• '//k'.^^.: o * ° T.X, ■<,:. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE 
 
 C. K. OGDEN
 
 vM 
 
 b
 
 THE 
 ENGLISH AND FOREIGN 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL LIBRARY. 
 
 EXTRA SERIES. 
 VOLUME I.
 
 rKINTKll bV HALLANTVNK, HANSUN AM> CO. 
 MllKbt'KGIi ANU LONDUN.
 
 G. E. LtSSI N G
 
 L E S S 1 N G. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES SIME. 
 
 ' >y^crma\i. tm I'ckn, cfevtcn nnv ticf; ali ciiicn tcv tMi'ttcr,^^ 
 3^un, ta tu tott bi^ fccrvfd^t ubcr tic ©eiftcr tein ®cifl." 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 /lY TWO VOL UME S. 
 
 WITH PORTRAITS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TRUBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL. 
 
 1877- 
 
 [Ali rights restrved.']
 
 
 ! -/
 
 TO 
 
 J. A. S. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Every educated Englisliman is supposed to know some- 
 thing of Goethe and Schiller ; but probably few have any- 
 tliing like an adequate idea of the character and labours 
 of Lessing. Yet Goethe and Schiller built upon the foun- 
 dations he had laid, and no German ever lived wliose 
 career is more thoroughly worthy of study. He was a 
 man of singularly noble and attractive nature, and cast 
 abroad more germs of fruitful thought than any other 
 writer of his time. In him we find the ideal of the best 
 qualities of the eighteenth century, and some of those 
 considered most characteristic of the epoch in which we 
 ourselves live. 
 
 "In all literary history," says Heine, "Lessing is the 
 writer whom I love most;" and very many Germans would 
 willingly adopt this language as their own. He still lives 
 in the memory of his people, who know well how much 
 they owe him, recall with pride his great achievements, 
 and welcome the smallest fracrment that is from time 
 to time added to his published writings. Goethe him-
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 self hariUy exercises a stronger intellectual lui'l nn>ial 
 intluence. 
 
 Ill' has formed the subject of many liiograi»hies and 
 l-iiv^raiiliic sketches. Of these, the first was by his brother, 
 Karl Lessing. This work did not satisfy Lessing's friends, 
 and the theme was und(nil»tedly beyond the wTiter's 
 jKiwers. It is miw, however, the highrst authority for 
 biogi-aphical details, and its style is, as a rule, clear and 
 animated. 
 
 In 1850 appeared the lirst volume of wliat was intended 
 to be a very elaborate biogi-aphy by T. "NV. Dauzel. The 
 arrangement of his materials is sometimes very confused, 
 but no student of Lessing desen'es warmer praise. Ho 
 brought to his task culture and insight, devoted himself to 
 it with enthusiasm, and shrank from no toil that enabled 
 him to do justice to his subject. Unfortunately he died 
 before his woik was half done. CI. K. CJuhrauer, who wiis 
 already known as the author of a treatise on Ixjssing's 
 " Education of the Human liace," imdertook to complete 
 it ; and he did so with learning, tact, and judgment. 
 
 The only other biogi'aphy which need be mentioned is 
 that of Adolf Stahr. It contains little that may not l>e 
 fuund in tlie work of Dan/el and (lulirauer, and as a critic 
 the author could not compare with either of these writers ; 
 but he was master of a vigorous and popular" style, and 
 on the wliole (Jermany seems not dissatisfied with his 
 representation of the earliest of its genuinely classical 
 authors. A translation of tlie ])ook, liy M. 1'. Mvans, has 
 been i)ublished in America. 
 
 I'rom all the writers now named, as well as from others
 
 PREFACE. \x 
 
 nientioiu'fl in (In! proper places, I liave olitiiiiiod help in 
 funning a conception of Lessing's personality and work. 
 In the first instance, however, I have always sought to 
 derive my impressions from his own writings. ]My aim 
 has been to convey a living idea of tlie man himself, using 
 for tliis purpose as often as possible liis own words; to set 
 forth the rcsidts of his labours ; and to offer some suf'tres- 
 tions as to their worth. He went over so wide a range 
 that it is by no means easy to follow liini ; but even the 
 attempt to do so is usually well rewarded. 
 
 Several volumes casting light upon tlie cininnstances of 
 Lessing's life, published since the German biographies were 
 originally written, I have l)ecn able to use. These are 
 "Zur Erinnerung an Gotthold Ephraim Lessing" (1870), 
 a volume containing numerous letters and other papers, 
 preserved in the Wolfenbiittel Library, where Lessing was 
 for eleven years librarian ; " Briefwechsel zwischen Lessing 
 und seiner Frau," a new and important edition of the 
 letters which passed between Lessing and the lady wh j 
 became his wife, by A. Scheme (1870); and "Lessing, 
 Wieland, Heinse, nach den handsclniftliclien Quellcn in 
 Gleims Nachlasse dargestellt," by H. Prbhle (1877). Tlie 
 first of these volumes is edited by Dr. 0. von Heinemann, 
 the present occupant of Lessing's post. I am indebted to 
 him for several hints communicated during a pleasant 
 hour I spent witli liini under the shadow of tlie Wolfen- 
 biittel Library, in the room in which Lessing did all the 
 best work of his last years. 
 
 Several good portraits of Lessing exist. That of which 
 a photograph has been obtained for the present M'ork, and
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 uhich has genuine merit as a iiictuiv, was considered Ly liis 
 contcmpornries the most successful, 1 1 was included among 
 the portraits of Gloim's "Temi)le of Friendsliip" in llal- 
 Itorstadt, and is now in the (Jleim Stiftung in that 
 town. The work has Itcen attrihuted to G. Oswald ^lay, 
 but the aitist is not certainly known. Its precise date 
 cannot be determined ; we can only say that it was painted 
 before 1771 — that is, before Lessing's forty-second year. 
 Goethe was so struck by it during a visit to Ilalberstadt 
 that he begged to be allowed to take it away for some 
 time. He long kept it beside him, and at last parted with 
 it very unwillingly. 
 
 Eva Lessing's portrait is from an etching by Profes- 
 sor Biirkner, prefixed to Schiine's edition of the 'T.rief- 
 wechsel zwischen Lessing und seiner Frau." The painting 
 from which it is taken was sent to Lessing from Vienna 
 in 1770 by tlic lady herself, and ever afterwards hung in 
 his study. It is in the possession of the family descended 
 from his stepdaughter. 
 
 There are now a good many collected editions of his 
 writings. The first of high importance, begun in 1838, was 
 that of Lachmann, who apjdied to the undertaking the 
 skill which had maile him illustrious as an editor of the 
 ancient classics. I have used the edition of IMaltzalm 
 (1853-57), in twelve volumes. He adopted Lachniann's 
 text, but had at his disjjosal some fresh materials. The 
 edition which llenipel, of Uerlin, h:us been issuing during 
 the last few years in his " Wohlfeile Classiker-Ausguben," 
 is of great value. Kach class of Lessing's works has been 
 entrusted to a special editor ; various fragments and letters
 
 PREFACE, xi 
 
 have l)ucii puhlisliotl Inr tlu; (ir.st time; and tliere are 
 careful notes and introductions. 
 
 Of the editions of separate works it is necessary to 
 alhide only to "Lcssinj^'s Laokoon, herausgegeben und 
 erliiutert," by Hugo Bliimner (1876). I do not know any 
 more admirable reprint of a modern classic. The text 
 is based un tliat of the original edition, and the notes, 
 which I liave found of great service, are learned and sug- 
 gestive. 
 
 In my study of the period of which a ra})id sketch is 
 given in the introductory chapter, antl to which there are 
 necessarily many references throughout the work, I have 
 been much indebted to Biedermann's " Deutschland im 
 achtzehnten Jalirhundert : " a book of great research, and 
 excellently written. It includes a very good study of 
 Lessing. The literary aspects of the same period are 
 powerfully treated in Hettner's " Literaturgeschichte des 
 achtzehnten Jahrhunderts." 
 
 JAMES SIME.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PACE 
 
 Introductory, . . . . . .1-19 
 
 The period in whicli Lessing's career began, i ; German 
 princes and nobles after the Thirty Years' War, 2 ; 
 character of the Thirty Years' War, and its infiuence 
 upon the people, 4 ; the churches, universitie?, and 
 literatiire after the Thirty Years' War, 5 ; the higher 
 classes in the eighteenth century, 10 ; symptoms of re- 
 awakening, 1 1 ; Thomasius and Wolf, 1 2 ; moral essays, 
 13; popular poets, 14; Gottsched, 15; his controversy 
 with Bodmer, 17 ; the task of Lessing, 19. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Boyhood, ....... 
 
 Lessing's birthplace, 20; his parentage, 21 ; circumstances 
 amid Avhich lie grew up, 24 ; life at school, 25 ; his 
 study of Terence and Plautus, 27 ; his love of mathe- 
 matics, 28 ; his first comedy, 29 ; his first prose essay, 31 ; 
 close of school life, 33 ; glimpse of war, 33.
 
 xiv COXTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTKR III. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Leipzig, ....... 36-63 
 
 Lt'ipzij:; in the eighteenth century, 36 ; Le.ssing's studies in 
 Lcipzij;, 38 ; hia friends, 39 ; character of his intellect, 
 40; Mylius, 41 ; Weisse, 42; the lyrics of Goethe's 
 youth, 43 ; Lessing's lyrics, 44 ; hia indifference to 
 natuff, 44 ; his mode of life in Leipzi}^, 47 ; Lessing 
 and the Luip/ig theatre, 47 ; hcginniiig of his career as a 
 dramatist, 48 ; Moliure Lessing's luodcd, 49 ; criticism of 
 Lcssiny's early dramas, 50^; "The Young Scholar," 52 ; 
 " The "Woman-IIattT," 53 ; dramatic outlines, 54 ; 
 "Giangir," 54; Les.sing and the Engli:-h drama, 54; 
 alarm at home, 55; the Frau Pastoriu "daii^'crously 
 ill," 56 ; " Wiiy did you come in the cold ? " 57 ; 
 Lessing a.s a medical .student, 58 ; life in Leipzig becomes 
 unpleasant, 60 ; he resolves to go to Berlin, 61. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Berlin, ....... 64-97 
 
 Life in Berlin under Frederick William L, 64 ; under 
 Frederick IL, 65 ; German writers in Berlin, 66 ; Lessing 
 •works for Voltaire, 67 ; tmnslation.s, 68 ; relations to 
 his parents, 68 ; the Jews in tiermany in the eighteenth 
 cenluiy, 75 ; "The Jews," 76 ; " Tlie Freethinker," jy ; 
 " llenzi," 78 ; " Palaion," 79 ; Lessing as a reformer of 
 the theatre, 80 ; email result of large proposals, 82 ; 
 articles on Plautus, 83 ; Lessing becomes literary critic 
 for the " V088 Gazette," 85 ; his style, 86; Klopstock'a 
 " Mes.siali," and the controversy it e.\ciled, 8S ; Listing's 
 opinion of Gott«ched, 89 ; his criticism of Klopstock and 
 of Klopstock'a imitators, 90 ; " hexameters without 
 feet," 92; l{ou8.seau'8 "Discourse" on civilisiition, 93; 
 Lessing'a judgment of Diderot, 94 ; conduct more im- 
 portant than belief, 94 ; l.H.'»Hing decides to Htudy for a 
 time ut Wittenberg, 95 ; quarrel with Voltaire, 96.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 lAf.E 
 
 Wittenberg, ...... 9S-111 
 
 Lessinjj's love of books, 98 ; his learning', 99 ; Lessing and 
 Bayle, 102; llie "Vindications," 103; llie essay on 
 Cardan, 104 ; freedom of criticism, 104 ; a Mohammedan's 
 opinion of revealed reli;^'ions, 105 ; good effects of the 
 lleformation, whatever may have been its causes, loS ; 
 " traces of humanity " in Luther, 109 ; Lessing's study of 
 the classics, no ; his epigrams, no. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Second Residence IN Berlin, . . . 112-140 
 
 Lessing's prospects in Berlin, n2; his associates, n3 ; a 
 liappy idea of Mylius, and its results, 113; Moses 
 Mendelssohn, 114 ; Frederick Nicolai, 115; Lessing 
 resumes his work as literary critic, 117; Hogarth's 
 "Analysis of Beauty," n8 ; Aristotle's "Poetics," nS; 
 attacks on Cottsched, n9; an edition of Lessing's early 
 writings, 120; Michaeli.-^, 121; "A Vade Mecum for 
 Ilorr Sam. Gotth. Lange," 123 ; vindication of Horace, 
 124 ; criticism of Mylius, 125 ; '* Pope a Metaphysician," 
 12S; "The Theatrical Library," 132; the art of the 
 actor, 132 ; "a second Spinoza," 133 ; tragedy of middle- 
 class life, 134; influence of English literature upon 
 Germany, 135 ; "Miss Sara Samj^on/' 136 ; Lessing goes 
 to Leipzig, 140. 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 Second Residence in Leipzig, . . . 141-16; 
 
 Lessing's letters, 141 ; Lessing and Gellert, 143; "L'Erede 
 Fortunata," 144; dilatoriness, 144; arrangements for the 
 grand tour, 146 ; Lessing and his parents, 147 ; journey 
 to Holland, 149 ; hasty return, 149 ; outbreak of the 
 Seven Years' ^^'a^, 149 ; Lessing's friendship with Prus-
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 pian ofl'iccrs Urines liiin into difVioulty, 150; correspon- 
 dence willi Nicoliii fttiil Moudt'l^sdlin on the nature of 
 tragedy, 151 ; the critical and the creative impulses in 
 Lossinp, 155 ; Lessing and Klcist, 155 ; Gluim, 157 ; a 
 time of distress, 157 ; Burke's treatise on "The Suldime 
 and Beautiful," 158; Glcim's "Songs of a Grenadier," 159; 
 first sketch of "Emilia (jalotti," 160; contempt in the 
 eighteenth century for medi.Tval literature, 160; Lessiny's 
 mediaeval studies, 162 ; he returns to Berlin, 162. 
 
 CHArTER VIII. 
 
 Third Residenxe in Berlin, . . . 164-210 
 
 Lessing in society, 164 ; his ahhorrence of cliques, 165 ; a 
 dash of the Bohemian, 166 ; joint labour with Bander, 
 166; "a heroic weakness," 168; Lessing's patriotism, 
 169 ; origin of " The Literary Letters," 170 ; superiority 
 of "The Literary Letters" to his early writings, 171 ; 
 influence of the Seven Years' "War, 171 ; the charm of his 
 criticism, 172 ; his difference from ordinary critics, 172 ; 
 his severity, 174; criticism of translations, 175 ; a pre- 
 tentious book examined, 176 ; history in Germany, 177 ; 
 "The Greeks, the Greeks !" 178 ; local colour in lyrical 
 poetry, 178 ; the poetry of the people, 180 ; criticism of 
 Gottsched's dramatic labours, 180; Lessing decisively 
 pronounces Shakespeare superior to the classic dramatists 
 of France, 181 ; Gottsched's real significance, 1S2 ; Ger- 
 many and Shakespeare, 183 ; tragedy is not the work of 
 youth, 184; Lessing and Wieland, 185 ; Lessing and Klop- 
 fitock, 187; "The Northern Guardian," 1S8; morality inde- 
 jiendent of dogmatic belief, 189 ; extinction of the moral 
 essay, 192 ; " Discussions" on the Fable, 193 ; Lessing's 
 method as a critic, 194; character of the Fable, 195 ; 
 distinction between the action of the Falde and that of 
 the epic and the drama, 196 ; animals in the Fable, 197 ; 
 Lessing's fables, 198 ; his "Faust," 199; " Philotas," 203 ; 
 ileath of Kleist, 206; a Life of Sophokles, 208; Lessing 
 and Diderot, 208.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PAr.R 
 BRESLAU, . . . . • .211-22 
 
 Cienenil von Tauentzien, 211 ; Lessing becomes his secre- 
 tary, and goes to Breslaii, 212 ; his motives for making 
 this change, 212 ; elected foreign member of the Berlin 
 Academy of Sciences, 213 ; free life in Breslau, 214 ; his 
 love of gaming, 214 ; "Your Lessing is lost !" 215 ; his 
 •work in Breslau, 216; an El Dorado for tlie Kamenz 
 household, 216; Lessing's generosity, 217; he forms a 
 library, 217; "Minna von Barnlielni," 218 ; serious ill- 
 ness, 21S; Lessing and his parents, 220; his desire to 
 visit Italy and Greece, 221 ; return to Berlin, 222. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Fourth Residence in Berlin, . . . 223-229 
 
 Frederick the Great in want of a librarian, 223 ; he refuses 
 to give the post to Lessing, 223 ; Frederick's neglect of 
 German literature, 225; "If only he had no books!" 
 226 ; the last of the " Literary Letters," 227 ; intercourse 
 ■with old friends, 228 ; Lessing's independence, 22S. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "Minna VON Barnhelm," .... 230-246 
 
 Distinction between "Minna" and Lessing's earlier dramas, 
 230; analysis of the play, 230; its relation to the cir- 
 cumstances of the period, 234; its enduring interest, 235 ; 
 character of Tellheim, 235 ; character of Minna, 237 ; 
 the minor characters, 238 ; concentration of the interest, 
 240 ; exclusion of accident, 241 ; defects of construction, 
 241 ; Goethe's theorj' of Lessing's purpose, 242 ; the class 
 of writings to which " Minna " belongs, 242 ; the fortunes 
 of the play, 244.
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 CIIAPIF.R XII. 
 
