful idolatry. But these have been so few
that, this time, the vulgar is not the same with the mob,
but the reverse.
If such was its reception from those long fettered by
custom, and crusted over by artificial tastes, with what
joy was it greeted by those of free intellect and youthful
eager heart. So very few printed books are in any wise a
faithful transcript of life, that the possession of one really
sincere made an era in many minds, unlocking tongues that
VOL. II. — NO. III.
40


314
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
had long been silent as to what was dearest and most del-
icate in their experiences, or most desired for the future,
and making the common day and common light rise again
to their true value, since it was seen how fruitful they had
been to this one person. The meteor playing in our sky
diffused there an electricity and a light, which revealed un-
known attractions in seemingly sluggish substances, and
lured many secrets from the dim recesses in which they
had been cowering for years, unproductive, cold, and
silent.
Yet, while we enjoyed this picture of a mind tuned to
its highest pitch by the desire of daily ministering to an
idolized object; while we were enriched by the results of
the Child's devotion to him, hooted at by the Philistines
as the “Old Heathen," but to her poetic apprehension
" Jupiter, A pollo, all in one,” we must feel that the relation
in which she stands to Goethe is not a beautiful one. Idol-
atries are natural to youthful hearts noble enough for a
passion beyond the desire for sympathy or the instinct of
dependence, and almost all aspiring natures can recall a
period when some noble figure, whether in life or literature,
stood for them at the gate of heaven, and represented all
the possible glories of nature and art. This worship is,
in most instances, a secret worship; the still, small voice
constantly rising in the soul to bid them harmonize the
discords of the world, and distill beauty from imperfection,
for another of kindred nature has done so. This figure
whose achievements they admire is their St. Peter, holding
for them the keys of Paradise, their model, their excite-
ment to fulness and purity of life, their external conscience.
When this devotion is silent, or only spoken out through
our private acts, it is most likely to make the stair to
heaven, and lead men on till suddenly they find the golden
gate will open at their own touch, and they need neither
mediator nor idol more. The same course is observable
in the religion of nations, where the worship of Persons
rises at last into free thought in the minds of Philosophers.
But when this worship is expressed, there must be singu-
lar purity and strength of character on the part both of
Idol and Idolater, to prevent its degenerating into a
mutual excitement of vanity, or mere infatuation.
“Thou art the only one worthy to inspire me ;” cries
one.


1842.]
315
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
“ Thou art the only one capable of understanding my
inspiration," smiles back the other.
And clouds of incense rise to hide from both the free
breath of heaven!
But if the idol stands there, grim and insensible, the
poor votary will oftentimes redouble his sacrifices with
passionate fervor, till the scene becomes as sad a farce as
that of Juggernaut, and all that is dignified in human
nature lies crushed and sullied by one superstitious folly.
An admiration restrained by self-respect ; (I do not mean
pride, but a sense that one's own soul is, after all, a regal
power and a precious possession, which, if not now of as
apparent magnificence, is of as high an ultimate destiny
as that of another) honors the admirer no less than the ad-
mired. But humility is not groveling weakness, neither does
bounty consist in prodigality; and the spendthrifts of the
soul deserve to famish on husks for many days; for, if they
had not wandered so far from the Father, he would have
given them bread.
In short we are so admirably constituted, that excess any-
where must lead to poverty somewhere; and though he is
mean and cold, who is incapable of free abandonment to a
beautiful object, yet if there be not in the mind a counter-
poising force, which draws us back to the centre in propor-
tion as we have flown from it, we learn nothing from our
experiment, and are not vivified but weakened by our
love.
Something of this we feel with regard to Bettine and
Goethe. The great poet of her nation, and representative
of half a century of as high attainment as mind has ever
made, was magnet strong enough to draw out the virtues of
many beings as rich as she. His greatness was a house-
hold word, and the chief theme of pride in the city of her
birth. To her own family he had personally been well
known in all the brilliancy of his dawn. She had grown
up in the atmosphere he had created. Seeing him
up there on the mountain, he seemed to her all beautiful
and majestic in the distant rosy light of its snow-peaks.
Add a nature, like one of his own melodies, as subtle, as
fluent, and as productive of minute flowers and mosses, we
could not wonder if one so fitted to receive him, had made
of her whole life a fair sculptured pedestal for this one
figure.


316
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
All this would be well, or rather, not ill, if he were to
her only an object of thought; but when the two figures
are brought into open relation with one another; it is too
unequal. Were Bettine, indeed, a child, she might bring
her basket of flowers and strew them in his path without ex-
pecting even a smile in return. . But to say nothing of the
reckoning by years, which the curious have made, we con-
stantly feel that she is not a child. She is so indeed when
compared with him as to maturity of growth, but she is
not so in their relation, and the degree of knowledge she
shows of life and thought compels us to demand some
conscious dignity of her as a woman. The great art where
to stop is not evinced in all passages. Then Goethe is so
cold, so repulsive, diplomatic, and courteously determined
not to compromise himself. Had he assumed truly the pa-
ternal attitude, he might have been far more gentle and
tender, he might have fostered all the beauteous blossoms
of this young fancy, without ever giving us a feeling of
pain and inequality. But he does not; there is an air as
of an elderly guardian flirting cautiously with a giddy, in-
experienced ward, or a Father Confessor, who, instead of
through the holy office raising and purifying the thoughts
of the devotee, uses it to gratify his curiosity. We cannot
accuse him of playing with her feelings. He never leads
her on. She goes herself, following the vision which gleams
before her. " I will not,” he says, “wile the little bird from its
nest,” and he does not. But he is willing to make a tool
of this fresh, fervent being; he is unrelenting as ever in
this. What she offers from the soul the artist receives,
to use artistically. Indeed we see, that he enjoyed as we
do the ceaseless bee-like hum of gathering from a thousand
flowers, but only with the cold pleasure of an observer;
there is no genuine movement of a grateful sensibility.
We often feel that Bettine should perceive this, and that it
should have modified the nature of her offerings. For now
there is nothing kept sacred, and no balance of beauty
maintained in her life. Impatiently she has approached
where she was not called, and the truth and delicacy of
spiritual affinities has been violated. She has followed like
a slave where she might as a pupil. Observe this, young
idolaters. Have you chosen a bright particular star for the
object of your vespers ? you will not see it best or revere


1842.)
317
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
it best by falling prostrate in the dust; but stand erect,
though with upturned brow and face pale with devotion.
An ancient author says, “it is the punishment of those
who have honored their kings as gods to be expelled from
the gods," and we feel this about Bettine, that her bound-
less abandonment to one feeling must hinder for a time her
progress and that her maturer years are likely to lag slowly
after the fiery haste of her youth. She lived so long, not
for truth, but for a human object, that the plant must have
fallen into the dust when its prop was withdrawn, and lain
there long before it could economize its juices enough to
become a tree where it had been a vine.
We also feel as if she became too self-conscious in the
course of this intimacy. There being no response from
the other side to draw her out naturally, she hunts about
for means to entertain a lordly guest, who brings nothing
to the dinner, but a silver fork. Perhaps Goethe would
say his questions and answers might be found in his books;
that if she knew what he was, she knew what to bring.
But the still human little maiden wanted to excite surprise
at least if not sympathy by her gifts, and her simplicity
was perverted in the effort. We see the fanciful about to
degenerate into the fantastic, freedom into lawlessness, and
are reminded of the fate of Euphorion in Goethe's great
Rune.
Thus we follow the course of this intimacy with the
same feelings as the love of Tasso, and, in the history of
fiction, of Werther, and George Douglas, as also those of
Sappho, Eloisa, and Mlle. de L'Espinasse. There is a hol-
lowness in the very foundation, and we feel from the be-
ginning,
"It will not, nor it cannot come to good.”
Yet we cannot but be grateful to circumstances, even
if not in strict harmony with our desires, to which we owe
some of the most delicate productions of literature, those
few pages it boasts which are genuine transcripts of
private experience. They are mostly tear-stained ; — by
those tears have been kept living on the page those flowers,
which the poets present to us only when distilled into
essences. The few records in this kind that we possess
remind us of the tapestries woven by prisoners and exiles,
pathetic heir-looms, in noble families.


318
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
Of these letters to Goethe some have said they were so
pure a product, so free from any air of literature, as to
make the reader feel he had never seen a genuine book
before.
Another, “She seems a spirit in a mask of flesh, to
each man's heart revealing his secret wishes and the vast
capacities of the narrowest life."
But the letters to Goethe are not my present subject;
and those before me with the same merits give us no cause
however trifling for regret. They are letters which passed
between Bettine, and the Canoness Günderode, the friend to
whom she was devoted several years previous to her ac-
quaintance with Goethe.
The readers of the Correspondence with a Child will re-
member the history of this intimacy, and of the tragedy
with which it closed, as one of the most exquisite passages
in the volumes. The filling out of the picture is not un-
worthy the outline there given.
Günderode was a Canoness in one of the orders de-
scribed by Mrs. Jameson, living in the house of her order,
but mixing freely in the world at her pleasure. But as
she was eight or ten years older than her friend, and
of a more delicate and reserved nature, her letters de-
scribe a narrower range of outward life. She seems to
have been intimate with several men of genius and high
cultivation, especially in philosophy, as well as with Bet-
tine ; these intimacies afforded stimulus to her life, which
passed, at the period of writing, either in her little room with
her books and her pen, or in occasional visits to her family
and to beautiful country-places.
Bettine, belonging to a large and wealthy family of ex-
tensive commercial connexions, and seeing at the house of
grandmother Me. La Roche, most of the distinguished
literati of the time, as well as those noble and princely
persons who were proud to do honor to letters, if they did
not professedly cultivate them, brings before us a much
wider circle. The letters would be of great interest, if
only for the distinct pictures they present of the two modes
of life; and the two beautiful figures which animate and
portray these modes of life are in perfect harmony with
them.
I have been accustomed to distinguish the two as Nature
grande commerging to’a aces.


1842.)
319
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
never hushed.h the apprebe over the fence
and Ideal. Bettine, hovering from object to object, draw-
ing new tides of vital energy from all, living freshly alike
in man and tree, loving the breath of the damp earth as
well as that of the flower which springs from it, bounding
over the fences of society as easily as over the fences of
the field, intoxicated with the apprehension of each new
mystery, never hushed into silence by the highest, flying
and singing like the bird, sobbing with the hopelessness of
an infant, prophetic, yet astonished at the fulfilment of
each prophecy, restless, fearless, clinging to love, yet un-
wearied in experiment — is not this the pervasive vital
force, cause of the effect which we call nature ?
And Günderode, in the soft dignity of each look and
gesture, whose lightest word has the silvery spiritual clear-
ness of an angel's lyre, harmonizing all objects into their
true relations, drawing from every form of life its eternal
meaning, checking, reproving, and clarifying all that was
unworthy by her sadness at the possibility of its existence.
Does she not meet the wild, fearless bursts of the friendly
genius, to measure, to purify, to interpret, and thereby to
elevate? As each word of Bettine's calls to enjoy and
behold, like a free breath of mountain air, so each of Gün-
derode's comes like the moonbeam to transfigure the land-
scape, to hush the wild beatings of the heart and dissolve
all the sultry vapors of day into the pure dewdrops of the
solemn and sacred night.
The action of these two beings upon one another, as
representing classes of thoughts, is thus of the highest po-
etical significance. As persons, their relation is not less
beautiful. An intimacy between two young men is heroic.
They call one another to combat with the wrongs of
life; they buckler one another against the million ; they
encourage each other to ascend the steeps of knowledge;
they hope to aid one another in the administration of jus-
tice, and the diffusion of prosperity. As the life of man
is to be active, they have still more the air of brothers in
arms than of fellow students. But the relation between
two young girls is essentially poetic. What is more fair
than to see little girls, hand in hand, walking in some gar-
den, laughing, singing, chatting in low tones of mystery,
cheek to cheek and brow to brow. Hermia and Helena,
the nymphs gathering flowers in the vale of Enna, sister


320
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
Graces and sister Muses rise to thought, and we feel how
naturally the forms of women are associated in the con-
templation of beauty and the harmonies of affection. The
correspondence between very common-place girls is interest-
ing, if they are not foolish sentimentalists, but healthy
natures with a common groundwork of real life. There
is a fluent tenderness, a native elegance in the arrange-
ment of trifling incidents, a sincere childlike sympathy in
aspirations that mark the destiny of woman. She should
be the poem, man the poet.
The relation before us presents all that is lovely between
woman and woman, adorned by great genius and beauty
on both sides. The advantage in years, the higher culture,
and greater harmony of Günderode's nature is counter-
balanced, by the ready springing impulse, richness, and
melody of the other.
And not only are these letters interesting as presenting
this view of the interior of German life, and of an ideal re-
lation realized, but the high state of culture in Germany
which presented to the thoughts of those women themes
of poesy and philosophy as readily, as to the English or
American girl come the choice of a dress, the last concert
or assembly, has made them expressions of the noblest as-
piration, filled them with thoughts and oftentimes deep
thoughts on the great subjects. Many of the poetical frag-
ments from the pen of Günderode are such as would not
have been written, had she not been the contemporary of
Schelling and Fichte, yet are they native and original, the
atmosphere of thought reproduced in the brilliant and del-
icate hues of a peculiar plant. This transfusion of such
energies as are manifested in Goethe, Kant, and Schelling
into these private lives is a creation not less worthy our
admiration, than the forms which the muse has given them
to bestow on the world through their immediate working
by their chosen means. These are not less the children of
the genius than his statue or the exposition of his method.
Truly, as regards the artist, the immortal offspring of the
Muse,
" Loves where (art) has set its seal,"
are objects of clearer confidence than the lives on which
he has breathed ; they are safe as the poet tells us death
alone can make the beauty of the actual; they will ever


1842.
321
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
bloom as sweet and fair as now, ever thus radiate pure
light, nor degrade the prophecy of high moments, by com-
promise, fits of inanity, or folly, as the living poems do.
But to the universe, which will give time and room to cor-
rect the bad lines in those living poems, it is given to wait
as the artist with his human feelings cannot, though secure
that a true thought never dies, but once gone forth must
work and live forever.
We know that cant and imitation must always follow
a bold expression of thought in any wise, and reconcile our-
self as well as we can to those insects called by the very
birth of the rose to prey upon its sweetness. But pleasure
is unmingled, where thought has done its proper work and
fertilized while it modified each being in its own kind. Let
him who has seated himself beneath the great German
oak, and gazed upon the growth of poesy, of philosophy,
of criticism, of historic painting, of the drama, till the life
of the last fifty years seems well worth man's living, pick
up also these little acorns which are dropping gracefully on
the earth, and carry them away to be planted in his own
home, for in each fairy form may be read the story of the
national tree, the promise of future growths as noble.
The talisman of this friendship may be found in Günde-
rode's postscript to one of her letters, “ If thou findest
Muse, write soon again,” I have hesitated whether this
might not be, “ if thou findest Musse (leisure) write soon
again ;" then had the letters wound up like one of our epis-
tles here in America. But, in fine, I think there can be no
mistake. They waited for the Muse. Here the pure
products of public and private literature are on a par.
That inspiration which the poet finds in the image of the
ideal man, the man of the ages, of whom nations are but
features, and Messiahs the voice, the friend finds in the
thought of his friend, a nature in whose positive existence
and illimitable tendencies he finds the mirror of his desire,
and the spring of his conscious growth. For those who
write in the spirit of sincerity, write neither to the public
nor the individual, but to the soul made manifest in the
flesh, and publication or correspondence only furnish them
with the occasion for bringing their thoughts to a focus.
The day was made rich to Bettine and her friend by
hoarding its treasures for one another. If we have no
VOL. II. — NO. III.
41


322
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
object of the sort, we cannot live at all in the day, but
thoughts stretch out into eternity and find no home. We
feel of these two that they were enough to one another to
be led to indicate their best thoughts, their fairest visions,
and therefore theirs was a true friendship. They needed
not “ descend to meet.”
Sad are the catastrophes of friendships, for they are
mostly unequal, and it is rare that more than one party
keeps true to the original covenant. Happy the survivor
if in losing his friend, he loses not the idea of friendship, nor
can be made to believe, because those who were once to him
the angels of his life, sustaining the aspiration of his nobler
nature, and calming his soul by the gleams of pure beauty
that for a time were seen in their deeds, in their desires,
unexpectedly grieve the spirit, and baffle the trust which
had singled them out as types of excellence amid a sullied
race, by infirmity of purpose, shallowness of heart and
mind, selfish absorption or worldly timidity, that there is
no such thing as true intimacy, as harmonious development of
mind by mind, two souls prophesying to one another, two
minds feeding one another, two human hearts sustaining
and pardoning one another! Be not faithless, thou whorn
I see wandering alone amid the tombs of thy buried loves.
The relation thou hast thus far sought in vain is possible
even on earth to calm, profound, tender, and unselfish na-
tures; it is assured in heaven, where only chastened spirits
can enter, — pilgrims dedicate to Perfection.
As there is no drawback upon the beauty of this inti-
macy - there being sufficient nearness of age to give Gün-
derode just the advantage needful with so daring a child
as Bettine, and a sufficient equality in every other respect -
so is every detail of their position attractive and pictur-
esque. There is somewhat fantastic or even silly in some
of the scenes with Goethe ; there is a slight air of traves-
tie and we feel sometimes as if we saw rather a masque
aiming to express nature, than nature's self. Bettine's
genius was excited to idealize life for Goethe, and gleams
of the actual will steal in and give a taint of the grotesque
to the groupes. The aim is to meet as nymph and Apollo,
but with sudden change the elderly prime minister and the
sentimental maiden are beheld instead. But in the inter-
course with Günderode there is no effort; each mind being


1842.)
323
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
at equal expense of keeping up its fires. We think with
unmingled pleasure of the two seated together beside the
stove in Günderode's little room, walking in Madame La
Roche's garden, where they “ founded a religion for a
young prince," or on the Rhine, or in the old castle on
the hill, as described in the following beautiful letters.
"She (Günderode) was so timid; a young Canoness, who
feared to say grace aloud; she often told me that she trembled
when her turn came to pronounce the benedicite; - our com-
munion was sweet, — it was the epoch in which I first became
conscious of myself. She had sought me out in Offenbach;
she took me by the hand and begged me to visit her in the
town; afterwards we came every day together; with her I
learned to read my first books with understanding; she wanted
to teach me History, but soon saw that I was too busy with the
present, to be held long by the past. How delighted I was to
visit her; I could not miss her for a single day; but ran to her
every afternoon; when I came to the chapter-gate I peeped
through the key-hole of her door, till I was let in. The little
apartment was on the ground floor, looking into the garden ;
before the window, grew up a silver poplar, up which I climbed
to read; at each chapter, I clambered one bough higher, and
then read down to her; —she stood at the window and listened,
speaking to me above; every now and then she would say ;
Bettine, don't fall.' I now for the first time, know how happy
I then was; for all, even the most trifling thing is impressed on
my mind as the remembrance of enjoyment. She was as soft
and delicate in all her features as a blonde. She had brown
hair, but blue eyes, that were shaded by long lashes; when she
laughed it was not loud, it was rather a soft, subdued crooing,
in which joy and cheerfulness distinctly spoke ; she did not
walk, she moved, if one can understand what I mean by this ;
her dress was a robe which encompassed her with caressing
folds; this was owing to the gentleness of her movements. She
was tall of stature; her figure was too flowing, for the word
slender to express; she was timid-friendly and much too yield-
ing to make herself prominent in society. She once dined
with all the baronesses at the Royal Primate's table, she wore
the black chapter-dress with long train, white collar and cross
of the order; some one remarked that she looked amidst the
others, like a phantom — a spirit about to melt into air. She
read her poems to me and was as well pleased with my ap-
plause, as if I had been the great Public; and indeed I was full
of lively eagerness to hear them; not that I seized upon the
meaning of what I heard, on the contrary, it was to me an


324
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
element unknown' and the smooth verses affected me like
the harmony of a strange language, which flatters the ear,
though one cannot translate it. * * *
“We laid the plan of a journey, - devised our route and
adventures, wrote everything down, pictured all before us —
our Fancy was so busy that Reality could hardly have afforded
us a better experience. We often read in this fictitious journal
and delighted in the sweetest adventures, which we had there
met with; invention thus became as it were a remembrance,
whose relations still continued their connexions with the
present. Of that which happened in the real world we com-
municated to each other nothing, the kingdom in which we met
sank down like a cloud, parting to receive us to a secret Para-
dise, there all was new — surprising, but congenial to spirit
and heart, and thus the days went by.
“She wished to teach me Philosophy; what she imparted to
me, she expected me to comprehend, and to give again in my
way under a written form. The Essays which I wrote on these
subjects, she read with wonder; they did not contain the most
distant idea of what she had communicated; but I maintained
that I had so understood it; she called these themes, Revela-
tions, enhanced by the sweetest colorings of an extasied imag-
ination, she collected them carefully, and once wrote to me;
Thou dost not yet understand, how deep these openings lead
into the mine of the mind; but the time will come, when it will
be important to thee; for man often goes through desert paths
- the greater his inclination to penetrate, the more dreadful is
the loneliness of his way, the more endless the wilderness.
But when thou becomest aware how deep thou hast descended
into the spring of thought and how there below, thou findest a
new dawn, risest with joy again to the surface and speakest of
thy deep-hid world, then will it be thy consolation ; for thou
and the world can never be united; thou wilt have no other
outlet, except back through this spring, into the magic garden
of thy fancy ; but it is no fancy, it is Truth which is merely
reflected from it. Genius makes use of Fancy, to impart or
instil the Divine, which the mind of man could not embrace
under its ideal form; yes ! thou wilt have no other way of en-
joyment in thy life, than that, which children promise them-
selves from magic-caverns and deep fountains, through which
one comes to blooming gardens, wonderful fruits and crystal
palaces, where yet unimagined music sounds, and the sun
builds bridges of its rays, upon the centre of which one may
walk with a firin foot. All this in these pages of thine will
form a key, with which thou mayest perhaps unlock deep-hid
kingdoms; therefore, lose nothing nor contend against that


1842.
325
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
incentive which prompts thee to write, but learn to labor in
thought, without which Genius can never be born in the spirit;
when it becomes incarnate in thee, then wilt thou rejoice in
inspiration, even as the dancer in music.” – Correspondence
with a Child.
These inspired sayings look alniost as beautiful in the
German-English of Bettine's translation as in the original.
I cannot hope for equal success in the following extracts
from “ Die Günderode ; " but the peculiar grace and origi-
nality of expression cannot be quite lost. I have followed
as much as possible the idiom of the writer as well as her
truly girlish punctuation. Commas and dashes are the only
stops natural to girls; their sentences flow on in little min-
im ripples, unbroken as the brook in a green field unless by
some slight waterfall or jet of Ohs and Ahs.
“ To Günderode. I did not think that I could be so these
beautiful days. In thy letter, line for line, read I nothing
mournful, and yet it makes me sad. Thou speakest of thyself
as if thou wert wholly other than I, wholly of other nature.
Ah! and yet thou alone standest opposite to me among all men.
When we talked together, we were not one; thou wert one
way minded, and I another. Certainly I am different from
thee; I feel it to-day from every line of thy letter ; and yet it is
so true to me, illuminating the deep ground of thy soul! How
is each man a great mystery! Until all is transfigured into the
heavenly, how much remains that is not understood! Wholly
to be understood that seems to me the true only metamorpho-
sis; the proper ascension. In the summer-house where we
last year saw one another for the first time, - yes, a whole year
have we been good friends to one another???!!!!! Thus
could I continue to make signs of admiration, of mute surprise
of thought, of sighing; or if I knew a sign for shuddering,
for tears, I could mark the leaves full of the deepest feelings
for which I know no name. The woodbine that then grew
over the lattice, blooms this year much more luxuriant. Dost
thou remember that was our first word? I said to thee 'this
was a very cold winter the Hahnenfuss* has almost all its twigs
frozen ; the leaves give little shade.' Then saidst thou, the
sun gives and the leaves take; what they cannot receive of the
light, they must let pass to us ; and thou saidst this plant is
fairer named Geisblatt, than Hahnenfuss, — because then we
* Hahnenfuss and Geisblatt are German names for the woodbine,
Geisblatt, leaf for the goat.


