ed him whether he suffered much pain, he | Göthean memorials altogether conceal, or replied, Nature is wise; she knows what which they do not even touch upon. In his she is about; every thing depends upon early days, the Prussian officer moved in a the anvil on which the stroke falls, and I am strong enough to bear common things.' region of which Göthe knew little or no"In his last days his fancies became thing. The star of Ramler was then in the somewhat loose and delirious; but always ascendant; and it was very naturally cheerful. At other moments his mind thought that the king of the literary world seemed peculiarly acute, and he spoke,par- should be found in the same northern capiticularly to his family physician Stark, with tal that Frederick had made the head of great clearness and animation, on the most German politics, viz. Berlin. After he important subjects of religion. Leaving came to Weimar again, Knebel was by no other things, he maintained that the anmeans a mere.attaché of Gothe's senatorian cients, with all their blindness, had nevertheless often expressed themselves with the greatest wisdom on religious subjects; and to prove this, he quoted the passage from Lucan:

'Jupiter est quodcunque vides, quocunque moveris.'

He

dignity. Knebel was, in all matters (except the purse, which depended on the grand duke), a most independent man had his own region of thought and feeling, within which Göthe was not permitted to enter; and he maintained an extensive cor"Then, with regard to the immortality of respondence with the most distinguished li the soul, he expressed himself thus-terary characters of Germany, far beyond The power within us that thinks, wills, the circle of what Madame Herder, in one and acts, cannot possibly die with the of her outbreakings of perhaps not altoge body. I have no doubt that, in the great

economy of nature, it will be disposed of ther unjust indignation, called "Göthe's somewhere, where it may arrive at great- clique."* We have already intimated that er ripeness and perfection-how?-where? Knebel was superior to many of the com-in what form ?-that cannot be determin- mon weaknesses and extravagances of the ed-enough for us that we may entertain German mind. This gives to his opinions the firm hope that the soul will endure afon literary matters, especially on the literater death.' These expressions of Knebel's ture of his own country, an importance of are so much the more interesting, as they are directly in contradiction to that unno ordinary character. Though less syshappy scepticism which troubled him du- tematic, he is in some respects more valua ring his life, and show a view of spiritual ble as a critic of German literature, than things somewhat more positive and satis- Wolfgang Menzel, whose searching selffactory." anatomization we have so often had occasion to laud. Menzel is an active partizan, Knebel is a calm observer. This makes all the difference of right and wrong in matters of criticism; and, except it be the immortal Herder himself, we know no German to whose judgment on native literature we are inclined to give greater weight than Major Knebel.

Such was the death of Karl Ludwig von Knebel, approaching in his death as in his life (to borrow a characteristic from Adam Smith), as nearly as human frailty admits, to the model of a perfectly wise and virtuous man. Let us now see what relics he has left behind him, to refresh posterity with the memory of a truly good man.

The three volumes of "Briefwechsel und Nachlass," that Varnhagen and Mundt have edited, contain many things that have no very immediate reference to Knebel. The greater part of the correspondence consists, not of letters from Knebel, but of letters to Knebel without the answers; the consequence of which is manifestly this, that we learn less of Knebel than was expected from such a collection, and the work becomes in some parts merely a bundling together of unconnected fragments. Ne vertheless, we are thankful for the gift. The volumes before us, though they cannot prove so interesting to the general reader as the collections of Eckermann, Zelter, &c., are, even in this necessarily imperfect state, of the very first importance to the literary historian. The correspondence of Knebel throws light upon many things which the

To the inquirer into the young German literature of the last century, the correspondence of Knebel will prove extremely instructive. We have, in the first place, Ramler presiding at Berlin, in literary state, much consulted by poets and poetlings, young and old, in the all-important work of giving regenerated Germany a literature, in spite of Frederick the Great and Voltaire. He is the filer general to the Muses, the expert surgeon of verse; and though Boie and Bürger sometimes complain that he cuts off the finger when he should only pare the nail, he is still the acknowledged lord of the lyric Parnassus; the shears of literary Fate are in his hand; Anna Louise Karschin, the poetess, though she is obliged to allow,

* See the letters of Caroline von Herder passim, in the second volume of this collection.

mar.