 TAGK 
 
 Laokoon," ...... 247-30S 
 
 The object of " L.Tokoon'' is to di.stinf,'uish the spheres of 
 poetry ami art, 247; previous attempts of alike kiiul, 
 24S; influence of Winckelinanii, 250; Lessin;..;'.s method, 
 250; he had a definite l>lan, 251; arran;^'enu'nt of the 
 iiiaterial.", 251 ; jdace of tlie Laokoon tjroup in the di.scus- 
 sion, 252 ; style and learning; of the work, 252 ; the difl'er- 
 ences noted between art and poetry spring from a single 
 principle, 253 ; the different means by which poetry and 
 art achieve their objects, 254 ; art can directly imitate 
 only boil ics, 254; jihysical beauty the sole end of art, 
 -55 5 portraiture, 256; landscape, genre, historical paint- 
 ing, and caricature, 257; criticism of Lessing's theory, 
 257 ; art and religion, 258; expression in Greek art, 259; 
 the art of the Italian llenascence, 260; the problem of 
 art, 261 ; art can indirectly represent collective actions, 
 264; it is contined to a single moment, 265 ; extension of 
 this jirinciple, 266; "the most fruitful" moment, 266; 
 art and the evanescent, 267; the sublime in art, 26S; 
 poetry not confined to the co-existing, 269; the physi- 
 cally sublime in poetry, 270; poetry and invisible 
 objects, 270; poetry can convey the idea of swiftness, 
 271; the relation of the jtoet and the arti.st to mytho- 
 logy, 272; allegorical poetry, 273; familiar themes best 
 adapted to art, 274 ; jmetry confined to the succes- 
 sive, 274; criticism of this position, 277; in fixing 
 attention on a jiarlicular body. Homer makes it the 
 centre of an action, 27S; the shield of Achilles, 279; 
 the shielil of ..Eneas, 2S0; the multitude of .«<cenes on tlio 
 shield of Achille-s, 280; the poet conveys an inipre.ssion 
 of objects by describing their effects, 280; " Ikauty in 
 motion," 281 ; many of Homer's pictures cannot be repro- 
 iluced by iirt, 283; the artist adapts the pictures of the 
 ]>oet to the requirements of his craft, 284; Homer and 
 I'iiidias, 285 ; the ugly and the di.xgu.sting nuiy be used 
 by the poet as an element of the ridiculous and the ter- 
 rible, 287: criticism of this position, 2S8; the relation of 
 art to ujjlincBS, 289; historical and allegorical art, 291;
 
 CONTENTS. xix 
 
 PAi.tt 
 
 the drama the higlicst furm of art, 292 ; combination of 
 music and jjoetry, 293 ; the contrast drawn by Winckul- 
 mann between the calmness of the sculptured Laokoon 
 and the shrieka described by Virgil, 294 ; expression of 
 feeling among the Greeks, 295 ; the reasons why the 
 poet and the artist followed different plans, 296 ; the 
 shrieks of the Philoktetes of Sophokles, 296 ; criticism 
 of Lessing's theory, 298 ; the epoch to which the group 
 belongs, 299 ; estimate of the group, 302 ; Goethe and 
 " Laokoon," 304 ; Herder, 305 ; AVinckelniann, 305 ; 
 "Laokoon" and German art, 306; influence of "Lao- 
 koon" upon imaginative literature, 307; enduring in- 
 terest of '' Laokoon," 308. 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 From Berlin to Hamburg, . . . 309-317 
 
 A summer trip, 309 ; Lessing visits Gleira, 310; "Idle in 
 the market-place," 310 ; the scheme of a National Theatre 
 in Hamburg, 311 ; Lessing associates himself with the 
 enterprise, 313 ; he approaches literature in a new way, 
 313; "A Sleeping Cup," 315 ; Lessing's servants, 316; 
 Lessing and Berlin, 317. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Hamburg, ...... 318-327 
 
 Opening of the National Tiieatre, 318 ; failure of the enter- 
 prise, 319 ; cause of the failure, 320 ; the " Hamburgische 
 Dramaturgic," 320 ; a fine scheme ends in disaster, 321 ; 
 Lessing and his parents, 321 ; his incredulity as to the 
 success of "Minna von Barnhelm" in Berlin, 323; he 
 visits Leipzig, 323 ; Goethe misses the chance of seeing 
 him, 324 ; Lessing resolves to go to Italy, 324 ; condi- 
 tions of good dramatic writing, 326.
 
 L E S S I N G. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Altiiougii Lossing's work is of enduring value, it is im- 
 possible fully to understand it without reference to the 
 circumstances amid which it was produced. He was not 
 one of those writers who separate themselves as much as 
 possible from their time ; his activity was almost wholly 
 determined by the needs of his age. It will be weU, 
 therefore, before occupying ourselves with the record of 
 his life, to glance at the state of Germany when he began 
 his literary career. 
 
 He did so almost exactly in the middle of the eighteenth 
 century, and the nation was then passing through one of 
 those transition periods in which two epochs come into 
 conflict. For the origin of the epoch which was slowly 
 dying, we must go back to the close of the Tliirty Years' 
 "War. No war ever left on the history of a people a deeper 
 mark than that fearful struggle left on the history of Ger- 
 many. It would be going too far to say that it resulted in 
 no benefit whatever, for it at least placed on a level in the 
 greater part of the country the three faiths — Catholicism, 
 Lutheranism, and Calvinism. After the Peace of West- 
 l)halia (1648), a man could no longer be hoimded from one 
 State to another because he held by one or other of these 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 3 lATRODUCTORV. 
 
 creeds. Tliis was, no doubt, a gain of unspeakaLle iniport- 
 auce, l>ut it was one wliidi would ultiiuiitely have been 
 reached tlirouj,'li peaceful iirof^iess; and iu all other re- 
 specta the war was an unmitipited curse. Its most 
 obvious residt was that the ])rinces were able to prasp 
 every right they had ever dreamed of winning. Their 
 votes at the l^iet were made decisive, not merely delil)e- 
 rative; and within their territories they shook olf all save 
 the name of allegiance to the Emperor. Thus was Ger- 
 many, like a second Prometheus, bound to the rock, and 
 not ono vulture, but hundreds, preyed on its vitals. 
 
 It is hardly possil.>le to form too low an estimate of the 
 class which thus subjected to itself a great people. Louis 
 XIV. robbed Gei-many of some of its fairest lands and 
 cities, and lost no opportunity of wounding its honour; 
 but the princes could rarely be moved to resent his out- 
 rages. Many of them were his very humble servants, and 
 greedily cauglit the bribes he contemptuously Hung them. 
 At home they applied their authority to the basest uses. 
 There were, of course, exceptions ; as, for instance, the Great 
 Elector, a ruler of whom any state might be proud, and by 
 whose wise administration Prussia even now profits. The 
 maj(jrity, however, had but one aim : to minister to their 
 vanity and pleasure at the e.xpensy of their subjects. The 
 Diets, which were once a check upon their extravagance, 
 were either abolished or did not venture to do more than 
 register the decrees of their lords. Before the war, the 
 jirinces, while invested with high authority, were not 
 wholly severed from the people ; they were Germans in 
 ideas, symi)athics, oecupations, and amusements. After it, 
 they almost ceased to be Germans, their highest andjition 
 being to pass for Frenchmen. They adopted French as the 
 language of their courts ; what books they read were almost 
 wholly French ; they had French tutors and governesses for 
 their children, were waited ui)on by French servants, and 
 dressed in the French style. And they strove hard to 
 comport thcuisclves like the French King. " L'etat, c'est
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 3 
 
 iiioi," was a motto that exactly suited tlieir fancy. Tlie 
 granduur that was not inapi)ro])riatc in Paris iiiij^'lit seem 
 scarce adapted to the cajjital of a territory perhaps a few 
 miles in circumference, but the owners of such capitals did 
 not see their j)osition in tliis light. They, too, would sur- 
 round themselves by a halo of semi-divine majesty ; and 
 tliey trod their tiny stage with the step of beings who 
 honour the planet by dwelling on it. That their armies, 
 and palaces, and banquets, and hosts of retainers meant 
 the cries and tears of suffering multitudes, in no way 
 diminislicd their enjoyment. The suffering multitudes 
 existed for their princes ; and it was their function not 
 only to toil for their betters, but to feel grateful that they 
 were permitted so gi'eat a privilege. 
 
 The nobles naturally caught the tone of the princely 
 class. Few of them now lived in the country. Their 
 estates had mostly been ruined by tlie war, and almost all 
 of them sought to mend their broken fortunes by paying 
 court to the various sovereigns. They also became servile 
 imitators of the French, and did their best to encourage 
 the princes in evil courses. After all, they made but sorry 
 Frenchmen, To be able to consume a larger quantity of 
 wine than any one else, was the highest attainment large 
 numbers of them could conceive. They would challenge 
 each other to drinking tournaments, and the best man was 
 he w'ho could attack a fresh bottle while his rivals lay 
 almost dead at his feet. To say that there was not a very 
 lofty ideal of morality among German nobles at this miser- 
 able period is vastly to understate the facts ; their moral 
 degradation was almost incredible. ]\lany of them, to 
 gain money or office, would openly sell the honour of their 
 wives and daughters, and there was often active competi- 
 tion among them in this kind of traffic.l 
 
 If we turn from princes and nobles to the people, there 
 is little during the whole period that followed the Thirty 
 
 ^ Cicdcrmann's DcutscLland im achtzebnten JalirLundert, ii. p. 123.
 
 4 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 Yeiirs' War on which tlie eye can rest m iili pleasure, for 
 tlie si)irit of the nation ^vas utti-rly lnokcn. l'i'f(jre the 
 ■war, the i)opuhition may have been about seventeen mil- 
 lions ; after it, the number cannot have exceeded four or 
 live millions. "What a woild of sorrowful nu'aning lies 
 behind this singb^ fact! ^\'llat a;,'nny, what humiliation, 
 what despair ! Even in our era of war and bloodshed, we 
 can hardly present to ourselves a true ]»icture of the ter- 
 rible scenes with which, fur a generation, Germany was 
 iamiliar. The bands that slew each other in the name of 
 God were not disciplined armies, always more or less con- 
 trolled by enlightened public opinion ; they were chiefly 
 made u]) uf needy adventurers, who sold their swords to 
 the highest bidder, and whose only purpose was to find 
 or make opportunities of savage jAunder. Women suller- 
 ing the pangs of childbirth they would, with blows and 
 brutal jests, compel to rise and reveal where treasure was 
 hid. They burned, and robbed, and killeil, until cruelty 
 became a delight for its own sake ; and every barbarous 
 and wanton device was adopted in order to add to the 
 bitterness and degradation of husbands, fathers, and 
 brothers. So desperate was the want which sometimes 
 ])revailed, that famished parents devoured their own chil- 
 dren, and then killed themselves from horror at their 
 deed, liands of starving wretches would hunt down men 
 as if they were wild beasts, and occasionally a grouj) would 
 be caught around a lire partaking of the frightful meal 
 thus obtained. We do not need written records to tell 
 us the results of a war like this, carried on .so long that a 
 child at its beginning Wiis a man of middle life at its close. 
 Industry and trade were almost wholly destroyed, and 
 the peo])le were demoralised to an extent without parallel 
 in modern history. Schools and churches had been closed 
 in vast numbers, so that a generati(»n had grown up not 
 only amid violence and suflering, but without those re- 
 fining inlluenccs which might have kept alive the ideal of
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 5 
 
 a happier lot. The free imperial cities, in wliioli an active 
 population had for centuries exercised the rights of citi- 
 zens, and surrounded themselves Ly many evidences of 
 culture, either lost their independence or stillfencd into 
 oligarchies. Tlie suhjects of the princes, far from detest- 
 ing the cliains in which they were bound, feebly accepted 
 them as inevitable, and even seemed to find melody in 
 their clanking, A more melancholy spectacle l^^urope had 
 not seen since the far-oif time when the magnificent faljric 
 of the Western Empire was shattered by the blows of bar- 
 baric hordes. A nation full of exuberant life had fallen 
 from its high estate, its energies sapped, its memories 
 blurred and confused ; and it scarce ventured to lighten 
 the burden of its miserable present by the hope of a better 
 future. 
 
 The Churches had an unerpiallcd opportunity of 
 proving their Divine mission, but they wholly missed it. 
 The Catholic reaction which swept Germany into war 
 may have moved towards mean issues by mean path.s, 
 but it was at least a reality; its promoters were in 
 thorough earnest. The fire even of their zeal had been 
 quenched in blood, and the action of the Church became 
 a mere dull routine. Long before the Tliirty Years' War, 
 the religious life of the Reformation had been all but lost 
 in bitter controversies between Lutheranism and Cal- 
 vinism, and now there was little to remind Germany that 
 the Reformation had ever meant anything more than the 
 quarrels of dogmatists. A spasmodic effort was sometimes 
 made to reconcile the contending Protestant camps, but 
 these attempts usually increased in the end the intensity 
 of theological spite. On rare occasions a solitary voice 
 would be raised to protest against the open defiance of 
 every moral law by the princes ; but, as a rule, the priests 
 of all creeds were only too ready to find excuses for the 
 crimes and vices of men who had lucrative posts at their 
 disposal. One movement — Pietism — under the guidance 
 of the energetic and high-minded Spener (163 3-1 705), did
 
 6 JXTRODL'CTORV. 
 
 give sic^3 of vitality ; nnd fi)r a tinio it made rapid pro- 
 gress in the leadinj^ cities, arousiii;^' a question, even in 
 llio minds of sonic meml)ers of the rulini; classes, whether, 
 after all, life may not have serious meaning. But Pietism 
 divorced reli^idus feeling from culture, and it was soon 
 de<rra«led inio a dismal faith, whose ohiect was to rob 
 existence of every element of charm and zest. 
 
 The universities fell as far below their true level as 
 the Churches. In the days of the Kenascence a breath of 
 spring had passed iiito them from Italy, and it seemed 
 not improbable that a race of scholars would arise for 
 whom learning would have fascinations apart from its 
 bearing on tliis question or on that. Unluckily, the 
 Itenascence in Germany was represented mainly by theo- 
 logians, and scholarship is a plant of too complex and 
 tender growth to flourish in the stormy atmosphere of 
 religious strife. After the Thirty Years' "War the very 
 memory of a pure devotion to classical literature had 
 died out. Professors were appointed for no ]>articular 
 merit but because tliey had inlluence at headciuarters ; 
 and they delivered what were called their lectures in a 
 sort of barbarous Latin, which few of their students under- 
 stood. Sometimes, for the sake of a higher salary, tliey 
 would be moved from one faculty to another, and then 
 they had to teach a subject wliile learning its elements. 
 The students engaged in every pursuit open to them ex- 
 cept study. Their years at tlie university were usually 
 years of wild riot, the records of the various university 
 towns lieing tilled with complaints of their rudeness. The 
 very existence of universities was to some extent a witness 
 in favour of the humanities, but their testimony was de- 
 livered in feeble and uncertain tones. 
 
 It could not bo expected that literature woiild be of 
 riclier growth than the other elements of the national 
 existence. Circumstances will not jmxluce genius ; Init if 
 genius appears, it cannot unfold its full energies in a 
 troubled or tired epoch. Even the eagle is powerless to
 
 IXTKODUCTORV. 7 
 
 mount lii^flier than tlie atmosplicro uhicli is clastic and 
 strong enougli to sustain the heat of its wings. The hest 
 literary work of the time was done hy the first Silcsian 
 Scliool, \vliicli inchidcd men of very cdnsiderahle natural 
 gifts. Opitz, its founder (i597-i<>39), did good survice hy 
 protesting against the pernicious custom of interlarding 
 the language with foreign words, and hy impressing on his 
 contemi»oraries the fact that in poetry lurm is not less 
 important than substance, and that the poet, consciously 
 or unconsciously, nnist work according to fixed laws. He 
 was, however, deficient in fire and imi)ulse, and his own 
 verses rarely merit a more favourable epithet than 
 "correct." Paul Flemming (1609-40), had he lived, 
 might have given to his spiritless, baiUed age the noblest 
 poetic interpretation it was capable of; and, even in his 
 short career, he achieved work which bears the stamp 
 of real worth. His fine sonnet " An Sich," ^ which retains 
 its hold on the imagination of his countrymen, would 
 alone betoken an upward-striving nature, perplexed but 
 not overwhelmed by the sorrow and mystery of life. But 
 he was struck down on the threshold of serious manhood, 
 and there was no one wdiose shoulders w^ere worthy to 
 bear his mantle. Andreas Gryphius (1616-64) reflected 
 only too faithfully in his melancholy lyrics the gloom of 
 the time, and his dramas, although an advance on previous 
 efforts, afford no evidence that he understood the most 
 elementary conditions of dramatic effect. Personified ab- 
 stractions play a prominent part in them, and characters 
 intended to be real are in no case firmly and consistently 
 outlined. "VMien we consider that at the time the work of 
 Gr}T3hius began that of Shakespeare had been for many 
 years closed, we obtain an accurate measure of the back- 
 ward condition of German literary aim and endeavour. 
 
 If the first Silesian School left beliind it little that is of 
 more than historical value, the ' second left nothing the 
 
 ' This sonnet will be foniul in Dr. Bucbheim's excellent collection of German 
 lyrics, " Deutsche Lyrik," p. 28.
 
 S iXTRODi'CTORV. 
 
 in>»i iiilui-fiiL ( riiie couM pniisi?. In its tiino inU-lli-ctual 
 life had well-ni;,'li perislu'd, and the genius of the nation 
 couM only haltin^^ly follow the steps of forei;j[n leaders. 
 Iloflmannswaldau (1618-79), the Coryphanis of this school, 
 mlopted Second-rate Italian models, and strove to conceal 
 in clouds of magnificent i)hrascs the utter absence of ideas. 
 There are probably few more pretentious or barren verses 
 in existence than the heroic epistles with wliich he asso- 
 ciates the names of famous lovers ; and it may be added 
 that not many German writers have ventured to display 
 a more cynical contempt of ordinary decency. Lohenstein 
 (1635-S3) sounded an even lower deep. In the whole 
 range of literatm-e there are not to be found more bombastic 
 and gi'otesque performances than those of this once famous 
 VTiter. His drama.s have hardly more coherence or reason- 
 ableness than the visions of a nightmare. The age had 
 indeed sunk low which looked upon the author of " Cleo- 
 patra " and "Ibrahim Ba.ssa" as a man of geniu.s. 
 
 If it is possible to express a preference among things 
 almost wholly bad, the so-called Court poets must be pro- 
 nounced rather superior to the ridiculous second Silcsian 
 School, Falling in with the tone of their lords, they pro- 
 fessed themselves the disciples of French masters, so that 
 they were at any rate saved from the mad extravagance of 
 Lohenstein. Their verses are, however, for the most part 
 wholly meaningless performances. They were chielly 
 written on such occasions as the birtli, marriage, corona- 
 tion, or death of some meml^er of a jnincely house ; and 
 hardly once in the dreary volumes wliich preserve them 
 for posterity do we light upon a couplet which suggests 
 genuine laughter or teara. The authors have a stock of 
 conventional sentiments always at hand, and these they 
 bring forward on a]»propriate occasions, decking them in 
 api)roved ornaments. \\y far the m«ist genuine of these 
 "poets" was Canitz (1654-99), a minister at the court of 
 I»randcnburg, who wrote for his (twn amusement. Frederick 
 the Great pronounced him "the rojH' of Germany ;" but
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 9 
 
 that only proves that Frederick had a very imperfect 
 apprehension of I'ope's vivacity, power of delicate expres- 
 sion, and satiric force. Canitz was hut an imitator, and 
 displayed none of tliat impressive mastery of lan^niaj,'e 
 which we iind iu " Tlie Kape of the Lock " and " The 
 Essay on Man." 
 
 It soiiiL'times happens that an epoch incapahle of pre- 
 senting the facts of existence in new furms in the ideal 
 world uf art is rich in satirical literature. In the most 
 degraded periods there are always a few on whom the 
 follies and miseries of their time jar harslily ; and if these 
 attempt to give utterance to their thought, ethical ideas 
 inevitahly predominate over all others. Although the 
 satirical literature of this time docs not rank very higli, 
 it had decidedly greater vitality tlian most otlier forme 
 of writing. Logau, who lived at the beginning of the 
 period, is keen, terse, and incisive ; and towards its close, 
 Neukirch and Wernicke may be named as satirists who 
 aimed shafts, sometimes well directed, against the vices 
 and prejudices of contemporary society. 
 
 Of even more importance than the satirists were the 
 authors of religious lyrics, in which we find the most 
 harmonious utterance of what noble sympathies stQl 
 survived in the heart of Germany. Here and there were 
 men too weary of the real world, too hopeless of its im- 
 provement, even to attack its failings. They turned with 
 sadness from an existence out of which almost every trace 
 of beauty and order had vanished, and sought consolation 
 and repose in communion with heaven. It was this class 
 which gave to the Pietist sect its best representatives, and 
 enabled it for a time to exert on the nation an influence 
 which, in the absence of gi-ander forces, may be considered 
 healthful and elevating. There is hardly in literature 
 anything more pathetic than the strange sense of nearness 
 to a Divine world which pervades the hymns of Gerhardt 
 and Tersteegen. To these men a personal God was a more 
 intimate reality tlian the outM'ard world they saw and
 
 lo L\TRODUCTORY. 
 
 liandleil, Uic thirsting after ri|,'litooiisnoss ft morn power- 
 ful motive than tiny mere pliysical cravin.j^. They never, 
 as many even of the best Enjjlish liymn-\sTiters some- 
 times do, strike a vulgar or imtrue note; the Hebrew 
 psalms alone express the sorrows ami joys of religious life 
 witli like simplicity, intensity, and directness. It is per- 
 haps the most significant fact of the period, that its truest 
 literary achievements are in a department in which no 
 other Aryan people has excelled, and which is in reality 
 as alien to the German as to the French or English in- 
 tellect. 
 