326
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
think of a pretty goat, who with pleasure eats the fragrant
flowers; and that nature offers an ideal life to every creature.
And as the elements in undisturbed working produce, sustain,
nourish, and fulfil life, so in enjoyment of undisturbed de-
velopment, is preparing the some-time element in which
the ideal of the Spirit may bloom, thrive, and be fulfilled.
And then thou saidst that I ought to wear white, if I
loved Nature; for as she round about us strewed such
lovely flowers, to wear a robe with painted flowers is taste-
less, and we ought to live in harmony with Nature, -
otherwise the buds of the human spirit could not bloom out.
I thought awhile about thy sayings, – so were we both silent.
For it was my place to answer, and I did not venture. Thou
seemedst to me so full of wisdom ; thy thought really seemed to
be at one with nature and thy soul to tower above men, as the
tree-tops full of fragrant flowers in sunshine, rain, and wind,
through night and day, are ever striving up into the air. In-
deed thou didst seem to me a lofty tree, inhabited and nour-
ished by the spirits of Nature. And when I heard mine own
voice that would answer thee, then was I abashed, as if its
tone were not noble enough for thee. I could not say it out,
thou wouldst help me; and didst say the spirit streams into
feeling, — and that goes forth from all which Nature pro-
duces. Man has reverence before nature, because she is the
mother who nourishes the soul with that which she gives it to
feel. How very much have I thought of thee and on thy
words, and thy black eye-lashes that covered thy blue eyes,
even as I saw thee that very first time of all ; and thy tender
gesture, and thy hand that smoothed my hair. I wrote, “to-day
have I seen Günderode, it was a gift from God.' Now read I
that again, and I would fain do all for thy love. Do not tell me
if thou hast tenderness for other men; I mean to say, be to
others as thou wilt, only let that be separate from us. We
must be secluded one with another, in nature; we must go
hand in hand, and speak with one another not of things, but a
great speech; — Let there be nothing about learning, -I can-
not use that; what shall I learn which others know already?
That may not be entirely lost; but what happens only just for
love of us, that would I not neglect to live with thee; when
with thee I would put aside all the superfluous world-stuff, for
truly all the comme-il-faut is but an injustice that cries to
heaven, contradicting the great voice of poesy in us, which
points the soul to all which is right. How hateful is that
courtesy which ever bows before others, and yet has no real in.
tercourse with any, as if it were discourteous to put aside what
does not belong to us. Were nature so perverled, intriguing


1842.]
327
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
and irrational as men are, there could not be even a potato
ripened, — much less a tree blossom. All is the pure conse-
quence of magnanimity in nature, - each ear of corn which
doubles its seed, bears witness. — Narrow-heartedness will
never open its seeds to the light. It blights them in the bud. —
Now I begin to feel why I am here; each morning prayed I
when I awoke, dear God, why was I born;' and now I
know; that I may not be so senseless as the others are ; that
I should walk the true path marked out in my heart; for why
has the finger of God stamped it there? — and taken my five
senses to school ? so that each one may learn the letters, if it
were not to confirm this way. — One would attribute wisdom to
man, and prescribe it to him as the simple way of nature; but
the denial of a great mighty world-mind in us, is ever the con-
sequence of our conventional life with others; till at last one
can draw no free breath, nor have a great thought, or great
feeling, from mere courtliness and decorum. Let the Devil be
grateful for great actions; — they must happen of themselves;
if all went on naturally in life. — It is a shame that men
should give such things the name of magnanimity; as if
an earnest independent life must not perpetually stream out,
like electric fire, what they name great actions. The
tiresome race of men cackle like geese; they do not hear
the sobs of Love.' This must I say, because the nightin-
gales are sobbing so sweetly above me. Four nightingales
are there; also last year were there four. Truly I will never
love for I should be abashed before the nightingales, that
I could not sing like them. How they breathe out their souls
in the art of extasy, in music, and in such a tone, so pure, so
innocent, so pure and deep, such as no human soul can pro-
duce, either from the voice, or an instrument. Why must man
learn to sing, while the nightingale so purely, with such un-
alloyed beauty, understands to sing deep into the heart. · I
have never heard a song of man's that touched me like the
nightingale's. Just now thought I, because I heard them so
deeply, I would try whether they would hear me. When they
made a pause I raised my voice ; Instantly they all four burst
out together, as if to say "leave us our Empire.' Arias, operas,
songs, are mere false tendencies of the conventional world; the
declamation of a false inspiration. Yet is man carried away by
sublime music. Wherefore, if he be not himself sublime ?
Yes, there is a secret will in the soul to be great, it refreshes
like dew to hear one's proper genius in its original speech. Is
not that true? Oh we also would be like these tones, which
swiftly reach their aim without ever faltering ; there embrace
they fulness — in each rhythmus a deep mystery of inward form-


328
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
ation, as man does not. Surely melodies are God-created
beings, with a continuous life of their own, each thought living
forth out of the soul. Man produces thoughts not — They
produce man. - Ah! there falls a Linden-flower on my
nose; and now it rains a little. Here am I writing stupid stuff,
I can scarcely read it now; it is fast growing dark ; how fair
nature spreads out her veil ! so light, so transparent. Now begin
the souls of the plants to hover round about; and the oranges
in the grove, and the Linden-fragrance comes streaming wave
over wave. It is now dark ; the nightingales become more
zealous; they sing indeed in the silence of the moon; ah! we
will do something really great, we will not in vain have met
one another in this world. Let us found a religion for mankind,
and make it well again. A life with God. Thy Mahomet did
a great deal by only two or three rides into heaven ; let us ride
a little into heaven. -
“Yesterday I forgot to write to thee, because I sent thy poem
to Clemens; but I first copied it for myself. And wished to
say to thee how beautiful I find it. Through gratitude that I
have thee to my friend, have I neglected it. Thou seest it in
the letter ; that it is thy great heart that touches me, and that
I hold myself unworthy to loose thy shoe-ties. Thou choosest
a fair thought, and puttest it in rhyme as a mantle of honor for
Clemens; what a fair virtue hast thou! raising the spirit from
the life of earth. God made the world from nothing, preached
ever the nuns, then would I ask how that was done? They
could not tell me, and bid me be silent. But I went about and
looked at all the growing things, as if I must know out of what
they are made. Now I know he has not made them out of
nothing. He has made them out of the spirit. That learn I
from the Poet; from thee. God is a Poet. Indeed, then I
understand him."
In another letter, after describing her bringing back to
town a poor woman whom she found ill beyond the
gates.
" Then came the good doctor Neville and to him I gave the
woman. When I came to the Horse-market, Moritz met me
and said, ' how pale you look, what is the matter.' I am so
very hungry, said I; and it was true; the anxiety about the
woman had made me hungry. Moritz had a pocket full of
dried olives; I like them much. He emptied his pocket into
my glove which I had drawn off to have it filled. Just at that
moment the cuckoo brought Lotte in my way. Moritz went
away, and Lotte came to me and asked, how canst thou
stand in the open street hand in hand with Moritz.' That


1842.]
329
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
vexed me. I went into the convent to thee, where I ate my
olives and laid all the stones in a row on the window-sill. In
the dusk thou wast standing beside me, entirely sunk in si.
lence. At last thou saidst, 'why art thou to-day so silent ?'
I said 'I am eating my olives, — that occupies me, but thou
also art silent; why art thou silent? "There is a silence of
the soul,' saidst thou, where all is dead in the breast ; ' 'is it
so in thee?' asked I. Thou wert silent awhile, and then thou
saidstIt is just so in me, as out there in the garden ; the
dusk lies on my soul as on those bushes. She is colorless, but
she knows herself — but she is colorless,' saidst thou yet
again. And this time in a tone so without vibration, that I
looked on thee in the night-shimmer, wondering and affrighted,
for I ventured to speak no more. I thought what words I could
use to thee, I sought in wide circles round about. Nothing seem-
ed to me suited to interrupt this silence, which ever deeper
and deeper took root, — till it streamed through my head like a
slumber which I could no more resist. — I laid my head dream-
ing on the window-board and know not how much time passed.
Then came light into the chamber, and when I looked up thou
wert leaning over me, and when I looked inquiringly on thee,
then gavest thou as answer, “Yes, I feel often as it were a
chasm here in the breast; I may not touch it, - it pains me.'
I said 'can I not fill it? this chasm ?' • That also would
pain me,' saidst thou. Then I gave thee my hand and went
away. — And long followed me thy look, it was so still and so
profound, and yet seemed to pass away over me. Oh, as I went
home I loved thee so ! In thought I wound my arms about
thee so close ; I thought I would bear thee in my arms to the
end of the world, and set thee down on a fair mossy place;
there would I serve thee, — and let nothing touch thee which
could give thee pain. — Yes, so was it in my childish heart;
perforce would I make thee happy, and thought a moment I
must succeed ; but I know well that such a thing cannot suc-
ceed to me, and that it is only the illusion of my thoughts, for
even as children cannot separate the far and near, and think
they can reach down the moon with their hand, to comfort the
playmate with, when he is silent and sorrowful, - SO was it
with me when I came home, they were all at the tea-table and
I was mute, for I thought of thee, and sat down on a stool by
the stove; then went I deep into my heart, and waked there an
inner life for my spirit, which might touch thee a little, — for
until now thou only hast given me all. And before thee I have
never been able to make audible the voice within my breast.
Then thought I, when I should be far from thee I should more
surely come to myself, because the manifold, indeed the thou-
VOL. II. — NO. 111.
42


330
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
sand-fold tumult in me makes me dumb, and I cannot find a
word for my true self. — And I remembered when we once spoke
of the Monologues of Schleiermacher that pleased me not, thou
wert of another opinion; and saidst if he had said only this
single word, “Man shall bring out to the light what dwells in
his inmost soul, that he may learn to know himself,'' -Schleier-
macher would have been eternally divine, and a first greatest
spirit.' - Then thought I, when I should be far from thee,
would I in letters reveal the entire depth of my nature; only
for thee and me; and wholly in its undisturbed truth, even as
I perhaps know it not yet ; and if I will that thou lovest me,
how should I begin other than with my innermost self? Else
have I nothing — and from that hour I pursued myself as
a spirit, which I would lure into the net for thy sake.
From the Rhineland.
“ I was a whole hour alone there, seeing the sails pass on the
Rhine. I felt a deep longing to be with thee again; for beauti.
ful as it is here, it is sad without echo in the living breast.
Man is nothing but the desire to feel himself in another. Be-
fore I saw thee I knew nothing; I had often read and heard of
friends, yet never knew what a life it would be; for what thought
I then of men? Absolutely nothing. I took the watch-dog
out, that I might have society; but when I had been awhile with
thee, and had heard so many things from thee, then looked I
on each face as an enigma, and might well have divined
many things, or perhaps have divined them, for I am really
sharp-minded. Truly man does express his being, if the looker-
on knows how to put things together, and neither dissipates
his thoughts, nor adds anything from his own fancy ; but one
is always blind when he seeks to please others, or seem some-
what before them. That have I remarked in myself. If one
loves another, it is better to compose oneself, to understand the
one beloved. If we wholly forget ourselves and look at him,
I believe it is possible to divine the whole hidden man from his
outward being. I have recognised this, for of other men I have
not understood what they were to me. The most I cannot
consider long, because I observe nothing which pleases me, or
harmonizes with me; but with thee have I felt like a music, so
at home was I at once. I was like a child, which still unborn,
is removed from his father-land, sees the light in another, and
must by some foreign bird be waſted back over a sea. He finds
all new, yet nearest related, and most domestic. So was it
always with me when I entered thy apartment. So was it on
the old castle ruins yesterday; the smiling meadows, and the


1842.]
331
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
merry maidens singing there, the evening light, the passing
sails and the butterflies, all was nothing to me, I longed only
for thee! for thy little room, for the winter; for the snow with-
out, and the early twilight, and the blazing fire; this sunshine
and blooming and shouting tears my heart. — I was delighted
when Tonie came up with the carriage, I looked down, and
there was a beggar with his two pretty children; laughing and
rolling over one another, holding each other close embraced.
I said, what are your names ? and they answered, Röschen and
Bienchen; Röschen is fair, with round red cheeks. And
Bienchen is a brunette, with black glancing eyes. They were
truly one in two. Home at midnight; a most sweet sleep by
the rushing of the Spring-fountains.
“Monday. I have often re-read thy last letter, I am sur-
prised when I compare it with others which I have received
here at the same time, then must I think that there are des-
tinies in Spirit; as beings can be so remote from one another
and so different, that they may meet every day, yet one will
never conceive of the other, what he thinks and dreams, and
what he feels in thinking and dreaming. Thy whole being
with others is dreamy; I well know why; wert thou awake,
thou couldst not live among them and be so indulgent;
hadst thou been quite awake, they would certainly have driven
thee away; the grimaces that they make would certainly have
put thee to flight. — I saw the same in a dream myself
when I was two years old; and sometimes the dream comes
over me again so that it seems that men are mere frightful
larvæ by whom I am surrounded and who will take from me
my senses; even as in the dream I shut my eyes, that I
may not see and perish with anguish. So thou from thy mag-
nanimity dost shut thy eyes in life; Thou wouldst not see how
it is appointed with men; Thou wouldst not have an aversion
arise against these who are not thy brothers, for the absurd is nei-
ther sister nor brother. But thou wilt be their sister, so standest
thou among them with dreaming head, smiling in thy sleep,
for thou dreamest them all away as a flickering grotesque masq-
uerade dance. This read I again to-day in thy letter; for it is
now so still here, that one can think; thou art good to me, for
among all men thou holdest thyself most awake to me. As if
shouldst thou quite open thy eyes thou wouldst venture really
to look upon me. Oh I have often thought that I would never
terrify thy look, – lest thou shouldst indulgently shut thine eyes
to me also, and only peep sideways at me to avoid seeing all
my faults and vices.
's Thou sayest we will trifle together ; dost thou know how I
interpret that? I remember what you lately wrote to Clemens,


332
[Jan.
•Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
L'ever new and living is the desire in me to express my life
in a permanent form ; in a shape that may be worthy to ad-
vance towards the most excellent, to greet them and claim
community with them. Yes, after this community have I con-
stantly longed. This is the church, towards which my spirit
constantly makes pilgrimages upon the earth.' - But now
thou sayest, we will trifle, — because thou wouldst remain un-
touched; because thou findest no community, and yet thou be-
Jievest that there is somewhere a height where the air blows
pure, and a longed for shower rains down upon the soul, mak-
ing it freer and stronger. But certainly this is not in philoso-
phy; I do not quote this from Boigt; my own feeling bears
witness to me. Healthful breathing men cannot so narrow
themselves. Imagine to thyself a philosopher, living quite alone
on an island, where it should be beautiful as only spring can be,
where all was blooming, free, and living, birds singing, and all
the births of nature perfectly fair, but no creature there to
whom the Philosopher could interpret anything. Dost thou
believe that he would take such flights as those which I cannot
constrain with thee? I believe he would take a bite from a
beautiful apple, rather than make dry wooden scaffoldings for
his own edification from the high cedars of Lebanon. The
Philosopher combines, and transposes, and considers, and writes
the processes of thought, not to understand himself, that is not
the object of this expense, but to let others know how high he
has climbed. He does not wish to impart his wisdom to his
low-stationed companions, but only the hocus-pocus of his super-
latively excellent machine, the triangle which binds together
all circles. — But it is only the idle man who has never realized
his own being that is taken by this.
" To know much, to learn much,' saidst thou, and then
die young. Why saidst thou that? — With each step in
life meets thee some one who has somewhat to ask of thee,-
how wilt thou satisfy them all ? Say, wilt thou let one pass
hungry from thee, who asks thee for alms ? No, that wilt thou
not! Therefore live with me. I have every day something to
ask of thee. Ah! where should I go, if thou wert no more!
Never again would I seek the path of happiness. I would let
myself go, and never ask after myself, for only for thy sake do
I ask after myself, and I will do all which thou wishest. — Only
for thy sake do I live, dost thou hear? I am afraid, for thou
art great, I know it; and yet I will not speak to thee thus loudly,
- no, thou art not. Thou art a soft child, and because it cannot
endure pain, it denies it wholly. I know it, for so hast thou
veiled many a loss. — But in thy neighborhood, in the atmos.


1842.]
333
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
phere of thy spirit, the world seems to me great, — thou not,
do not be afraid ! But because all life is so pure in thee, each
sign so simply received by thee, the spirit must find a place to
dilate and become great, Forgive me to-day, but a mirror is
before my eyes, and as if some one had withdrawn the veil
from it, and I am so sad, I see nothing but clouds in the mirror,
and winds are mourning, as if I must forerer weep because I
think on thee. This evening I was out beside the Maine; then
rustled the sedges so wondrously, and because I in loneliness
am ever with thee, I asked thee in my soul, what is that?
does the sedge speak to thee?'- For I will confess it -
I should not be willing to be spoken to so, - so mournful,
so complaining, I wished to put it from me. Ah Gunderode, I
am so sad, - was not that cowardly in me that I wished to turn
the lamentations of Nature from myself, and address them to
thee, as if she talked with thee, when she so wofully moaned in
the sedge? Yet I would willingly share all with thee. It is to
me happiness, great happiness to take thy pains upon myself;
I am strong, I am hard, I feel them not so easily. I can en-
dure tears, and then Hope springs up again so quickly in me, as
if all might return again, and better yet than what the soul
desires. — Rely on me when it seizes thee, as if it would cast
thee into the pit. I will accompany thee every where. No
way is too gloomy for me ; when thine eye cannot look at the
light; it is so mournful. - I am willingly in darkness, dear
Günderode. I am not alone there, I am full of new thoughts
which will inake Day in the soul. Precisely in the darkness
rises up to me clear, glittering Peace. Oh despair not of me,
though I went in my letters on lonely paths, - truly too much
as if I sought myself only. Yet it was not so; I sought thee,
I sought intimacy with thee, that I might drink with thee of the
fountains of life which flow along our course. I feel it well in
thy letter, that thou wilt withdraw from me. That will I not
permit. I cannot lay down my pen, - I think thou must spring
from the wall, all in armor like Minerva, and must swear to
me, must swear to my friendship which is nothing but in thee;
from that time forth thou wilt swim in the blue ether, walk with
a lofty step like her, with thy crest in the sunlight like her, no
more dwelling mournfully in the shadows. Adieu, I go to bed, and
go from thee; although I could wait the whole night until thou
shouldst show thyself, beautiful as thou art, and in peace, and
breathing freedom as it becomes thy spirit, capable of the best
and fairest. — Let there be one place of repose to thee in
earth, on my breast. Good night, love me, if only a little. —"
To Günderode.
“ But this one thing have I kept. God is Poesy. Man cre-


334
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
ated in his image is also a born Poet, but also all are called
and few chosen. That must I alas! experience in myself. Yet
I too am a Poet, although I can make no rhyme. I feel it when
I go into the open air, in the wood, or up on the hill, there lies
a rhythmus in my soul according to which I am obliged to think
and my mood gives it measure. And then when I am among
men, I let myself be carried away by their vulgar street-ballad
measure or metrum, then feel I myself a pitiful person, and
know nothing more but mere stupid stuff. Dost thou not feel
also that stupid men can make one much stupider than one
naturally is ? They are not altogether wrong to say I am
stupid, but heart which understands me, come only — and I
will give thee a banquet that shall do thee honor. Listen yet
a little further. Every great action is a poem. Is transform-
ation of the personality into divinity. If an action is not a
poem, it is not great. — Yet great is all which is discerned with
the light of reason, — that is to say — all which thou canst
seize in its true sense, must be great; for certain is it, that
every such thought must have a root which is planted in the
ground of wisdom, and a flower which blooms in divine light.
We must pass from the ground of the soul into the image of
God, over and up to our origin. - Am I not in the right? And
if it is true that man can be such, why should it be otherwise ?
I understand it not. All men are other than it would have been
so easy to be. They hang upon what they should not regard,
and disdain that which they should hold fast. —
“Oh I have a longing to be pure from these faults. To enter
the bath, and wash myself from all these corruptions. The
whole world seems to me crazy, and ever I play the fool with
them, and yet there is in me a voice which teaches me better.
Let us then found a religion, I and thou. And let us therein
for a while be both priest and layman, and live wholly in silence,
and live severely in it and develop its laws as a young king's
son is developed, — who sometime shall be the greatest ruler of
the whole world. — So must it be as if he were a Hero, and
through his will could reprove all frailties, and so embrace the
whole world that it must grow better. - I believe also that God
has only let the races of kings exist, that they might display
manhood so high before the eyes, that it may be seen on all
sides. The king has power over all; thus men who see his
public actions perceive how badly he acts, or if he does any-
thing good how great they themselves might be. — Then if
the king is so that he does all which no other can, a genial
ruler draws his people perforce, to a step whither they never
would have come without him. — We must mould our religion
entirely fit for such a young Ruler; oh wait only! that has


1842.]
335
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
wholly turned me to the East. I shall soon understand it all
now. Ah! I pray thee take a little heart sympathy in it, -
that will animate me so! like God to think it all out of pure
nothing. Then am I too a poet. I know the way how we can
consider it all. We will walk together here, in Grandmama's
garden up and down in these splendid summer days, or in the
bosquet which has such dark avenues; we can seem to be only
walking, and unfold it all in our conversation; then evenings
will I write it all down, and send it into the city to thce by the
Jew. And thou shalt put it into a poetic form ; so that when
men sometime find it, they will have the more reverence and
faith in it; this is a fair jest, — yet take it not so ; it is my
earnest, for wherefore should we not think together over the
weal and wants of humanity. Wherefore have we then so
many things together already thought over, which others do
not consider, but for the benefit of humanity ? For every
germ which sprouts up, from the earth, or from the spirit, may
be expected to bring forth fruit in time, and I know not
why we should not expect a good harvest, which may profit
humanity. Humanity, poor humanity! it is like a will-o'-the
wisp caught in a net, quite dull and slimy. — Ah God! I
shall sleep no more, good night, only I will say our religion
must be called the hovering religion. That I will tell thee
about to-morrow. —
“Yet one law in our religion must I propose for thy consider-
ation, truly a first fundamental law. Namely, man shall always
do a great action, — never another. And then I will come to
thee and say that each action can and shall be a very greatest.
Ah hear! I see already in spirit, when we go into the council
what clouds of dust there will be!
"Who prays not cannot think.' I shall have that painted
on an earthen spoon, with which our disciples shall eat their
porridge. On other spoons we might have painted, who
thinks not, learns not to pray.' The Jew is coming, I must
make haste to put our world-revolution in his sack; and we
sometime shall be able to say, what wonderful instruments
God has chosen to accomplish his aims, like the old nun in
Fritzler.-'
To Bettine.
“ Best were it we should say thinking is praying; then some-
thing good would be expressed, — we should win time; think-
ing with praying, and praying with thinking. - Thou art migh-
ty cunning, to think of making me rhyme thy unrhymed stuff.
- Thy projects are ever uncommonly venturesone like a rope.