in deference to public opinion, that he is | Herder, Caroline Herder, Lavater, Henry the king of poets, finds that he must be a nar- Meier, Jean Paul Richter, Matthisson, Herowminded and even a bad man, for he had gel, Fernow, Falk, John Henry Voss, Franz scored more verses in her clever poems than Passow (the accomplished Greek lexicograhe had allowed to remain. In short, Ram-pher), Oken, Zacharias Werner, Wolf (the ler, in Berlin, plays, upon a small scale, the editor of Homer), Schütz (we suppose the part that Göthe afterwards played in Wei- editor of Eschylus), Böttiger, and ChanHe is the secret terror of the whole celler von Müller * The mention of these Parnassus; and no verse-maker can hope to names alone is sufficient to show the high elaborate an ode so perfect that Ramler estimation in which Knebel was held by disshall not be able to clip some word or sylla- tinguished men of the most different characble not altogether Horatian out of its com- ters and pursuits throughout Germany. Bepleteness. To him Father Gleim makes a ing nothing of the parasite or satellite (a sort necessary counterpoise. He, too, is lord of of character that has now and then gained a small kingdom of young poets; but, as for itself an undeserved prominence in litehe has the reputation of being Anacreontic, rary history), but rather, on the contrary, of and as this to the stiff pedants of that formal a sensitive and retiring nature, his extenage was the same thing as immoral, he does sive acquaintance with so many distinguishnot share the general admiration of Ramler, characters can only be attributed to his own and, especially in Berlin, has many gain- merits. sayers. But Gleim is too easy in his nature Abstracting from the value of some of the to allow himself to be seriously discompos- other letters, as original contributions to ed, either by the sharp filings of Ramler's literary history, to us by far the most intercriticisms, or the rough rubs of public opi-esting in the collection are those of Wieland, nion. He is too busy with his John George Jacobi, his Michaelis, his Schmidt, his first and second Kleist (Knebel was the second), to concern himself much about the undue ascendency of the Berlin dynasty; at all events, while his own dear Uz lives at Anspach, he swears that Ramler shall not be the German Horace. Then we have Boie, the father of the golden-winged race of annuals, sending most voluminous communications from Göttingen to Potsdam, and requiring the advice and assistance of Knebel at every new publication of the world-renowned" Musen-Almanach." These letters of Boie are particularly interesting, and will furnish not a few fresh traits of nature to any person who shall undertake to write the history of the celebrated Göttingen "Hainbund." Bürger, Voss, and many others, who afterwards acquired a European cele brity, appear in Boie's bulletins to Knebel as lads of excellent promise, among some threescore that seemed as good. It is uncertain, as yet, whether they are to emerge as eagles or as butterflies; and unfortunately, in litera. ry development, Time does not always bring roses.

It would be impossible for us to attempt giving any idea of the strange jumble of halfliterary, half-social gossip that this extensive correspondence contains. In addition to what we have just mentioned, however, we may run over the following names:-' -The Grand Duke Charles Augustus, the Duchess Dowager Amelia, the Grand Duchess Loui sa, Herr von Einsiedel, Herr von Dalberg, Frederick Jacobi, Frederick Nicolai, Gross man (the author of several plays), Wieland,

Richter is in his let.

Herder, Richter, and Knebel himself. Wie.
land is pleasant and witty, as he always is,
(one of the few Germans, says Knebel, who
knows the meaning of the word " taste");
Herder is all fire and enthusiasm, with an
intellect marching at a giant pace beyond
the age, impatient withal, and irritable some.
what too much for a wise man and a doctor
of divinity; but fond, very fond of Knebel,
and a perfect pattern of Christian nobility in
all the active virtues.
ters what he is in his writings; viz., what
no other body, not even Shakspeare, ever
was or will be something perfectly unique ;
sending out skyrockets and meteoric stones
at every turn, and yet mild as the moon-
beam sleeping upon a primrose-bank. Kne-
bel, again, is what we have described him to
be,-clear, calm, sensible, yet warm withal,
sportive, and very amiable. Here follows a
specimen from Herder :—

"Weimar, Nov. 6, 1784.
"Thanks to you, dear friend, for your
friendly feelings, and your fine philosophy,
but I am not to be deceived. With all your
smooth Epicurean exterior, there lives a secret
restlessness in you, like a chicken in an egg,
and you must bestir yourself to do something.
A well-defined sphere of activity is the only
way to keep our thoughts and desires in
order, and to give them some shape,though it
be but the shape of our imperfect selves. Let
it be what it may-but we work must have.

*There are no letters to or from Göthe in this collection. We have heard that they are published in a separate collection, but we have not seen them. We have, however, quite enough of Göthiana without them.