 The degradation which followed the Thirty Years' War 
 continued among the higher classes during the whole of 
 the eighteenth century. There were brilliant exceptions, 
 as in that AVeimar court which has cast a sort of glamour 
 over the political system that produced it, and leads even 
 some Germans to regret tlie downfall of the petty princes. 
 IJut the rulers of most of the small States went from bad 
 to worse, separating themselves by a constantly increasing 
 gulf from their subjects, trampling more and more on 
 every popular right, and displaying enthusiasm only in 
 the hunt for new modes of debaucliery and extravagance. 
 The notorious Augustus the Strong of Saxony, with his 
 three hundred and fifty children, may be taken as an 
 extreme type of his class. While thousands of his sub- 
 jects could just save themselves from starving, he would 
 devote millions of thalers to a single f^tc; and his innu- 
 merable mistresses and favourites amassed vast fortunes. 
 llis successor spent hours daily in his private caliinet 
 smoking tobacco, his highest mental effort confined to the 
 pregnant question, " P.riihl, have I money ? " To which 
 the all-i»uwerful minister unfailingly replied, "Yes, your 
 Majesty." I'-ut tliis dullard was ingenious enough to 
 know lu.w to wring from tlie people their hard-won earn- 
 ings, witli which he too enriched those who ministered to 
 llis passions. Scores of princes might be named who 
 were equally unjust, equally reckless. From about the
 
 INTRODUCTORY. ii 
 
 middle of the century, a favourite mode of raisincj mon(;y 
 was to sell soldiers to foreign powers; and feeljle ])rotust3 
 against this infamous custom were treated as crimes of 
 tlie lirst magnitude. A good many museums and jiicturo 
 galleries, by which succeeding generations have largely 
 profited, were founded ; but these rarely indicated a true 
 love of art. They were, for the most part, mere occasions 
 for the gratification of vulgar vanity. AVhen Frederick 
 the Great was at the height of his j^ower, the only influ- 
 ence he exerted on the majority of the princes was to 
 develop among tliem a taste for military display; and 
 sometimes his imitators, rather than have no army at all, 
 would establish a force in which the officers outnumbered 
 the men. A sense of moral obligation would rarely have 
 checked the excesses of these despots, but a sense of the 
 ridiculous might have had some effect. They never saw, 
 however, the comic aspect of their rule ; they were only 
 impressed by its grandeur. 
 
 So far as active participation in political life was con- 
 cerned, the nation made little or no progress in the 
 eighteenth century. It hardly occurred to any one that a 
 people has a right to a voice in the determination of its 
 own affairs. I'rinces existed for the express purpose of 
 ruling ; that was their business, and if they neglected it, 
 it was usually deemed no part of a subject's duty to re- 
 mind them of the fact. In a political sense, Germans were 
 in truth a nation of slaves, and patriotism, in any large 
 meaning of the term, wholly disappeared. The inhabitants 
 of a State which happened to have a good sovereign might 
 be proud of his virtues, but for generations after the Thirty 
 Years' War there were scarce any symptoms of the old 
 pride in the common German name. 
 
 In other respects, there were at the beginning of the 
 eighteenth century many signs of reawakening. Trade 
 began slowly to revive, so that the middle class, especi- 
 ally in the free towns, was partially released from sordid 
 cares, and had leisure to think of other things besides
 
 13 rXTRODUCTORY. 
 
 tho needful supply of daily bread. In the absence of 
 political activity, it turned its attention to such litera- 
 ture as then existed, and rncouratjed Avriters who met its 
 taste. There beini:; no othfr channel for the national 
 energies, tlie stream which llowcd in this naturally be- 
 came broad and deep. It is from this time we must date 
 that devotion to purely ideal interests, associated with a 
 strange disregard of the outward world, for which the 
 Germans afterwards became famous, and which long made 
 them the most unpractical, hesitating, ami at the same 
 time intellectually most active people in Europe. 
 
 Among the writers who helped to arouse in the minds 
 of Germans discontent with tlieir position, and a longing 
 after better things, a prominent place is due to Thomasius 
 (165 5-1 728), a professor first at Leipzig, and afterwards 
 at Halle. He had, indeed, a contemporary who ranks 
 far higher in European literature, Leibnitz, to some of 
 whose ideas we shall have to return at a later stage. It 
 was Leibnitz who first turned into Clermany that vast 
 philosophical movement, whicli has not yet quite 
 reached its goal, tliat liad been begun and carried on in 
 England by Bacon and Locke, on the Continent by Des- 
 cartes and Spinoza; and he strove with generous enthu- 
 siasm to breathe new life into old imperial forms, and to 
 heal thti difierences between the Catholic and Protestant 
 communions; but, writing chiefly in French and Latin, 
 he addressed scholars rather than tlie j)e(^]>le, Europe 
 ratlior tlian Germany. Thomasius, on the other hand, was 
 without influence outside his own country, and it was 
 emphatically the people to whom he appealed. At a time 
 when life had become rotten to the core, and ap]»earances 
 were alone worshipi)ed, there burned in this man a iiery 
 zeal for reality, a passionate scorn for pretence. And he 
 made it his career to jiroelaim tliat there was still some- 
 thing which men ought to believe in and to reverence. 
 The wretched pedantry of tlie ordinary scholar, tho hate- 
 ful intolerance of the ordinary theologian, he vehemently
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 13 
 
 attacked ; and to tlie superstition manifested in such out- 
 rages as the trial and burning of witclies, he may be said, 
 by the sheer force of his personal indignation, to liave 
 given tlie death-l)low. lie was followed by the "enlight- 
 ened" philosophers, who ojjposed to the ortliodox religion 
 the principles of the English Deists. They ardently de- 
 fended 80-called natural religion, and were never tired 
 of denouncing positive faiths as the invention of priests. 
 Wolf (1679-17 54), starting from the philosophy of Leib- 
 nitz, and striving to bring it within the limits of a rigor- 
 ous system, nominally uplield Christian doctrine; but his 
 utterances were capable of many interpretations, and there 
 were included among his su])porters men of the most 
 diverse schools. During the greater part of the eighteenth 
 century his philosophy was generally accepted at the uni- 
 versities, and exercised considerable influence on the 
 thought of the whole of educated Germany : an inlluence 
 naturally increased by the fact that he had suffered for 
 his opinions.^ 
 
 One of the first evidences of growing popular intelli- 
 gence was the support given to weekly papers of a class 
 corresponding to the " Spectator " and the " Tatler," and 
 professedly written in imitation of these models. The two 
 principal periodicals of this kind w'ere " The Discourses of 
 Painters " and " The Patriot," the former issued in Ziirich, 
 and written by Bodmer and Breitinger, who after^-ards 
 
 1 The story of Wolf's dismissal from asked "what this Fate might be, 
 
 his professorsliip at Halle throws con- about which the theologians were so 
 
 sidorable light upon the social and terrified." One of Wolf's enemies, 
 
 p0litic.1l condition at least of Prussia knowing well Frederick "William's 
 
 in the first h.ilf of the eighteenth weak point, replied, that "if some of 
 
 century. His orthodox colleagues, his tall grenadiers deserted, Wolf 
 
 anxious to get rid of him, entreated would say it was Fate that did it, and 
 
 Frederick William I. to silence so it would be unjust to punish them, 
 
 dangerous a lecturer, accusing him since no one can resist Fate." Tliis 
 
 of teaching Fatalism. The King long settled the question. An order Wiw 
 
 hesitated, .as a popular professor instantly issued requiring the philn- 
 
 brought ni.any foreign students, and sopher, "under pain of the halter," 
 
 therefore a good deal of foreign to quit Prussia within forty-eight 
 
 money, into the State. At length he hours !
 
 14 IXTRODUCTORY'. 
 
 became famous as the chiefs of the so-called Swiss School ; 
 the latter in Hamburg, where a number of t«»leral>ly well- 
 known writers contributed to it. Unluckily, Germany 
 had no Addison and Steele ; and if it had had them, it did 
 not possess that free and richly varieil society which fur- 
 nished the English humourists with ample scope for rail- 
 lerv and sarcasm. The " Discourses of Painters " and 
 "The Patriot" are now very dreary reading, thi'ir maxims 
 commonplace, their wit without point or delicacy; but 
 they served a useful purpose in their day. Through them 
 the middle class was imluced once more to look inwards 
 upon itself, to reflect on its own failings, wants, and diffi- 
 culties ; there was a gentle stii' of thought, and, however 
 sli'dit that might be, however poor the ideal it called forth, 
 it was infinitely better than mere stagnation, and did, in 
 fact, soon lead to great consequences. When thoroughly 
 alive again, the energetic German intellect could not 
 satisfy itself with well-meaning but rather dreary plati- 
 tudes. 
 
 The popular poets of the first half of the eighteenth 
 century contrast favourably with their immediate prede- 
 cessors, and afford the most satisfactory proof that dawn 
 was really gliding out of the darkness. Giinther (1695- 
 1723), who, like Flemming, died when his powers bad 
 scarce lost the freshness of youth, has been honoured by 
 the high praise of Goethe ; ^ and in lyric pot-try he was 
 Goethe's best forerunner. In his songs and odes there is 
 none of the eni[)ty formalism of the Court poets, or the 
 fantastic license of the second Silesian School ; they havo 
 that incommunicable charm which can bo felt but not 
 defined — the charm of life, of real feeling, yet of emotion 
 controll(;(l by art for its own purposes. In his special 
 paths Giinther is equalled by none of his contemporaries ; 
 Btill, there are several in whom we may detect at least an 
 
 1 "Ho may 1)0 called ft poet in tlio creation in life of r second lifo 
 full ncime of the word." " lie l>.>«- throu;;h poetry."- Wiihrhcit uud 
 gciicd all thttt i< nccc»»ft-.7 fur tho DichluiiK, part ii. book 7.
 
 IN TROD UCTOR Y. 15 
 
 attempt, more or less successful, to return to nature for in- 
 spiration. Drockes had the merit of being one of the first 
 to introduce the Germans to English literature. He trans- 
 lated Thomson's "Seasons," and ^vTote many descriptive 
 poems as nearly as possible in the muuner of his English 
 predecessor. Hallcr, whose real talent lay in a quite 
 different direction, adopted the same style, but associated 
 wilh his somewhat wearisome descriptions the treatment 
 of great moral problems. A descriptive poet of far higher 
 rank, a man of genuine poetic feeling, was Kleist, whose 
 poem on " Spring " has a tender beauty that still appeals 
 to German readers. 
 
 Hagedorn, a man of the world, who had lived in England 
 as secretary to the Danish Embassy, was distinguished as 
 a writer of odes, songs, and fables. In form he modelled 
 himself on Horace, but his feeling is usually sincere, 
 bright, and gay. His aim was to make life more cheerful 
 and natural, and many a sly blow he dealt, half laughingly, 
 at the pretentious solemnities and inanities of the time. 
 Allied to Hagedorn were the Halle poets, of whom the 
 chief were Lange and Gleim. They also imitated Horace, 
 but took Anakreon as their favourite guide. They wrote 
 many harmless lyrics, in which they were especially 
 ardent in their praises of the joys of friendship. 
 
 Of more importance than these writers, if we judge his 
 importance by the extent of his influence on the age, was 
 Gottsched, the Leipzig poet and critic (born in 1700). He is 
 now chiefly remembered by the ludicrous description Goethe 
 has given of a visit to him in his old age,i when his fame 
 was a memory of a distant past ; and in some respects he 
 deserved that his name should excite ridiculous associations, 
 for he was vain, jealous, and pompous. But he aimed at 
 great things, and did work that was not wholly fruitless.2 
 
 ^ Wahrbeit und Diclitung, part by which all later historians of Ocr- 
 
 ii. book 7. man literature have largely profited. 
 
 * Gottsched's true significance was A full and impartial account of 
 
 first pointed out in Danzel's learned Gottsched will also be found in 
 
 treatise, "Gottsched und seine Zeit," Biedermanu, ii. pp. 481-497.
 
 i6 TXTRODUCTORV. 
 
 The fecliiif; Mliich sjnirn'il him to activity was rct^rot that 
 GeniKUiy \va.s witliout a i^rcat national literature. Fancy- 
 ing that hard work properly directed was alone needed, 
 lie set himself to lay the foundations of the structure ho 
 wished to see huilt. lie cnlij^htcncd the Germans on the 
 liistory and resources of their language, striving to free it 
 from the atlmixture of foreign elements, and to fix a 
 particular dialect which should serve as the organ of 
 literature for Germans of all states. Critical canons were 
 laid down by him, which, he confidently maintained, if 
 faithfully obeyed, wuuld enable any sensible man to pro- 
 duce a faultless poem on any subject with which poetry 
 should deal ; and he gave innumerable specimens of the 
 application of his own rules, liut it was by means of the 
 drama that he chiefly endeavoured to awaken the intellec- 
 tual life ^f his countrymen. Before his time the German 
 drama was in a pitiful condition. At the courts, the 
 opera and French and Italian plays were alone in favour ; 
 the princes did not dream that any of their boorish sub- 
 jects were capaljle of writing plays to which cars polite 
 could listen. Hence the native stage was in the hands 
 of strolling players ; and they, addressing uncultured 
 audiences, were content with tragedies and comedies of 
 wild extravagance, in which no attempt was made to 
 remain true to the facts of life ; in which the rough jokes 
 of the "Ilanswurst" invariably played a leading j)art. 
 Gottsched resolved to replace these barbarities by a 
 thoroughly organised theatre. Fortunately there was in 
 Leipzig an actress, Frau Neuber, of considerable talent 
 and refinement ; and she, with a company she had gathered 
 around her and trained, entered for a time heartily into 
 the schemes of the reformer. For her, he and his ener- 
 getic wife translated jihiys from the French ; ami he wrote 
 several original dramas, of which the most ambitious was 
 " The Dying Cato," an imitation of the "Cato"of Addison. 
 Although Gottsched condescended to follow Addison's 
 lead, he did so only because Addison wrote in the French
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 17 
 
 style ; the great period of the English drama he regarded 
 witli ahliorrence. Corneille, liacine, and tlieir followers 
 had alone, he believed, since the days of Greek tragedy, 
 worked in the true dramatic spirit; and Germans could 
 achieve success only by submitting to the same laws as 
 their rivals. As for the old native drama, that contained 
 not even a germ of trutli ; and Gottsched expressed his 
 contempt for it by publicly burning Hanswurst in 1737, as 
 Luther had two centuries before burned the I'ope's bull. 
 
 l\)r about ten years (Jottsched ruled supreme in tlie 
 German literary world, lie founded societies, edited peri- 
 odicals, and carried on a vast correspondence with enthu- 
 siastic admirers in all parts of the nation. Xever had the 
 drama excited so much attention; but it was taken as 
 a matter of course, since Gottsched asserted it, that any 
 play which was not an imitation of the French was crude 
 and vulgar. 
 
 It is impossible, however, permanently to check the in- 
 ward groM'th of an epoch, and Gottsched ultimately found 
 that he was fighting against irresistible forces. Bodmer, the 
 Swiss writer already named, translated Milton's " Paradise 
 Lost;" and Gottsched, regarding this as a sort of personal 
 insult, directed against the monstrous poem the whole array 
 of his critical artillery. The translator replied, and thus 
 began the most famous literary controversy of the time, in 
 wliicli not only the chiefs, but the rank and file of thu 
 Swiss and Saxon Schools — Gottsched and his followers were 
 called the Saxon School — took part, the reading public 
 enjoying with incredible zest the rude assaultvS of the 
 combatants. It would be useless to enter into the details 
 of a conflict which is for us without significance, and which 
 was soon forgotten amid more serious strucrrrles. The 
 question in dispute related to the material which it is the 
 poet's business to mould into artistic form. The Swiss 
 School maintained that what is marvellous and startling 
 constitutes the poet's world ; and tliis principle led them 
 to the strange conclusion that fables are the hiiihest 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 i8 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 species of poetry, since in faltlcs events nrc always least 
 in nccDrd with daily experience. Gottsched, on the other 
 liaml, ari^nied that common seiiso must never he outraged 
 hy ptK'try, and tliat in so far as the poet moves l)ey()nd 
 the ninj^e of ordinary tJiought and passion he deserts his 
 proper function. The {general tendency of the Swiss School 
 was to remove tlie working of genius from law ; that of tho 
 Saxon to suliject it to a sot of rigid and narrow rules. 
 Bodmer would have had the poet disport himself without 
 reference to literary tradition; Gottsclied wished to domi- 
 nate the individual altogctlier by tradition intei-preted in 
 a dogmatic and mean spirit. The controversy, although 
 conducted witliout adequate understanding of the issues 
 it involved, was to some extent a crude anticipation of 
 that which long afterwards arose between the Romanticists 
 and Classicists. The young and ardent sjiirits of the time 
 sided, for the most part, with Bodmer; and, as a matter 
 of fact, although it is dillicult to decide whether he or his 
 opponent was farther from the truth, it was he wlio exer- 
 cised the most genial inlhience on talent, and most effec- 
 tually encouraged men to be loyal to their own nature. 
 
 Cluldish as in some respects tliis dispute was, it was a 
 sign of life, and left liehiud it results of infinitely greater 
 importance than itself. A larger class was induced to in- 
 terest itself in literature, and writers began to think more 
 deeply on tlie ends of literary energy and tlic grounds of 
 enduring literary achievement. 
 
 The slight breeze that moved across the dull intellectual 
 life of the middle class was not without inlhience on tho 
 universities. At Ilalle, Thomasius had produced some 
 impression on tlio prevailing ]icdantry; and in 1737 tho 
 opening of the university of (Jottingen, whicli wjis planned 
 in accordance with the highest ideas of the time, gave pro- 
 mise of an era of sjjlendid work. Leipzig university took 
 its place in the new movement through Professors Christ 
 and Krncsti, scholars possessed by the fresli enthusiasm of 
 tlie Benascence, and with i(h'als wliich the thouglit of tho
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 19 
 
 Renascence "was nnt mature enouj,'li to evolve. " Altcr- 
 thumswisscnsulmit" — the science wliich enables men to 
 reconstruct in idea the life of the ancient world — was 
 slowly formed ; and the Greek and Latin languages, instead 
 of being treated simi>ly as ends, began to be looked upon 
 by a select few as instruments of culture. Considerable 
 curiosity was also evinced with regard to the problems 
 of ]ihysical science ; and pliilosophy, as exliibited in the 
 elaborate system of Wolf, formed the subject of earnest 
 if not very intelligent or fruitful debate. 
 
 It was but a feeble advance Germany had made about 
 the middle of the eighteenth century — that is, a hundred 
 years after the Thirty Years' War — for not by a swift 
 bound or two does a people leap to one of those grand 
 epochs in which it awakes to a knowledge of its own 
 wealtli, and fills its eager hands with treasures ; but there 
 was no longer utter hopelessness, the calm, which is no 
 calm, of spii'itual death. There was in the air a tone of 
 expectation; after the dreary years in the wilderness it 
 was hoped a promised land might be near, and leaders 
 fancied they might catch a glimpse of its olive-covered 
 hills, its blue, peaceful skies. 
 