336
Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
dancer who feels sure that he can balance himself, or one who
has wings and knows he can spread them out, if the hurricane
should take him from the height. — For the rest I have under-
stood thee well, notwithstanding the many sweet praises which
thou scatterest like grass for the victim, ihat I am the victim
which thou wouldst offer. I feel that thou hast the right,
and know that I am too timid, and cannot what I inly think
right, outwardly defend against the reasonings of falsehood. I
am mute and ashamed just where others should be ashamed ;
that goes so far in me that I beg people for forgiveness when
they have injured me, for fear they should observe what they have
done. – Truly I cannot endure that any one should believe I
could distrust him, rather I smile like a child at all which
meets me, I cannot endure that those whom I cannot con-
vince of the better, should have the idea that I am better
and wiser than they. If two understand one another, to that
belongs the living action of a divine third. — Thus recognise
I. our relation, as a present from the Gods, in which they
themselves play the most happy part; but my inner feelings,
my inconsequent propositions to display to light, for that lends
me neither the blue-eyed Minerva, nor Areus god of the
combat, a support.* -I agree with thee it would be better,
could I bear myself more manly, and laid not aside this power-
ful thought of the world, in intercourse with other men. But
what wouldst thou have in one so timid, that she fears in the
convent to say at table the blessing loud enough to be heard.
- Let me alone, and bear with me as I am – if I have not
the heart to raise my voice against all madness, yet at least
I have never permitted any, the least wave of thy rushing
life-blood to dash itself against that hard rock. - It stands dry
and untouched by thy holy inspirations, and thou canst une
troubled let thy life flow thither. I know thou art grieved
that we did not visit Holderlin; before St. Clair went away
yesterday he came to see me. Seeing thy thick letter, he
was very desirous to hear something from it and the timid
one was bold enough to read him the passage where Bettine
speaks of Cdipus. — He would copy it, he must copy it, else
had his soul passed ; and the timid one was too cowardly to
refuse him. He said, 'I will read it to him; perhaps it will
work like balsam on his soul. If not, still it must be that
the highest excitement produced through his poetic nature
should find an echo in him. I must read it to him.' It will
at least win from him a smile. Now see me already again full
* To whom maidens offered up a ram, when they ran for a wager in
public.


1842.)
337
Betline Brentano, and Günderode.
of timidity, lest my boldness displease thee. Yet if my ear
did not deceive me, that hymn on the dove-house was sung
for the poor Poet, that it might make an echo to his broken
lute.
"I have now much society distress. This week the second
time must I creep into the black Canoness-robe, in which per-
secutes me my silly timidity. I seem to myself so strangely
in it, it is so unusual to me publicly to maintain a borrowed
dignity, that I must always hang my head and look away when
I am spoken to. Yesterday we dined in a body with the Pri-
mate. I lost my Order-cross. It lay under the stool, I felt
it with the point of my foot, that made me much embarrass-
ed; and think only, the Primate himself picked it up, and
begged leave to fasten it on my shoulder. But Heaven be
praised ! our duenna came up, and took the trouble on her-
self. I could not sleep the whole night for this adventure, —
it made me blash to think of it. I went out to ride, and met
Moritz in his cabriolet ; then to the comedy in your box.
George took me. The play was the ‘Brother and Sister.' -
The house was very empty on account of the heat. The
Frau Rath sat quite alone at my side. She called into the
theatre · Mr. Berdy, play well, I'm here, it made me quite
confused. I thought if he answered, a conversation might
arise, in which perhaps I might be called on to take part. —
There were not fifty men in the pit; but Berdy played ex-
tremely well; and the Frau Rath clapped at each scene so as
to make the house echo. Then Berdy would make her pro-
found bows. — It was very droll, the empty house, — the box-
doors open on account of the heat, through which the day
shone in. Then came wind, — and played with the tattered
decorations. Then Madame Goethe called to Berdy, ah what
a superb wind,' — and fanned herself. It was just as if she
played too. And they seemed in the theatre as if they were
alone, in confidential domestic intercourse. I thought of the
great Poet, who disdained not so simply to speak out his deep
nature. — Yes thou mayst be right, there is something great
in it. It was awing, even tragic, this void, this silence, the
open doors, - the unique mother full of delight, as if her son
had built her a throne on which she, far elevated above the
dust of the earth, received the homage of Art. — They played
admirably, indeed with inspiration, merely on account of the
Frau Rath. She knows how to inspire respect. — At the end
she called out, . She was much obliged, and would write about
it to her son.' — Then began a conversation, to which the
public was very attentive; but which I did not hear because I
was sent for."
VOL. II. —NO. III.
43


338
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
This little sketch of Goethe's mother will remind the
reader of the humorous letter, in which Bettine, writing to
him, describes the meeting between this woman of lively
simple genius, and her whose mind was “truly an ant-hill
of thoughts” the French Corinne, Madame de Staël.
The two following letters passed between the friends
while Bettine was at a watering-place, where she became
acquainted with the Duke of Gotha. They were written
at different times, but give an idea so distinct of the habits
and tendencies of the two persons, that they seem to an-
swer one another ; therefore I have given them together.
Bettine to Günderode.
“ Twice, three times between oaks and beeches and young
light bushes, hill up, hill down — then comes one to a rock, -
smooth shining basalt-surfaces, catching the sunbeams like a
dark magical mirror, between are green moss-seats ; - this
morning went I thither; it is my usual walk when I am alone,
not too long and yet secluded, — there saw I the mist like
young down between the rock-clefts floating hither and thither,
and above me was it ever more golden, the morning-shadows
drew aside, the sun crowned me, it struck back sharply from
the black stone, it burned very fiercely, yet oppressed not my
forehead; I would willingly wear a crown, if it pressed no
harder than the hot August sun, so sat I and sang to the rocks
and listened for the echos, and thoughts of empire rose into my
head. To govern the world according to the maxims which
have been produced in the innermost work shop of my feelings
and to drive out Philistines everywhere, such are the wishes
that rise to my head in such a hot summer-morning, and to
which Boigt's speech of the stars had now given a powerful
excitement; he said each feeling, each conception becomes a
capacity and a possession; it draws itself back indeed, but at
a wholly unexpected hour, it comes forth again, and then I
seated myself in a lonely place, and feigned such things out
into the blue and came to nothing, except tameless heart-beat-
ings as I thought that I might quiet the shrieking of the Philis-
tines, who stifle by their formulas the voice of the spirit,
merely by the government of my feelings ; indeed this would
be a heavenly compensation for those blows of the rod with
which they blindly persecute all inspiration. Günderode I would
thou wert a ruler and I thy Kobold; that would be my province
and I know certainly that I should be discreet before the pure
life-flame. But now, is it a wonder that one is stupid. Thus
was I beneath the burning sun, sunk in meditation, chasing on


1842.)
339
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
a steed like the wind to all quarters of the globe, and as thy
delegate of lofty inspiration set the world to rights commanding
hither and thither, sometimes with a stamp of the foot or threat-
ening word to make matters go on quick - meanwhile I had
neglected to read thy dramalet which I took out with me, in-
tending to study it really ; but now the impetuous motions of
my soul I felt compelled to soothe in sleep, as always I do when
my temples burn thus from zeal about the future. O goblet of
the soul, how artistic-rich and divinely gifted is thy rim made
so that it may restrain the rushing floods of life, inevitably else
should I have overflowed thee. — My friend, the spaniel, scented
me out, he waked me with his barking and wanted me to play
with him, he barked so loud that all the rocks groaned and
echoed; it seemed as if a whole hunt were out; I must shout
too for joy and gayety; he brought me my straw-hat which I
had thrown down the steep rock with such graceful leaps — so
is it when we wish through love to please any one, we do
not measure the dangers of the pit, but trust in our own powers
and succeed. — Ah Günderode, it would be much if man would
trust his own Genius as this spaniel. He laid his paws on my
shoulders when he had brought me back the hat without, hurt-
ing it; in jest I named him Erodion, thinking he must even so
have looked up to the Goddess Immortalita, for he was so noble
and fair and bold ; men look not easily out so simply great and
undisturbed in their own wise, as animals do. The Duke had
followed the barking of his dog, and now came forth from be-
bind the trees; he asked why I gave that name to the dog which
he calls Cales, this he said was the name of a charioteer slain
before Troy by Diomed; I showed him thy poem to explain
whence I took the name Erodion. He sat down on the rock,
and read it partly aloud, making notes with a pencil; I send
these to thee, he has read it with self-collection, and thus truly
with love. I know not how often chance may favor thee so
that thou mayst touch the more delicate strings of the soul;
thus will it rejoice thee. He asked whether I understood the
poem; I said No! but I like to read it because thou art my
friend who educatest me. He said, ' A bud is this little work,
carefully guarded from each foreign influence which the great
soul of the friend embraces, and in this softly folded germ of
a yet undeveloped speech slumber giant powers. The inspira-
tion to recreate lifts up its wings within thee, full of presenti-
ment, and because the world is too unclean for such childlike
pure essays to express thy presentiments, so will it not unfold
this unpretending veil which embraces thy far reaching imag-
ination and thy high philosophic spirit. With surprise I received
the pleasure of this praise. He walked on with me, and as we


340
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
went would have me talk of thee, of our life together, of thy
character, of thy form; then have I for the first time reflected
how fair thou art; we saw a well-grown white silver-birch in
the distance, with its hanging boughs, which had grown up
out of a cleft in the midst of the rock, and, softly moved by the
wind, bent downwards toward the valley ; to this I involuntarily
pointed, as I spoke of thy spirit and thy form; the Duke said,
then is the friend like that birch?'- I said, 'yes,' so would
he go with me and look on thee nearer; the path was so
steep and slippery, I thought we could not go ; but he said
Cales would find us out a way. What sort of hair has she?' -
* Glossy black-brown hair, which flows freely in loose soft curls
on her shoulders.' -'And her eyes ?'-'Pallas-eyes, blue in
color, full of fire but also liquid and calm.'—'Her forehead ?'
- Soft and white as ivory, nobly arched and free, small, yet
broad like Plato's; eyelashes that smiling curl-backward, brows
like two black dragons that measuring one another with sharp
look, neither seizing nor leaving one another, proudly raise
their crests, then fearfully smooth them again. Thus watches
each brow, defying yet timid, over the soft glances of her eyes.'
- 'And the nose and cheek?' - 'The nose has been censured
as a little proud and disdainful, but that is because the nostril
trembles with every feeling, hardly taming the breath, as
thoughts rise upwards from the lip, which swells out fresh and
powerful, guarded and gently restrained by the delicate upper
lip. Even the chin must I describe, truly I have not forgotten
that Erodion had had his seat there and left a little hollow,
which the finger is pressed into as poetry full of wisdom ex-
pands her spirit. Meanwhile there stood the birch so gorgeous,
so filled with gold, so whispered through, by the sun, by the
breeze, so willing to bow itself gently to the stream of the
morning wind, waving its green waves joyfully into the blue
heaven, that I could not decide, what lay between both, suits
one, and not the other. Cales found with many leaps the way to
the birch; the Duke followed; I remained behind; I could
easily have followed, but I would not in his presence. He cut
letters in the bark quite low down near to the foot and said he
wished it might be called the Friendship-birch, and that he also
might be our friend. I was willing. Ah let him; he will
come this winter to Frankfort, at first a prince forgets easily
such a matter among many other distractions, for he cannot
believe it possible that, if a man but gave himself entirely to
one thing, through this alone the penetration, the force of
judgment, the all-sidedness can arise, for which they are all
hunting and fluttering about; - besides he is sick and has
few good days; for such an one must we fill out from all heal-


1842.].
341
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
ing fountains, - Adieu, — Tomorrow morning a great party
is formed for a donkey excursion, and to-morrow before noon
goes the good Electress away, and very early, about three
o'clock, the Englishmen wish to climb the hill with us to see
the sun rise; the others did not wish to have Boigt, but I would
have him, for else I am weary, though the others say it makes
them weary to have him there. Early to-morrow comes the
carrier-woman, I shall send this letter by her, though it is not
yet so alarmingly long as my first, but thou art melancholy and
I would fain amuse thee a little, and I know the pretty story of
the Duke will make thee laugh, however thou mayest draw thy
lips together. Grant it may make thee pleasure also ? I have
copied his declaration of love from thy Immortalita, that from
his own hand belongs to thee; he wrote it for thee. Thou
mayst put a value on it; I hear he is celebrated, of noble
nature, witty, and on that account much feared by many; he is
also very generous and kindly, but many would rather have
nothing to do with him, fearing his best friendliness covers a
secret satire. How foolish is that, about me might any one
make merry as much as he would; it would be pleasant to me, if
he enjoyed it.
Paper sent back to Günderode with the preceding
letter.
IMMORTALITA.
Dramatis persone.
IMMORTALITA, a goddess.
ERODION.
CHARON.
HECATE.
FIRST SCENE.
A dark cavern at the entrance of the lower world. In the
back-ground of this cavern are seen the Styx and Charon's
bark passing hither and thither, in the fore-ground a black
altar on which fire is burning. The trees and plants at the
entrance of the cavern, and indeed all the decorations, and the
figures of Hecate and Charon are flame-color and black, the
shadows light grey, Immortalita white; Erodion dressed like a
Roman youth. A great fiery snake, which has its tail in its
mouth, forms a circle out of which Immortalita does not pass.
IMMORTALITA. (awaking.) Charon! Charon! Charon!


342
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
Charon. (stopping his boat.) Why dost thou call me?
IMMORTALITA. When will the time come?
CHARON. Look at the snake at thy feet, so long as the circle
is unbroken the spell lasts also, thou knowest it ; then why dost
thou ask me?
IMMORTALITA. Unkind old man, if it comforts me yet once
again to hear the promise of a better future, why dost thou
deny me a friendly word ?
Charon. We are in the land of silence.
IMMORTALITA. Prophesy to me yet once again, -
CHARON. I hate speech.
IMMORTALITA. Speak --speak.
Charon. Ask Hecate. (he rows away).
IMMORTALITA. (strewing incense on the altar.) Hecate,
goddess of midnight, discoverer of the future which yet sleeps
in the bosom of chaos, mysterious Hecate! Appear.
Hecate. Powerful exorcist, why callest thou me from
out the caves of eternal midnight; this shore is hateful to me;
its gloom too full of light; it seems to me that gleams from the
land of life have wandered hither.
IMMORTALITA. O Hecate, forgive, and hear my prayer.
HECATE. Pray not; thou art queen here, thou reignest, and
knowest it not.
IMMORTALITA. I know it not; and wherefore do I not know
it ?
Hecate. Because thou canst not see thyself.
IMMORTALITA. Who will show me a mirror in which I may
behold myself ?
Hecate. Love.
IMMORTALITA. And wherefore Love?
Hecate. Because the infinity of that alone answers to
thine.
IMMORTALITA. How far does my kingdom extend ?
HECATE. Everywhere, if once beyond that barrier.
IMMORTALITA. How? shall the impenetrable wall that sep-
arates my province from the upper world ever fall asunder ?
HECATE. It will fall asunder, thou wilt dwell in light, all
shall find thee.
IMMORTALITA. O when shall this be?
Hecate. When believing Love tears thee away from night.
IMMORTALITA. When - in hours — or years ?
Hecate. Count not by hours — with thee time is not. Look
down; the snake winds about as if in pain, but vainly he fixes
his teeth more firmly to keep close the imprisoning circle-vain
is this resistance; the ernpire of unbelief, of barbarism, and night
must fall to ruins. (She vanishes.)


1842.)
343
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
IMMORTALITA. O future - wilt thou but resemble that
blessed distant past when I dwelt with the gods in perpetual glory.
I smiled on them all, and at my smile their looks lightened
as never from the nectar, and Hebe thanked me for her youth,
and the ever-blooming Aphrodite for her charms. But sepa-
rated from me by the darkness of tirne, before my breath had
lent them permanence, they fell from their thrones, those serene
Gods, and went back into the elements of life. Jupiter into the
power of the primæval heavens, Eros into the hearts of men,
Minerva into the minds of the wise, the Muses into the songs
of the poets, and I, most unhappy of all, was not permitted to
bind the unfading laurel upon the brows of the hero, of the poet.
Banished into this kingdom of night, a land of shadows, this
gloomy other-side; I must live only for the future.
CHARON. (passing in his boat with shades). Bow your-
selves, Shades, this is the queen of Erebus, and that you still
live after your earthly life is her work.
CHORUS OF SHADES.
Silent guides us the bark
To the unknown land,
Where the sun never dawns
On the always dark strand, -
Reluctantly we see it go,
No other sphere our looks would know
Than life's bright-colored land.
SAME SCENE.
(Charon's bark lands. Erudion springs on shore. Immor-
talita still seen in the back-ground.)
Erosion. Back, Charon, from this shore, which no shade
may tread. Why lookest thou upon me? I am not a shadow
like you; a joyful hope, a faith full of visions have kindled the
spark of my life to flame.
Charon. (aside.) Surely this must be the youth who bears
in himself the golden future. (He rows away.)
IMMORTALITA. Yes, thou art he, prophesied to me by Hecate;
through thy look will the light of day break into these ancient
caverns, and dispel the night.
ERodion. If I am he prophesied to thee, Maiden or God-
dess, however thou art named, believe thou fulfillest to me the
inmost presentiment of the heart.
IMMORTALITA. Say, who art thou ? — what is thy name, and
how didst thou find the way to this pathless shore, where neither
shades nor men dare wander, but only subterranean Gods.
ERODION. I am unwilling to speak to thee of anything but
my love; indeed to speak of my love is to speak of my life.


