Old Fritz and the New Era

m-a strange, gloomy apartment, quite in keeping with the singular occupant-gray walls, with Greek apothegms inscribed upon them in large letters-dirty wind

ollo-Belvedere upon a table near the window, the whiteness and beauty of wh

conrector of the college attached to the Gray Monastery. There was no trace of the bearing and demeanor which distinguished him at the parade at Potsdam yesterday-no trace of the young elegant, dressed in the latest fashion. To-day he wore a white garme

old Romans. Thus, in this singular costume, belonging half to old Adam, and half to the old Romans, Philip Moritz walked back and forth upon the carpet, ruminating upon the beaming beauty of the stranger whose acquaintance he had so recently made, and whom he cou

upted this soliloquy, and the door

joyfully. "Come in, sir, come in-I have

oud face lighted up with a smile at the singular apparition before him. "Pardon me, I distu

of opinion that mankind will never be happy and contented until they return to their natural state, wearing no mor

ure should adapt her climate accordingly, and relieve

but we will not quarrel about it. Will you no

de yesterday, and who presented himself as Philip Moritz? Then please to inform me whether you are the Philip Moritz who wrote a spirited and cor

eart-felt sympathy, that we are not all such stupid fellows in Berlin as Nicolai, who pronounced

to tell me what response the po

a' bound in rose-colored satin. [Footnote: "Goethe in Berlin,"-Sketches from his life at the anniversary of his one hu

rite to you at

he? Was not the book

to say to you that Goethe behaved

rbid you to speak of my favorite in

t that man is sometimes a brute and an ass! I can penitently acknowle

eatest enthusiasm and delight. "Yes, yes," he shouted, "you are either Apollo or Goethe! The gods are not so stupid as to return to t

he writing-table. "Listen, Apollo," he cried, with wild joy. "

sprang about like a mad bacchant, and finally threw himself upon the carpet, ro

re you doing, dear Moritz? Wh

h a face beaming with joy. "I cannot better expre

also mentions in his "Leaves of Memory of Goethe in Berlin," has been often related to me by Ludwig Tieck exactly in this manner. Teichman believes it was the poet Burman. But

attire in a few moments, and presented himself to Goethe, who rose from the carpet quite astounded a

! You forget that your hair is flying a

to see me in a strange costume, an

like a crazy person to strew his hair with flour, and tie it up in that ridiculous cue, than to wear it as God made it, uncombed and unparted,

s, is in my humble apartment. I will call in all the little poets and savants of Berlin; I will drag Mammler, Nicolai, Engel, Spaulding, Gedicke, Plumicke, Karschin,

for that, I will run away, and yo

. I shall lock you in, and you cannot escape by the

you run away I shall go also, and I advise you not to try to prevent me." His voice resounded through

y Jupiter Tonans in person, and I bow before you and obey yo

d odors of incense! We are no sybarites, to feed on sweet-meats and cakes; but we are men who have a noble aim in vi

oritz, his whole being suddenly changing, and his ma

emple? only the demons and the gods strive together therein, unfortunately. To drive the former out, and give place to the latter, should be our aim; and when once purified, and room is given for good deeds and great achievements, we shall not rest satisfied simply to conquer, but rise with gladness to build altars upon those places which we have f

spoke with so much commiseration that Moritz's heart softened under the genial influence of sympathy and kindness. A convulsive trembling seized him, his cheeks were burning red, and his features express

his shoulder. "Why are you so miserable? Is there a

ing and showing her teeth. I know it, but cannot retreat. I wear the mask of madness to conceal my careworn face. Your divine eyes could not be deceived. You

end pities a friend whom he would will

itz, shaking his head mournfully

plank by which he can save himself. He must keep his eyes open, and not let his arms hang idly; for if he allows himself to be swal

er,' of that immortal work which has drunk the tears of the who

enies them the toy which their vanity, their ambition, or their amorousness, had chosen. Do not burden me with what I am not guilty of; do not say that wine is a poiso

desert, his feet burnt with the sand, his hair scorched with the sun, and, exhausted with hunger and thirst, feels death approaching. Suddenly he discovers a green oasis, and a being wi

appy to aid you, who can sympathize with every sorrow, because he has himself felt it in his own breast, who may eve

nnot," murm

ur grief to me; that

hat the fool which I would be had killed within me the higher man. I was almost proud to have succeeded in deceiving men; that they mistook my grotesque mask for my real face; that they point the finger at me, and laugh, saying to each other: 'That is a fool,

sody of the German Language'-has read also your spirited Journey to England. You have no right to ask that one should separate the kernel from the shell in hastily passing by. If you surround yourself w