 The expectation was not disappointed. In Goethe, 
 Schiller, Kant, and Fichte the genius of the nation aroused 
 itself, and surpassed the highest anticipations. It was 
 the task of Lessing to prepare the way for the splendid 
 movement represented by these names ; and in fulfilling 
 it, he lived a true and great life, and did work which for 
 its own sake ranks with that of the most brilliant of his 
 successors.
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 GoTTiiOLD EriiR.\TM Lessing M'as Lorn on January 22, 1729, 
 in Kamenz, a small town in Upper Lusatia, a province of 
 what was then the Electorate of Saxony. Kamenz was 
 one of six Lusatian towns which in tlie Middle Ages wrung 
 from the kings of Bohemia and from the Emperors the rights 
 of free cities, and whicli in the wars of the fifteenth century 
 had their own flag and were defended by their own troops. 
 Past the town flows the Elster, which at a point near 
 "Wittenberg is united with the Elbe ; and in the neiglibour- 
 hood is a hill called the Ilutberg, from a tower on wliich — 
 the Lessing tower — there is a pleasant \'iew of the surround- 
 ing country. In 1845 Kamenz was almost destroyed by 
 fire, and tlie only remaining building with which Lessing 
 was directly connected is St. ^Mary's Church, in which his 
 father olUciated for more tlian fifty years. 
 
 The Lessing family can be traced back to the latter part 
 of the sixteenth century, when the name of Clemens 
 Lessigk, a Saxon Lutheran clergymen, appears in a list 
 fif signatures to an important ecclesiastical document. 
 Ilis family lived during three generations at Schkeuditz 
 — a small place vaguely described as between Leipzig 
 and Halle — where Lessing's great-grandfather, Christian 
 Lessing, was burgomaster. The prosperity of the good 
 burgomaster came to a sudden end, for Schkeuditz was 
 one day burned to the ground ; and his son Theophilus, 
 bom immediately before the close of tlic Thirty Years* 
 War, liid to be sent to the imiversity of Leipzig witli no
 
 BOYHOOD. -21 
 
 more than two tlialcrs in his pocket. Tlicophilus, liow- 
 cver, had spirit and ability, and Ijy acting as tutor to the 
 sons of tlie Imrgomaster of Leipzig, managed to keep liijn- 
 self alive with credit until he took liis ^Master's degree. 
 It is worth notice tliat tlie title of the thesis he MTote on 
 this occasion was " De religionum tolerantia," and that he 
 pleaded for tlie toleration not only of the three chief creeds 
 in Germany, but of all creeds. This was so bold a stroke 
 in the seventeenth century that Karl Lessing, the brother 
 and biographer of Gotthold, ventures to hint that Theo- 
 philus just missed being the German Voltaire. To less 
 partial critics it will occur that even then one might be 
 tolerant without being able to WTite "Candide;" but it is 
 at any rate significant that the great liberator of German 
 theological thought in the eighteenth century came of a 
 free stock. Theophilus afterwards settled in Kamenz; and 
 here he rose from one small dignity to another, and at last 
 Ijecame burgomaster, a position he held for twenty-four 
 years. He died at the age of eighty, a year before the 
 Ijirth of the grandson for whose sake liis career has some 
 interest for posterity. 
 
 \Mien Lessing was born, his father, Johann Gottfried 
 Lessing, was one of the Lutheran clerg}'men of Kamenz, 
 •w'here, a year or two afterwards, he became pastor prima- 
 rius or head pastor. He was in many respects above the 
 average of his class. He had been educated at Witten- 
 berg, where he not only became a sound classical and 
 Hebrew scholar, but learned French and English : the 
 latter a language little studied at that time in Germany. 
 The career he proposed to himself was that of a theological 
 professor ; and he was so distinguished at the university 
 that he would have had no difficulty in gratifying his 
 ambition. But ^dien about twenty-five years old — he was 
 born in 1693 — he was invited to become one of the pastors 
 of his native to^Mi, and this invitation he felt it his duty 
 to accept. He remained ever afterwards in Kamenz, and 
 must long have been its most important citizen. In 1725
 
 t% IJ 0)7/0 on. 
 
 he marriod Justine Salome Fdlor, tlie (lau;,'litcr of tho 
 pa.sU»r priniarius whom he siiccoetloil. They had twelvo 
 children, ten sons and two daughters. At that time even 
 a ]xis(or primarius was Init poorly paid, and with their 
 Blender resources the worthy eouiile found it hard to hring 
 up their family in the manner su})posed to become their 
 position. They were often deeply in debt, but the elder 
 Lessing was something of a Stoic and never allowed him- 
 self to be overwhelmed by circumstances. All through 
 life he continued the studies he had begun so well at 
 ■\Vittenl>erg. ])ay after day, his son Karl tells us, he 
 shut himself up for hours among his books, rarely going 
 out except to fulfil some pastoral duty. And his labours 
 were not without result. He translated several of Tillot- 
 Bon's works, and made some original contributions to theo- 
 logical literature. His style is singularly free from the 
 pedantries which deface the writings of German divines 
 of that time. Indeed, it is not mere fancy that has led 
 some\\Titcrs to detect in his modes of expression a little of 
 that clear ring which is .so marked in the works of his son. 
 Although by no means a bigot, he was strictly orthodox, 
 having all the horror of his sect for the Eoman Catholic 
 Church, and disliking etpudly I'ietism on the one hand 
 and Scepticism on the other. 
 
 He was a man of very decided character. No one could 
 defend more energetically rights on which he thought any- 
 body was encroaching. His temper was quick, and he 
 would often utter a hasty word he afterwards regretted. 
 Ivcssing gives an amusing picture of him in a fragmentary 
 note,' which does not seem to have been intended for i)ub- 
 lication. One evening Lessing was about to ^\Tito tho 
 eleventh of his " Antiiiuarian Letters," when a letter was 
 brought to him saying it was not immediately wanti-d, and 
 migirt not be wanted for a long time. " ' That is annoying,' 
 I say to myself; 'how the man will triumi)h ! ' Ix3t him 
 triumph ! 1 will not fret myself; or rather, I shall quickly 
 
 » Silmnitlicho Scbriftcn (Lacbraann ami MnUwvhu), xi. [2), p. 401.
 
 BOYHOOD. 23 
 
 woilc off my anjrer that I inay Lccomc calm ar,'ain and not 
 injure my slue]), about ^vllicIl 1 am more anxious tliau 
 almost anytliing else in the avoiM." '"Kow tlu-n, my 
 dear Irasciliility/ he continues, '^vhere are you? You 
 have an open field ; break loose, give yourself" free exer- 
 cise ! llascal! you will only take me by surprise. .And 
 because you cannot here take me by surprise, because I 
 myself incite you and spur you on, you will, in spite of me, 
 be lazy and quiet. Wliat you will do, do quickly, !Make 
 me gnash my teeth, strike my forehead, bite my under li]).' 
 This last I really do, and immediately my father, exactly 
 as he was, stands before me. That was his custom when 
 anything annoyed him ; and when I wish vividly to recall 
 him, I have only to bite my under lip in this way. If I 
 tliink of him very vividly in connection with anything 
 else, I may be sure that my teeth will at once fasten on 
 my lip. Good, old boy, good ! You were a good man, but 
 hot tempered. How often have you yourself complained 
 to me — complained with a manly tear in your eye — that 
 you so easily lost your temper, so easily hurried yourself 
 into passion ! How often have you said to me, ' Gotthold, 
 take warning by me ; be upon your guard ; for I fear, 1 
 fear — and I should gladly see myself improved in you.' " 
 
 One does not like the good pastor less for his impa- 
 tient little outbursts, for they were the outbursts of an 
 essentially generous nature. His children loved and re- 
 spected him ; and when he died, Lessing, then past forty, 
 felt his loss keenly. Poor as he was, he was always 
 ready to share what he had with those in greater want 
 than himself ; and in order to educate his sons he deprived 
 himself of many things even then deemed by workmen 
 necessaries of life. 
 
 It is a popular notion that all remarkable men have 
 remarkable mothers. This is not perhaps based on a very 
 wide induction ; at any rate, Lessing's mother was not at 
 all remarkable. An honest, faithful woman, looking up 
 to her husband with unbounded reverence, bearing meekly
 
 2+ nOVHOOD. 
 
 the honours of motherhood that rained ratlicr tliickly on 
 licr: that is all we know in licr favour. Her ideas of 
 propriety were ricjid, as became the daupjhter of one pastor 
 primarius and the wife of another. She did not like to 
 see her children doin^ anything out of the way. That 
 they should be respectable and like the children of other 
 ]>oople summed up hor wi.shes for them ; and when any of 
 them ventured to form a scheme of life for themselves, she 
 could show herself Intter and obstinate. 
 
 Tiic eldest of the family was a daui^hter, Justine Salome ; 
 next to her came CJotthold E]ihraim. If we may judge 
 from his ripened character, he was probably a lively, 
 liajipy, restless child: a surmise which is confirmed by a 
 portrait of him when al)out seven years old, which was 
 some time ago found among old luinlier in a room con- 
 nected with St. Mary's Church. ])y his side is his brother 
 Theophilus feeding a lamb. Gotthold has a bonk in his 
 Land, and there are books around and under liis chair. 
 "It is extremely remarkable," says a writer in the "National 
 Gazette," ^ describing this portrait, " how the features of tho 
 man Lessing may be traced in those of the boy : high 
 brow, wide, clear, open eyes, the nose broad ami energeti- 
 cally prominent, on the lips a pleasant smile. He is not 
 a Iteautiful boy, Imt a boy full of bold liveliness." Tlio 
 " wide, clear, open eyes " were dark blue ; and they har- 
 moniseil well with his rich masses of light-brown hair. 
 
 The circumstances amid which he grew up were of tho 
 simplest kind. Every day, morning and evening, the pas- 
 tor assembled the family for jtrayers ; and as he was tho 
 author of a catechism, it is hardly necessary to say that 
 the instruction of his children in the dogmas of tlio 
 Lutheran faith was not neglected. The studies of his 
 father had some effect on Gotthold, The old gentleman 
 used afterwards to say that his eldest son, from his ear- 
 liest years, learned wiih ease ami pleasure, and lilted to 
 wile away time by glancing through books. 
 
 > Sulir** G. E. Lcuiiig, i. ]>. ii.
 
 BOYHOOD. as 
 
 For some time Lcssing was taught at home by Christlieb 
 Mylius, a cousin, of whose brother wo shall afterwards 
 hear. ]Jy-aiul-by he was sent to the town-school of 
 Kamenz. At an early period the pastor and his wife 
 consulted as to his future calling ; and, whether he was 
 considered unusually clever, or simply because it was 
 proper that the eldest son sliould adopt his father's pro- 
 fession, it was decided he should become a clergyman. 
 Loth were most earnest that this scheme should be car- 
 ried out. The Frau I'astorin especially set her heart on 
 seeing Gotthold in the pulpit. Nothing could be more 
 fitting, she thought, than that he should carry on the tra- 
 ditions of his family on both sides ; and then, perhaps — 
 who could tell ? — he too might one day become pastor 
 primarius ! 
 
 There were at that time three great schools in Saxony, 
 called Plirstcnschulen, or Prince's Schools, which the 
 famous Elector Maurice had fonned, at the time of the 
 Eeformation, from three suppressed monasteries. They 
 were intended mainly for the education of boys who were 
 to become Lutheran pastors. At one of these, tlie school 
 of St. Afra, in Meissen, a scholarship, in the gift of the 
 Carlowitz family, was obtained by Lessing, and tliither he 
 was sent in the summer of 1741. The discipline of the 
 school was very strict, and had something of a monastic 
 character. A great deal of time was spent in the public 
 reading and exposition of the Bible, and the boys were 
 systematically taught theology and Church history. In 
 other respects their training was chiefly "classical," 
 Some hours in the week were devoted to French, mathe- 
 matics, geography, and history; and the older pupils 
 received lessons in Hebrew, logic, and moral philosophy. 
 But such studies were kept wholly subordinate to the 
 study of Latin and Greek; and of these, Latin had the 
 largest share of attention. The chief classical authors 
 ■were read, but not, it would seem, in a very intelligent 
 spirit. Only a few schoolmasters can be expected to
 
 26 BOYHOOD. 
 
 nrouse in their pupils a living interest in ancient life and 
 literature. One very good reason is that only a few 
 sehoohnasters have themselves this interest ; and those 
 who have, do not find that the higher sympathies aro 
 easily touched in boys. Hence it is perhajis inevitable 
 that a so-callud classical education should in most cases 
 consist of little more than some ac(]uaintance with gram- 
 matical rules, and a certain skill in applying them in 
 composition. In our day, comparative philology, when 
 mastered by a teaclier who knows liis work, is a ])0werful 
 means of awakening the interest of even dull lads ; but 
 in Lessing's day comparative philology did not exist. It 
 probably never occurred to the masters of St. Afra's that 
 it would be helpful to boys to realise that the Latin and 
 Greek over which they spent so many dreary hours were 
 once the languages of actual men and women ; that the 
 works it was the business of their lives slowly to spell out 
 had been conceived by writers who had lived and suffered, 
 and had been enjoyed by readers to whose best thouglits 
 they had given utterance. Great ideas and beautiful 
 images were neglected for niceties of grammar, and tlic 
 last flower of culture was believed to be the power to put 
 together Latin and Greek words in the form of "verses." 
 
 It is sometimes supposed to add interest to the charac- 
 ter of a distinguished writer when a l>rilliant manhood 
 can be contrasted with an indolent youth ; but no such 
 contrast can be presented in the case of Lessing. His was 
 one of those natures which ripen to the last, but flower 
 early. "He is a horse that must have double fodder," 
 wrote the rector to his father, when Lessing had been 
 more than four years at school ; "tasks which others find 
 too hard are child's i)lay to him." He afterwards wrote 
 very forcible and accurate Latin prose; and his Latin 
 ej)igraTns are as terse and true to the spirit of ^fartial as 
 any of his day. Yet he is said to have cared little for the 
 composition exercises witli which the larger part of the 
 boys' time was daily occupied. It was actual contact
 
 BOYHOOD. 27 
 
 with the minds of ancient autliors tliat kindled liia 6}Tn- 
 pathy and inti-rost. 
 
 Tlicrc was then, as now, in tlic liiglier class of German 
 schools, an admirable custom of leaving the boys at free- 
 dom for some time each week to work as they jdcased. 
 They were expected to make good use of tlie time thus 
 granted tlicm, but no particular study was prescribed. 
 The f;n-c)urite writers of Lessing during these free hours 
 were Theophrastus, Tlautus, and Terence. His early love 
 for the two latter authors is easily explained. In the 
 seclusion of a country school he had little ojiportunity of 
 feeling the cliarni of actual life; but he had all tlie im- 
 pulses wliich lead even a boy to find in the real world of 
 humanity tlie best stimulus to thought. In later years he 
 was no reclu.se ; and he did not make the mistake, so com- 
 monly made by literary men, of exalting literature above 
 the world which it is its function to interpret. He 
 mingled constantly with his fellows, deliberately seeking 
 out tliose with tastes and aspirations not his own. This 
 is one cause of that absence of formality, that freshness 
 of tone, which give interest even to his least important 
 writings, and which are to be found to the same extent 
 in the works of no other German. For one with so 
 great a capacity of enjoying the daily existence of men, 
 no ancient poets could have a more intense fascination 
 than riautus and Terence. The Greek tragic poets move 
 in a world above a boy's reach. It would be possible for 
 Lessing even at school to read them with enjoyment ; but 
 the sublime sorrows they depict, their sense of wliat is 
 great and awful in man's relations to the Kosmos — ^he 
 could not then have the inward eye to which tliese splen- 
 dours are revealed. But by the Latin writers of comedy 
 the clash of human interests is not taken too seriously ; it 
 excites a laugh, and its graver aspects are forgotten. Here, 
 therefore, Lessing found exactly what met his half-con- 
 scious craving for the movement of life ; and the same 
 causes, although in a less degree, would account for the
 
 28 BOYHOOD. 
 
 l>lcasure lie took in Thcoj.lirastus, if, as we may nssume, 
 it uas the " Characters" lie was fond of reading. "Tlieo- 
 phrastus, riautus, and Terence," he wrote,^ wljcn ahout 
 twonty-iive, "were my world, which I stndicd wilh deli;^dit 
 within the narrow limits of a monastic school. How t^ladly 
 should I wish those years back ! — the only years in which 
 I have lived hnjtpily." 
 
 The mathematical master at St. Afra's, Ilerr Klimm.was 
 a man of high ability, and of considerable literary as well 
 as scientific culture. As a rulQ, the boys did not under- 
 stand or love him, and, like many very refined school- 
 masters, ho had difliculty in maintaining his authority. 
 LessLng was greatly attracted by him, and owed much to 
 his inlluence. It was a favourite dictum of Ilerr Klimm's 
 that language ought not to be treated as an end in itself, 
 but only as the key by which the treasures of literature, 
 science, and philosophy are unlocked. This accorded with 
 all the tendencies of Lessing's intellectual life, and deep- 
 ened and strengthened them. The influence of his friend 
 led him to study mathematics. He never carried his 
 mathematical knowledge very far ; still, his achievements 
 in this department were mentioned with particular praise 
 in the official reports of his later years at school. He 
 translated three books of Euclid, began to collect materials 
 for a history of mathematics, and when he left school 
 the subject of his leaving oration was " I)e mathematica 
 barbarorura." In asking his friend Mendelssohn, in 175 8, 
 to give him his opinion of the line of beauty, he ^^Tote: 
 " Lut write to me so that I may understand you, for I 
 know less of geometry than I once did. "Wlien, however, 
 I return to Berlin, you will besurpriscil liow niucli I shall 
 devote myself to that study." Sir "William Hamilton has 
 told the world that mathematical training is inc()m]iatible 
 with philosophical thinking. If that is true, so much the 
 worse for philosophical thinking; but it may be questioned 
 whether any other study has a more invigorating and steady- 
 
 * SUmmtlicbc Schriftcn, iv. j.. 4. - H. y. xii. p. 129.
 
 BOYHOOD. 29 
 
 ing effect on the growing mental powers. Mathematics do 
 not teach a man to look carefully to his premisses, but they 
 do teach him to see, when his itremisses arc assumed, that 
 he does not draw from them illogical conclusions. Less- 
 ing's astonishing power of clear statement in argument, his 
 readiness to detect a fallacy, and his delight in pursuing 
 principles to their last issues, were unquestionably to a 
 large extent duo to his experience in grappling with 
 geometrical problems. 
 
 It is notewortliy that he also acquired, from intercourse 
 with his mathematical master, some interest in physical 
 science : an interest he retained throughout life. To the 
 same influence he owed considerable acquaintance witli 
 the best contemporary literature of Germany. 
 
 Lessing's close study of Plautus and Terence had not only 
 a strong effect on his general culture ; it awakened within 
 liim a passionate love for comedy. This was deepened by 
 his reading of French, and probably even thus early of 
 English literature. He even began to evolve dramatic 
 schemes of his own. " In years," he teUs us,i " when I 
 knew men only from books — happy he who never knows 
 them more intimately! — I occupied myself in forming 
 conceptions of fools, whose existence in no way concerned 
 me." One attempt at comedy — " Damon ; or, True Friend- 
 ship " — he completed ; and although in itself worth little, 
 it is for a boy an extremely creditable production, and 
 interesting as the first step in a career in w^hich he was 
 afterwards to win high distinction. The aim of the piece 
 is to present a perfect type of loyalty and generosity. 
 Two friends, Damon and Leander, love a widow, who for 
 some time cannot make up her mind which she will marry. 
 At last Lisette, her maid, hits upon a device by which they 
 may be tested. Each has at sea a vessel in which is 
 embarked his whole fortune, and it is announced to them 
 that he will be tlie lucky suitor whose venture is most 
 successful. Immediately before hearing this, Leander has 
 1 s. S. iv. p. 4.
 