344
Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
Then hear me. I am the son of Eros and Aphrodite; the
double-union of love and beauty has implanted in my being an
idea of bliss which I nowhere find, yet must everywhere fore-
see and seek. Long was I a stranger upon earth. I could not
enjoy its unsubstantial goods, till at last came into my soul a
dim presentiment of thee. Everywhere was I accompanied by
the Idea reflected from thee, everywhere I followed the trace of
the beloved, even when it plunged me down into the realm of
dreams, thus guiding me to the gates of the lower world, but
never could I press through to thee, an unhappy fate drew me
ever back to the upper world.
IMMORTALITA. How, youth, hast thou so loved me that rather
than not find me thou wouldst have forsaken Helios and the
rosy dawn?
ERODION. So have I loved thee, and without thee the earth
no more could give me joy, neither the flowery spring, the
sunny day, nor dewy night, which to possess, the gloomy Pluto
would willingly resign his sceptre. But as the love of my pa-
rents was beyond all other, for they were love itself, so the de-
sire which has drawn me to thee was most powerful, and my
faith in finding thee victorious over all obstacles, for my parents
knew that the child of love and beauty could find nothing higher
than itself, and gave me this faith in thee that my powers might
not be exhausted by striving after somewhat higher out of my-
self.
IMMORTALITA. But how camest thou to me at last ? Unwil-
lingly does Charon receive the living into the brittle bark made
only for the shades.
ERODION. Once was my longing to see thee so great, that
all men have invented to surround thee with uncertainty, seemed
to me little and vain. Courage inspired my whole being ; my
only wish is for her, thought Ì, and boldly cast from me all the
goods of this earth, and steered my bark hitherward to the
perilous rock where everything earthly is wrecked. A moment
I thought, what if thou shouldst lose all, and find nothing ; but
high confidence pressed doubt aside, joyously I said to the
upper world a last farewell, night embraced me, –a ghastly
pause, - and I found myself with thee. The torch of my life
still burns the other side of the Stygian water.
IMMORTALITA. The heroes of the former world have already
tried this same path, courage enabled them to pass the river,
but to love only is it given to found here a permanent empire.
The dwellers here say my breath bestows immortal life, then be
thou immortal, for thou hast worked in me an inexpressible
change; before I lived a mummy life, but thou hast breathed
into me a soul. Yes, dear youth, in thy love I behold myself


1842.
345
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
transfigured, I know now who I am, know that the sunny day
must fill with light these ancient caverns.
(HECATE comes from behind the altar.)
HECATE. Erodion, enter into the snake circle. (He does so,
and the snake vanishes.) Too long, Immortalita, wert thou in
the night of unbelief and barbarism, known by the few, des-
paired of by the many, confined by a spell within this narrow
circle. An oracle, as old as the world, says “believing love will
find thee even in the darkness of Erebus, draw thee forth,
and found thy throne in everlasting glory, accessible to all."
The time is come, but to thee, Erodion, remains yet somewhat
to be done.
( The scene changes into a part of the Elysian garden,
faintly illuminated, shadows are seen gliding hither and thither,
on one side a rock, in the back-ground the Styr and Charon's
bark.)
HECATE. See, Erodion, this threatening rock is the impass-
able wall of separation, which divides the realm of mortal life
from that of thy mistress; it intercepts from this place the
sunbeams, and prevents severed loves from meeting again.
Erodion, try to throw down the rock, that thy beloved may
ascend on the ruins from the narrow dominion of the lower
world, that in future no impassable barrier may separate the
land of the dead from that of the living.
(Erodion strikes the rock, it falls, full daylight shines in.)
Immortalita, Triumph! the rock is sunken, and from this
time it shall be permitted the thoughts of love, the dreams of
hope, the inspiration of the poet to descend hither and to re-
turn.
HECATE. All hail! Threefold, immortal life will fill the
pale realm of shades now thy empire is founded.
IMMORTALITA. Come, Erodion, ascend with me into eternal
light, and all love, all nobleness shall share my empire. Thou,
Charon, smooth thy brow, be friendly guide to those who
would enter my kingdom.
ERODION. Well for me that I faithfully tended as a vestal
fire the holy presentiment of my heart; well for me, that I had
courage to die to mortality, to live for immortality, to offer up
the visible to the invisible.
turn.
The following note was written by the band of the Duke
Emil August von Gotha upon the manuscript of Immor-
talita.
“ It is a little thing not worthy thy attention, that I esteem it
VOL. II. - NO. III.
44


346
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
a gift from heaven to understand thee, thou noble life. Look-
ing down upon the earth, thou mayst, like the sun, give it a fair
day; but thou wouldst look in vain for thy peer beneath the
stars.
“Like fresh flower-stalks comes the careless life of thy
thoughts before the subdued man; his bosom heaves with deep
breathings as thy spirit plays round him like loose tresses, just
escaped from the band.
"He gazes on thee, a lover! like still roses, and waving lilies
hover before him thy thoughts bearing blessings on their glances.
Confidential, near the heart are they. They illuminate and
beautify his aims and his vocation, and on the silent paths of
night are the stars looking from on high, the witnesses of his
vow to thee.
“ Yet is it a little thing only, not worthy thy attention, that I
esteem it as a gift from heaven to understand thee, thou noble
life.”
The letter of Günderode to Bettine introduces livelier
images, and though we may suppose it to exaggerate in play-
ful malice the picture of Bettine's environment, corre-
sponds with what we should imagine to be her habits.
To Bettine.
“ It seems to me sometimes quite too absurd, dear Bettine, that
thou shouldst with such solemnity declare thyself my scholar
when I might as well hold myself thine, yet it gives me much
pleasure, and there is also a truth in it if the teacher feels him-
self stimulated by the scholar; thus may 1 with some rea-
son call myself thine. Many new insights are brought me by
thy opinions and by thy divinations in which I confide, and
since thou art so loving as to name thyself my scholar, I
may sometime marvel to see over what a bird I have been brood.
ing.
* Thy story of Vostel is quite pleasant; nothing dost thou love
better than to take the sins of the world upon thyself — to thee
they are no burden, they give thee wings rather for gayety and
whim; we may think God himself takes pleasure with thee. But
thou wilt never be able to make men esteem thee something
better than themselves. Yet however genius makes to itself air
and light, it is always ethereal-wise, even when it bears on its
pinions all the load of Philisterei. In such matters thou art a
born genius, and in these can I only be thy scholar, toiling after
thee with diligence. It is an amusing play in the circle that while
others complain of thy so called inconsequences I secretly lament
that my genius does not lead to such “Careless away over the


1842.)
347
Bettine Brentano and Günderode..
plains where thou seest no path dug before thee by the boldest
pioneers." Yet always do only one thing at a time, do not begin
so many all confusedly. In thy chamber it looked like the shore
where a fleet lies wrecked. Schlosser wanted two great folios
that he lent you now three months ago from the city library and
which you have never read. Homer lay open on the ground,
and thy canary-bird had not spared it. Thy fairly designed map
of the voyages of Odysseus lay near, as well as the shell box with
all the Sepia saucers and shells of colors; they have made a
brown spot on thy pretty straw carpet, but I have tried to put
all once more into order. Thy flageolet which thou couldst
not find to take with thee; guess where I found it; in the orange
tree box on the balcony ; it was buried in the earth up to the
mouth-piece; probably thou hast desired on ihy return to find a
tree of flageolets sprouting up. Liesbet has bountifully watered
the tree and the instrument has been all drenched. I have laid ,
it in a cool place that it may dry gradually and not burst, but
what to do with the music that lay near by I cannot tell ; I put it
in the sun, but before human eyes canst thou never show it again.
The blue ribbon of thy guitar has been fluttering out of the win-
dow to the great delight of the school children opposite ever
since thy departure. I chid Liesbet a little for not having shut
the window ; she excused herself because it was hid by the
green silk curtain, yet whenever the door is open there is a
draught. The sedge upon the glass is still green. I have given
it fresh water. In thy box where are sowed oats and I know
not what else, all has grown up together; I think there are many
weeds, but, as I cannot be sure, I have not ventured to pull any
thing up. Of books I have found on the floor Ossian, -Sacon-
tala, — the Frankfort Chronicle, the second volume of Hem-
sterhuis which I took home with me because I have the first al-
ready : in Hemsterhuis lay the accompanying philosophical es-
say, which I pray thee present to me, unless thou hast some
special value for it; I have more of the same sort from thee
and as thy dislike to philosophy makes thee esteem them so lightly
I should like to keep together these studies against thy will, per-
haps in time they will become interesting to thee. Siegwart, a ro-
mance of the olden day, I found on the harpsichord with the
inkstand lying on it; luckily there was little ink, yet wilt thou
find thy moonlight composition, over which it has flowed, not
easy to decipher. I heard something rattle in a little box in the
window sill and had the curiosity to open it, then flew out two
butterflies which thou hast put in as chrysalises. Liesbet and I
chased them into the balcony where they satisfied their first
hunger in the bean blossoms. From under the bed Liesbet
swept out Charles the Twelfth, the Bible, and also a glove


348
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
which belongs not to the hand of a lady, in which was a French
poem; this glove seems to have lain under thy pillow; I did
not know thou hadst ever busied thyself with writing French
poems in the old style. The perfume of the glove is very pleas-
ant and reminds me of something which gives me a notion
where its fellow may be, yet be easy about thy treasure, I have
fastened it up behind Kranach's Lucretia, and there at thy re-
turn it may be found. I saw two letters among many written pa-
pers, the seals were unbroken, one was from young Lichten-
berg of Darmstadt, the other from Vienna. What acquaintances
hast thou there, and how is it possible that one who so seldom
receives letters should not be more curious or rather so heed-
less about them? I left them on thy table. All is now in tolera.
ble order so that thou mayst diligently and comfortably continue
thy studies.
"I have with true pleasure described to thee thy chamber, for
it, like an optic mirror, expresses thy apart manner of being,
and gives the range of thy whole character ; thou has brought
together various and strange materials to kindle the sacrificial
flame; it is burning; whether the Gods are edified thereby is
to me unknown.
" If thou findest Muse, write soon again. – Caroline.”
A feeling of faithlessness, almost of remorse, comes over
me, on rereading the few extracts for which room could be
found here. Surely in their own place these field flowers
were beautiful; the dullest observer was pleased to see
them enamel the green earth. But here, torn asunder
from their proper home, they look as soiled and forlorn as
might a bunch of cowslips, dropped by chance in the pub-
lic street beneath the feet of busy men. Half the purpose
of placing them here was to draw attention to the trans-
lation of these volumes soon to be published, and now
it seems as if the delicate music of the fairy bells cannot
possibly make itself heard beside the din of the forge or
factory; yet courage! for they tell us it is a property of the
simplest tone to cleave straight through a world of mere noise.
The acceptance that a book, of the same delicate beauty,
and somewhat the same scope met among us, is an encour-
aging fact. I refer to “ Pericles and Aspasia." There, in
artistic form, the author has presented what, in these letters,
lives and grows before us. Here we find a little circle of
intimacies, noble enough to excite and gratify the high de-
sires of heart and mind. Each relation is peculiar, each


1842.)
349
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
harmonious with all the rest. The statesman, the philoso-
pher, the enchanting woman of the world, the lay nun, the
profuse and petulant nature, for which we know no better
name than Alcibiades, all are shown, on the private as well
as the public side, with admirable force and distinctness.
None could read this book without feeling love, friendship,
and the daily business of life to be ennobled and enriched
at least for that day. None could fail to feel the eternal
leadings of every true relation. Yet, withal, Landor's
book is marble-cold compared with the one before us.
Those divinely human figures convey to us life as it ought
to be, as it might be, but only in statuesque representation.
Yet, if cold, it is pure, and earth may cover, but cannot
consume the sculptures, as it does the living forms. We
are deeply indebted to the book which presents this por-
traiture of a home, a home in mutually enchained hearts,
too wise to expect perfection, too noble to pardon imper-
fection, worthy to demand the best and — to wait for it.
Here are intimacies so rooted in the characters of the par-
ties, that they may endure and deepen through ages. We
feel that this book, with all its singular beauty of detail, pre-
sents to us but a beginning. How happily is reverence
tempered by playfulness, conscious worth by tenderness
and knowledge. Yes! all who read this book must be, at
least for the day, shamed out of frivolous and vulgar inter-
course, intellectual sloth, or distempered care.
The intimacy between Aspasia and Cleone is not unlike
this between Bettine and Günderode, in the influences of
the two characters upon one another. The two women are
both in different ways as remarkable in intellect, as in char-
acter, and the intellect of both is feminine in its modifica-
tion. They study no less than love one another; they can-
not flatter, neither make weak exactions; the sentiment is
too true to allow of sentimentality. It is founded on no
illusion, but a parallelism of lives that was written in the
stars.
Without full confidence no friendship can subsist, none
without generosity, without unwearied sympathy, and the
modesty that permits, when suffering, to receive this balm.
But also none can subsist and grow, without mutual stim-
ulus, without an infinite promise, a stern demand of excel-
lence from either side, and revelations of thoughts, not only


350
[Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
hoarded from the past, but constantly new-born from inter-
course between the two natures. There must be faith in
one another, action upon one another, love, patiently to
wait for one another.
All these we find in these two friendships. Bettine feels
in her friend the same joy and pride which is expressed of
Aspasia, where Alcibiades tells us she was accustomed to
fly to Pericles with the letters of Cleone, and read them on
his shoulder. Cleone regards Aspasia with the same admi-
ration, angelic in its pure humility, though melancholy in
its smile, as Günderode does Bettine.
The book of “ Günderode” is more poetic than “Peri-
cles and Aspasia," in this, that we see living and changing
before us what is only given us as results, of fixed outline,
in Landor's book. This breathing life makes us living ;
that pictured life only commanded us to live.
A few words more in answer to the queries of a friend.
Bettine is accused of interpolating passages into these
letters from a more advanced period of her existence,
and there certainly are pages which look like it. The
past seems the canvass on which she paints. The fears of
those who loved her best, that the exuberant, but unstable
nature could not economize sufficiently to live princely in
its later days, are justified by her devotion to the past.
“ Bettine!
In this fair book from thy letters compiled
Shall the woman be made thus to wait on the child ?
Not so the oak gathers his first summer's leaves,
But new strength every year with new branches receives."
We learn by excess, we thrive on error, but only where
reactions and convictions come in their due alternation.
The way God leads man is the only way, but man must
learn to understand that it is so. — What seems to the
youthful aspirant so true as the path Bettine took ? Straight
forward pursuing her own genius, headlong down preci-
pices, indefatigable up bill, and through bog, in the most
important step as the least whimsy, she acted out her
nature, would recognise no compromise, knew no society,
only the natures that stood opposite to her” could she see.
Here then is one wise, here is one free! Alas no! Heaven
has not permitted such manacles to be forged for man with-


1842.)
351
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
out a cause, and the bold outlaw blackens and blasphemes,
while the willing prisoner soars and sings.
• If any quarrel with the law that " care is taken that the
trees grow not up into the heavens,” let him watch the
progress of such a character as Bettine's, and see the tree
which defied the law mar its own growth. Sorrow must
alternate with joy, or the character is shallow ; patient toil
with inspiration, or there is no noble growth; the most
ardent imagination must demand and elicit the severest
judgment. In the mind of the Child was no patience, no
power of adaptation, nothing that fitted her to reach matu-
rity and uphold or reconstruct a world. She must always
be a child ; the actual world intervened and she became a
Phantast. Yet not the less welcome this radiant picture of
a peculiar state, that period of keen perception and intui-
tive glances, which so many know only in some holy dream,
or beneath the first illusions of earthly love. Here is the
picture of all-promising, all-discerning youth ; let some
other life join to this a fitting sequel.
Whoever has closely observed the dramatic tendency in
man will see that its first demonstrations must be in the
way of what the many call falsehood, if only for this
reason, that the poetic eye cannot even see a fact bare and
solitary as it appears to the prose observer. To such a
mind the actual only exists as representing the ideal, and
each object seen by the bodily eye becomes the centre to a
throng of visionary shapes. Even as in the pictures of
Magdalens and Madonnas, cherub faces start from every
side, created as it were by the expression of the face which
occupies the centre, so each new object beheld, each new
thought apprehended, brings to the poetic mind accesso-
ries natural if not yet realized by nature.
It is from this cause that children, fitted by imagination
to appreciate the noblest exhibitions of truth, are often
blamed as false or inaccurate, while those of meagre facul-
ties and limited vision are praised for their correctness.
Yet, paradoxical as it may seem to the superficial, there is
often more hope of truth in the liar than in the truthteller,
for the former may learn to prune his fancy and turn ro-
mance into its legitimate channels, but the latter will have
to feed and train his powers by ways and means yet un-
known, before he can comprehend truth in its fulness.


352
(Jan.
Bettine Brentuno and Günderode.
The romantic or dramatic tendency, which leads those
who do not absolutely recreate in play or novel, to embel-
lish a narrative of their daily walk, by giving the facts
higher coloring, embellishing them by the invention of in-
cidents, rounding and filling out where there were pauses
or languors, and casting over all the soft ideal light of the
thought derived by the narrator from the passage, which is
obvious in many parts of these letters, and makes them
poetical still more than historical, may also have induced
Bettine to interpolate sentences or even paragraphs. If
she has done so, it is not from motives of vanity, but from
a poetical growth in herself, since the period of the corre-
spondence, which makes what really happened seem an in-
adequate expression of what really was. Whatever has
been added is in such harmony with the scenes and per-
sonages, that you are only led to doubt, because it is too
good, because all is said and done with a fulness, which is
elsewhere discovered only in that liberty of law which art
grants to her votaries.
It is in reference to this that Goethe said with one of his
calm ironical smiles, when Richter (I think it was Richter)
published his memoirs as “ Truth out of my Life," intend-
ing to reprove Goethe for his title “ Poesy and Truth out
of my Life” – “ As if the bare truth from the life of such
a man could be other than that he was a Philistine.”
There comes indeed a time when Poesy and Truth, though
twinborn in the thought, can be separate in the expression,
and the groundwork, no longer all shot through and inter-
woven by the bright threads of imagination, appears in
clear relief beneath the beautiful patterns emblazoned upon
it. But this is in the perfection of the faculties, when
reason, imagination, and the perceptive organs are in entire
harmony, when the meaning of the great world-poem is so
distinctly seen, that details are never unmeaning, because
incomplete, nor do we need perpetually to evolve fabrics of
art as from a chaos. It is the highest attainment of man
to be able to tell the truth, and more hardly achieved by
the chronicler than the Phantast.
This much may be granted to the caviller. Bettine has
missed her way to this excellence from undue indulgence
of one or two powers.
But all the drawbacks are upon her own character; her


1842.)
353
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
book is true, and of the rarest excellence, a many-petalled
flower on the bosom of nature, from which the dew shall
never vanish. Like the flights often seen on a smaller
scale in common lives, it attains a perfection which the
complete sum of the character entirely misses. Like the
sky lark's, these morning songs drop from the clouds which
upbear the songster dew from heaven, such as active, lus-
trous, enduring, prying day shall never boast.
Let us conclude by the last letter addressed to Bettine
by Günderode, while meditating her voluntary death. On
this subject I have said nothing ; it involves too much for
the space to let me venture. This letter has the true tone
of Günderode's genius, and is no less worthy of attention
for the distinct idea it gives of the friend she loved, but
not well enough to love to live for her sake.
To Bettine.
“ I was obliged to set out on my journey without writing to
thee, for my sister who has long been unwell required my pres-
ence. Think not I neglect thee, dear Bettine, but the impossibili-
ties of realizing the objects of my thoughts, crowd upon me; I
know not how to overcome them, but must let myself be driven
where chance wills ; resistance brings only loss of time and no
success. Thou hast a much more energetic nature than 1,
indeed than almost any of whom I am able to judge; to me are
set, not only through my relations, but also through my charac-
ter, narrower limits for my activity, therefore it may well happen
that things to me impossible may not be so to thee. Bear this
in mind while looking into the future. If thou wilt persist to
walk the same path of life with me, mightst thou not be obliged
to sacrifice to my timidity or rather to my incapacity what thy
spirit requires, for I see not how I could follow thee, my wings
are not full-grown for such a flight. I pray thee, fix thy eyes be-
times on this fact, and think of me as of a being who must leave
many things untried to which thou wilt feel thyself impelled.
Even if thou shouldst resolve to give up many of thy claims on
life, or let me rather say if thou wouldst refuse to let the ele-
ment which is active within thee work itself clear, rather than
thus be divorced from me, thy refusal would be vain. There are
laws in the soul which must manifest themselves, else the whole
man is ruined; this cannot happen to thee, the live must again
and again rise up, for in thee dwells the right of conquest, and
that which would perchance only sing me to sleep wakes thee to
impetuous freewill existence ; for when thou wouldst converse
VOL. II. — NO. III.
45


354
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
with the stars of heaven and boldly constrain them to answer, I
would give myself up rather to their soft shining as the child
si soothed by the motion of his cradle, All men are against
thee, the whole world wilt thou feel and experience only through
the contradiction in thy soul, there is no other possible way for
thee to comprehend it. Where wilt thou ever find an action,
how much less a nature in harmony with thine, it has never yet
been so and will also never be (of myself will I speak to thee
by and by). What experience has taught to others, that to which
they accommodate themselves, is to thee folly and falsehood.-
The actual world has presented itself to thee as a deformed mon-
ster, but it did not terrify thee; thou hast at once set thy foot
upon it, and although it whirls beneath thee and forever moves
itself, thou lettest thyself be borne by it, without ever in thought
dreaming the possibility that thou couldst for a moment be at
one with it. I speak of to-day, and more yet of the future, I
would wish there might come moments into thy life when this
flowing together with the energies of other natures might be
granted thee. Dost thou remember thy dream in the moun-
tain castle which thou relatedst to me in the night when I
waked thee, because thou wert weeping bitterly in thy sleep!
It was that a man, who for the good of mankind had done I
know not what heroic deed, was brought to the scaffold in con-
sequence of his great deed. The people shouted in its ignorant
joy, but in thee rose great desire to ascend to him there on the
scaffold, only the blow fell just as thou wert hoping to reach
him. Thou canst not have forgotten the dream, for thy painful
weeping moved me too, so much that I hardly dared remind
thee it was only a dream, and then found this was the very
reason of thy being inconsolable, for thou saidst not even in a
dream was it granted thee to fulfil the desire of thy soul, how
much less would it be so in reality. Then in the night have I
jested that I might comfort thee a little, but to-day I feel impel-
led once more to take up the question whether it was not a mis-
fortune not to have died in the dream with that hero; yes it
was a misfortune, for the awaking, the living on after so en-
dured proof of thy inmost dispositions, which can so seldom in
actual life be verified and confirmed, must be to thee a triumph,
aye a happiness, even though only in a dream, for in dreams
the noblest convictions may meet shipwreck as elsewhere. And
I agree with thee that it was a trick played by thy demon, yet
one with a meaning of wisdom; for, if thou hadst been satis-
fied in the dream so perhaps had also been satisfied thy longing
for great deeds, and what would that have availed thee? would
it not have increased that careless self-reliance to which Savig-
ny must positively give the name of arrogance; no, that would