Our inner world, with its vast and indefinite Duke, in a letter to Knebel: " It is really aspirings, must learn to apply itself to the comical to observe what an air of solemnity limited sphere of our outward existence. Göthe has lately put on !" The Cæsarean Forgive me this cheap philosophy; but I dignity and senatorean gravity, with which give you the result of my own experience, Herder makes himself merry, is a very and of my experience even of this day, when I have been driven on- iniquæ mentis asel- characteristic trait in the man whom A. W. lus'-by every possible disagreeable exter- Schlegel not improperly designates" Olym. nality. I haste, like a panting stag to the pian Göthe ;" and he who wishes to see it fountain, and begin with to-morrow's dawn in perfection may read Bettina Brentano's some connected work; though, to tell you love-letters. the truth, I do not yet possess the punctum saliens from which it is to proceed. Do you the like, dear Knebel, and thus, by two different roads, we shall certainly arrive at the same goal.

"Of our most recent literature I have hardly seen anything. What I have seen gave no refreshment. Engel's Mimik' is mere tinkling cymbals; no art, no soul, and no object. He knows no language of gesticulation but that of the Berlin players; and he seems to have no other object but to write for the genteel Berlin public, and to cradle them into a classical sleep with his sweet syllables. Eberhard has published his miscellaneous works, the philosophy of which smells like an old cheese, and any thing else in the book

is little better.

Göthe has been here, and sends us his essay on Osteology; very beautiful and simple. That man is walking in the true way that nature leads him, and good luck comes to meet him. Notwithstanding this, we have lately made the important discovery that, according to the authority of old medals, he existed in a previous state as Julius Cæsar, with the title of Dictator perpetuus,' and Imperator;' as a punishment, however, for his despotical conduct in that Avatar, he was made to appear again upon earth, after nearly 1800 years, as privy councillor to the Grand Duke of Weimar-promoted backwards. Let us take due heed that we be not promoted after the same fashion; I am afraid that you have already suffered some castigative metempsychosis of the same kind, otherwise why do you sit moping there in the

castle at Jena ?

H."

Let us now select a short and character.

istic specimen of Jean Paul.

66

"Baireuth, March 24th, 1810

Respected friend! If you would only write as many letters to me as I send books to you, I should be contented; for then I should have one letter for Schmelzle, one for Katzenberger, and one for Dämmerungen, and that is three more than I have had ; bereceived from a judge whom I esteem as I in the world? do you. Are there then no pens and no posts Postmasters certainly we have now, for every prince is one. How much do I long for a single day of your company to chat with Epicurean wisdom over tion! Moreover, about the literary lusus I the lusus naturæ and diaboli of this generashould like to hear your sage discourse; for example, the Wahlverwandschaften, in defence of which I feel very much inclined to say a word or two against its calumniators, though I certainly am no friend of this sort of idealized adultery. The real offence would be much more moral.

sides the critical hints which I should have

"And now a request. Send me some of your poems; for I hate poems more and more the longer I live, and I can only digest such good, sound, wholesome stuff as my Knebel provides. "Adieu,

'J. P. F. RICHTER.” The following letter from Kneber to Böttiger tells a few secrets; first, as to the general ame. nity of Weirmarian society; secondly, and specially, as to the venerable ignorance on matters political which prevailed in that

"Now, my dear Knebel, may every thing good attend you; and specially I wish that this letter were accompanied by an invisible court-atmosphere. We have already men. sting, in Latin stimulus, to goad you on ad tioned in a note that Knebel was a liberal laborem. Labor improbus omina vincit.' in political sentiment; and though himself, I have asked in vain for the translation of so far as outward occupation was concerned, Lucretius you mention, But why do you not one of the Epicurean gods as much as Göthe translate it yourself? I embrace you in love or Wieland, yet inwardly (as Herder has and friendship. it) he was like a chicken in an egg, and This is an interesting letter in many re- could never feel altogether comfortable. spects. We see from it how Herder was This letter appears to have been confidenthe cause of Knebel's translating Lucretius, tial, and, properly speaking, ought never to -somewhat so, at least, in the same sense have been published; but the Duke and that (according to Helvetius), deer-stealing Göthe, and Wieland are now dead; and, was the cause of Shakspeare's theatrical now that there are no Etruscans in the world, genius. The illusion to Göthe is excellent it is no crimen violati sepulcri to ransack and true, both in its encomium and in its their tombs. ridicule : "Es ist gar possierlich wie der Mensch so feyerlich wird!" says the Grand

"Nurnberg, October 12th,1797. "As to what you say to me confidentially

"KNEBEL."