 30 BOYHOOD, 
 
 loarncil that his ship is lost. lie is in despair, but Lisetto 
 sug'^ests the iik'a uf ])r()posinj; to Damon that, as a proof 
 of frientlship, they should exc-hanu'e vessels; and ho is 
 treacherous enough to grasp eagerly at this i)lan. ]Ie 
 is, however, forestalled by Damon, who is unwilling to havo 
 even the chance of gaining an advantage over his friend ; 
 and, in ignorance of the supposed misfortune, asks Leaiider 
 to agree that their profits shall be equally divided between 
 them. "With a great show of exalted feeling, Leander 
 assents. Ultimately it turns out that Damon's vessel, not 
 Leander's, h;is been lost ; and then, of course, Leander for- 
 gets their arrangement, and claims the widow. But sho 
 has learned their true character, and, in favour of Damon, 
 sets aside not only Leander, but a third suitor who 
 suddenly appears, and, on the strength of great riches, 
 asks her hand. Leander, detected, is about to move off in 
 disgrace, but Damon generously calls him back and for- 
 gives him. " I know," he says, " how difHcult it is to find 
 a friend, and if, for a first ofTence, one deserts him, one will 
 seek for a lifetime and find none." "Damon," replies 
 Leander, "judge from these tears whether I am affected." 
 " J )amon, 1 )amon," the widow exclaims, " I fear, I fear, I 
 will become jealous, not, indeed, of a woman, but certainly 
 of Leander !" 
 
 A scheme of this sort is the work of one who knows 
 neither life nor the stage; but it is remarkable that 
 anything having the appearance of a comedy should have 
 been written at all ; and here and there the reader is sur- 
 prised by a certain vivacity both ('f idea and expression. 
 
 A much more ambitious eflbit was Lessing's second 
 ].lay, "The Young Scholar" (" Der Jungo Gelehrte"); 
 but as this was only i)artly planned and executed at 
 school, it would be out of place t<> <1<> more than refer 
 to it liere. II(! also attempted original work of another 
 kind. In Daller's style he composed a lillle ]ioem on 
 "The Plurality of Worlds," some lines of which, yeara 
 afterwards, he thought " tolerably well expressed." Fol-
 
 BO YHOOD. 31 
 
 lowing ill r;i('im',s footsteps, he amused liimsclf liy trans- 
 lating and imitating Anakreon. 
 
 A little paper, written in 1743, for liis father, on "The 
 likeness of one year to anotlier," displays in a crude 
 form many of the characteristic qualities of liis prose style. 
 lie alludt'S with contempt to the "melancholy, discon- 
 tented, and ungrateful people," who contiimally complain 
 that the world is steadily degenerating. The object of the 
 paper is to show, on grounds bolli of reason and Scripture, 
 that the present times are as good as the past, and that the 
 future will be as good as tlie present. Such phrases as 
 "The world has the greatest perfection of its kind;" "All 
 things iu the world harmonise with each other ; " " God 
 maintains the world by a number of forces which He 
 created for it ; " " These forces exist in the same number 
 and form as at the beginning of the world," prove that 
 already, when only a boy of fourteen, he knew something 
 — probably through talk with Herr Klimm — of philo- 
 sophical speculations. The style is somewhat stiff, but 
 the ideas are logically arranged, and his meaning shines 
 tlirough his words with absolute distinctness. 
 
 While at St. Afra's, Lessing not unnaturally caught the 
 pedantic tone of the place. A letter addressed to his sister 
 in 1743 is written in an amusingly severe tone. He lec- 
 tures her for not WTiting to him, and says he is not sure 
 whether she is unable or merely unwilling to write. Both 
 suppositions are, in the eyes of the young moralist, shame- 
 ful. As to want of power, he cannot understand how a 
 person can be reasonable, and talk reasonably, and yet be 
 unable to compose a letter. " Write as you talk, and you 
 will write beautifully." She had left school when twelve 
 years old, because it seemed disgraceful to learn anything 
 after that age; "but who knows which is most dis- 
 graceful — to learn something even in one's twelfth year, 
 or in one's eigliteenth or nineteentli not to be able to 
 write a letter ? " As he writes on the 30th of December, it 
 occurs to him that he must express some good wish for his
 
 32 BOYHOOD. 
 
 sister. " At tliis scftson almost every one lias pood wishes. 
 What shall I wish for you ? I must think of something 
 special. I wish for you that all your worldly tastes may 
 be stolen from you. That would, perhaps, be more useful 
 to you tliau if some one put into your purse a New Year's 
 gift of a hundred ducats." A boy of iifteen who writes in 
 this superior way is not exactly an agreeable person ; but 
 it is easy to detect a kind heart and unusual power of 
 intellect beneath his harmless airs of patronage. 
 
 "A good boy, but somewhat satirical," wrote an inspec- 
 tor concerning this energetic pupil. The fact, however, 
 that he could design such a comedy as "The Young 
 Scholar " is proof that his mocking humour was directed 
 as much against his own faults as against those of his 
 fellows. His simple truthfulness of character is illustrated 
 by a little incident that occurred towards the close of Ids 
 school life. Some of the older boys acted as inspectors, 
 and these met the rector, the associate rector, an<l masters 
 on Saturday evenings to talk over matters of common 
 interest. It happened one week, while Lessing was an 
 inspector, that the boys came together in the mornings 
 very late for prayers. The rector knew the cause very 
 Well, but did not like to state it openly. In the hope, 
 therefore, that the truth would somehow come out, ho 
 mentioned the fact, and asked if any one could explain it. 
 " I know," whispered Lessing to his neighbour. The rector, 
 overhearing him, asked him to tell what he knew. Lessing 
 hesitated, but, on being urged, honestly declared, "The 
 associate rector does not come punctually; the pupils, 
 therefore, think there is no hurry." "Admirable Less- 
 ing!" exclaimed tlie astonished culprit, ])i(|ued by this 
 truthful statement. He never quite forgave the ollence. 
 AVheu Lessing had left school, and his brother Theophilus 
 was being entered as a pupil, the advice of the associate 
 rector to the new-comer was : " For heaven's sake be dili- 
 gent, but not so pert as your brother!" The wcjrtliy 
 schoolmaster had other reasons for not being particularly
 
 BOYHOOD. 33 
 
 fond of Tossing, for probably no other boy saw so clearly 
 the weak points both of the system of teachinj,' and those 
 who carried it out. " When in Meissen," he wrote to his 
 father in 1750,^ "I saw that one had to learn much there 
 which one could make no use of in the world, and now I 
 see it far more clearly." A few months later, in 175 1, the 
 associate rector, in reporting the progress of Theophilus, 
 having made some disparaging remark on his former pu])il, 
 Lcssing wrote again to his father :^ " It has pleased the 
 good associate rector to express once more a little in this 
 letter his dislike of me. He may, however, be assured 
 that I have all respect for him, although I do not regret 
 that I have not followed him in everything. I know well 
 that he cares little about making reasonable men of his 
 pupils, if he can only make them thorough Princes' scholars; 
 that is, people who believe blindly in their teachers with- 
 out considering whether or not they are pedants." It is 
 clear that Lessing's reverence for authority, even in early 
 youth, was of a very modified kind. 
 
 A boy of independent spirit, who begins to judge his 
 masters by an ideal standard, soon longs for release. The 
 routine of school irritates him ; he has received from it all 
 the good it is able to give, and feels that his intellectual 
 life is hampered and depressed by tasks which once fostered 
 and enriched it. This was the case with Lessing. The full 
 course at St. Afra's lasted six years, but before he had 
 been five years there he had reached the highest division 
 of the first class. He therefore entreated his father to set 
 him free. The pastor, who was a great stickler for foims, 
 disliked the idea of his son going away before the proper 
 time; but at last, in the spring of 1746, consented to apply 
 for his dismissal. To the first application the school 
 authorities returned an unfavourable answer; but Lessing, 
 thirsting for liberty, gave his father no peace till a fresh 
 effort was made ; and this time the request was granted. 
 On June 30, 1746, he took his leave; and we may believe 
 
 1 s. S. xLi. p. 23. 2 s, s. xii. p. 25. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 34 ^0 YIIOOD. 
 
 that ho went home in high spirits, ghid to escape from 
 trammels that had become intolerable. 
 
 A letter to his father, dated February i, 1746, contrasts 
 strongly with the one written to his sister more than two 
 years before. It is simple and direct, without a trace of 
 unhealthy self-consciousness. At his father's request he 
 had written a poem in praise of his patron, Lieutenant- 
 Colonel von Carlowitz. The pastor had praised this little 
 achievement, but thouglit it ouglit to be shorter. In his 
 letter Lessing promises to do his best to improve it, but 
 characteristically adds that he thinks it a sad waste of 
 time to employ himself in such a manner. "My best 
 comfort in the matter is, that I do it at your command." 
 
 The letter refers to an experience which had brought 
 Lessing into rough contact with the outer world, and 
 which greatly quickened his desire to get away from school. 
 The stormy career of Frederick II. of Prussia, then a 
 vigorous man of thirty-two, had fairly begun, and all 
 Europe saw tliat in him it had to deal with a new force of 
 vast significance. In 1744, seeing that Maria Theresa was 
 making way against her rival, Charles VII., and fearing, 
 on good grounds, that as soon as she was mistress of her 
 resources she would try to regain Silesia, he declared war 
 against her a second time. For about two years the 
 monarchs confronted each other, Maria Theresa bent upon 
 winning back her lost lands, and Frederick equally deter- 
 mined to keep them. Saxony, an ally of Frederick in the 
 first Silesian War, aided tlie Queen of Hungary in tlie 
 second, hoping to absorb one or two Prussian towns. The 
 result was, that the contest was carried on partly on Saxon 
 ground ; and the last battle of the war was fought at 
 Kesselsdorf, a village not far from Meissen, on December 
 15, 1745. The excitement at Meissen was intense. In 
 every house in the town, Lessing tells his fatlier, there 
 were thirty or forty wounded soldiers ; and hardly any 
 one dared go near them, so great was the dread of fever.
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 35 
 
 " In the whole town, however," he continues,^ " there is 
 no place, compared with its former circumstances, in a 
 more pitiful position than our school. Formerly it was 
 full of life ; now it is quiet as the grave. Formerly it was 
 rare to see a single healthy soldier in it ; now there is a 
 crowd of wounded here, who cause us no little trouble. The 
 dining-room has become like a slaughter-house, and we are 
 compelled to dine in the smaller auditorium. The boys who 
 went away are so afraid of disease that they have as little 
 desire to return as the school managers have to set up 
 again the three tables whose use has been discontinued." 
 Even in the midst of such surroundings Lessing writes 
 calmly, but he was deeply impressed by what he saw, and 
 obtained a glimpse of the horrors of war which dissipated 
 all sentimental illusions as to its real nature. 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 8.
 
 UM 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 LEirziG. 
 
 When Lcssing went Lome from school ho was in his 
 eighteenth year. Having seen little of men, he was shy 
 and awkward, hut he had already given evidence of an 
 eager and restless spirit, and had dreams of the future 
 which were not bounded by the small world of Kamenz. 
 As his parents, whatever his own plans might be, destined 
 him for the Church, lie would probably have been sent to 
 the university of Wittenberg, which, as the home of the 
 Reformation, kept up its fame as a theological school ; but 
 in connection with the Leipzig university a scholarship 
 could be obtained from the Kamenz magistrates ; and the 
 pastor primarius, who had now a large family, was too 
 poor to let this chance slip. Lcssing, therefore, went to 
 the university of Leipzig in the autumn of 1746. 
 
 Leijizig is now a larger and richer town than it was 
 then, but relatively it is not nearly so important. It was 
 the centre of the book trade of Germany, and its half- 
 yearly fairs were visited by crowds of well-to-do traders 
 from all parts of the country. A constant stir of life was 
 thus kept up, and a considerable class amassed wealtli 
 enough to enabhi it to form a leisurely and cultivated 
 society. In Goethe's " W;ihrhcit und Uichtung" we havo 
 a vivid picture of the city about twenty years later : it waa 
 not essentially dillereut when Lcssing first entered it aa a 
 young and ambitious student. 
 
 The university was the chief centre both of the social
 
 LEIPZIG. 37 
 
 and intellectual liTe of tlie town. It was then, as it is 
 now, one of the leading German universities. In theology 
 it had no professors that could excite the interest of a keen 
 and ardi'Tit intellect; ortliodox Lutheranisin was taught 
 in the old dry manner. Nor were the law and medical 
 faculties particularly distinguished. Tlie philosophical 
 faculty, however, possessed in the two professors already 
 named, Ernesti and Christ, the most influential rejjresen- 
 tatives of the awakened interest in thought and learning 
 that had begun to manifest itself. Ernesti was at this time 
 an enthusiast for classical literature, and was particularly 
 distinguished for his skiU in interpreting its allusions and 
 spirit by reference to the remains of ancient art, and the 
 evidence then brought to light respecting ancient institu- 
 tions and customs. Professor Christ was quite as finished 
 a scholar, and had a far more extensive knowledge of art, 
 having had excellent opportunities of studying it both in 
 Italy and the Netherlands. He may be regarded as the 
 forerunner of Winckclmann, on whom, as on Ileyne, he 
 exercised considerable influence.^ 
 
 Gottsched, although his authority had been crippled by 
 his controversy with Bodmer, retained much of his old 
 power, and he had gathered around him devoted admirers, 
 who considered it their function to defend and spread 
 abroad his ideas. A number of them had founded a journal, 
 the " Bremen Contributions," published simultaneously at 
 Leipzig and Bremen. It began by loyal adherence to the 
 creed of the master, but gradually diverged into a freer and 
 simpler style. Among the contributors were the brothers 
 Schlegel, father and uncle of the two Schlegels who, in a 
 later generation, were the critical leaders of the Bomantic 
 School. Johann Elias Schlegel is admitted to have had 
 peculiar power as a writer of comedy, but an early death 
 prevented him from doing it full justice. Gellert was also 
 
 For an elaborate discussion of the pp. 64-79, who, however, according 
 merits of Ernesti and Christ, see to Guhmucr, somewliat overrates the 
 Daoxel'a Gotthold Ephraim Lesaing, importance of Chriat.
 
 38 LEIPZIG. 
 
 ft contrilmtor. ITo lia<l boon a successful professor for 
 aliout two years, and was soon to V)econie the most popular 
 author in Germany : an author whom Frederick the Urcat, 
 after a famous interview, condescended to call "the most 
 reasonaVde of German snrants." Klupstock was another 
 member of this circle, lie was a little older than Lessing, 
 but was, like him, a student, and had come to Leipzi},' only 
 a few months before him. His "Messiah" had been 
 jtartly planned for some time, and in about two years the 
 three first cantos appeared in the " ]>rcmen Contributions." 
 Sentimental enthusiasm, vanity, and i)iety were already 
 among the marked elements of his character. 
 
 II. 
 
 For a little time Lessing was rather overwhelmed by the 
 contrast between the still life of St. Afra's and the inces- 
 sant movement of a great town. In a letter from Uerlin 
 to his mother, two years afterwards, he mentions that his 
 first uKjnths in Leipzig were months of solitude. Not even 
 at Meissen had he been so much alone. " Always among 
 books, occupied only witli myself, I thought of other men 
 as seldom jterhaps asofGod."^ Theology, as taught by 
 the ])rofL'.ssors, he quietly ignored, and gave his attention 
 chiefly to literature. I'rofessors Christ and Ernesti were 
 his favourite teachers, and from botli he received light and 
 stimulu.s. 
 
 One endowed with so much energj' and such warm 
 sympathy witli life was not likely to remain long a mere 
 recluse. He Ijegan to look about him ; he associated with 
 other students, and the first resultwas — that he felt ashamed 
 of himself. "I found," we read in the letter to his mother 
 already quoted, " tliat books might make me learned, but 
 would never make a man of mo. I ventured out from my 
 room among my fellows. Good God! what an inequality 
 I felt between myself and others! Itustic shyness, a stiff 
 and ungainly body, complete ignorance of polite manners, 
 
 > Siirnrntliclio Scbrift«n, xll. p. 7.
 
 LEIPZIG. 39 
 
 hateful airs which made every one think I despised liim : 
 these were, in my own judgment, my good qualities." lie 
 forthwitli exercised himself so diligently in dancing, fencing, 
 and vaulting, that his hotly soon ceased to he " stiff and 
 ungainly ; " and hy constant association with men he 
 acquired that manliness and freedom of hearing which 
 distinguished him throughout life. Disgusted witli the 
 formalism and pedantry of the university, he hecame irre- 
 gular in his attendance even at the lectures of Christ 
 and Krnesti ; and although he must have read a great deal, 
 he read after no prescribed system. At first he shared a 
 room with a student of more approved habits ; but this 
 young gentleman, who became a rather distinguished 
 scholar of the old type, ultimately felt it necessary, after 
 many vain expostulations, to part from a companion who 
 so recklessly set custom at defiance. 
 
 Lessing was of an eminently social nature. In one sense 
 he was all his life a lonely man, fur he had ideas that 
 were but ill understood by his most valued friends. But 
 wherever fellowship was possible he sought after it, and 
 found in it not only relaxation for overwrought energies, 
 hut the air and sunsliine tliat best foster tlie permanent 
 moods of noble minds. It might be thought that, of ail 
 social circles open to him, he would have preferred that of 
 the writers to the " Bremen Contributions." They were, 
 however, too much of a clique to suit his free sympathies ; 
 so that, although he knew several of them individually, he 
 kept away from them as a body. A young professor, 
 named Kiistner, had in some respects a nearer affinity for 
 him than any other whom he met in Leipzig, Ivustner 
 lectured on mathematics and philosophy, hut he had also 
 studied physical science, and maintained fresh interest in 
 literature. Besides his regular lectures, he held disputa- 
 tions in which his students met him on equal ground, 
 each being invited and encouraged to speak freely. The 
 subjects of debate were philosophical, hut under his 
 generous guidance they often trenched on every field of
 
 40 LEIPZIG. 
 
 thought. Nothing was assuincil as starting-point or goal ; 
 the aim was simply to evoke truth from the contact of idea 
 with idea. This was precisely adapted to Lcssing's nature. 
 Tliere are thinkers of great type who reap little profit from 
 discussion. Their mental processes are calm and slow ; 
 they are perj^lexed by the din of contention ; if opposed, 
 their most familiar ideas momentarily slip from their 
 grasp. To them truth is something to be silently brooded 
 over ; to the inmost depths of their spirits light reveals 
 itself through peaceful meditation. Lessing was not of 
 this order. It was by the dialectic method alone that he 
 rose from height to height and widened the range of liis 
 vision. He loved to confront an opinion with its opposite, 
 to thrill with the stir and glow of intellectual battle. To 
 hear any conviction strongly stated roused in him the 
 desire to qualify it, or to suggest grounds for calling it in 
 question. Thus in conversation he would often take a 
 side with which he had no sympathy ; not for the barren 
 pleasure of victory, but to see how much could be said by 
 those who really lield that for which he argued. Ho was 
 sometimes blamed Ijy one party for maintaining views 
 which another found fault Avith him for rejecting. During 
 the Seven Years' War, for instance, his friends in Leipzig 
 were shocked by his Prussian sympathies ; while, after he 
 went to Berlin, he offended his friends there by being, as 
 they thought, too partial to his native Saxony. Even in his 
 inward life it was through struggle that he pushed to- 
 wards new conclusions. If there was no actual o]tpouent, 
 he imagined one, and equipped him with tlie surest and 
 most polished armour he could devise. It was, therefore, 
 natural tliat he should feel drawn towards Kiistner, and 
 heartily enjoy his disputations. Tlicse disputations were, 
 indeed, the only part of univer.sity work to whicli he faith- 
 fully attended during tlie whole of liis student life. 
 