1842.
355
Bettine Brentano and Günderode.
not have been, yet would there not have been that exaltation
which is now continually renewed by the lightest excitement of
that unsatisfied longing.
“I would wish for thee, Bettine (to speak between ourselves,
for this may no man hear) that those deeply implanted disposi-
tions might be called forth by destiny, and no trial omitted
which either in dream or life might aid gloriously to solve the
problem why it has been worth the pain and trouble to have
lived. Plans are easily baffled, therefore must we make none.
The best way is to find oneself ready for all which offers itself
as worthiest to do, and that alone which obliges us to act, the
holy principle which springs up of itself on the ground of our
conviction, never to violate, but ever to unfold it more and
more through our thoughts and actions, so that we at last recog.
nise nothing in ourselves, but the originally divine. There
are many who have taken with them great Christmas presents
from the Gods, and yet never learn to make use of any of them,
to these it suffices to believe themselves raised above the ground
of the community, merely because the alphabet of a higher
law is stamped within them, yet the spirit has never risen up
within them, and they know not how far they are from having
realized that nobility of soul, of which they are so proud.
This seems to me the noblest school of life, constantly to take
heed that nothing belies those principles through which our
inner being is consecrated, never in thought nor in deed. From
this school the noble man is not released to the last breath of
his life. Thy Ephraim will agree with me, and is himself a
proof of this; I believe also that it is the highest distinction of
destiny to be called to always severer trials. And one must
indeed be able to prophesy the destiny of a noble man from his
dispositions. Thou hast energy and courage enough for severe
truth, and at the same time art the most gladsome nature which
hardly can perceive any injustice that is done towards it. To
thee is it a light thing to bear what others could not at all en-
dure, and yet thou art not compassionate, it is energy which
leads thee to assist others. If I wished briefly to express thy
character I would prophesy that hadst thou been a boy, thou
wouldst have become a hero, but as thou art a girl I interpret
all these dispositions as furnishing materials for a future life,
preparation for an energetic character which perhaps in a living
active time will be born. - As the sea, so the ages seem to me
to have their ebb and flow. We are now in the time of ebb,
where it is indifferent who makes himself valid, because it is
not now the hour for the waves to rise up; the human race
sinks its breath, and whatever of significant occurs in history is
only prelude, to awaken feelings, to practise and collect the


356
(Jan.
Bettine Brentano and GünderodeGünderode.
.
faculties to seize upon a higher potency of spirit. Spirit rules
and raises the world, through this alone life is living, through
this alone moment is joined to moment, all else is fleeting
shadow, each man who makes true a moment in time is a great
man, and however forcible are many apparitions in time, I
cannot reckon them among realities because no deep recogni-
tion, no pure will of the absolute spirit bids them rise and rule,
but wholly vulgar motives of passion. Napoleon is an example.
- Yet are such not without use for the human capacities of the
spirit. Partialities and prejudices must be satiated, even let me
say sated, before they can leave free the spirit of the time. Now
what prejudices may not this hero of all have shaken to pieces,
— what will he not satiate even to disgust, how many will the
future time root up with detestation, to which it now clings
with passionate, blind devotion. — Or can it be possible that
after such terrible ghostly destinies, time should not be given
to reflect. — I doubt not of this, all things find their end, and
only that lives which is able to awake life, of this I have said
to thee enough, thou wilt understand me. Why should not
each one begin his career of life with solemnity and consecra-
tion, regarding himself as a development of the divine which
is the aim of us all, seeking where and how it may be furthered.
Indeed I have now said to thee enough to bring close to thee
the thought that the higher powers of the spirit of man must
be the only real aim of thy inner contemplation, so that all may
be to thee for one purpose, however far thy faculties may be
brought into action. Nothing can remain untried in man
which his higher ideal nature is capable of producing. For
our destiny is the Mother which bears beneath its heart this
fruit of the ideal. — Take from these lines all that bears upon
the heaped up leaves thou hast sent me, and soothe therewith
thy anxiety on my account. Farewell and take my thanks for
all thy love."
Such Beauty is not given, only lent,
Darts winged by love divine, the speedier spent,
Frail effigies of that most seen Unseen,
What is and must be, yet hath never been ;-
O teach the ear to catch that under-tone,
Which draws the heart to know the Unknown, Alone!
I see thee passing, once incarnate Soul,
From sphere to sphere seeking that only goal,
Where thought and love and life together flow,
And the Above smiles back from the Below.
This earthly life to thee was but as glass,
Seeing beyond thy thoughts and wishes pass,
Thou couldst not stay behind to water flowers,
Upon the pathway of these puny Hours


1842.]
357
Sonnets.
With tears undue. - O solitary flame
We will not stir thee by a human blame,
Ask mercy from the heaven thou teachest us to name.
F.
SONNET.
When in a book I find a pleasant thought
Which some small flower in the woods to me
Had told, as if in straitest secrecy,
That I might speak it in sweet verses wrought,
With what best feelings is such meeting fraught!
It shows how nature's life will never be
Shut up from speaking out full clear and free
Her wonders to the soul that will be taught.
And what though I have but this single chance
Of saying that which every gentle soul
Shall answer with a glad, uplifting glance ?
Nature is frank to him whose spirit whole
Doth love Truth more than praise, and in good time,
My flower will tell me sweeter things to rhyme.
April, 1819.
J. R. L.
SONNET.
ONLY as thou herein canst not see me,
Only as thou the same low voice canst hear
Which is the morning-song of every sphere
And which thou erewhile heardst beside the sea
Or in the still night flowing solemnly,
Only so love this rhyme and so revere;
All else cast from thee, haply with a tear
For one who, rightly taught, yet would not be
A voice obedient; some things I have seen
With a clear eye, and otherwhile the earth
With a most sad eclipse hath come between
That sunlight which is mine by right of birth
And what I know with grief I ought to have been,-
Yet is short-coming even something worth.
J. R. L.


358
(Jan.
The Hour of Reckoning.
SONNET
TO IRENE ON HER BIRTHDAY.
MAIDEN, when such a soul as thine is born,
The morning stars their ancient music make
And joyful once again their song awake,
Long silent now with melancholy scorn;
And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn,
By no least deed its harmony shall break,
And shalt to that high clime thy footsteps take
Through life's most darksome passes unforlorn;
Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall,
Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free
And in thine every motion musical
As summer air, majestic as the sea,
A mystery to those who creep and crawl
Through Time and part it from Eternity.
J. R. L.
THE HOUR OF RECKONING.
Give way, give way, - this is not patience's hour:
Call not my grief a wild and sinful thing:
Call not my ceaseless tears a wasted shower:
Have ye not suffered ? bear with suffering.
Not for this hope, – though even ye do see
My life has gone down with it to the grave,
Not for this only grief, — my misery
Goes o'er my spirit now — dark wave on wave.
No, no; now heaves the swell of my heart's wo
Fed by a thousand streams repressed not dry;
The breathing forms I buried long ago,
They are revenged — they rise — they will not die.
Redress! redress! yes, ye shall have it now,
Feelings denied through long and level years!
The way is open; none shall disallow
Your claim to sighs, — your heritage in tears.
No, let those hear you, whom a single grief
Has bowed, aye, crushed to earth in all but rest;
But bring not yet, not yet, to me relief:-
'T is an unbidden, 't is an ill-timed guest.
Bear with me — bear — I have not stopped, like you,
To give the pittance even of a tear
When my life's miseries pleaded in my view
And asked but this the wretched beggar's cheer.


1842.]
359
De Profundis Clamavi.
I have been proud — no, no, — I was afraid
To give one mite lest they should ask for more,
And now they throng around, nor ask for aid,
But rudely seize on all life's hoarded store.
Take all, - aye, take sorrows neglected, hushed,
Hopes, yearnings frightened into timid peace;
Take all; the heart which silenced ye is crushed,
Take all, and sign your debtor's hard release.
SONNET
TO MARY ON HER BIRTHDAY.
Full fair, another circling year doth gird
The mystic growth of the young heart around;
O deep and deeper be the voices heard
Which through that heart in angel whispers sound.
Thine is the hour when by the fragrant bloom
We prophesy of Summer's golden sheaves ;-
If sadness comes, 0 darken not to gloom!
Be like the pine-tree that I love, whose leaves
Ne'er vanquished were by Winter's icy arm,
But breathe a strain which all the year doth charm.
I dare not pray that trials dark and drear
Shall ne'er upon thy path like clouds appear,
But may a soul as true as life can form
Sun-tinge their awful edge, and glorify the storm.
B. F. P.
DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI.
WHERE be these deeps to saint and prophet known
These deeps of love Divine and Infinite ?
Wildered and sere over the waste I flit
Filling all nature with my constant moan;
Wherefore of all his sons do I alone
Seek for the Father's face but never find,
Casting with tears my prayers upon the wind,
Sinful, remorseful, to God's peace unknown?
Spare me, oh God! this fearful agony,
Give me the calm of souls regenerate,
Let me no more for thy dear presence wait,
But be each moment an Eternity.
As through the obedient stars, oh shine through me,
And in thy Life forever let me Be.


360
(Jan.
Music to Martha.
MUSIC
TO MARTHA.
SWEEP, lady, sweep again the keys,
And let thy fancy wander free;
For, sad or gay, the strain will please,
Since all I seek is harmony.
Yes, discords deep are in my brain,
Deformed and dark the shadows lie;
O from my soul erase the stain
With Eden-breath of minstrelsy.
Though soft as moon-rays be your wings,
Born of air to die in sighing,
Moaning o'er wild Æolian strings,
Or from fairy fingers flying,
To deepest deeps ye thrill my soul,
And Fantasy's high hosts arise,
Glory and Love before me roll
Enchantress! on thy melodies.
Lost hopes again reveal their beams;
Like vanished wanderers appear
In all their light my youthful Dreams,
And tidings chaunt upon the ear
How they not utterly depart:
But when the storms of life sweep by,
They tint the Iris of the heart,
And pain and sorrow purify.
In deeps profound the chords are laid;
From awful steeps the tones take wing;-
The fairest works that God hath made,
Affect us like a tuneful string.
Thus on the souls of early seers
Rose Cherub's lyre and Seraph's tongue;
While music throned the endless years,
And all the spheres in tune were hung.
The spheral law with faith revere:
For angel bliss may tasted be,
Though the wide world in hate uprear,
By one whose heart is melody.
With thoughtful Night upon thine eye,
Her depth, and stillness, and the stars, –
So fair a course thou wilt not fly,
But one by one surmount the bars.
B. F. P.


1842.]
361
West Roxbury Community.
PLAN OF THE WEST ROXBURY COMMUNITY.
In the last number of the Dial were some remarks, under
the perhaps ambitious title, of “ A Glimpse of Christ's
Idea of Society ;” in a note to which, it was intimated,
that in this number, would be given an account of an at-
tempt to realize in some degree this great Ideal, by a little
company in the midst of us, as yet without name or visible
existence. The attempt is made on a very small scale.
A few individuals, who, unknown to each other, under
different disciplines of life, reacting from different social
evils, but aiming at the same object, — of being wholly
true to their natures as men and women; have been made
acquainted with one another, and have determined to be-
come the Faculty of the Embryo University.
In order to live a religious and moral life worthy the
name, they feel it is necessary to come out in some degree
from the world, and to form themselves into a community
of property, so far as to exclude competition and the ordi-
nary rules of trade ; — while they reserve sufficient private
property, or the means of obtaining it, for all purposes of
independence, and isolation at will. They have bought a
farm, in order to make agriculture the basis of their life, it
being the most direct and simple in relation to nature.
A true life, although it aims beyond the highest star, is
redolent of the healthy earth. The perfume of clover
lingers about it. The lowing of cattle is the natural bass
to the melody of human voices.
On the other hand, what absurdity can be imagined
greater than the institution of cities? They originated
not in love, but in war. It was war that drove men to-
gether in multitudes, and compelled them to stand so close,
and build walls around them. This crowded condition
produces wants of an unnatural character, which resulted
in occupations that regenerated the evil, by creating arti-
ficial wants. Even when that thought of grief,
“I know, where'er I go
That there hath passed away a glory from the Earth,”
came to our first parents, as they saw the angel, with the
flaming sword of self-consciousness, standing between them
VOL. II. —NO. III.
46


362
[Jan.
West Roxbury Community.
and the recovery of spontaneous Life and Joy, we cannot
believe they could have' anticipated a time would come,
when the sensuous apprehension of Creation — the great
syinbol of God -- would be taken away from their unfor-
tunate children, — crowded together in such a manner as
to shut out the free breath and the Universal Doine of
Heaven, some opening their eyes in the dark cellars of the
narrow, crowded streets of walled cities. How could they
have believed in such a conspiracy against the soul, as to
deprive it of the sun and sky, and glorious apparelled
Earth! — The growth of cities, which were the embryo
of nations hostile to each other, is a subject worthy the
thoughts and pen of the philosophic historian. Perhaps
nothing would stimulate courage to seek, and hope to attain
social good, so much, as a profound history of the origin, in
the mixed nature of man, and the exasperation by society,
of the various organized Evils under which humanity
groans. Is there anything, which exists in social or political
life, contrary to the soul's Ideal? That thing is not eternal,
but finite, saith the Pure Reason. It had a beginning, and
so a history. What man has done, man may undo.“ By
man came death; by man also cometh the resurrection
from the dead."
The plan of the Community, as an Economy, is in brief
this; for all who have property to take stock, and receive
a fixed interest thereon ; then to keep house or board in
commons, as they shall severally desire, at the cost of pro-
visions purchased at wholesale, or raised on the farm ; and
for all to labor in community, and be paid at a certain rate
an hour, choosing their own number of hours, and their
own kind of work. With the results of this labor, and
their interest, they are to pay their board, and also pur-
chase whatever else they require at cost, at the warehouses
of the Community, which are to be filled by the Commu-
nity as such. To perfect ibis economy, in the course of
time they must have all trades, and all modes of business
carried on among themselves, from the lowest mechanical
trade, which contributes to the health and comfort of life,
to the finest art which adorns it with food or drapery for
the mind.
All labor, whether bodily or intellectual, is to be paid at
the same rate of wages ; on the principle, that as the labor


1842.]
363
West Roxbury Community.
becomes merely bodily, it is a greater sacrifice to the indi-
vidual laborer, to give his time to it; because time is desir-
able for the cultivation of the intellect, in exact proportion
to ignorance. Besides, intellectual labor involves in itself
higher pleasures, and is more its own reward, than bodily
labor.
Another reason, for setting the same pecuniary value on
every kind of labor, is, to give outward expression to the
great truth, that all labor is sacred, when done for a com-
mon interest. Saints and philosophers already know this,
but the childish world does not; and very decided measures
must be taken to equalize labors, in the eyes of the young
of the community, who are not beyond the moral influ-
ences of the world without them. The community will
have nothing done within its precincts, but what is done
by its own members, who stand all in social equality ; -
that the children may not “ learn to expect one kind of
service from Love and Goodwill, and another from the
obligation of others to render it," – a grievance of the
common society stated, by one of the associated mothers,
as destructive of the soul's simplicity. Consequently, as
the Universal Education will involve all kinds of operation,
necessary, to the comforts and elegances of life, every asso-
ciate, even if he be the digger of a ditch as his highest
accomplishment, will be an instructer in that to the young
members. Nor will this elevation of bodily labor be liable
to lower the tone of manners and refinement in the commu-
nity. The “children of light” are not altogether unwise
in their generation. They have an invisible but all-power-
ful guard of principles. Minds incapable of refinement,
will not be attracted into this association. It is an Ideal
community, and only to the ideally inclined will it be at-
tractive; but these are to be found in every rank of life,
under every shadow of circumstance. Even ainong the
diggers in the ditch are to be found some, who through re-
ligious cultivation, can look down, in meek superiority, upon
the outwardly refined, and the book-learned.
Besides, after becoming meinbers of this community,
none will be engaged merely in bodily labor. The hours
of labor for the Association will be limited by a general
law, and can be curtailed at the will of the individual still
more; and means will be given to all for intellectual im-


364
[Jan.
West Roxbury Community.
provement and for social intercourse, calculated to refine and
expand. The hours redeemed from labor by community,
will not be reapplied to the acquisition of wealth, but to
the production of intellectual goods. This community aims
to be rich, not in the metallic representative of wealth, but
in the wealth itself, which money should represent ; name-
ly, LEISURE TO LIVE IN ALL THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL.
As a community, it will traffic with the world at large, in
the products of Agricultural labor; and it will sell educa-
tion to as many young persons as can be domesticated in
the families, and enter into the common life with their own
children. In the end, it hopes to be enabled to provide –
not only all the necessaries, but all the elegances desirable
for bodily and for spiritual health; books, apparatus, col-
lections for science, works of art, means of beautiful
amusement. These things are to be common to all; and
thus that object, which alone gilds and refines the passion
for individual accumulation, will no longer exist for desire,
and whenever the Sordid passion appears, it will be seen in
its naked selfishness. In its ultimate success, the commu-
nity will realize all the ends which selfishness seeks, but in-
volved in spiritual blessings, which only greatness of soul
can aspire after.
And the requisitions on the individuals, it is believed,
will make this the order forever. The spiritual good will
always be the condition of the temporal. Every one must
labor for the community in a reasonable degree, or not taste
its benefits. The principles of the organization therefore,
and not its probable results in future time, will determine
its members. These principles are coöperation in social
matters, instead of competition or balance of interests;
and individual self-unfolding, in the faith that the whole
soul of humanity is in each man and woman. The former
is the application of the love of man; the latter of the love
of God, to life. Whoever is satisfied with society, as it is;
whose sense of justice is not wounded by its common
action, institutions, spirit of commerce, has no business with
this community ; neither has any one who is willing to
have other men (needing more time for intellectual cultiva-
tion than himself) give their best hours and strength to
bodily labor, to secure himself immunity therefrom. And
whoever does not measure what society owes to its members


1842.]
365
West Roxbury Community.
of cherishing and instruction, by the needs of the indi-
viduals that compose it, has no lot in this new society.
Whoever is willing to receive from his fellow men that, for
which he gives no equivalent, will stay away from its pre-
cincts forever.
But whoever shall surrender himself to its principles,
shall find that its yoke is easy and its burden light. Every-
thing can be said of it, in a degree, which Christ said of
his kingdom, and therefore it is believed that in some
measure it does embody his Idea. For its Gate of en-
trance is straight and narrow. It is literally a pearl hidden
in a field. Those only who are willing to lose their life
for its sake shall find it. Its voice is that which sent the
young man sorrowing away. “Go sell all thy goods and
give to the poor, and then come and follow me.” “ Seek
first the kingdom of Heaven, and its righteousness, and all
other things shall be added to you."
This principle, with regard to labor, lies at the root of
moral and religious life ; for it is not more true that “ money
is the root of all evil,” than that labor is the germ of all
good.
All the work is to be offered for the free choice of the mem-
bers of the community, at stated seasons, and such as is not
chosen, will be hired. But it is not anticipated that any work
will be set aside to be hired, for which there is actual ability
in the community. It is so desirable that the hired labor
should be avoided, that it is believed the work will all be done
freely, even though at voluntary sacrifice. If there is some
exception at first, it is because the material means are in-
adequate to the reception of all who desire to go. They
cannot go, unless they have shelter ; and in this climate,
they cannot have shelter unless they can build houses ; and
they cannot build houses unless they have money. It is
not here as in Robinson Crusoe's Island, or in the prairies
and rocky mountains of the far west, where the land and
the wood are not appropriated. A single farm, in the midst
of Massachusetts, does not afford range enough for men to
create out of the Earth a living, with no other means; as
the wild Indians, or the United States Army in Florida
may do.
This plan, of letting all persons choose their own depart-
ments of action, will immediately place the Genius of In-


366
[Jan.
West Roxbury Community.
struction on its throne. Communication is the life of spirit-
ual life. Knowledge pours itself out upon ignorance by a
native impulse. All the arts crave response. “ WISDOM
Cries.” If every man and woman taught only what they
loved, and so many hours as they could naturally communi-
cate, instruction would cease to be a drudgery, and we
may add, learning would be no longer a task. The known
accomplishments of many of the members of this associa-
tion have already secured it an interest in the public mind,
as a school of literary advantages quite superior. Most of
the associates have had long practical experience in the
details of teaching, and have groaned under the necessity
of taking their method and law froin custom or caprice,
when they would rather have found it in the nature of the
thing taught, and the condition of the pupil to be instruct-
ed. Each instructer appoints his hours of study or reci-
tation, and the scholars, or the parents of the children, or
the educational committee, choose the studies, for the time,
and the pupils -submit, as long as they pursue their
studies with any teacher, to his regulations.
As agriculture is the basis of their external life, scien-
tific agriculture, connected with practice, will be a promi-
nent part of the instruction from the first. This obviously
involves the natural sciences, mathematics, and accounts.
But to classical learning justice is also to be done. Boys
may be fitted for our colleges there, and even be carried
through the college course. The particular studies of the
individual pupils, whether old or young, male or female,
are to be strictly regulated, according to their inward
needs. As the children of the community can remain in
the community after they become of age, as associates, if
they will; there will not be an entire subserviency to the
end of preparing the means of earning a material subsist-
ence, as is frequently the case now. Nevertheless, as they
will have had opportunity, in the course of their minority,
to earn three or four hundred dollars, they can leave the
community at twenty years of age, if they will, with that
sufficient capital, which, together with their extensive edu-
cation, will gain a subsistence anywhere, in the best
society of the world. It is this feature of the plan, which
may preclude from parents any question as to their right to
go into this community, and forego forever all hope of


1842.]
367
West Roxbury Community.
great individual accumulation for their children; a customa-
ry plea for spending life in making money. Their children will
be supported at free board, until they are ten years of age ;
educated gratuitously ; taken care of in case of their pa-
rents' sickness and death; and they themselves will be sup-
ported, after seventy years of age, by the community, un-
less their accumulated capital supports them.
There are some persons who have entered the communi-
ty without money. It is believed that these will be able to
support themselves and dependents, by less work, more
completely, and with more ease than elsewhere; while
their labor will be of advantage to the community. It is
in no sense an eleemosynary establishment, but it is hoped
that in the end it will be able to receive all who have the
spiritual qualifications.
It seems impossible that the little organization can be
looked on with any unkindness by the world without it.
Those, who have not the faith that the principles of Christ's
kingdom are applicable to real life in the world, will smile
at it, as a visionary attempt. But even they must acknow-
ledge it can do no harm, in any event. If it realizes the
hope of its founders, it will immediately become a manifold
blessing. Its moral aura must be salutary. As long as it
lasts, it will be an example of the beauty of brotherly love.
If it succeeds in uniting successful labor with improvement in
mind and manners, it will teach a noble lesson to the agri-
cultural population, and do something to check that rush
from the country to the city, which is now stimulated by
ambition, and by something better, even a desire for learn-
ing. Many a young man leaves the farmer's life, because
only by so doing can he have intellectual companionship
and opportunity; and yet, did he but know it, professional
life is ordinarily more unfavorable to the perſection of the
mind, than the farmer's life; if the latter is lived with wis-
dom and moderation, and the labor mingled as it might be
with study. This community will be a school for young
agriculturalists, who may learn within its precincts, not only
the skilful practice, but the scientific reasons of their work,
and be enabled aſterwards to improve their art continuous-
• ly. It will also prove the best of normal schools, and as
such, may clairn the interest of those, who mourn over the
inefficiency of our common school system, with its present
ill-instructed teachers.