Not less independent was Knebel in his opinions on German literature. The following extracts are from letters to Böttiger.

"Ilmenau, December 28th, 1800.

"A storm is breaking over our polite literature that looks almost as fearful as the political. We have ourselves to blame. First by our base submission, and then by our overweening conceit, and vain trumpeting of our own merits, we have taught the French to despise us. Now they are determined to see what really is at the bottom of all this clatter; and I fear that, besides the ill-informed Madame de Stäel, (so they have it in the Merkur !) there are not a few others who see things with the same eyes. In the Decades Philosophiques, in the Mercure de France, there is only one opinion on this subject: The Germans have yet a notable want of delicate perception and taste.' So far as philosophy is concerned, Herder as shown this beyond contradiction; and when we set ourselves to anatomize our Schöngeister, our lumina mundi, we shall, in all probability, find not a little that leads to similar results."

about our dear Weimar, you are quite right, | that neither here, nor in Anspach, nor Baiand I have only to lay my hand over it and reuth, do I find that peculiar sharpness of look up to heaven... Here I see every thing the nose in scenting out democracy (Demok more clearly in its true connection; and I ratenspürerei) which is so potent in W. must just learn to hold my tongue: for dis- There is some common sense in this. eases which have grown up during a long course of years, from a thousand chances and circumstances, are very difficult of cure, and in this case, I fear, are past the hope of curing. The want of union and unity on our side seems to be the principal cause of all the evil. But how is union to arise among so many positive electricities, as Dr. Ehrhardt yesterday called them? Here we have positives of every kind; and every one seems the more determined to be a prominent positive, the less capacity he has for being so to any purpose. This same Dr. Ehrhardt, who lived with us a few days at Anspach, told us a saying of Kant, (his great prophet!) that there is no more detestable life than among mere men of learning; and as for himself he could not exist in such society. We have experienced the truth of this saying in W.; for though the vanity of being thought something of at court smoothed down our angles a little; yet, as the nourishment of this vanity was very scant, and soon ran dry, matters would no longer hold together. Now we are sick without union, without help from a bove or from below. Under these circumstances my only wish and prayer is, to live any where, only not in W. They pierce my heart through, and come what may, I am determined to escape them. There is nothing now to be done in Prussia; and as the grand duke has the best feelings towards me, I certainly do not feel myself justified in rejecting his offers. I shall seek out for myself some quiet corner of his domains where I may live at peace. This is not now so easy as it once was. Therefore, I beseech you, keep your finger upon your lips. I must look carefully about me for a proper hole to hide myself in; for matters are bad enough now, and it is pretty plain they are getting worse every day.

"March 31st, 1802.

"The complaints about the long-windedness and ton-heavy dialogues of Schiller's latest piece are loud. So it must be; when a poet has no public with whom he is forced to speak, he is at last reduced to the necessity of speaking to himself; and, when it comes to this, long-windedness is the necessary consequence. The Schellingians say that Schiller is altogether without a living pictur ed world of sense (habe ganz und gar keine sinnliche Anschauung)-he has no world but "On political matters I had 9999 maxims the world within him,-only a few dim and opinions to recite to you; but they shall visions of military parades, which he had be left out for the present. In W. I must cause enough to remember at Carlsruhe in let you understand that they have no judg- his youth. His best productions, say they, ment at all in these matters; and what my are only piece-work. I do not know how above-named friend said is most certainly far all this is true; but true it no doubt may true in another sense; for I believe the learn- be that many things in Wallenstein have ed men of Germany are of all others the most been overvalued. But whom have we able ignorant in certain matters. About politics to apply a criticism to this man in the way Wieland has written the most absurd non- that would be useful? They are a set of sense, changing his tone with every new turn downright blunderers. If we had only any. of affairs and in general it is objected to us thing like true criticism we might yet do. in W., that WE HAVE NO PRINCIPLES,-an obEver yours, jection not altogether unfounded; at all "K." events we seem to have little consistency "P. S. What you say about Schiller, (Consequentz) Hinc illa lacrymæ. Never- that his blunders are all brought about so theless, I should like to see Göthe here, for conscientiously according to the rules of there is a sad want of human beings. The art, is excellent. D-mn all art!"* Nurnbergers are all Chinese; they will take in nothing that does not chime in with the natural sing-song of their ideas; active interchange of thoughts they know nothing of. At the same time I must say, to their credit,

*This is not exactly German. It is the English phrase. The German, mingling a certain kindliness with his wrath, says," Ach! die verdammte Kunst !”