 A more intimate, altlinugh not more fruitful, relation 
 than that formed with Kiistner, was his friendship witli 
 Christlob ^lylius, the brother of the young man who had
 
 LEIPZIG. ' 41 
 
 acted for some timo as Lessing's tutor. The name of 
 Mylius had long been familiar to the Lessing family, and 
 their associations \si\X\ it Avere far from pleasant. When 
 Lessing was at the Kamenz school, the rector, a young 
 man fresh from Leipzig university, and an enthusiastic 
 admirer of Gottsched, ventured to puLlisli a small work 
 on " The Theatre as a School of P^hxpience." Intense was 
 the anger aroused in Kamenz by this audacious act. That 
 an instructor of youth, whose duty it was to present to his 
 pupils the very form and body of Lutheran propriety, 
 should have a word to say for the theatre, seemed to pious 
 parents a terrible instance of depravity. The magistrates 
 rebuked tlie offender ; and pastor primarius Lessing de- 
 nounced from the pulpit his dangerous doctrines. When 
 the rector soon afterwards left Kamenz, Mylius, who had 
 then been a year at the Leipzig university, addressed to 
 him a number of verses congratulating him on his depar- 
 ture from so ignorant a town, and making fun of the 
 magistrates and the pastor. For this liberty Mylius was 
 condemned to pay a fine or suffer a week's imprisonment ; 
 and ever afterwards he was held in abhorrence by the 
 authorities he had laughed at. By the time Lessing be- 
 came a student, he had made himself notorious in Leipzig 
 as a man of strange and wayward impulses. To appear 
 " respectable " was not one of his ambitions. According 
 to Karl Lessing, Mylius with shoes down at heel, worn 
 stockings, and tattered coat, was a familiar figure in the 
 streets. As he was poor, friends would sometimes ask 
 him to share their quarters ; but they usually had abundant 
 reason to regret their good nature, for he could never be 
 brought to understand that he was not in every sense 
 at home, and his habits did not commend themselves to 
 a fastidious taste. He was, however, universally acknow- 
 ledged to be a man of talent. Even the great Gottsched 
 had recognised his ability ; and encouraged by the literary 
 dictator, he had written several plays which had been well 
 received. He was an ardent student of physical science.
 
 42 LEIPZIG. 
 
 in which ho acquired considcraLlc distinction. A paper, 
 entitled " Tlic Freethinker," lie ha<l edited fur about a 
 year, al'lerwards publishing the numbers in a single volume; 
 and it had attracted attention both by its freedom of tone — 
 its license, according to the theologians — and its compara- 
 tively vigorous style. AV'hile Lessing was in Leiji/ig, 
 Z^Iylius edited two other papers, one after the other, with 
 the titles, " Encouragements to the Pleasures of Senti- 
 ment," and " The Investigator of Nature : " petty ell'orts 
 in journalism which, by their association with Lessing, 
 have been saved from oblivion. Mylius was not at heart 
 serious or noble enough to feel the need of or to excite pro- 
 found love ; but Lessing was struck by his originality, and 
 their acquaintance soon ripened into such friendship as is 
 jiossible without the awakening of the deepest symi»athies. 
 
 Another friend of Lessing at this time was Naumann, 
 who was associated with ]\Iylius in his journalistic work, 
 and who wrote without dilliculty any amount of prose or 
 verse that might be demanded of him. lie was a kindly, 
 good-humoured man, a little puzzle-headed, fond of fun, 
 and never taking amiss the lively banter of his friends. 
 lie always had a supply of manuscript poems in his 
 pocket, which he would read on the smallest provoca- 
 tion, manifesting considerable skill in warding oil hostile 
 criticism. 
 
 Nearer Lessing's own age, and affording more congenial 
 companionship, was a young student, Weisse, who had 
 entered the university a year or two before him. Although 
 without a touch of genius, Weisse had literary ambition, 
 and was in the end fairly successful as a dramatist and 
 critic. Lessing and he were for a time almost inseparable ; 
 but "Weisse himself, in his autobiography, confesses that the 
 benefit derived from their intercourse was wholly on his 
 side. He had been imperfectly trained at school, and had 
 but sliglit acquaintance with literature. Lessing, who had 
 already ranged over wide fields, and into whose mind ideas 
 crowded too swifllv for full and immediate control, com-
 
 LEIPZIG. 43 
 
 Tnunicatcd to liis friend somctliiiig of liis own knowlodj^o 
 and onthusiasni ; and we may well believe tliat in this 
 case the mere act of giving was its own great reward. 
 
 in. 
 
 "We liavc seen that even at scliool Lessing amused him- 
 self by writing comedies and anacreontic verses. It was 
 not likely that, amid the varied life of Leipzig, in daily 
 intercourse with men whose energies were wholly devoted 
 "to literature, he should be less active. lie now wrote 
 most of tliose lyrics wliich were afterwards published in a 
 little volume entitled "Trifles" (" Kleinigkeiten "), and a 
 good many of them appeared in the two journals edited 
 by Mylius. These lyrics are usually rather severely 
 handled by critics, but in his own time they were re- 
 ceived with much favour, and at once gave him the rank 
 of a genuine poet. It is impossible, in reading them, not 
 to think of the lyrics produced twenty years afterwards 
 by the next man of high literary genius in Germany: 
 Goethe. And perhaps it is by comparing Lessing's lyrics 
 with those of young Goethe that we may best arrive at a 
 true estimate of their worth.^ 
 
 The lyrics of Goethe's youth are among tlie most ex- 
 quisite of his writings. Their subtle melody would alone 
 give them immortality, for Goethe had that first essential 
 of the lyrical poet, a perfect sense of rhythmic movement. 
 He could hardly have given unmusical utterance to the 
 passing emotions which are caught in song, and many of 
 his verses linger in the memory like the soft beat of moon- 
 lit waves on the shore. They are also marked by a deep 
 and passionate feeling for nature. It is not that Goethe 
 scatters over his lyrics very many images of natural 
 beauty, although, when they occur, they are always pre- 
 cise and firm ; but by incessant references and side glances 
 
 ^ Goethe's youthful lyrics are no- writings entitled " Der Junge Goe- 
 where seen to so much advantage as the" (Hirzel, 1875). 
 in the splendid edition of his early
 
 44 LEIPZIG. 
 
 >vc arc made to feel as the backjijrnund for liis i(loa<?, and 
 for the whole drama of human life, the splendour of the 
 outward universe. A phrase causes us to confront the 
 dawn ; an apparently almost accidental line calls up the 
 vastness of the heavens, the glory of the stars. And we 
 are brought face to face with nature, not for its own 
 sake merely, but for the sake of all that it symbolises : the 
 mysterious Presence with which we of tlie modern time 
 have learned to associate its processes. Their treatment 
 of love is another of the notes of Goetlie's youthful lyrics. 
 Full of fire as he was, he does not give us pictures of mere 
 passion. His feeling is refined and purified as it passes 
 into poetry, and although intense, is suggestive of tender- 
 ness and delicate grace. 
 
 Wlien we turn from Goethe's to Lessing's lyrical per- 
 formances, we breathe a wholly different atmosphere. The 
 melody of LessLng, although correct and lively, is without 
 charm ; and in none of his verses do we find a trace of 
 Goethe's love for natural effects. Indeed, it may be as 
 well to point out here that he had none of that enthu- 
 siasm for nature which afterwards became so common, 
 and has in our day led to so much sham sentiment. He 
 once shocked a too rapturous friend by expressing a wish 
 that spring would sometimes appear in red — the everlast- 
 ing green was so fatiguing ! He succeeded and partly 
 belonged to a generation whicli occupied itself mainly 
 with intellectual problems, and much of whose poetry was 
 in reality only ethics in verse. We may, however, doubt 
 M-liether nature would have been more fascinating to him 
 if he had been born in the latter instead of the earlier half 
 of the century. He had not those vague longings, those 
 strivings of spirit, M-ith whicli liomantic poetry has taught 
 men to connect the spectacle of the univiMsc; his objects 
 were definite, his ideas clear and exact. And in man and 
 his spiritual relations he found such ample scope both for 
 fancy and reason, they were to him invested with so peren- 
 nial a charm, that it is hard to conceive him, under any
 
 LEIPZIG. 45 
 
 circumstances, finding his tlicmes elsewhere. In tliis 
 respect, as iu many others, his character approached tlio 
 antique, or what is usually considered the antique, rather 
 than tlie modern type. 
 
 As regards love in Lessing's lyrics, we do not find iu 
 them a trace of Goethe's elevation and nobleness of senti- 
 ment. Love and wine are almost his sole subjects, and 
 both are regarded from precisely the same stand]^oint. 
 That is, love is looked on merely as an amusement of a 
 leisure hour, an amusement that may at any moment be 
 taken up and dropped : there is no hint that it may be the 
 absorbing passion of a lifetime. 
 
 It M'ould, however, be unfair to measure these "Trifles" 
 by rules to which they were not intended to conform. 
 They were not meant to be taken very seriously ; and they 
 have at least one great merit — they are not dull. The 
 writer aims throughout at terseness and vividness of 
 phrase, and his satire, if it does not cut very deep, is 
 sprightly and amusing. But, after all, the chief interest 
 even of the best of Lessing's lyrics is now biographical 
 rather than artistic. We read them rather because of the 
 light they cast upon his sympathies and tendencies than 
 for any beauty they possess in themselves. It would 
 be easy to overrate their value even in this respect, for 
 the impulse under which he wrote them came more from 
 ■without than from within. It was the fashion to compose 
 such verses ; and it was not to be supposed that he would 
 refrain from doing what everybody else attempted. Hence 
 we should go far astray if we were to imagine that in his 
 lyrics we have the key to the deepest facts of his Life. If 
 we were to take him at his word, we should attribute to him 
 many strange opinions : that it is possible to drink too 
 much, but never to drink enough ; that it is as absurd for 
 a man never to be drunk as for a woman never to be in 
 love ; that one would wish to be a Turk for the freedom 
 of the Turkish code of marriage, but that its restrictions as 
 to wine must make one chancre one's mind ; that if the
 
 46 LEIPZIG. 
 
 husLand of a scolding wife goes too often to the wine-shop, 
 she natunilly revenges hei-self in a still more (Hiostionulile 
 niannt-r. As fur Lessing himself, it ■\vouhl be necessary 
 to believe that he i)afised his time in a round of sensuous 
 enjoyments. Isothing could be faither from the truth. 
 Kven if his inclinations had lain in this direction, his 
 circumstances would not have allowed him to lead the 
 gay and joyous existence portrayed in his songs. He was 
 poor, and, for the most part, his outbursts into a world of 
 charming license must have been of a strictly imaginary 
 kind. His father, who had little sympatliy with poetic 
 raptures, and supposed that if a man, even in verse, 
 expressed an opinion or liking he wished to be taken 
 literally, at a later time applied to some lyrics which fell 
 into his hands an epithet more distinguished for vigorous 
 honesty than for politeness. This is how Lessing re- 
 sponded : ^ — " I do not believe the most severe moral critic 
 can blame me for them. Vila verccxinda est, Jfusa j'ocosa 
 mihi. Thus Martial excused himself in a similar case. 
 And one must know me little who supposes that my 
 feeling in the slightest degree harmonises with them. 
 They deserve nothing less than the name which you, as 
 all too severe a theologian, give them. If you were right, 
 the odes and songs of the greatest poet of our time, II err 
 von Hagedorn, would deserve a much more angry descrip- 
 tion. In truth, they originated in nothing except my desire 
 to experiment in poetry of all kinds. If a man docs not 
 tiy to discover what is most suitable to his powers, ho 
 will often choose a sphere in which he cannot rise above 
 commonjdace, whereas in another he might perhaps bo 
 able to attain excellence. rerhaj)S you have discovered 
 that I broke off in the middle of this work, tired of prac- 
 tising myself in such triiles." 
 
 At the same time, Lessing would not have experimented 
 to so large an extent if he had not found gonuinn ])lcasure 
 iu doing so. We are, therefore, juslilied, without holding 
 
 * S. S. xli. i>. lO.
 
 LEIPZIG. 47 
 
 liim too stiiclly to tlie sentimonts lie expresso.s, in forrning 
 from his verses a geueral picture of liis lifti at Leipzig; 
 and llie jjicture we form is that of a brilliant, active, 
 light-hearted youth, not necessarily neglecting the graver 
 problems of existence, but taking enjoyment fraid<ly 
 wherever it offers itself, delighting in the society of con- 
 genial spirits, laughing often and heartily, and passing 
 many a good-humoured joke at the foiljles and pretences 
 of society. He is as far removed as possible from 
 pedantry ; he throws off as much as he can the manners 
 even of the genuine student, and affects those of the 
 careless and refmed man of the world. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Important as were communion with other minds and 
 first efforts in literature, the dominant influence on Lessing 
 during his stay at Leipzig came from the theatre. The 
 company with which Gottsched had tried to carry out his 
 scheme of founding a national drama had for some time been 
 broken up ; but Frau Xeuber had herself formed another 
 which included several excellent actors, among them Koch, 
 who afterwards became one of the greatest players of the 
 age. Plays in Gottsched's style were still represented, but 
 his taste was no longer the exclusive standard of excel- 
 lence, and occasionally Frau Neuber ventured to give a 
 fair trial to the productions of young authors. It was in 
 her theatre that Lessing gained his first insight into dra- 
 matic work. 
 
 Those who have always been accustomed to the theatre 
 cannot realise the feeling of one who has been trained in a 
 family of narrow creed, and who in the days of hot youth 
 finds himself suddenly in front of the stage. A new and 
 fascinating world is revealed to him, and till the first ex- 
 citement gives way to a more critical mood, he feels that 
 he cannot too often come under the spell by which he has 
 been so enchanted. It was thus that the theatreimpressed 
 Lessing. Kiglit after ni^ht he went there with his friend
 
 48 LEIPZIG. 
 
 "Weisse ; ami through the introduction of Mylius he was 
 allowed behind the scenes, and soon Lecanie a daily com- 
 panion of the actors, whose frank manner and freedom 
 from conventional trammels delighted him. A certain 
 young actress, Friiulein Lorenz, whom in later years he 
 did not particularly admire in her professional capacity, 
 won from him by her beauty a very much warmer feeling 
 than esteem. In short, the theatre was to him what his 
 parents had intended the lecture-rooms of solemn theo- 
 logians to be ; and sometimes he even seriously thought of 
 becoming an actor. 
 
 It was natural that one who was thus fascinated by the 
 theatre, and who had brought with him from school a first 
 attempt at comedy, should soon think of writing for the 
 staf^e He began with translations from the French. 
 Partly, it is said, with the view of being placed upon the 
 free list, but partly, doubtless, to prepare themselves for 
 original work, he and Weisse translated together Mari- 
 vaux's " Hannibal" and Eegnard's " Le Joueur." Of these, 
 Lessing's share of the first has been preserved. It is in 
 rhymed Alexandrines, and is written with considerable force 
 and dignity. His first dramatic work of any importance, 
 liowever, was " The Young Scholar," of which both the 
 plot and the characters are wholly his own. Talking one 
 day with some friends about a play in Gottsched's manner 
 which hail been much applauded, he hotly condemned it. 
 He was met by the retort that it is easier to blame a thing 
 than to do better; and feeling his pride touched, he accepted 
 the challenge. " Damon," although Mylius had thought so 
 well of it as to publish it in one of his journals, Lessing 
 felt to be too meagre and crude for representation ; but in 
 the plan of " The Young Scholar," which liad also been 
 drawn up at school, he saw the germ of real excellence, 
 and he resolved to develop it into a complete play. AVheu 
 it was finished, he gave it to Kiistner, who expressed a high 
 opinion of it. Next Fran Neuber received it, and, with a 
 true instinct, she recognised in it the dawning of genius,
 
 LEIPZIG. 49 
 
 and at once accepted it. It was fortlnvitli put into rehearsal, 
 and in January, 1748, was produced. " If," he wrote some 
 time afterwards,! " the merit of a comedy is to be measured 
 by the laughter of the spectators and the clapping of hands, 
 I had suflicient cause to think that mine was none of the 
 worst." 
 
 Lessing's career as a dramatist may now be said to be 
 begun, and for a time it was his absorbing occupation to 
 sketch and complete plays. Young dramatists are usually 
 attracted rather by tragedy than by comedy, for a certain 
 effect is more easily produced by pathos than by wit ; and, 
 besides, powerful intellects in the first freshness of their 
 vigour are often fascinated by the problems of sorrow and 
 conflict. Lcssing, however, was as yet more nearly touched 
 by the lighter than by the sad aspects of existence, and 
 its lighter aspects were, therefore, those he chose first for 
 representation. 
 
 In these early works his supreme model was undoubtedly 
 Moliere, the prince of comic writers, for whom, notwith- 
 standing his subsequent revolt against French dramatists, 
 bis admiration never wavered. In his greater works 
 Moliere's method is essentially this : he takes a character 
 in which some particular quality of human nature, some 
 vice or foible, has obtained abnormal growth. He studies 
 its manifestations, and seeks to show how this peculiarity 
 rejects in life whatever is repugnant to it, and attracts 
 every element that nourishes it, how it warps the most 
 sacred affections and dominates the whole being. The 
 central figure is thrown into a world of ordinary men and 
 women, who form a fitting background for the exhibition 
 of its strange evolutions. Pursuing this method, he has 
 left untouched scarce a sinrrle form of feeling or conduct 
 that is capable of comic exaggeration ; and it is because, 
 when dealing with grave aberrations, such as those of the 
 miser, the misanthrope, or the hypocrite, his knife cuts so 
 deep into the heart of humanity, that his laugh is so often 
 1 s. S. iv. p. 4. 
 
 VOL. I. l>
 
 50 LEIPZIG. 
 
 closely allied to a sob or a cry. In his pages we find once 
 for all the types of nearly every enduring failing of society. 
 They may bo clad in the dress of Louis XlV.'s court, but 
 beneath the outward disguise we detect the elements that 
 reappear in different shapes in all ages and under all skies. 
 Moliere's power, however, is not exhausted in the central 
 conceptions of his comedies. The world in which Tartuffo 
 moves is as true to life as Tartuffo himself; and the like 
 may be said of the environment of every one of the heroes 
 of his masterpieces. There are no more enchanting pictures 
 than those he paints of sweet human affection, of fidelity 
 to the ideal, of sprightly wit, of unaffected dignity and self- 
 control. Figures that in other hands would be puppets 
 start into life at his touch. If, in Ms highest achievements, 
 he thinks it right to evoke a character at all, however 
 unimportant, he gives it as much independent vitality as is 
 necessary to harmonise it with his larger purpose. 
 