368
(Jan.
West Roxbury Community.
It should be understood also, that after all the working
and teaching, which individuals of the community may do,
they will still have leisure, and in that leisure can employ
themselves in connexion with the world around them.
Some will not teach at all; and those especially can write
books, pursue the Fine Arts, for private emolument if
they will, and exercise various functions of men. — From
this community might go forth preachers of the gospel of
Christ, who would not have upon them the odium, or the
burthen, that now diminishes the power of the clergy.
And even if pastors were to go from this community, to
reside among congregations as now, for a salary given, the
fact, that they would have something to retreat upon, at
any moment, would save them from that virtual depend-
ence on their congregations, which now corrupts the rela-
tion. There are doubtless beautiful instances of the old
true relation of pastor and people, even of teacher and
taught, in the decaying churches around us, but it is in
vain to attempt to conceal the ghastly fact, that many a
taper is burning dimly in the candlestick, no longer silver
or golden, because compassion forbids to put it quite out.
But let the spirit again blow " where it listeth," and not
circumscribe itself by salary and other commodity, — and
the Preached word might reassume the awful Dignity which
is its appropriate garment; and though it sit down with pub-
licans and sinners, again speak “with authority and not as
the scribes.”
We write, as is evident perhaps, not as members, which
we are not, but interested spectators of the growth of this
little community. It is due to their modesty to apologize
for bringing out so openly, what they have done simply and
without pretension. We rest on the spirit of the day,
which is that of communication. No sooner does the life
of man become visible, but it is a part of the great phe-
nomenon of nature, which never seeks display, but suffers
all to speculate thereon. When this speculation is made
in respect, and in love of truth, it is most to be defended.
We shall now proceed to make some observations that may
sound like criticism, but this we do without apology, for
earnest seekers of a true life are not liable to be petulant.
The very liberality, and truth to nature of the plan, is a
legitimate reason for fearing it will not succeed as a special


1842.]
369
West Roxbury Community.
community in any given time. The vineyard does not
always yield according to the reasonable expectation of its
Lord. When he looks for grapes, behold it brings forth
wild grapes. For outward success there must always be
compromise, and where it is so much the object to avoid the
dangers of compromise, as there very properly is here,
there is perhaps danger of not taking advantage of such
as nature offers.
One of these is the principle of antagonism. It is fair
to take advantage of this in one respect. The members
may be stimulated to faithfulness and hope, by the specta-
cle of society around them, whose unnecessary evils can
be clearly seen to be folly, as well as sin, from their retreat.
The spirit of liberality must be discriminated from the
spirit of accommodation. Love is a stern principle, a
severe winnower, when it is one with the pure Reason; as
it must be, to be holy, and to be effective. It is a very
different thing from indulgence. Some persons have said
that in order to a true experiment, and to enact a really
generous faith in man, there should be any neighborhood
taken without discrimination, with the proportion, that may
happen to be in it, of the good and bad, the strong and
weak. But we differ as to the application in this instance.
They are so little fenced about with rules and barriers, that
they have no chance but by being strong in the spirit.
“ Touch not, taste not, handle not," must be their watch-
word, with respect to the organized falsehoods they have
protested against ; and with respect to means of successful
manifestation, the aphorism of St. Augustine, “ God is
patient because he is Eternal.”
To be a little more explicit. The men and women of
the world, as they rise, are not at the present moment wise
enough, in the Hebrew sense of the word wisdom, even if
they are good-intentioned enough, to enter into a plan of
so great mutual confidence. To all the evils arising from
constitutional infirmity and perversion they must, especially
at first, be exposed. There will always be natures too cold
to satisfy the warm-hearted, too narrow for the enjoyment
of the wide-visioned, some will be deficient in reason, and
some in sensibility, and there will be many who, from defect
of personal power, will let run to waste beautiful hearts,
and not turn to account great insight of natural wisdom.
VOL. II. — NO. III.
47


370
(Jan.
West Roxbury Community.
Love, justice, patience, forbearance, every virtue under
heaven, are always necessary in order to do the social
duties. There is no knot that magnanimity cannot untie;
but the Almighty Wisdom and Goodness will not allow any
tower to be builded by the children of men, where they
can understand one another without this solvent magna-
nimity. There must ever be sincerity of good design, and
organic truth, for the evolution of Beauty.
Now there can be only one way of selecting and win-
nowing their company. The power to do this must be in-
herent in their constitution ; they must keep sternly true
to their principles.
In the first place, they must not compromise their princi-
ple of labor, in receiving members. Every one, who has
any personal power, whether bodily or mental, must bring
the contribution of personal service, no matter how much
money he brings besides. This personal service is not to
amount to drudgery in any instance, but in every able-bodied
or sound-minded person, it should be at least equivalent to
the care of their own persons. Exchange, or barter of
labor, so as to distribute to each according to his genius, is
to be the means of ease, indefinitely, but no absolute dis-
pensation should be given, except for actual infirmity. “My
Father worketh hitherto, and I work,” is always the word
of the divine humanity.
But granting that they keep the gate of entrance narrow,
as the gate of life, which is being as liberal as the moral
Law, a subtle temptation assails them from the side of their
Organization. Wo be unto them if they lean upon it; if
they ever forget that it is only what they have made it, and
what they sustain it to be. It not only must be ever in-
stinct with spirit, but it must never be thought, even then,
to circumscribe the spirit. It can do nothing more, even
if it work miracles, than make bread out of stones, and
after all, man liveth not by bread alone, but by every word
that proceedeth out of the mouth of God. Another
temptation assails them, clothed as an angel of light. The
lover of man finds in his benevolence a persuasive advo-
cate, when the Devil proposes to him to begin by taking
possession of the kingdoms of this world, according to his
ability. In their ardor for means of success, they may
touch the mammon of unrighteousness. They will be ex-


1842.] West Roxbury Community. 371
posed to endowment. Many persons, enlightened enough
to be unwilling to let the wealth, they have gained by the
accident of birth or of personal talent, go to exasperate
the evil of present society, will be disposed to give it, or
to leave it as a legacy to this community, and it would be
asceticism to refuse it absolutely. But they should receive
it greatly. “Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and
Him only shalt thou serve.” No person who proposes to
endow the community as a University, or as the true
system of life, understands what he does, unless he sur-
renders what he gives, unconditionally, in the same spirit of
faith, with which the members throw themselves in, with
their lives, their property, and sacred honor. At all events
it would violate their principle of progress to accept anything
with conditions; unless indeed it may be considered a con-
dition, that they remain an association, governed by the
majority of members, according to its present general con-
stitution.
It were better even to forego the advantage of good
buildings, apparatus, library, than to have these shackles.
- Though space cannot now be given to do more than
state these points, it might be demonstrated that to keep to
them, is essential to independence, and can alone justify
the conscience of endower and endowed.
Another danger which should be largely treated is the
spirit of coterie. The breadth of their platform, which
admits all sects; and the generality of their plan, which
demands all degrees of intellectual culture to begin with,
is some security against this. But the ultimate security
must be in numbers. Some may say, " already this taint
has come upon them, for they are doubtless transcenden-
talists." But to mass a few protestants together and
call them transcendentalists, is a popular cant. Transcen-
dentalism belongs to no sect of religion, and no social
party. It is the common ground to which all sects may
rise, and be purified of their narrowness; for it consists in
seeking the spiritual ground of all manifestations. As al-
ready in the pages of this periodical, Calvinist, and Uni-
tarian, and Episcopalian, and Baptist, and Quaker, and
Swedenborgian, have met and spoken in love and freedom,
on this common basis ; so it would be seen, if the word were
understood, that transcendentalism, notwithstanding its


372
[Jan.
West Roxbury Community.
name is taken in vain by many moonshiny youths and misses
who assume it, would be the best of all guards against the
spirit of coterie. Much as we respect our friends of the
community, we dare not hope for them quite so much, as
to aver that they transcend, as yet, all the limitations that
separate men from love and mutual trust.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When Love is an unerring light
And Joy its own security.
And blest are they who in the main
This faith, even now, do entertain;
Live in the spirit of this creed ;
Yet find the strength of Law according to their need!
We had intended to subjoin some further remarks, by
way of inquiry, into the possibility of other portions of
society, not able to emancipate themselves from the thral-
dom of city liſe, beginning also to act, in a degree, on the
principles of coöperation. Ameliorations of present evils,
initiation into truer life, may be made we believe every-
where. Worldly wisdom, for its own purposes, avails it-
self of what is outward in the community plan; at least
of the labor-saving element. Why may not the children of
light be equally wise ?
There may be some persons, at a distance, who will ask,
to what degree has this community gone into operation?
We cannot answer this with precision, for we do not write
as organs of this association, and have reason to feel, that
if we applied to them for information, they would refuse
it, out of their dislike to appear in public. We desire
this to be distinctly understood. But we can see, and
think we have a right to say, that it has purchased the
Farm, which some of its members cultivated for a year
with success, by way of trying their love and skill for agri-
cultural labor; – that in the only house they are as yet
rich enough to own, is collected a large family, including
several boarding scholars, and that all work and study to-
gether. They seem to be glad to know of all, who desire
to join them in the spirit, that at any moment, when they
are able to enlarge their habitations, they may call together
those that belong to them.
E. P. P.


1842.)
373
The Park. – Forbearance. - Grace.
THE PARK.
The prosperous and beautiful
To me seem not to wear
The yoke of conscience masterful
Which galls me everywhere.
I cannot shake off the god;
On my neck he makes his seat;
I look at my face in the glass,
My eyes his eyeballs meet.
Enchanters! Enchantresses!
Your gold makes you seein wise :
The morning mist within your grounds
More proudly rolls, more softly lies.
Yet spake yon purple mountain,
Yet said yon ancient wood,
That Night or Day, that Love or Crime
Lead all souls to the Good.
FORBEARANCE.
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun,
Loved the woodrose and left it on its stalk,
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse,
Unarmed faced danger with a heart of trust,
And loved so well a high behavior
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay ? —
O be my friend, and teach me to be thine!
GRACE.
How much, Preventing God! how much I owe
To the defences thou hast round me set:
Example, custom, fear, occasion slow,-
These scorned bondmen were my parapet.
I dare not peep over this parapet
To guage with glance the roaring gulf below,
The depths of sin to which I had descended,
Had not these me against myself defended.


374
[Jan.
The Senses and the Soul.
THE SENSES AND THE SOUL.
“ What we know is a point to what we do not know."
The first questions are still to be asked. Let any man
bestow a thought on himself, how he came hither, and
whither he tends, and he will find that all the literature,
all the philosophy that is on record, have done little 10
dull the edge of inquiry. The globe that swims so silent-
ly with us through the sea of space, has never a port, but
with its little convoy of friendly orbs pursues its voyage
through the signs of heaven, to renew its navigation again
forever. The wonderful tidings our glasses and calendars
give us concerning the hospitable lighis that hang around
us in the deep, do not appease but inflame our curiosity;
and in like manner, our culture does not lead to any goal,
but its richest results of thought and action are only new
preparation.
Here on the surface of our swimming earth we come
out of silence into society already formed, into language,
customs, and traditions, ready made, and the multitude of
our associates discountenance us from expressing any sur-
prise at the somewhat agreeable novelty of Being, and
frown down any intimation on our part of a disposition to
assume our own vows, to preserve our independence, and
to institute any inquiry into the sweet and sublime vision
which surrounds us.
And yet there seems no need that any should fear we
should grow too wise. The path of truth has obstacles
enough of its own. We dwell on the surface of nature.
We dwell amidst surfaces; and surface laps so closely on
surface, that we cannot easily pierce to see the interior
organism. Then the subtlety of things ! Under every cause,
another cause. Truth soars too high or dives too deep
for the most resolute inquirer. See of how much we know
nothing. See the strange position of man. Our science
neither comprehends him as a whole, nor any one of its
particulars. See the action and reaction of Will and Ne-
cessity. See his passions, and their origin in the deeps of
nature and circumstance. See the Fear that rides even
the brave. See the omnipresent Hope, whose fountains in
our consciousness no metaphysician can find. Consider


1842.)
375
The Senses and the Soul.
the phenomenon of Laughter, and explore the elements of
the Comic. What do we know of the mystery of Music?
and what of Form ? why this stroke, this outline should
express beauty, and that other not ? See the occult region
of Demonology, with coincidence, foresight, dreams, and
omens. Consider the appearance of Death, the formidable
secret of our destiny, looming up as the barrier of na-
ture.
Our ignorance is great enough, and yet the fact most
surprising is not our ignorance, but the aversation of men
from knowledge. That which, one would say, would unite
all minds and join all hands, the ambition to push as far
as fate would permit, the planted garden of man on every
hand into the kingdom of Night, really fires the heart of
few and solitary men. Tell men to study themselves, and
for the most part, they find nothing less interesting.
Whilst we walk environed before and behind with Will,
Fate, Hope, Fear, Love, and Death, these phantoms or
angels, whom we catch at but cannot embrace, it is droll to
see the contentment and incuriosity of man. All take for
granted, — the learned as well as the unlearned, — that a
great deal, nay, almost all, is known and forever setiled.
But in truth all is now to be begun, and every new mind
ought to take the attitude of Columbus, launch out from
the gaping loiterers on the shore, and sail west for a new
world.
This profound ignorance, this deep sleep of the higher
faculties of man, coexists with a great abundance of what
are called the means of learning, great activity of book-,
making, and of formal teaching. Go into one of our pub-
lic libraries, when a new box of books and journals has ar-
rived with the usual importation of the periodical literature
of England. The best names of Britain are on the covers.
What a mass of literary production for a single week or
month! We speculate upon it before we read. We say,
what an invention is the press and the journal, by which a
hundred pale students, each a hive of distilled flowers of
learning, of thought, — each a poet, — each an accom-
plished man whom the selectest influences have joined to
breed and enrich, are made to unite their manifold streams
for the information and delight of everybody who can read !
How lame is speech, how imperfect the communication of


376
[Jan.
The Senses and the Soul.
the ancient Harper, wandering from castle to hamlet, to
sing to a vagrant audience his melodious thoughts! These
unopened books contain the chosen verses of a hundred
minstrels, born, living, and singing in distant countries and
different languages; for, the intellectual wealth of the
world, like its commercial, rolls to London, and through
that great heart is hurled again to the extremities. And
here, too, is the result, not poetic, of how much thought,
how much experience, and how much suffering of wise
and cultivated men! How can we in America expect
books of our own, whilst this bale of wisdom arrives once
or twice in a month at our ports ? ,
In this mind we open the books, and begin to read.
We find they are books about books; and then perhaps
the book criticized was itself a compilation or digest of
others; so that the page we read is at third or fourth hand
from the event or sentiment which it describes. Then
we find that much the largest proportion of the pages re-
lates exclusively to matter of fact — to the superficial
fact, and, as if systematically, shuns any reference to a
thought or law which the fact indicated. A large part
again, both of the prose and verse, is gleanings from old
compositions, and the oft repeated praise of such is re-
peated in the phrase of the present day. We have even
the mortification to find one more deduction still from
our anticipated prize, namely, that a large portion of
ostentatious criticism is merely a hired advertisement of
the great booksellers. In the course of our turning of
leaves, we fall at last on an extraordinary passage - a
record of thought and virtue, or a clarion strain of po-
etry, or perchance a traveller makes us acquainted with
strange modes of life and some relic of primeval relig.
ion, or, rarer yet, a profound sentence is here printed –
shines here new but eternal on these linen pages, - we
wonder whence it came, — or perhaps trace it instantly
home – aut Erasmus aut Diabolus — to the only head it
could come from.
A few thoughts are all we glean from the best inspection
of the paper pile; all the rest is combination and confec-
tionary. A little part abides in our memory, and goes to
exalt the sense of duty, and make us happier. For the
rest, our heated expectation is chilled and disappointed.


1842.)
377
The Senses and the Soul.
Some indirect benefit will no doubt accrue. If we read
with braced and active mind, we learn this negative fact,
itself a piece of human life. We contrast this mountain
of dross with the grains of gold, - we oversee the writer,
and learn somewhat of the laws of writing. But a lesson
as good we might be learning elsewhere.
Now what is true of a month's or a year's issue of
new books, seems to me with a little qualification true of
the age. The stock-writers, (for the honesty of the lite-
rary class has given this population a name,) vastly out-
number the thinking men. One man, two men, — possibly,
three or four, — have cast behind them the long-descended
costume of the academy, and the expectations of fashion,
and have said, This world is too fair, this world comes
home too near to me than that I should walk a stranger
in it, and live at second-hand, fed by other men's doc-
trines, or treading only in their steps; I feel a higher
right herein, and will hearken to the Oracle myself. Such
have perceived the extreme poverty of literature, have seen
that there was not and could not be help for the fervent
soul, except through its own energy. But the great number
of those who have voluminously ministered to the popular
tastes were men of talents, who had some feat which each
could do with words, but who have not added to wisdom
or to virtue. Talent amuses; Wisdom instructs. Talent
shows me what another man can do; Genius acquaints me
with the spacious circuits of the common nature. One is
carpentry; the other is growth. To make a step into the
world of thought is now given to but few men ; to make a
second step beyond the first, only one in a country can
do; but to carry the thought on to three steps, marks a
great teacher. Aladdin's palace with its one unfinished
window, which all the gems in the royal treasury cannot
finish in the style of the meanest of the profusion of jew-
elled windows that were built by the Genie in a night, is
but too true an image of the efforts of talent to add one
verse to the copious text which inspiration writes by one
or another scribe from age to age.
It is not that the literary class or those for whom they
write, are not lovers of truth, and amenable to principles.
All are so. The hunger of men for truth is immense ; but
they are not erect on their feet; the senses are too strong
VOL. II. —NO. III.
48


378
(Jan.
The Senses and the Soul.
for the soul. Our senses barbarize us. When the ideal world
recedes before the senses, we are on a retrograde march.
The savage surrenders to his senses ; he is subject to
paroxysms of joy and fear; he is lewd, and a drunkard.
The Esquimaux in the exhilaration of the morning sun,
when he is invigorated by sleep, will sell his bed. He is
the fool of the moment's sensations to the degree of losing
sight of the whole amount of his sensations in so many
years. And there is an Esquimaux in every man which
makes us believe in the permanence of this moment's state
of our game more than our own experience will warrant.
In the fine day we despise the house. At sea, the passen-
gers always judge from the weather of the present moment
of the probable length of the voyage. In a fresh breeze,
they are sure of a good run; becalmed, they are equally
sure of a long passage. In trade, the momentary state of
the markets betrays continually the experienced and long-
sighted. In politics, and in our opinion of the prospects
of society, we are in like manner the slaves of the
hour. Meet one or two malignant declaimers, and we are
weary of life, and distrust the permanence of good institu-
tions. A single man in a ragged coat at an election looks
revolutionary. But ride in a stage-coach with one or two
benevolent persons in good spirits, and the Republic seems
to us safe.
It is but an extension of the despotism of sense, — shall
I say, only a calculated sensuality, - a little more compre-
hensive devotion which subjugates the eminent and the re-
puted wise, and hinders an ideal culture. In the great
stakes which the leaders of society esteem not at all fanci-
ful but solid, in the best reputed professions and operations,
what is there which will bear the scrutiny of reason? The
most active lives have so much routine as to preclude pro-
gress almost cqually with the most inactive. We defer
to the noted merchants whose influence is felt not only in
their native cities, but in most parts of the globe ; but our
respect does them and ourselves great injustice, for their
trade is without system, their affairs unfold themselves after
no law of the mind; but are bubble built on bubble with-
out end ; a work of arithmetic, not of commerce, much
less of considerate humanity. They add voyage to voyage,
and buy stocks that they may buy stocks, and no ulterior


1842.)
379
The Senses and the Soul.
purpose is thought of. When you see their dexterity in
particulars, you cannot overestimate the resources of good
sense, and when you find how emply they are of all remote
aims, you cannot underestimate their philosophy.
The men of letters and the professions we have charged
with the like surrender to routine. It is no otherwise with
the men of office. Statesmen are solitary. At no time do
they form a class. Governments, for the most part, are
carried on by political merchants quite without principle,
and according to the maxims of trade and huckster; so
that what is true of merchants is true of public officers.
Why should we suffer ourselves to be cheated by sounding
names and fair shows? The titles, the property, the noto-
riety, the brief consequence of our fellows are only the dec-
oration of the sacrifice, and add to the melancholy of the
observer.
“ The earth goes on the earth glittering with gold,
The earth goes to the earth sooner than it should,
The earth builds on the earth castles and towers,
The earth says to the earth, all this is ours."
All this is covered up by the speedy succession of the par-
ticulars, which tread so close on each other's heel, as to
allow no space for the man to question the whole thing.
There is somewhat terrific in this mask of routine. Captain
Franklin, after six weeks travelling on the ice to the North
Pole, found himself two hundred miles south of the spot he
had set out from. The ice had floated; and we sometimes
start to think we are spelling out the same sentences, say-
ing the same words, repeating the same acts as in former
years. Our ice may float also.
This preponderance of the senses can we balance and
redress? Can we give permanence to the lightnings of
thought which lick up in a moment these combustible moun-
tains of sensation and custom, and reveal the moral order
after which the world is to be rebuilt anew ? Grave
questions truly, but such as leave us no option. To
know the facts is already a choosing of sides, ranges us on
the party of Light and Reason, sounds the signal for the
strife, and prophesies an end to the insanity and a restora-
tion of the balance and rectitude of man.