These remarks are very instructive. | "What am I? and who am I?—A pheThey certainly display great independence, nomenon (eine Erscheinung) in the course great soundness, and at the same time great modesty of judgment. We are sorry that we have no space for further extracts of this kind. All Knebel's letters, especially those to Böttiger, will be found very interesting.

Who built this wonderful ma

of ages brought hither by a chance (einen Zufall), without knowing whence or whither. The concourse of elemental ingredients that has enabled me now, after such a long lapse of time, to feel my own identity as a separately existing being-what was it? Is there any reason why I might As a philosopher, Knebel is worthy of not have come into existence as somedeep study; and not the less so, that he thing else than what I now am? And never put his opinions into a system. A me what was there in the peculiar circumstances of time and place accompanying ditative man, with a good stock of common sense, who had also seen a good deal of Nature to produce me, and nobody but my birth, that determined the energy of the world, and lived in the enjoyment of me? Glorious gift of the concurring elehealth and quietness for ninety long years, ments!-my being, my understanding soul, with nothing else to do than to think, must waxing up almost out of nothing! To needs have thought no small quantity of feel, to think, to know-how wonderful! sense in his day. He had some peculiar In my mother's womb, what was I?—a opinions; but his peculiarities were rather worm. negative than positive, and did not in the least disturb the clearness and soundness of his judgment. The third volume of the Nachlass contains pieces which, though mere fragments, will, if honestly studied, prove as good a discipline to the mind as Kant's Criticism of Pure Reason, or Jeremy Ben. tham's Book of Fallacies. We have al. ready mentioned that Knebel cherished, or rather was haunted, by serious doubts as to the consoling doctrine of the immortality of the soul; but, if the scepticism of all unbelievers originated in the same modesty and the same elevation of mind, religion would have little to weep over, and the vulgar scoffer nothing to make a boast of. We give the following beautiful fragment, written in 1829, on this subject:

chine? who compacted together the joints of this strange phenomenon? All without my knowledge, by internal plasticity, without aid from without. And yet I call it mine; and yet it is, as it were, bound to my service.

'Strange phenomenon! and such is man! He rules over every thing-over that which he does not even know, much less knows to give a name to.

"What breath of God is here revealed? This nothing-this bubble- sets up a claim of immortality. It is not enough for him to be allowed to enter this theatre as a stranger, to see the wonders of the world; year after year to enjoy them, to use them for his own conveniences; yea, even to come into a sort of communion with the Eternal-no! this is not enough. He claims all this as his own inalienable property. What a demand!"

"If men would take the trouble quietly to consider wherein the true happiness of We add a few stray thoughts and senti. life consists they would be less discon-ments, which may tend yet further to give tented with it, and become less solicitous an insight into the modest grandeur of this about its continued existence in a future man's mindstate. Life is a gift. The smallest worm rejoices in it. The mere drawing of breath is not without a feeling of pleasure; but it is a pleasure too common, and not sufficiently intensive to deserve a separate name.

"Things are continually changing, and we cannot expect that they should remain the same; but what a blessing is it for us to be allowed to enjoy the continual chan ges of this great panorama! How thankful ought we to be-who have no claims to existence at all-that the Supreme Power not only gives us to exist, but fills up our existence with the sportive show of many things both beautiful and grand! "What more is it then that we ask? Is it not enough for this creature, man, that he is called, by unexpected mandate, into the midst of this glorious show of things; and, instead of leaving wise Nature to her own influences, must he dictate 7-must he command?

THE ART OF life.

"The great art of life is to trust as little as possible to chance, but at the same time to allow every thing, as much as possible, to take its own course.'

ATHEISM.

"I have often been not a little wrathful at the freedom with which the name of Atheist is bandied about by a certain class of half-thinkers. Here people are vainly engaged in the attempt to change our merely negative ideas of the Supreme Being into an affirmative personality, and to give a definite figure to that which is in truth unpronouncable, as we often see done in children's books. If any person is modest enough to refrain from giving a name to the Infinite One, they straightway baptize him an Atheist. Did they not even