that I might the sooner equal my father as a good shoemaker, I was bound to the stool near his own. During the long, fearful days I was forced to sit and draw the pitched, offensive thread through the leather, and when my arms were lame, and sank weary at my side, then I was invigorated to renewed exertion with blows. Finally, with the courage of despair, I fled from this life of torture. Unacquainted with the world, and inexperienced, I hoped for the sympathy of men, but in vain. No one would relieve or assist me! Days and weeks long I have wandered around in the forest adjoining our little village, and lived like the animals, upon roots and herbs. Yet I

ture is the return to one's self. Who will be an able, vigorous ma

of my teacher was my ambition. The privations that I endured, the life I led, I will not recount to you. I performed the most menial service, and worked months like a beast of burden. For want of a shelter, I slept in deserted yards and tumble-down houses. Upon a piece of bread and a drink of water I lived, saving, with miserly greediness, the money which I earned as messenger or day-laborer. At the end of a year, I had earned sufficient to buy an old suit of clothes at a second-hand clothing-store, and present myself to the director of the Gymnasium, imploring him to receive me as pupil.

o which not only kings and princes, but mind must bow; to which science and art have

ce; he did more, he assured my future. Oh, he was a humane and kind man! When he learned that I po

o you," interrupt

dging, and clothing, during

the name of this honorable man, that I

were no services which I could return for so much kindness and generosity. It proved that there were, and the director made them known to me. He was unmarried, hence the necessity of men's

ould be his servant!" c

sufficient progress, it should be my duty to give two hours to different classes, and I should read aloud or play cards with the director on leisure evenings. Besides, I was obliged to promise never to leave the

thundered Goethe. "Reveal to me, now, the name of this

room my chains fell off. In the lonely night-watches I communed with the great, the immortal spirits of Horace, Virgil, and even the proud Caesar, and the divine Homer. Those solitary but happy hours of the night are never to be forgotten, never to be portrayed; they refreshed me for the trials of the day, and enabled me to endure them! At the close of seven years I was prepared to enter the university, and the bargain between my master and myself was also at an end. Freed from my tyrant, I bent my steps toward Frankfort University, to feel my liberty enchained anew. For seven years I had been the sla

, at last, reached a safe harbor. I rejoice in your rescue as if it were my own. Now you are safe. You have reached the port, and in the quiet happiness of your own library you will w

You, too, thought that Philip Moritz had only a head for the sciences, and forgot that he had a heart to love. I tell you that he has a warm, affectionate heart, torn with grief and all the tortures o

s world-creating breath only, to make him happy, and find that happiness in love! No! my friend, God has given to man like faculties with Himself, and inspired him, that he might be a worthy representative of Him upon the earth; that he should prove, in his life, that he is not only the blossom, but the fruit also, of God's creation. Love is to man the perfume of his exis

adly, despairingly. You have never seen the woman whom you adore,

to her, she has been the centre of all my thoughts. It would seem to me as if the earth were without a sun, heaven without a God, if she should vanish from life. I even bless the torture which her prudery, her alternate coldness and friendliness cause me, as it comes from her, from the highest bliss of feeling. This passion has swept through my soul, as if uniting in itself all my youthful loves, till, like a torrent, ever renewing itself, ever moving onward, it has become the highway

back what I have said. You, the chosen of the gods, k

y blossom of my heart; but she shall never destroy me. The man, the poet, must stand higher than the lover; for where the latter is about to yield to despair, the former will rise, and, with the defiance of Prometheus, challenge the gods to recognize the godlike similitude, that man can rise superior to sorrow, never despairing, never cursing Fate if all the rosy dreams of youth are not

to the heights which a hero like Goethe reaches victorious. It is indeed sublime to conquer one's self, and be willing to resign the happiness which flees us. But see how weak I

e a work which brought him at the same time so great fame and bitter reproach as this work has brought to me. 'The Sorrows of Young Werther' have indeed been transformed into the sorrows of young Goethe, and I even fear that old Goethe will have to suffer for it. I have spoken to you as a friend to a friend: cherish my words, take them to heart, and arise from the dust; shake off the self-strewn ashes from your head. Enter again as a brave champion the combat o

Moritz, deeply moved, and pressin

illegible inscriptions. To walk with Nature is balsam for a weary soul; gently touched by her soft hands, the recovery is most rapid. I have experienced it, and do experience it daily. Now, once more, farewell; in the true

at the crowd-at the busy passers-by-some merrily chatting with their companions, others with earnest mien and in busy haste. No one seemed to care for him, no one

be only an ordinary mortal-a stranger among strangers. "I would not live here," said he, as he walked slowly down the street. "What are men in great cities but grains of sand, now blown together and then asunder? There is no individuality, o