380
(Jan.
Epilogue to the Tragedy of Essex.
EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF ESSEX,
Spoken in the character of the Queen. — From the German of Goethe.
(She advances, leaving her attendants in the background.)
No Essex here! Unblest! They give no sign;
And shall such live while Earth's best nobleness
Departs and leaves her barren. Now, too late,
Weakness and cunning both are exorcised.
How could I trust those whoin I knew so well?
Am I not like the fool of fable - he
Who in his bosom warmed the frozen viper,
And fancied man might hope for gratitude
From the betrayer's seed. — Away. — begone -
No breath - no sound shall here insult iny anguish;
Essex is dumb and they shall all be so;
No human presence shall control my mood;
Begone, I say. The Queen would be alone.
(They all go out.)
Alone and still. — This day the cup of woe
Is full, and while I drain its bitter dregs
Calm- queenlike - stern - I would review the past.
Well it becomes the favorite of fortune,
The royal arbitress of others' weal,
The world's desire, and England's deity,
Self-poised, self-governed, clear and firm to gaze
Where others close their aching eyes — to dream.
Who feels imperial courage glow within
Fears not the mines which lie beneath the throne,
Bold he ascends, though knowing well his peril,
Majestical and fearless holds the sceptre;
The golden circlet of enormous weight
He wears, with brow serene and smiling air,
As though a myrtle chaplet graced his temples ;
And thus didst thou. The far-removed thy power
Attracted and subjected to thy will;
The hates and fears which oft beset thy way
Were seen, were met, and conquered by thy courage;
Thy tyrant father's wrath, thy mother's hapless fate,
Thy sister's harshness — all were cast behind;
And to a soul like thine, bonds and hard usage
Taught fortitude, prudence, and self-command,
To act or to endure. Fate did the rest;
One brilliant day thou heardst “Long live the Queen!”
A Queen thou wast. And, in the heart's despite,
Despite the foes without, within, who ceaseless
Have threatened war and death, a Queen thou art
And wilt be while a spark of life remains.
Yet this last deadly blow — I feel it here,
(laying her hand on her heart.)


1842.]
381
Epilogue to the Tragedy of Essex.
But the low-prying world shall ne'er perceive it.
Actress! they call me!-- 'T is a queen's vocation;
The people stare and whisper— What would they
But acting to amuse them? Is deceit
Unknown, except in regal palaces?
The child at play already is an actor.
Still to thyself, let weal or woe betide,
Elizabeth, be true and steadfast ever,
Maintain thy fixed reserve; 't is just; What heart
Can sympathize with a Queen's agony ?
The false, false world, it woos me for my treasures,
My favors, and the place my smile confers,
And if for love I offer mutual love,
My minion, not content, must have the crown.
'T was thus with Essex. Yet to thee, O heart,
I dare to say it, thy all died with him.
Man must experience, be he who he may,
Of bliss a last irrevocable day.
Each owns this true, yet cannot bear to live,
And feel the last has come, the last has gone —
That never eye again in earnest tenderness
Shall turn to him, no heart shall thickly beat
When his footfall is heard, no speaking blush
Tell the soul's wild delight at meeting — never
Rapture in presence — hope in absence more
Be his — no Sun of Love illume his landscape;
Yet thus it is with me, within the heart
Deep night, — without no star. – What all the host
To me — my Essex fallen from the heavens!
To me he was the centre of the world,
The ornament of time. Wood, lawn, or hall,
The busy mart, the verdant solitude
To me were but the frame of one bright image.
That face is dust; those lustrous eyes are closed,
And the frame mocks me with its empty centre.
How nobly free, how gallantly he bore him,
The charms of youth combined with manhood's vigor ;
How sage his counsel, and how warm his valor,
The glowing fire, and the aspiring flame,
Even in his presumption he was kingly.
Yet ah! does memory cheat me? what was all
Since truth was wanting and the man I loved
Could court his death to vent his anger on me,
And I must punish him or live degraded ?
I chose the first, but in his death I died,
Land, sea, church, people, throne, — all, all are naught;
I live a living death and call it royalty.
Yet, wretched ruler o'er these empty gauds,
A part remains to play and I will play it.
A purple mantle hides my empty heart;
The kingly crown adorns my aching brow;
And pride conceals my anguish from the world.


382
[Jan.
Editor's Table.
But, in the still and ghostly midnight hour,
Froin each intruding eye and ear set free,
I still may shed the bitter, hopeless tear,
Nor fear the babbling of the earless walls.
I to myself may say, - I die, I die;
Elizabeth, unfriended and alone,
So die as thou hast lived, alone, but queenlike.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
TRANSCENDENTALISM.
The more liberal thought of intelligent persons acquires a
new name in each period or community; and in ours, by no
very good luck, as it sometimes appears to us, has been desig.
nated as Transcendentalism. We have every day occasion to
remark its perfect identity, under whatever new phraseology or
application to new facts, with the liberal thought of all men of
a religious and contemplative habit in other times and coun-
tries. We were lately so much struck with two independent
testimonies to this fact, proceeding from persons, one in sym-
pathy with the Quakers, and the other with the Calvinistic
Church, that we have begged the privilege to transcribe an ex-
tract from two private letters, in order that we might bring them
together.
The Calvinist writes to his Correspondent after this manner.
6 All the peculiarities of the theology, denominated Trinitarian, are
directly or indirectly transcendental. The sinfulness of man involves
the supposition of a nature in man, which transcends all liinits of ani-
mal life and of social moralities. The reality of spirit, in the highest
sense of that holy word, as the essence of God and the inward ground
and law of man's being and doing, is supposed both in the fact of sin,
and the possibility of redemption from sin. The mystery of the Fath-
er revealed only in the Son as the Word of Life, the Light which illu-
mines every man, outwardly in the incarnation and offering for sin, in-
wardly as the Christ in us, energetic and quickening in the inspirations
of the Holy Spirit, — the great mystery wherein we find redemption,
this, like the rest, is transcendental. So throughout, as might be shown
by the same induction suggested in relation to another aspect of the
matter. Now here is my point. Trinitarians, whose whole system
from beginning to end is transcendental, ideal, – an idea is the highest
truth, — war against the very foundations of whatever is transcenden-
tal, ideal; all must be empiric, sensuous, inductive. A system, which
used to create and sustain the most fervid enthusiasm, as is its nature,
for it makes God all in all, leads in crusade against all even the purest
and gentlest enthusiasm. It fights for the letter of Orthodoxy, for
usage, for custom, for tradition, against the Spirit as it breathes like


1842.]
383
Editor's Table.
healing air through the damps and unwholesome swamps, or like strong
wind throwing down rotten trees and rotten frameworks of men. It
builds up with one hand the Temple of Truth on the outside ; and
with the other works as in frenzy to tear up its very foundations. So
has it seemed to me. The transcendentalists do not err in excess but
in defect, if I understand the case. They do not hold wild dreams for
realities; the vision is deeper, broader, more spiritual than they have
seen. They do not believe with too strong faith ; their faith is too dim
of sight, too feeble of grasp, too wanting in certainty. I regret that
they should ever seem to undervalue the Scriptures. For those scrip-
tures have flowed out of the same spirit which is in every pure heart;
and I would have the one spirit recognise and respond to itself under
all the multiform shapes of word, of deed, of faith, of love, of thought,
of affection, in which it is enrobed ; just as that spirit in us recognises
and responds to itself now in the gloom of winter, now in the cheer of
summer, now in the bloon of spring, now in the maturity of autumn;
and in all the endless varieties of each.”
The Friend writes thus.
Hold fast, I beseech you, to the resolution to wait for light from the
Lord. Go not to men for a creed, faint not, but be of good courage.
The darkness is only for a season. We must be willing to tarry the
Lord's time in the wilderness, if we would enter the Promised Land.
The purest saints that I have ever known were long, very long, in
darkness and in doubt. Even when they had firm faith, they were long
without feeling what they believed in. One told me he was two years
in chaotic darkness, without an inch of firm ground to stand upon,
watching for the dayspring from on high, and after this long probation
it shone upon his path, and he has walked by its light for years. Do
not fear or regret your isolation from men, your difference from all
around you. It is oflen necessary to the enlargement of the soul that
it should thus dwell alone for a season, and when the mystical union
of God and man shall be completely developed, and you feel yourself
newly born a child of light, one of the sons of God, you will also feel
new ties to your fellow men; you will love them all in God, and each
will be to you whatever their state will permit them to be.
• “It is very interesting to me to see, as I do, all around me here, the
essential doctrines of the Quakers revived, modified, stript of all that
puritanism and sectarianism had heaped upon them, and made the foun-
dation of an intellectual philosophy, that is illuminating the finest minds
and reaches the wants of the least cultivated. The more I reflect upon
the Quakers, the more I adınire the early ones, and am surprised at
their being so far in advance of their age, but they have educated the
world till it is now able to go beyond those teachers.
“ Spiritual growth, which they considered at variance with intellectual
culture, is now wedded to it, and man's whole nature is advanced. The
intellectual had so lorded it over the moral, that much onesided culti-
vation was requisite to make things even. I remember when your
intellect was all in all, and the growth of the moral sense came after.
It has now taken its proper place in your mind, and the intellect
appears for a time prostrate, but in due season both will go on harmo-
niously, and you will be a perfect man. If you suffer more than many
before coming into the light, it is because your character is deeper
and your happy enlargement will be proportioned to it."


384
(Jan.
Editor's Table.
The identity, which the writer of this letter finds between the
speculative opinions of serious persons at the present moment,
and those entertained by the first Quakers, is indeed so striking
as to have drawn a very general attention of late years to the
history of that sect. Of course, in proportion to the depth of
the experience, will be its independence on time and circum-
stances, yet one can hardly read George Fox's Journal, or
Sewel's History of the Quakers, without many a rising of joy.
ful surprise at the correspondence of facts and expressions to
states of thought and feeling, with which we are very familiar.
The writer justly remarks the equal adaptation of the philoso-
phy in question “to the finest minds, and to the least cultivat-
ed.” And so we add in regard to these works, that quite apart
from the pleasure of reading modern history in old books, the
reader will find another reward in the abundant illustration they
furnish to the fact, that wherever the religious enthusiasm makes
its appearance, it supplies the place of poetry and philosophy
and of learned discipline, and inspires by itself the same vast.
ness of thinking; so that in learning the religious experiences
of a strong but untaught mind, you seem to have suggested in
turn all the sects of the philosophers.
We seize the occasion to adorn our pages with the dying
speech of James Naylor, one of the companions of Fox, who
had previously been for eight years a common soldier in the
army. Its least service will be to show how far the religious
sentiment could exalt the thinking and purify the language of
the most uneducated men.
“ There is a spirit which I feel,” said James Naylor a few
hours before his death, “ that delights to do no evil, nor to re-
venge any wrong, but delights to endure all things, in hope to
enjoy its own in the end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and
contention, and to weary out all exultation and cruelty, or
whatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of
all temptations. As it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives
none in thought to any other. If it be betrayed, it bears it;
for its ground and spring is the mercies and forgiveness of God.
Its crown is meekness, its life is everlasting love unfeigned, and
it takes its kingdom with entreaty, and keeps it by lowliness of
mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none else regard it,
or can own its life. It is conceived in sorrow, and brought
forth without any to pity it; nor doth it murmur at grief and
oppression. It never rejoiceth but through sufferings ; for with
the world's joy it is murdered. I found it alone being forsaken.
I have fellowship therein with them who lived in dens and des-
olate places of the earth, who through death obtained this resur-
rection and eternal holy life.”


1842.]
385
Notices of Recent Publications.
NOTICES OF RECENT PUBLICATIONS.
PLAN OF SALVATION.*
This book is brought forward in a somewhat peculiar man-
ner. Its author conceals his name, and declares that even his
personal friends will not probably be able to detect him. He
professes to believe that the method of inquiry pursued in this
book is the only one which can satisfy any intelligent inquirer
of the Divine origin of the Christian religion; and that no
other treatise which he is acquainted with, contains such a
course of reasoning. “A very small edition has been published.
There is one class of men into whose hands the author is not
desirous that the book should immediately fall. Some copies
will be distributed, and a few placed in the bookstores for sale.
Should any be sold at the price asked for them, a portion of the
money will be devoted to advance the interests of evangelical
Christianity.” The book is dedicated to Dr. William. E. Chan-
ning, and the author modestly intimates his hope that it may
have the effect of converting him to the truth.
The work, thus introduced to us, we have read with atten-
tion. We find in it considerable power of intellect, but much
narrowness, many acute thoughts, but no large or profound
views. We should like to change the name of the book, and
call it “An argument to show the adaptation of revealed relig-
ion to some parts of man's nature and circumstances.” It con-
tains very little philosophy, and its logic even is often weak, and
rather plausible than convincing. It is a lawyer-like attempt
at demonstrating certain points, having both the merits and the
faults of special pleading.
The substance of the argument may be thus stated.
“ Take man as he is, with his present nature and circum-
stances, and the mode of operation ascribed to God in the Old
and New Testaments is the only one by which he could be saved
from sin and misery. The religion of the Bible is therefore
worthy of God.” Or, to state it syllogistically, the argument
stands thus.
* PhilosoPHY OF THE PLAN OF SALVATion. A BOOK FOR THE TIMES.
BY AN AMERICAN Citizen. Cupimus enim investigare quid verum sit:
neque id solum, sed quod cum veritate, pietatem, quoque præterea erga
Deum habeat conjunctam. - SADOLET. New York: Published for the
Author. 1841.
VOL. II. — NO. III.
49


386
Jan.
Notices of Recent Publications.
FIRST SYLLOGISM.
1. There is but one way by which man, as he actually exists,
can be redeemed from sin.
2. But this one way is that taken in the Bible.
3. Therefore the religion of the Bible takes the only way to
redeem man from sin.
SECOND SYLLOGISM.
1. The religion, which adopts the only way of redeeming
man, must be from God.
2. But the Bible is such a religion.
3. Therefore the Bible is of God.
Now, supposing the major and minor propositions of the
first syllogism to be proved, the rest follows necessarily. The
whole stress of the argument is upon these two. No one will
deny, that if our author can show that there is but one way of sav-
ing man, and that the religion of the Bible takes that way, that
then it is a divine religion. But in order to this, it would seem
necessary that he should be acquainted with every imaginable
plan of salvation, and able to prove all but one insufficient.
But this again would imply a perfect knowledge of human
nature, a knowledge which no one, we suppose, would claim to
possess. Here, then is a fault which vitiates the entire argu-
ment of the book. There is no possibility for any being, not
possessing a perſect knowledge of human nature, to prove the
main proposition, upon which the whole chain of reasoning de-
pends. Considered as a demonstration, therefore, the whole
argument falls to the ground.
Still, however, the value of the work may not be essentially
impaired. If it can be shown that the mode of operation, as-
cribed to God in the Bible, is a good way; is adapted to man's
nature and needs; is in harmony with the course of divine
providence in other respects ; then, though we may not be able
to show that it is the only possible way, we have done much to
reinove doubts and difficulties. Let us therefore look at our
author's course of argument, to see whether he has accomplish-
ed this end.
ANALYSIS OF THE ARGUMENT.
“It is the nature of man to worship. But the character of what he
worships will influence his own. Reason and history show that natu-
ral religion must always corrupt, and cannot improve man. History
shows it, for heathen religions made their worshippers always worse,
never better. Reason shows it, for man's mind cannot conceive the
idea of a being holier and better than he already is himself. There-


1842.)
387
Noticee of Recent
Notices of Recent Publications.
fore, there is no help for man in natural religion. His only help is
in having a pure object of worship placed before his soul, and this
revelation being accompanied with power sufficient to influence him to
worship it.”
Having disposed thus summarily of natural religion, our au-
thor proceeds to show how the Deity brought before the human
mind the idea of himself by means of the Jewish dispensation.
“ The Jews were first bound together by strong ties, so that they
could resist ontward influences, and hold fast their own ideas and pe-
culiarities. These ties were, Ist. Descent from a common parent,
Abraham ; 2d. Common Sufferings in Egypt; 3d. A common Deliv-
erer fron, bondage.”
The only way for a superhuman being to reveal himself is
by superhuman acts — therefore miracles.
It was necessary that these miracles should be of such a
character as to show the superiority of the true God to the
gods of Egypt. Hence the miracles of Moses were directed
against the serpents; the River Nile; the god of Flies; the
cattle, which were objects of worship ; Serapis, who was be-
lieved to protect them from locusts; Isis and Osiris, the sun
and moon.
Man's mind can only receive truth by degrees - it is sub-
ject to the law of progress. Hence God revealed himself grad-
ually — making known first, his existence, and calling himself
I Am.
All happy obedience must arise from affection, and affection
can be developed only by the sight of goodness. Hence God
manifested himself to the Jews as a deliverer from Egypt.
Man cannot discover a perfect system of duty, but he needs
a law, and that law to be freely chosen. Hence the Moral
Law.
As there was no object in the material world from which the
idea of moral purity, or holiness could be derived, it was neces-
sary to institute some symbolic ordinances to convey it to the
mind of the Jews. Hence the distinction of animals into clean
and unclean, the purifications, the priesthood and holy places,
&c. in the Mosaic system.
A sense of the evil of sin, and God's disapprobation of it
can only be revealed to the human mind by the penalty affixed
to it. Hence sacrifices, in which the death inflicted on the an-
imal expressed the penalty to which the offender was justly li-
able.
Having reached this point, our author passes from the Old
Covenant to the New. He says that the ideas being thus devel-
oped in a single nation can now be transferred to all others as
spiritual truths by means of language. Therefore the old dis-
pensation comes to an end. But as man can be taught spiritual


388
(Jan.
:
Notices of Recent Publications.
truth perfectly only by the life and word of man, therefore
Jesus becomes the Teacher of the world.
He then goes on to argue that Jesus is the true Christ, from
the idea he gave of the Messiah, from his lowly condition, from
the nature of his miracles and teaching, from bis making faith
fundamental.
Affectionate obedience was produced under the old covenant
by the deliverance of the Jews from temporal evils. Under the
new it must be produced by a deliverance from spiritual evils.
We must therefore be made first to feel the spiritual evil of our
condition, and our inability to help ourselves. Therefore Jesus
applies the moral law to the heart and thought, and so convinc-
es us of sin, and then declares that infinite woe will follow it,
and so convinces us of our danger. Then we must be delivered
from this evil and danger by the hand of God, and so be led to
love him as a Saviour.
We have now reached the central and vital doctrine of the
Plan of SALVATION. God must in some way suffer and make
self-denials for us, for this it is which awakens human affection
toward a benefactor. Scripture testifies that he did so. The
death of Jesus is said to remove the disorder of the world.
But if Christ be not God, he and not God will receive our love.
Therefore Christ must be God, and those who do not believe in
his divinity cannot love God.
The effects of this faith on the nature of man and on society
prove it to be from God.
Having thus endeavored to state oui author's train of thought,
we shall now proceed to offer some criticisms upon it.
We object, first, to the phrase " Plan of Salvation," and to
every equivalent mode of expression, as calculated to mislead
the mind. To speak of a plan of salvation or a scheme of re-
demption, is degrading Christianity to a mere expedient, a
contrivance for getting over a difficulty. God does not plan
nor scheme. These terms can with propriety be applied to the
human understanding only, which being surrounded by limita-
tions must use contrivance to attain ils objects. But He, who
sees the end from the beginning, looks on everything which he
has made, and calls it all very good. There is adaptation
certainly everywhere. The eye is adapted to the light, but no
more than the light is adapted to the eye. Christianity is
adapted to the nature of man, but the nature of man is also
adapted to Christianity. We object to every view of revelation
which considers it as a separate work of God, an interposition,
a remedy, a patch on the universe. Nature and Revelation are
parts of the same system, and proceed from one source,
Christianity is nowhere called in the Bible a plan or scheme.


1842.]
389
Notices of Recent Publications.
It was a part of the Divine Decree in the beginning; foreor-
dained before the foundation of the world ; the way for it was
prepared by law and prophets; its path was made straight by
Jewish teacher and Gentile sage, by Moses and by Socrates; and
it came in the fulness of time, a ripe fruit of the past struggle
and thought and prayer of preceding ages; an end not less
than a means; a result itself rather than a mere expedient or
remedy; and its coincidence with the wants of the age was
not contrivance, but harmony.
Let the great doctrine of Divine Decrees but once be under-
stood by those who profess to believe it, and they will cease to
speak of Christianity as an expedient. That doctrine teaches
that Christianity lay at first in the mind of God as a necessary
part of the great whole, and that neither sin nor redemption
are casual, or unnecessary to the unity and harmony of cre-
ation.
We object, secondly, to the utter depreciation of natural re-
ligion from which our author's view proceeds; and we place
our objection not upon philosophic but on theological grounds.
It is easy to show that if there is no inward and universal rev-
elation of the true God, no light which lightens every man who
comes into the world, that then there is no possibility of know-
ing the true God in his outward revelation. But omitting all
such considerations, we contend that the only intelligible view
of the doctrine of the Trinity, the key-stone of Christian the-
ology, requires us to admit a revelation of the true God in
nature.
The doctrine of the Trinity teaches that God exists in one
substance, but in three persons, and that it is a heresy either to
divide the substance or to confound the persons.
But we divide the substance and so interfere with the doctrine
of divine unity, when we make the Trinity to penetrate the
essential nature of God. If then there is no Trinity of essence,
then the Trinity must reside in manifestation or relation, which
corresponds with the original meaning of person, both in Greek
and Latin.
And accordingly we find, as a matter of fact, that there are
three manifestations or revelations of God to man — three, and
no more. God makes himself known to us in Nature and
Providence, in the constitution and order of ihings — he makes
himself known to us through Inspired men, and the fulness of
this Inspiration is in Jesus Christ - he makes himself known
to us finally in our own hearts by an Inward Influence. Be-
sides these three manifestations of God there is no other. The
first shows him as the Father, the second as the Son, the third
as the Holy Spirit.