 The method of Lessing was precisely that of Moliere. 
 In all his early comedies except " The Jews," which was 
 written for a particular purpose and is conceived on a 
 different plan, the main attention is given to a hero or 
 heroine who has allowed one motive to absorb all others. 
 We have, for instance, a pedant, a woman-hater, a free- 
 thinker, who, as presented to us, are nothing apart from 
 the special quality which gives each his name. And 
 around tlie marked representative of a class are grouped, 
 as in ]\Ioli6re, figures who act as a foil to his eccentri- 
 cities. Although, however, forged in the school of so great 
 a master, these early dramas of Lessing, if they did not 
 bear his name, would not now be read, for they lack nearly 
 all the qualities of true art. Tlie central conceptions are 
 invariably roughly drawn. "With the lino instinct of genius, 
 Moliere knew always at what point to stop in his delinea- 
 tions ; he saw precisely when the effect he wished to pro- 
 duce was realised. Here Lessing fails. His exaggerations 
 are usually too far removed from the facts we have a daily 
 opportunity of observing; and having made a point, ho
 
 LEIPZIG. 51 
 
 makes it over and over again. What at first amuses thus 
 ends l)y being tedious; comedy degenerates into farce. 
 And if we go from the chief figure to his minor characters, 
 we lose, as a rule, all interest whatever. With few excep- 
 tions, they are merely a set of names behind whicli no 
 individuality can be recognised; at best, tlie majority of 
 them are conventional men and women helping to unravel 
 the plot by conventional actions. In one instance — that 
 of the clever, intriguing lady's-maid — the same character 
 occurs in every comedy with tiresome regularity. Even 
 her name, Lisette, is always retained. Yet there are here 
 and there traits of character and clever strokes of satire 
 which indicate keen observation of life, and give promise 
 of hi'dier work in future. It is wonderful that so much 
 was acliieved by a young writer in a country which was 
 not only without a high dramatic tradition, but in which 
 were none of the living conditions necessary for the pro- 
 duction of true comedy. Moliere addressed a society in 
 which there was a fine perception of what is fit and 
 becoming in the intercourse of man with man, and a lively 
 appreciation of the comic element in the violation of 
 the laws of morality and good sense. In these respects 
 Lessing's country was still almost barbarous compared 
 with France. 
 
 Although Moliere's method was that which Lessing 
 followed, he was more indebted for particular hints to 
 later French writers ; above all, to De L'isle and Marivaux. 
 From the latter, for instance, he derived the character of 
 Lisette, with the idea of giving to her the prominent place 
 she usually occupies. As regards the construction of 
 these plays, it is wholly French. He strictly observes the 
 unities ; the characters are carefully balanced against each 
 other ; and an effort is made to exclude whatever could 
 prevent the story from being systematically unfolded. 
 This marching to the French word of command had one 
 permanently good result. French dramatic literature has 
 never been dissociated from the stage. It may be read
 
 52 LEIPZIG. 
 
 with pleasure, but it is intended for the theatre and can 
 only in the theatre he seen in its full strength and beauty. 
 The inlhionce of this fact may be traced even in the least 
 important of Lessing's early writings. They are all con- 
 structed with a view to stage cflect, and this is true of the 
 lato<;t of Ills pure dramas. 
 
 "The Young Scholar" ("Der Junge Gelehrte") is by far 
 the best of the plays \\Titten or planned at Leipzig. It is so 
 because it deals with a phase of life with which Lessing was 
 familiar, which he had himself passed through, and which, 
 in tlie chief German university town, he must have seen 
 ever}^vhere. The hero, Damon, in spite of his veiy un- 
 Teutonic name, may be taken as a type, crude but not alto- 
 gether untrue, of the Teutonic pedant of his day. Vanity 
 forms the basis of his character ; he accepts as his due un- 
 measured flattery, and boasts of his acquirements without 
 the smallest sense of shame. We soon become weary 
 of his monotonous folly, but the tedium is occasionally 
 relieved by a little flash of wit. This is the case when 
 Lisctte, the faithful maid of Juliane, the young lady 
 whom Damon's father wishes him to marry, tries to in- 
 duce him to decline the match. By means of wild flattery 
 she wins his good opinion ; she then pretends to malign 
 Juliane, describing her with every fault it is possible for 
 a woman to have. To her surprise, he is enchanted ; he 
 was before opposed to the marriage, but he has always 
 thought that if a scholar cannot find a wife who would 
 take her place in a treatise de lonis cnuUtoruiii iu:orihus, 
 he ought to seek one who would be distinguished in a 
 work dc mails ciniditorum luxorihis. He becomes, there- 
 fore, quite eager to marry Juliane. Tlie concluding scene 
 of the play is equally well designed. He has sent to 
 the Berlin Academy of Sciences a dissertation on atoms, 
 and when the play opens is looking eagerly for a letter 
 announcing that he is the successful competitor for the 
 prize of the year. It never occurs to him that his rivals 
 can have approached him in deptli of learning, and ho
 
 'LEIPZIG. 53 
 
 enjoys in anticipation all the delights of assured success. 
 Towards the end of the comedy tlie letter comes and is 
 torn open. It informs him that the friend who was to 
 have laid tlie dissertation before the Academy had too 
 much regard for Damon even to submit so absurd a pro- 
 duction to a learned body. He is furious, and in a fit of 
 rage and disai)poiutment vows at once to leave a country 
 incapable of appreciating its great spirits. 
 
 Another of the plays written at this time, " The Old 
 Maid " (" Die Alte Jungfcr "), was afterwards, like " Damon, 
 or True Friendship," struck by Lessing from the list of 
 his works. Far more than " The Young Scholar," it re- 
 veals the uncertain touch of one who is slowly feeling 
 after his real vocation. The story is the familiar one of 
 a woman no longer young, who gives herself the airs of 
 youth and grasps eagerly at the first chance of marriage. 
 "Wliether from incapacity to do justice to the idea, or 
 because Lessing was too good-natured to bear hardly on a 
 failing which, after all, has its sad as well as comic side, 
 he fails to trace a consistent character. We are appar- 
 ently meant to laugh at the old maid, and can in reality 
 only be sorry for her. On a far higher level, both in 
 design and execution, is " The Woman-Hater " (" Der 
 jMisogyn "), which, however, was repeatedly retouched at a 
 later period. The woman-hater will not hear of the mar- 
 riage either of his son or daughter. The former, however, 
 persuades his betrothed to dress in a man's clothes, and 
 to let herself be introduced as her brother ; and she thus 
 manages, by humouring the old man's prejudices, to secure 
 his good will. The daughter's man-iage is brought about 
 by impressing upon her father, that if she is given to her 
 lover, with whom he has a lawsuit, he will present his 
 enemy with a veritable Pandora's box. The play contains 
 nothing very original or brilliant, but the dialogue is some- 
 times animated, and some skiU. is displayed in drawing 
 amusement from an unpleasant foible. 
 
 Besides the plays he completed, Lessing left more than
 
 54 LEIPZIG. 
 
 fifty dramatic outlines nnd fracrnionts.^ As in the lyric so in 
 the drama lie deliberately experimented, testing his powers 
 by ft liireat variety of efforts. In a few instances, he so 
 plainlv struck upon tlie ri,L;ht path tliat he followed it to the 
 end with pleasure; in others, he saw that only moderate 
 success would be attainable and quietly passed on to more 
 hopeful fields. Considerable interest attaches to these 
 slii^ht schemes. They are like the preliminary studies of a 
 painter, and may occasionally suggest to a dramatic writer 
 not only fruitful ideas, but the conditions which, in the 
 eyes of a master, were incompatible with a noble result. 
 
 The most striking of the fragments produced during his 
 student life at Leipzig is the beginning of a tragedy en- 
 titled " Giangir." It is in unrhymed Alexandrines. The 
 scene is laid at the Turkish court, and the main character, 
 so far as the scheme can be made out, is a sultana who 
 intrigues to secure the succession of her son at the expense 
 of the true heir, the son of a previous sultana. Small as 
 the fragment is, we can see that it was written as much 
 under the iniluence of French models as were liis comedies. 
 It has the regular march of ideas and imposing dignity of 
 phrase which mark the classic tragedy of France. 
 
 Although writing under an impulse derived almost 
 wholly from French literature, Lessing w^as not ignorant 
 even thus early of the English drama. He probably 
 knew Shakespeare as yet only by name ; but he appears 
 to have been a diligent reader of the Restoration drama- 
 tists. The idea of one of his sketches, " The Gull " 
 (" Der LeichtgUiubige "), is taken from Wycherley. 
 Weisse had written a comedy witli this title which was 
 favourably received. Lessing objected that it was in no 
 sense a work of art, but only a series of situations in 
 wliich a credulous person was exhibited, and that there 
 was no reason why any number of similar situations 
 mi"ht not be added. " In the sjjirit of emulation which 
 
 ' Tliciic liavo Jiecn cnrufully cul- Bcpnnito volume, Rccompanicil by 
 loctcd ill H(.-iii|MrH cilitioii of Lous iiotoH find jircfaccH, by Robert Box- 
 ing's "Workii, and i)ubli»Lcd iu a btrgcr.
 
 LEIPZIG. 55 
 
 existed l)ctwccn tlic two friends," says Weisse, " Lcssiii;,' 
 immediiitely undertook to sketch a * Gull' For this pur- 
 pose he took from Wycherley's ' Country Wife ' the idea 
 of Horner, hut lie never executed the jdan," AVeissc had 
 evidently very vague notions respecting " The Country 
 Wife." Homer was as far as possible from being a " Gull ; " 
 and in any case, Lessing was incapable of occupying his 
 genius with one of the most repulsive conceptions in liter- 
 ature. It was the weak and silly Sparkish whom he in- 
 tended to present in a German form as Woldemar, replac- 
 ing iUithea by a young widow, and Ilarcourt by a less 
 bold and unprincipled Courtal, the intrigue being carried 
 on mainly by the unfailing Lisette and Woldemar's valet. 
 Another sketch, "The Good Man" ("Der Gutc Mann"), 
 which also probably belongs to this period, is based on " The 
 Double Dealer " of Congreve. Although the conceptions 
 are in both cases English, Lessing works at them in a purely 
 French spirit. He tones down their coarseness, removes un- 
 necessary characters and incidents, and aims at giving to the 
 development of the plot gi^eater simplicity and directness. 
 
 V. 
 
 While " The Young Scholar " was in rehearsal, towards 
 the end of 1 747, Lessing came one day into Weisse's room 
 Hushed and indignant, and throwing a letter upon the table 
 asked him to read it. It was from the pastor primarius, 
 and Weisse saw that there was something seriously wrong. 
 Dark rumours had for some time been reaching Kamenz 
 that the high-spirited young student was not attending to 
 work in the approved method. The pastor was even told 
 that his son regularly went to the theatre, associated with 
 actors and with the freethinker Mylius, and had written a 
 play for representation. To realise how this news affected 
 him, we must remember the horror with which the theatre 
 was then regarded by the orthodox clergy. To them it 
 seemed, as it still seems to certain sectaries both in Eng- 
 land and Germany, the very gate of hell; and to say that
 
 56 LEIPZIG. 
 
 a voiir.g man took pleasure in it was to say tliat every 
 liigli moral principle in his nature had been undermined. 
 The first impulse of the good pastor, therefore, on being 
 assured that Gotthold had reached this depth, was to tako 
 him home and snatch him from swift-coming ruin. He 
 decided, however, to try what could be done by earnest 
 expostulation in writing. The letter was very severe in 
 tone. It made particularly bitter reference to Mylius, 
 whose satirical verses had never been forgiven, and to the 
 actors ; and a hint appears to have been thrown out that, 
 if better courses were not adopted, the Kamenz magistrates 
 would withdraw their allowance, wliich had been granted 
 solely to enable him to pursue theological study. Lessing 
 felt his self-respect wounded by this harshness, and 
 passionately declared to his friend that, instead of with- 
 drawing from the theatre, he would have his full name 
 printed on the bills as author of " Tlie Young Scholar," 
 and send a copy to every magistrate in Kamenz. Then 
 they might do tlieir worst ! Weisse expostulated, and his 
 calmer view of the necessities of the case prevailed. 
 
 A crisis soon came. Notwithstanding the terrible 
 reports as to her son's mode of life, the Frau Pastorin 
 justly thought that he would not object to a Christmas 
 cake, and sent him that pleasant gift by a friend who 
 happened to be visiting Leipzig. Lessing shared it with 
 some actors, a bottle of wine being also produced on 
 the occasion. Tlie friend announced this fact at homci 
 and added that a play by the young scapegrace had cither 
 been or was about to be performed. This intelligence 
 struck terror into the hearts of the worthy couple. Gott- 
 hold had indeed descended with swift steps from the godly 
 precepts of his parents ! His mother wept bitterly, and 
 his father, feeling sure that one wlio wrote jilays, and 
 made friends of actors and a sceptic, could not be con- 
 trolled by- ordinary means, sat down and wrote the follow- 
 ing letter : — " On receipt of this, take your place in the 
 mail-coach at once, and come to us. Your mother is
 
 LEIPZIG. 57 
 
 dangerously ill, and wishes to speak to you Leforc sho 
 dies." 
 
 The Frau Pastorin was probaLly never in Letter health 
 than wlion this missive was written, but it was necessary 
 to save GotthulJ, and the wilful boy had to be managed 
 as one plays a salmon before landing it. Lessing sus- 
 pected the true character of the dangerous illness; but 
 it might be real, and he was too loyal a son to run any 
 risks. lie stai-ted immediately for home. 
 
 Karl Lessing has given us a vivid and evidently a true 
 description of what followed. Soon after the letter was 
 sent away a keen frost set in. The pastor scorned to 
 show anxiety, but his wife was of less stern stuff. She 
 reflected on the long, dreary journey, and felt sure her 
 unlucky son would suffer from the cold. If the summons 
 could but be cancelled ! It was very bad, no doubt, to 
 write plays ; but to be frozen in a dark mail-coach ! " He 
 will not come," she kept saying. " Disobedience is learned 
 in bad company." This sounded slightly hostile, but it 
 meant that motherly sympathies were touched, and that 
 she fervently hoped obedience would be postponed till 
 the sunshine was brighter. He came, however, and 
 stepped sliivering into the room. "Why did you come 
 in the cold?" asked the anxious mother, forgetting all 
 about the last words she was to utter on her deathbed. 
 " Dearest mother," answered Lessing, "you wished it. I sus- 
 pected you were not ill, and I am heartily glad you are not." 
 
 So favourable were the impressions of the first few days 
 that Lessing's parents gave liim that most decided of all 
 proofs of forgiveness : they paid his debts. For he had 
 not been able to play a brilliant role behind the scenes 
 without incurring expenses that soon outran his slender 
 resources. The discovery must have slightly shocked the 
 pastor, but he soon saw that no very great mischief had 
 been done. Although Lessing had plunged into a world 
 with which his parents could have no sympathy, of which 
 they could hardly form a vague conception, he retained a
 
 S8 LEIPZIG. 
 
 liealthy moral tone ; and he difiiTod from Ids fiitlicr, not in 
 considering life •\vitliout rosimnsibilities, Imt as to the nature 
 of these responsibilities for him. The pastor was di;lighted 
 to find that, far from neglecting his studies, he had deei)ened 
 and widened his intellectual culture, and could even be in- 
 terested in theolog}' and church liistory. To convince his 
 mother that he could be a preaclier if lie chose, lie took 
 the trouble to compose a sermon ; but, alas ! he could not 
 be asked to edify one audience after having entertained 
 another. 
 
 Lessing had too decidedly chosen his mode of life for 
 any change to be effected in it by outward influences. 
 During his brief stay at home, therefore, he earned on his 
 favourite studies, working at his comedies and occasionally 
 \\Titing auakreontic verses. A number of his poems fell into 
 the hands of his elder sister. Her sense of propriety was 
 outraged, and she relieved her feelings by putting the papers 
 in the fire. The younger brothers hastened to inform 
 Lessing of what had happened. His grief was not over- 
 whelming, and he revenged himself by tlirowing a handful 
 ftf snow into the virtuous young lady's bosom — to cool her 
 pious zeal, lie said. 
 
 So completely did he succeed in dispelling the illusions 
 of his parents respecting liim, that in about three months 
 they consented to his return to Leipzig. Tliey were obliged 
 sorrowfully to admit that he could not now become a 
 dergj'man ; at the same time, it seemed to them a matter 
 of course that he should adopt one or other of the recog- 
 nised professions. It was, therefore, arranged that he 
 sliould study medicine and philosophy with a view to 
 his attaining a position at tlie university. 
 
 On going back to Leipzig, lie adopted the litle of a 
 medical student, a title he kept up for several years; 
 l»ut he gave no more heed to medical than to tlieological 
 professors. \\\ tlie only one of his lyrics which has really 
 remained popular— it is still sung with great vigour by 
 German students — he makes fun of tlie profession ; and as
 
 LEIPZIG. 59 
 
 it displays fairly well the lively spirit which marlccd him 
 at this period, it may be as well to translate it. Only it 
 must he remembered that half its eharm lies in the quick, 
 trochaic movement of the original :^ — 
 
 " Yesterday, brothers, can you believe it? while I en- 
 joyed the juice of the grape (conceive my horror !J, Deatli 
 came to me. 
 
 " Tlireati-ningly he s^^^lng his scythe, threateningly spoke 
 the fearful skeleton : ' Come, thou slave of Bacchus ! come, 
 thou hast caroused enough ! ' 
 
 " * Dear Death,' I said, with tears, ' why shouldst thou 
 long for me ? See ! there stands wine for thee. Dear 
 Death, spare me ! ' 
 
 " Smilingly he snatches the glass ; smilingly he empties 
 it to the health of his cousin, the Pestilence; smilingly he 
 puts it down again. 
 
 " I rejoice at my release, when suddenly he renews his 
 threats : ' Fool,' he says, ' thinkest thou that for thy little 
 glass of wine thou shalt be free ? ' 
 
 " ' Death,' I entreat, ' I should gladly be a physician 
 upon earth. Allow me ; if thou dost, I promise thee half 
 my patients.' 
 
 " ' Good ! ' he exclaims ; ' if that is so, thou mayest live. 
 But be devoted to me : live till thou hast kissed to thy 
 heart's content, and art tired of drinking.' 
 
 " ' Oh, how beautifully sounds this in my ears ! Death ! 
 thou hast given me new life ! This glass. Death, to our 
 good- fellowship ! ' 
 
 " For ever, then, I must live ! For, by the god of the 
 vine, for ever love and wine, for ever wine and love, shaU 
 delight me ! " 
 
 He enjoyed the theatre better than ever after his brief 
 absence. The theatre, indeed, now seems to have ab- 
 sorbed his energies. In the morning, his brother says, he 
 was regularly there at rehearsal; in the evening, at the 
 performance. This minute and faithful study of the tech- 
 
 1 S. S. i. p. 76.
 
 6o LEIPZIG. 
 
 nical necessities of the sta^^o not only imlicateJ the stren^li 
 of his resolve to become a distinguished dranuitist, but had 
 on influence of high importance on his future %v()rk. It 
 gave hiiu an intuitive feeling of ^vhat is possible to per- 
 formers and what beyond their reach, an intimate know- 
 ledge of effccta which, although without interest for a 
 reader, i»owerfully move an audience. He nearly finished 
 a tragedy in which the actor Koch was to have taken 
 the title role ; but that actor suddenly went to Vienna, 
 and as no other member of the company seemed capable 
 of assuming the i)art, the play was left incomplete. 
 