390
[Jan.
Notices of Recent Publications.
It is then “ dividing the substance," to separate God's reve.
lation through Inspired men, from his revelation in Nature, and
not to perceive that one is the preparation for the other. To
deny that God reveals himself in Nature is to deny the first per-
son of the Trinity, and to deny the Father. It is to fall back
upon the Jewish error, and suppose that God is not a universal
but a partial parent, to forget that he has never left himself
without the witness of his works in the world, that he is no
respecter of persons, that we are all his offspring, that his light
lightens every man, that all men have the law written in the
heart. This mistake is committed by our author in common
with many others, who in denouncing nature, are not aware
that they are denouncing the Almighty, and for whom we
should pray in the words of Jesus, “ Father, forgive them, for
they know not what they do." — And yet we may add in the
language of Paul --" The times of this ignorance God winked
at, but now commandeth all men, everywhere to repent." The
time has come, in which men ought to perceive the harmony
between all God's manifestations, and repent of opposing
Reason to Revelation, Nature to Scripture, the Word spoken
through the outward creation to the Word made flesh.
But if our author, with most of those called orthodox, still
Judaizes and “ divides the substance" of the Trinity ; the op-
posite error of“ confounding the Persons” is committed by many
others, and should be equally condemned. Those who think
Christianity only a republication of the religion of nature, and
suppose the manifestation of God in Christ to be the same with
bis manifestation in natural reason, wishing to reduce the gos-
pel to a mere summary of truths of the pure reason, discharg-
ing from it everything individual and peculiar, fall into this er.
ror. This is the mistake of the Rationalists. Those also con-
found together the separate manifestations of God, who suppose
the inspiration of the natural light to be the same with the In-
fluence of The Holy Spirit. This is the mistake committed
sometimes by those called Transcendentalists. The doctrine of
the Quakers is more correct, for they distinguish between the
natural light, or universal inspiration, and the comforter or Ho-
ly Spirit, whose coming is conditioned by the reception of the
man Christ Jesus.
The great truth, which has lain bid under the doctrine of the
Trinity for a thousand years, and the importance of which, when
truly understood, cannot be over estimated, is briefly this. It is
one and the same God who reveals himself in natural reason
and the outward universe, in Jesus Christ, and in the regenerate
heart - yet these three revelations are not repetitions but com-
pletions of each other.


1842.)
391
Notices of Recent Publications.
We object, in the third place, to the work before us, that its
reasoning is very inaccurate. Of this we will give a few in-
stances,
1. Inconsistent reasoning.
He asserts (page 169 and elsewhere) that “human nature, as
at present constituted," could not be made to feel the goodness
of God's mercy, except God should make self-denials for man's
benefit. “Mercy can be manifested to man so as to make an im-
pression in his heart, in no other way than by labor and self-de-
nial" (page 170). Hence he argues that God did make self-
denials in Christ, and deduces the important inference that those,
“who deny the divinity of Christ, cannot believe in God's be-
nevolence" (page 172). That this is “the soul-destroying here-
sy,” because if we do not believe that Christ is God, we cannot
believe that God suffered for us, and therefore cannot love Him.
But on page 60, our author shows that God gained the af-
fections of the Jews by appearing as their deliverer from Egyp-
tian bondage. He says, (page 61,)“ Now it may be affirmed
without qualification, that, in view of the nature and circum-
stances of the Israelites, no combination of means could be so
well adapted to elicit and absorb all the affections of the soul
as this wonderful series of events." But in this series there is
no appearance of self-denial or suffering on their behalf on the
part of the Deity. He simply interposes by miracles to deliver
them. According to the reasoning therefore on page 169, it
should have made no impression on their heart at all. Our au-
thor is placed in this dilemma. He is either wrong in asserting
so strenuously that “mercy cannot be manifested to man” ex?
cept by self-denials, or else in declaring that God took the best
possible way to gain the affections of the Israelites, when he res-
cued them from Egypt without self-denial,
2. Sweeping Inferences.
It is very common with our author to show that a certain
course of conduct is one way to a particular end, and then im-
mediately to inſer that it is the only way to that end. Examples
of this abound through the whole volume. "
In the argument just referred to, in Chap. 15th, our author
shows that self-denial and labor on the part of a benefactor tends
to produce love in him who is the object of it; and then imme-
diately infers that affection can be created in no other way, so
that those, who do not believe in God's self-denials for the sake
of man, cannot love hiin, and therefore cannot be saved.
But if this is so, it is somewhat remarkable that the Script-
ure, which nowhere alludes to the suffering or self-denial of
God, should constantly assure us that his love was manifested
by giving his Son to die for us. “God so loved the world, that


392
(Jan.
Notices of Recent Publications.
he gave his only begotten Son." “ Herein is love, not that we
loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son the propitiation
for our sins.” That the sight of suffering borne for our sake
has a tendency to produce affection is certain, but that this is
the only source of affection is surely a very sweeping assertion.
Is not love, true and high, produced also by the sight of noble
and lovely qualities, though not manifested toward ourselves?
Again, after attempting to show that the Jewish nation was
prepared to worship God purely by his various providences, he
infers (page 37), that “a nation could have been prepared by no
other agent, and in no other way," — certainly a very far step
from the premises.
Page 83, after showing that one effect of a penalty affixed 10
crime is to show the legislator's aversion to it, he immediately
declares — “Penalty, therefore, inflicted on the transgressor, is
the only way by which the standard of Justice, as it exists in the
mind of God, could be revealed."
Page 98, after showing that one way, to convey the idea of
holiness to the world, was by originating it among the Jews
by a peculiar system, and then transferring it into other langua-
ges by a dispersion of the nation, he quietly adds — " there
could be no other possible way of transferring ideas from one
language to another, but by the methods above mentioned."
We have given a few instances to show the rash and sweep-
ing style of argument and inference which prevails through this
little volume. Of hasty assertions, such as that on page 140,
“to obey a parent, or to obey God, from interested motives,
fould be sin,” we say nothing, merely asking in this particular
instance, what difference is there in moral character between an
act of obedience, whose motive is interest, and one whose mo-
tive is an affection, based as it is (according to our author)
wholly upon interest ? Faults of style, such as the use of the
word “happify” (page 186), “ unholiness” (page 180), "righ-
teousness and benevolence produces,” (205), “no being can be
happy in obeying one whoin they do not love" (140), we refer to
only as showing the general haste with which the volume ap-
pears to have been prepared.
There are, notwithstanding these errors and defects, many
valuable thoughts, and a very honest and earnest, though dogo
matical and narrow spirit, displayed in this production. We
have, however, thought it best to point out these defects, as they
are of such importance, believing that we could in no other
way render so much service both to the author and to the pub-
lic. If the former will enlarge the sphere of his vision, and
learn to reason with greater severity and accuracy, he may pro-
duce an argument in behalf of Christianity, which, if less
W


1842]
393
Notices of Recent Publications.
original than he believes the one before us to be, will probably be
on that very account, more profitable and more profound.
J. F. C.
Motherwell's Poems. Boston: Published by William D. Tick-
nor.
We see an American edition of these poems with pleasure.
They are mostly strains of a private and domestic beauty, and
will be tenderly cherished by those who receive them at all.
They are, however, of very unequal merit, and some of them
will scarce find excuse for publication. Among those new to
us, we do not find any to compare with the old favorites intro-
duced to us years ago by Blackwood ; " Jeanie Morrison" -
“ My heid is like to rend, Willie" - and “Wearie's Well,"
while we miss with regret one which we have seen attributed
to Motherwell, and which has a simple dignity about it rarely
seen to-day, beginning
“She was not fair nor full of grace.”
We transcribe Wearie's Well, as the best recommendation to
any who may not as yet have become acquainted with the vol-
ume,
“ In a saft simmer gloamin'
In yon dowie dell,
It was there we twa first met
By Wearie's cauld well.
We sat on the brume bank
And looked in the burn,
But sidelang we looked on
Ilk ither in turn.
“ The corn-craik was chirming
His sad eerie cry,
And the wee stars were dreaming
Their path through the sky;
The burn babbled freely
Its love to ilk flower,
But we heard and we saw nought
In that blessed hour.
“ We heard and we saw nought
Above or around;
We felt that our love lived,
And loathed idle sound.
I gazed on your sweet face
Till tears filled my e'e,
VOL. II. —NO, III.
50


394
[Jan.
Notices of Recent Publications.
And they drapt on your wee loof, —
A warld's wealth to me.
“ Now the winter's snaw's fa'ing
On bare holm and lea;
And the cauld wind is strippin'
Ilk leaf aff the tree.
But the snaw fa's not faster,
Nor leaf disna part
Sae sune frae the bough, as
Faith fades in your heart
“ Ye've waled out anither
Your bridegroom to be;
But can his heart luve sae
As mine luvit thee?
Ye'll get biggings and mailins,
And monie braw claes;
But they a' winna buy back
The peace o' past days.
“ Fareweel, and forever,
My first luve and last,
May thy joys be to come, -
Mine live in the past.
In sorrow and sadness,
This hour fa's on me;
But light as thy luve, may
It fleet over thee!"
Egmont, a Tragedy in five acts. Translated from the Ger-
man of Goethe. Boston : James Munroe and Co. 1841.
In reading this translation through, we easily recognise our
old impressions of the original, and do not find those impres.
sions much disturbed. In comparing a few passages, line for
line, we find the version faithful. And we chose for this ex-
periment two scenes, in the highest, and in the lowest style,
which the Play affords. One was the opening scene, the shoot-
ing match in the streets of Brussels, where we have the great
man reflected in the common gossip of the idol-worshipping,
fickle crowd; and the other, which carries us into the private
sanctuary of his ideal character, the sublimely poetic Mono-
logue of Egmont in prison awaiting his execution. Indeed the
Play seems to lose but little by translation ; the spirit of the
whole seems transfused without much evaporation, and the de-
tails faithfully copied. This is partly owing to the bold and
decided beauty of the noble prose poetry of the original, which


1842.)
395
Notices of Recent Publications.
cannot fail to leave its mark, of which the rudest copy, if it
give the greater features, like the tracing of the outer edge and
principal veins of a leaf, readily suggests the whole. But partly, and
largely too, it is the translator's merit. His work shows a just
conception and feeling of the piece, a nice criticism of language,
and that first merit of a translator, faith enough in the indwell-
ing beauty and eloquence of the original to let it speak for
itself, and not dilute it and modify it, for fear of strangeness,
into the common-place Review style of English Translators
have been long in learning that it is safe to be literal. The
translator, in the present case, deserves our thanks. May he
find it worth his while to give us more of the same good
work.
Monaldi, a Tale.
Boston: Charles C. Little and James
Brown.
“ Who knows himself must needs in prophecy
Too oft behold his own most sad reverse.”
WE seized with eagerness upon these leaves, for it is always
a great pleasure, to see the same hand skilful with various im-
plements, the same mind in various costumes. “He of the Pen
and Sword” is more than doubly interesting to us; and when the
touch is masterly upon the lyre or with the pen, as the grasp is
strong upon the sword, we exult in a presentiment of the full
development of man. To see the same mind many-wise, it is
all we ask; it is the secret of nature.
This tale casts some light upon the mind which, more than
any other, has represented among us the pure reign of beauty.
And, thus considered, its thoughtful sweetness has captivated
even those who object to the conduct of the story and the ex-
ternal mode of treating the stronger passions. Here indeed is
a gap as between two lives ; for, while the reproduction of the
life of the sentiments and intellect bespeaks a ripe and rich ex-
perience, that of the passions is represented as from the impres-
sions of a much more youthful period.
The coarse jealousy, which can be incited by the slanders
of the stranger, or even by the strongest circumstantial evi-
dence, should not, we all feel, get the better in such a nature as
Monaldi's of the instincts of the soul and the picture of wo-
inanly sweetness and delicacy, exhibited by his wife in the inter-
view where he tries her faith. When Oihello cries,
“ If she be false, oh! then Heaven mocks itself!”


396
(Jan.
Notices of Recent Publications.
we can only endure that the noble Moor should again dis-
trust the voice of his own heart, because the tempter is so widely
and deeply intellectual, and because the circumstances of the
marriage and the warning of Desdemona's father,
6 Look to her, Moor, have a quick eye to see,
She has deceived her father and may thee” –
have prepared the mine now about to destroy her. This indeed
is managed with such perfection of artless art, that when Iago
says,
“She did deceive her father, marrying you,
And when she seemed to shake and fear your looks,
She loved them most,
Othello.
And so she did !”
we also mentally exclaim,
And so she did;
a thought which had been lying dormant, and indeed had
never been in conscious existence, suddenly finding voice when
the occasion calls. Of similar processes in the histories of
our connexions in daily life all are conscious, yet who but thou,
Shakespeare, ever wove the woof thus silent and gradual like na.
ture, calling out the meaning of a before unobserved thread by
the other which regulates its place in the pattern.
Besides, the temperament of Othello is impassioned, sudden,
and ripened amid influences unlikely to offer it check or bal-
ance. The very tragedy of the play is that a single thought the
other way might have undeceived him, had he but known how
to distrust his impressions ; thus is his greatness his ruin. But
in a character like that of Monaldi, so profound, so religious,
and of slower movement, we see too easily how such wretched-
ness might have been averted, to be willing to accompany him
into it.
It is a fine touch of nature to make Maldura, even in his pen-
itence, preserve the habit of selfishness and egotism, which
makes him, by his prolonged confession, stab to the heart once
more the unfortunate to whom he meant to atone.
The conception of the two characters is admirable, showing as
much depth as delicacy of thought. The key offered in the fol-
lowing passage offers a treasury, not of the minted gold, but of
gems of the secret inine.
" Among the students of a seminary at Bologna, were two friends,
more remarkable for their attachment to each other, than for any re-
semblance in their minds or dispositions. Indeed there was so little
else in common between them, that hardly two boys could be found


1842.)
20
Notices of Recent Publications.
397
more unlike. The character of Maldura, the eldest, was bold, grasp-
ing, and ostentatious; while that of Monaldi, timid and gentle, seemed
to shrink from observation. The one, proud and impatient, was ever
laboring for distinction; the world, palpable, visible, audible, was his
idol; he lived only in externals, and could neither act nor feel but for
effect; even his secret reveries having an outward direction, as if he
could not think without a view to praise, and anxiously referring to
the opinion of others ; in short, his nightly and daily dreams had but one
subject — the talk and eye of the crowd. The other, silent and med-
itative, seldom looked out of himself either for applause or enjoyment;
if he ever did so, it was only that he might add to, or sympathize in
the triumph of another; this done, he retired again, as it were, to a
world of his own, where thoughts and feelings, filling the place of
men and things, could always supply him with occupation and amuse-
ment.
“ Had the ambition of Maldura been less, or his self-knowledge
greater, he might have been a benefactor to the world. His talents
were of a high order. Perhaps few have ever surpassed him in the
power of acquiring; to this he united perseverance; and all that was
known, however various and opposite, he could master at will. But
here his power stopped; beyond the regions of discovered knowledge
he could not see, and dared not walk, for to him all beyond was "outer
darkness ;” in a word, with all his gifts he wanted that something,
whatever it might be, which gives the living principle to thought. But
this sole deficiency was the last of which he suspected himself. With
that self-delusion so common to young men of mistaking the praise of
what is promising for that of the thing promised, he too rashly con-
founded the ease with which he carried all the prizes of his school
with the rare power of commanding at pleasure the higher honors of
the world. But the honors of a school are for things and purposes far
different from those demanded and looked for by the world. Maldura
unfortunately did not make the distinction. His various knowledge,
though ingeniously brought together, and skilfully set anew, was still
the knowledge of other men; it did not come forth as in new birth,
from the modifying influence of his own nature. His mind was hence
like a thing of many parts, yet wanting a whole -- that realizing quali-
ty which the world must feel before it will reverence. In proportion
to its stores such a mind will be valued, and even admired; but it can-
not command that inward voice — the only true voice of fame, which
speaks not, be it in friend or enemy, till awakened by the presence of
a master spirit.
"Such were the mind and disposition of Maldura ; and from their
unfortunate union sprang all the after evils in his character. As yet,
however, he was known to himself and others only as a remarkable
boy. His extraordinary attainments placing him above competition,
he supposed himself incapable of so mean a passion as envy; indeed
the high station from which he could look down on his associates gave
a complacency to his mind not unfavorable to the gentler virtues ; he was
therefore, often kind, and even generous without an effort. Besides,
though he disdained to affect humility, he did not want discretion, and
that taught him to bear his honors without arrogance. His claims
were consequently admitted by his schoolfellows without a murmur.
But there was one amongst them, whose praises were marked by such


398
(Jan.
Notices of Recent Publications.
warmth and enthusiasm as no heart not morally insensible could long
withstand; this youth was Monaldi. Maldura had naturally strong
feelings, and so long as he continued prosperous and happy, their
course was honorable. He requited the praises of his companion with
his esteem and gratitude, which soon ripened into a friendship so sin-
cere that he believed he could even lay down his life for him.
“ It was in this way that two natures so opposite became mutually
attracted. But the warmth and magnanimity of Monaldi were all that
was yet known to the other; for, though not wanting in academic
learning, he was by no means distinguished ; indeed, so little, that
Maldura could not but feel and lament it.
“ The powers of Monaldi, however, were yet to be called forth. And
it was not surprising that to his youthful companions he should have
appeared inefficient, there being a singular kind of passiveness about
him easily mistaken for vacancy. But his was like the passiveness of
some uncultured spot, lyiny unnoticed within its nook of rocks, and
silently drinking in the light, and the heat, and the showers of heaven,
that nourish the seeds of a thousand nameless flowers, destined one
day to mingle their fragrance with the breath of nature. Yet to com-
mon observers the external world seemed to lie only
• Like a load upon his weary eye;'
but to them it appeared so because he delighted to shut it out, and to
combine and give another life to the images it left in his memory; as
if he would sleep to the real and be awake only to a world, of shadows.
But, though his emotions seldom betrayed themselves by any outward
signs, there was nothing sluggish in the soul of Monaldi; it was rather
their depth and strength that prevented their passage through the feeble
medium of words. He regarded nothing in the moral or physical
world as tiresome or insignificant; every object had a charm, and its
harmony and beauty, its expression and character, all passed into his
soul in all their varieties, while his quickening spirit brooded over
them as over the elementary forms of a creation of his own. Thus
living in the life he gave, his existence was too intense and extended
to be conceived by the common mind; hence the neglect and obscu-
rity in which he passed his youth.
* But the term of pupilage soon came to an end, and the friends
parted — each, as he could, to make his way in the world.
The profession which Monaldi had chosen for the future occupation
of his life was that of a painter; to which, however, he could not be
said to have come wholly unprepared. The slight sketch just given of
him will show that the most important part, the mind of a painter, he
already possessed; the nature of his amusements (in which, some one
has well observed, men are generally most in earnest) having uncon-
sciously disciplined his mind for this pursuit. He had looked at nature
with the eye of a lover; none of her minutest beauties had escaped
him, and all that were stirring to a sensitive heart and a romantic im-
agination were treasured up in his memory, as themes of delightful
musing in her absence; and they came to him in those moments with
that nevertailing freshness and life, which love can best give to the
absent. But the skill and the hand of an artist were still to be ac-
quired.
“ But perseverance, if not a mark of genius, is at least one of its


1842.]
399
Notices of Recent Publications.
practical adjuncts; and Monaldi possessed it. Indeed there is but
one mode of making endurable the perpetual craving of any master
passion — the continually laboring to satisfy it. And, so it be innocent,
how sweet the reward! giving health to the mind without the sense of
toil. This Monaldi enjoyed; for he never felt that he had been toiling,
even when the dawn, as it often happened, broke in upon his labors."
There are many passages in the book of the same graceful
lightness of expression and fineness of thought. They speak with
the Ariel tone we dream of in the enchanted solitudes to which
the pencil of the artist has introduced us. By very slight in-
dications we are made to feel the “real presence" of that in-
ward life revealed to most men, only at rare intervals, but here
flowing like a brook hidden amid sighing reeds, with a steady
silver sound.
Conjectures and Researches concerning the Love, Madness, and
Imprisonment of Torquato Tasso. By R. H. Wilde,
New York: Alexander V. Blake, 59, Gold Street. 1842.
Beside the riddles which the historians have only seemed to
solve, there are a few over which no veil of plausible explanation
has been cast. These themes, if not more pregnant with mean-
ing, and productive of scenes and figures, than the passages of
romance presented us by daily life, derive a value from the ac-
cumulated interest of generations, as well as from the historic
importance of the names which furnish them. Even as the
great classic subject, taken from the annals of Greece never
tire, because we are always more and more interested to see
what gloss a new mind will put on the old text, so are we never
weary of the argument as to the innocence of the Queen of Scots,
conjectures as to the Iron Mask, or the imprisonment of Tasso.
Chiefly on account of this mystery Tasso is to us a personage
more living than the other great poets, of as beautiful and ro-
mantic aspect, but whose loves and lives we know better than
our own, inasmuch as they have been more minutely painted,
expressed wit