 This was the first of a series of incidents wliich stripped 
 Leipzig of all charm for Lessing ; the next was the removal 
 of Mylius to Berlin. lie had attracted attention there by 
 a paper submitted to the Academy of Sciences, which was 
 considered important enough to be printed along with 
 papers by iJ'Alembert and Bernouilli. Encouraged by 
 the friends this success procured him, he went to the 
 I'russian capital, where he earned on astronomical obser- 
 vations with some of the first scientific men of the day. 
 Lessing could not fail to miss the society of a man with 
 whom he had become so intimate, and who had done so 
 much to stimulate his literary activity. If, however, the 
 theatre had remained to him, the central interest of his 
 life would have been maintained ; but this also failed 
 hiuL For a considerable time the affairs of Trau Keuber 
 had been falling into confusion, and the departure of Koch 
 left her without hope of improving them. His example 
 was followed by other actors; and in the course of the 
 summer of 1748 the theatre was closed and the company 
 dispersed. 
 
 The breaking up of the theatre affected Lessing in other 
 ways besides depriving him of his chief occupation and 
 pleasure. With geucrijus thoughtlessness, ho had become 
 security for some of the actors for a considerable sum, and 
 they conveniently forgot to remit the amount. Besides,
 
 LEIPZIG. 6l 
 
 in spite of his good intentions on leaving Kamenz, he had 
 again run into debt. As his creditors hegan to make tlieni- 
 selves troublesome, he soon perceived that he could not 
 remain much longer in Leipzig. Tlie sudden removal of 
 nearly evcrytliing that had given zest to life made him 
 not unwilling to act as prudence directed. The difliculty 
 was, Wliere should he go ? A young man of nineteen, 
 whose chief recommendation is that he has written a play 
 and a nundjer of verses, who has neglected the ordinary 
 studies of the university, whose chosen friends have been 
 men on whom society looks witli suspicion, has not usually 
 a very smooth path before him; he can hardly hope to 
 conquer success by the methods of more regular natures. 
 At last it occurred to Lessing to try what luck might 
 befall him in Berlin. ]\Iylius seemed likely to prosper 
 there, and he too might perhaps cut his way to laurels 
 and a fair proportion of thalers. At that time literature 
 cannot be said to have existed as a profession in Gemiany. 
 At the universities the professors devoted themselves 
 almost wholly to lecturing; and when they wrote, they 
 did so not for the public, but for scholars, and never 
 dreamt of making their writings their chief means of sup- 
 port. Authors who did not profess to belong to the learned 
 class merely played with literature as an amusement of 
 their leisure hours. Of the few who did support them- 
 selves by theii- pen, the majority were men of very defi- 
 cient culture and wild habits, who took to this calling 
 because they had not self-restraint and perseverance 
 enough for any other. Xevertheless, it was by litera- 
 ture that Lessing now proposed to win his bread. Ho 
 knew that in France and England poets, dramatists, and 
 critics were able to secure fame and fortune ; and he tried 
 to persuade himself that the German people, if appealed 
 to in the right spirit, would not be less generous sup- 
 porters of high effort than the English or French. In any 
 case, he woidd be able to remain his own master; and if 
 this mode of life was attended by risks— why, it is an
 
 63 LEIPZIG. 
 
 almost unfailing mark of superior minds to venture some- 
 thing, to explore the unknown if haply it may liave trea- 
 sures to lavish on the fearless ■svliicli it withholds from 
 those who remain within tried and familiar bounds. 
 
 Some time in July, 1748, Weissc called on Lessing, and 
 was told he had gone out of town for a day or two. In 
 reality, he had left Leipzig with a cousin who was study- 
 ing at Wittenberg, where he proposed to spend some days, 
 intending to reach Berlin before the end of the month. 
 But an evil chance pursued him. At "Wittenberg he be- 
 came very ill, and was for a considerable time confined to 
 bed. AVheu he recovered, Mylius had returned to Leipzig, 
 not having succeeded as he had hoped in Berlin. It was, 
 therefore, impossible for Lessing to carry out his plan, as 
 without introductions or money the obstacles in his way 
 would be insuperable. Nothing remained for liim but 
 to continue where he was, and he wrote for his father's 
 permission to study at the Wittenberg university. The 
 pastor had been shocked by the new proof of his son's 
 instability, but was glad to sanction his stay in a town 
 in the midst of whose sobriety and decorum he would be 
 removed from the temptations of the too lively Leipzig. 
 
 In the letter to his mother which has been repeatedly 
 referred to, Lessing declares that he was never more un- 
 happy than in Wittenberg. Deprived of all the excite- 
 ments that had made existence delightful, he had seen 
 Ills schemes for the future rudely shattered, and was com- 
 pelled to enter upon a round of dull and profitless duty. 
 Moreover, he had troubles which he declines to explain to 
 his mother, and wliicli were probably renewed persecutions 
 on the part of his Leipzig creditors. The position became 
 intolerable ; and when at last, in November, 1748, he heard 
 that Mylius was again in Ijcrlin, editing the " Kiidiger 
 Gazette" — afterwards the " Vo.ss CJazette" — he determined 
 to sweep aside all scruples and boldly assert his freedom. 
 The letter to liis mother is dated Berlin, January 20, 1749; 
 and as he had already exchanged several letters with his
 
 LEIPZIG. 63 
 
 parents from tliat city, ho must have been there for some 
 time. Thus early — at the age of twenty — did Lessing, 
 ha\'ing flung aside the traditions in which he was trained, 
 confront the M'orhl, and begin to grapple with it for Ids 
 own ends and in his own w^ay.
 
 (64) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 BERLIN. 
 
 I. 
 
 At tlic time of Lessing's arrival in Berlin, it wns a mncli 
 I»lcasautcr place to live in than it Lad l)cen ten years be- 
 fore. Then the harsh and narrow-minded, altliough honest, 
 Frederick William I. was on the Prussian throne, and he 
 very effectually destroyed in his capital every trace of 
 intellectual life. It is true it had never been a centre 
 of thought and learning. Frederick I. had founded the 
 Academy of Sciences ; but an Academy, if it is to com- 
 municate a healtliy and enduring impulse, must have 
 behind it the sjTnpathy of an instructed class, and no such 
 class existed either in Berlin or elsewhere throughout the 
 kingdom. Even this small star, liowever, was obscured by 
 dismal fogs during the reign of Frederick William I. lie 
 had a hearty contempt for culture, and could think of no 
 better use for the rrc-sident of the Academy than to make 
 him the butt of practical jokes of incredible coarseness. 
 A well-drilled soldier was in liis esteem tlic loftiest type 
 of man; and fiir below this ideal came the ordinary 
 citizen, who, if at stated intervals he could listen to lu3 
 Lutlieran pastor, enjoy a pipe, and consume a proper quan- 
 tity of beer, was expected to tliink liimself an exceedingly 
 fortunate person. Life at Berlin in those days must in- 
 deed have been a dreary affair; and it was made all the 
 more wretched by a political system wliicli, so far as men's 
 relations to the Government were cf)ncerned, crushed 
 within them the very germs of dignity and self-respect.
 
 BERLIN. 6s 
 
 In the political system Frederick IT. niadc no clinn^'Pi. Tic 
 was as absolute a king as ever reigned, and woidd liave 
 opposed to tlie uttermost any movement in favour of popu- 
 lar rights. ]jut he was not a mere soldier. In spite of 
 occasional lapses into the hrutality of liis fatlier, he ])elieved 
 in the graces and amenities f)f life as well as in its stern 
 duties, and would have prefeiTcd refined and manly to 
 vulgar and cringing subjects. He restored tlie Academy 
 of Sciences, enriched Berlin with works of art, patronised 
 to some extent the opera and the French play, and laid 
 tlie foundations of that school system which has since 
 given Prussia its high rank among the educated nations of 
 the world. Even apart from these definite acts, his per- 
 sonal example would have wrought a profound change in 
 the character of Berlin. The inhabitants were proud of 
 him as already one of the greatest captains in Europe; 
 and his ceaseless activity, his devotion to what he con- 
 sidered to be the highest interests of the kingdom, sent 
 through the wastes whose natural barrenness his father 
 had still further blighted a stream of fresh and fertilisinLi 
 influences. 
 
 The direction he sought to give to literary sympathies 
 was wholly French. He hardly knew German as a culti- 
 vated language, and so frankly despised the literature of 
 his country that he would not allow a German book into 
 his library. French was the speech he habitually used 
 both in taUcing and wi-itiug. He was familiar with French 
 philosophy and poetry, and communicated on friendly terms 
 with all the best French men of letters. A number of 
 French writers — one of them, ]\Iaupertuis, notwithstanding 
 his solemn vanity, a man of real distinction — had settled at 
 his court ; and in less than two years after Lessing came to 
 Berlin, Voltaire arrived on his famous visit to the philo- 
 sophical sovereign whom he was to find so much less 
 agreeable at hand than at a distance. Berlin was thus a 
 sort of sateUite to Paris, feebly reflecting its splendour. No 
 literary canon announced on the banks of the Seine was 
 
 VOL. I, E
 
 66 BERLIX. 
 
 seriously disputed on the Spree ; and any drama, liistorr, 
 or scioutific discovery tliat excited the admiration of the 
 Parisians was sure to awaken enthusiasm in tlie breasts 
 of the Berlinera. In religion, as in everything else, the 
 supreme law came from France. The " Encyclopaedia" was 
 not yet written, but the first volume was preparing, and 
 already the conclusions to whicli it was to give scientiiic 
 shape had deeply agitated society. The fashionable and 
 educated circles of the Prussian capital caught the sceptical 
 tone of the French without a full appreciation of the 
 grounds which underlay the opposition of men like Diderot 
 and Voltaire to " the Infamous." It became the correct 
 thing to sneer at priests and hoot Christianity as an effete 
 superstition. Frederick was of this way of thinking, and it 
 was, of course, not for the enlightened among his subjects 
 to remain behind their King. 
 
 Notwithstanding the predominance of French iulluence, 
 there was in Berlin a small circle of German writei's who 
 gradually acquired more and more importance. The theo- 
 logian Spalding had made himself known as a translator 
 of Shaftesbury, ; and Sulzer was an effective representative 
 of the ideas of the Swiss critics, P>odmer and Breitinger. 
 Ilamler, who had finally settled in Berlin in 1748 as pro- 
 fessor at a military college, actjuired some distinction as a 
 writer of odes ; and he was ultimately famous as the chief 
 apostle in Geiinany of the critical doctrines of Batteux. 
 Stationed with his regiment at Potsdam was Kleist, the 
 author of the poem on "Spring" in Thomson's manner. 
 Here he had been for some time associated with Gleim, 
 who had also resided occasionally in Berlin. Gleira was 
 now comfortably settled as secretary to tlie Chapter at 
 Ilalberstadt, but he maintained constant intercourse with 
 Kleist and his Berlin friends. All of them were united in 
 passionate admiration of Frederick, altliough they could 
 not but admit tliat he was somewhat too neglectful of the 
 literature of his country.
 
 BERLIN. 67 
 
 n. 
 
 Lcssing was at this time nearly tliree years in Eeiliii, 
 ami tluring the whole of that period lie lived with Mylius, 
 who weleomed him to the city in wliicli both hoped to win 
 ftune and fortune. For a while the young adventurer suf- 
 fered all the hardships that may be expected .by those who 
 are bold enough to break loose from the rules that govern 
 ordinary mortals. Except Mylius, he had not at first a 
 single friend in Berlin; and when he arrived, he was so 
 poorly clad that he could not present himself to persons 
 who might have been persuaded to help hira. He had, 
 however, youth and hope, and lost no time in trying to wring 
 from hard fate at least food and clothing. He communi- 
 cated with the directors of theatres in various parts of 
 Germany, and when this source of aid appeared rather 
 unprofitable, he accepted a humble employment found for 
 him by his conn-ado. This was the task of arranging the 
 large library of Herr Eiidiger, wdiose newspaper Mylius 
 edited. In return, Lessing received " free table " and some 
 slight acknowledgment in money. 
 
 By a curious chance he was for some time in the service 
 of Voltaire. Among others, he made the acquaintance of 
 a young Frenchman, Eichier de Louvain, wdio supported 
 himself by teaching French, but who ultimately became 
 Voltaire's secretary. During the famous or infamous Hirseh 
 trial Voltaire wanted some one to translate into German a 
 number of French documents written by himself, and for 
 this petty duty De Louvain recommended his friend, who 
 was forthwith presented to the great man in his chambers 
 at the palace. Like all the world, Lessing then profoundly 
 revered the most illustrious French writer of the age, and 
 was undoubtedly pleased to be brought into relations, how- 
 ever remote, with him. 
 
 Another relation which seems to have boen of some 
 advantage to Lessing was that with a H(3rr von der 
 Gok, wliom he served as secretary, or in some similar
 
 68 BERUX, 
 
 cnpacily, and willi Avlioin he prol)ably lived for a sliort tiinG 
 on his estiik'S in rohiiid. This uohlenian, wlio was an 
 acquaintance of ^lylius, }tarticuhirly liked the manly and 
 brilliant young man of lettera, and introduced him to a 
 number of friends, from whom Lessing — not, apparently, 
 witli much result — expected considerable help. 
 
 As the most profitable form of work for an unknown 
 writer, and work wliich lie could take up at times when his 
 energies were not fresh enough for original ellbrt, he occu- 
 pied himself a good deal with translation. About this 
 time two letters by the King on Crebillon's " Catilina" had 
 been made public. They attracted much notice, and it 
 occurred to Lessing that a translation of the tragedy — 
 accompanied probably by a translation of the King's criti- 
 cisms, with an answer by the dramatist himself — would bo 
 generally welcome. He, therefore, began to render the work 
 into German, and would have written to Crebillon, but for 
 some reason or otlier the enterprise was abandoned. He 
 completed, however, a much more important undertaking ; 
 the translation of two volumes of Rollin's " History." In 
 order to widen his range as a translator, and to enrich 
 liis own culture, he learned Italian and Spanish. The 
 " Novelas Examplares " of Cervantes, and Calderon's " Life 
 a Dream," he set to work u[)on, but neither was completed. 
 
 Before touching upon tlie labours in wliich he put forth 
 his whole powei"s, it will be well to glance at the relation 
 in wliich he stood at this time to his parents. If they were 
 displeased at his leaving Leipzig, they were shocked when 
 they heard that he had departed from "Wittenberg and 
 plunged into the gi'cat world. It was bad enough that ho 
 had disappointed their hopes as to liis career; but that he 
 had gone to 15erlin, a city full of danger both for his theo- 
 logical principles and moral habits, ami that his chosen 
 friend in this seat of inlidelity was still the sceptic Mylius, 
 stirred within them anger and fear. They not only, in their 
 first indignation, refused to help him, but peremptorily 
 ordered liini to come home. Above all, they stormed at
 
 BERLIN. 69 
 
 the evil iiifluciicc "which from tlie heginning, they main- 
 tained, had led liim astray. Tlie unfortunate Mylius was 
 especially obnoxious to tlie IVau I'astorin, mIio could not 
 find words vindictive enough to express her dislike of him. 
 The pastt)r made believe that Lessing had jaomised during 
 his three months' stay in Kamenz neither to read nor write 
 any more comedies, and lectured him for breaking his word 
 and fur having associated so much with actors. He sar- 
 castically h;dled the ambitious young writer as " a (lerman 
 Moli^re," but at the same time pointed out that the 
 papers left at home — consisting chiefly of anakreontic verses, 
 which Lessing had begged to be sent on to him — gave 
 evidence of an unstable mind, that would plan many things 
 but complete little. When Lessing drew as cheerful a 
 jiicture as p().ssil)le of his work and schemes, he was flatly 
 told that he had not spoken the truth. After aU other 
 means of impressing him had failed, his father wrote to some 
 acquaintances in Bcrhn, begging them to act as spies ou 
 his conduct, and to report anything they might find out. 
 
 Lessing met the reproaches of his parents with admirable 
 dignity and calmness. In the letters which have been pre- 
 served, he does not once admit that he has acted wrongly ; 
 he tacitly assumes that he had a right to decide his own 
 destiny, and that he had decided it in the manner best 
 suited to his powers and aspirations. But his tone is 
 respectful and affectionate, and he expostulates only when 
 he is gi-ossly misunderstood. To prove his desire to meet 
 his parents half way, he expressed himself willing to leave 
 Berlin; and when an effort was made to secure for him 
 a post at the Gijttingen university, with whose rector, 
 Mosheim, the Church historian, the pastor corresponded, 
 Lessing showed some eagerness that the arrangement should 
 he concluded. The idea was not given up during the 
 whole of his first residence in Berlin, and he even worked 
 hard at a thesis which was necessary for the appointment. 
 As he acquired confidence in himself, however, and l)ecame 
 more sanguine of his prospects as a literary man, he rather
 
 70 UERLIX. 
 
 shrank fnnn the scheme. In l:ittr life lie had an almost 
 comical dislike of professors. Their pedantry and self- 
 suflii'iency irritated him, and he had prohahly already 
 enou^^h of thi.s feeling to make an acaelemic office any- 
 thing hut attractive. 
 
 The first of the letters -^e now possess is that addressed 
 to his mother, dated January 20, 1740, frf»m which one or 
 two extracts have already been given. In this he frankly 
 reveals the whole course of his life from the time he 
 reached Leipzig, lie then proceeds :' — 
 
 " I should lung ago have succeeded if I had heen able to 
 make a better appearance as regards clothing. This is too 
 necessary in a town where, in forming an opinion of a 
 man, people chiefly trust their eyes. It is now nearly a 
 Year since you had the kindness to promise me a new 
 suit. You may judge from this whether my last re- 
 quest was inconsiderate. You refuse it on the pretext 
 that I have come to Berlin to please I know not whom. 
 I will not doubt that my allowance [from the Kamenz 
 magistrates] will go on, at least till Easter; and I Ijclieve 
 that with it my chief debts may be paid. But I see clearly 
 that your hostile opinion of a man [Mylius] who, if he 
 had never before shown me kindness, has done so now, 
 exactly when it is most needed, is the jirincipal reason why 
 you are so much opjtosed to all my undertakings. It seems 
 as if you considered him the horror of all the world. Does 
 not this hatred go too far ? ^My comfort is that in Berlin 
 there are a number of honouralde and distinguished per- 
 sons who think quite as highly of him as I do. But you 
 shall see that I am not bound to him. So soon as I re- 
 3eivc from you an answer in which you again say what I 
 was forced to conclude from your last letter, I will imme- 
 diately leave Berlin. Home I .shall not go. Neither shall 
 I again go to the university, for my debts cannot all be 
 paid with my allowance, and I cannot lay tliis expense 
 on you. I shall certainly go to Vienna, Hamburg, or 
 
 > iSilmmtUcbo Scbriftou, xii. p. ii.
 
 BERLIN. 71 
 
 Hanover; 1 ait you may be assured that wherever I am I 
 shall ahviiys write, and never fur;^'ut the fjivours I have 
 so lon^' enjoyed from you. In each of these three places 
 T shall find very good acquaintances and friuuds. If I 
 learn nolhiiiL,' else in my Avanderinj^s, I sliall at least learn 
 how to adapt myself to the world. That will l)e henelit 
 enough! 1 shall perhaps in the end come to some place 
 where they will he aide to make use of a stopgap like me. 
 If there is anything I may ask, it is this: that you will 
 believe that I have at all times loved my parents as 
 myself." 
 
 The next letter, addressed to his father (Ajtril 1 1 , 1 749), 
 contains a serious protest against the charge that what he 
 had written of his doings was false.^ " I earnestly beg 
 you to put yourself for a moment in my place, and reflect 
 how such unfounded charges must pain one: charges 
 whose falseness, if you but knew me a little, would be at 
 once apparent to you." In answer to the accusation that 
 he only knows actors, he says his father has quite a mistaken 
 idea of the nature of his intercourse with them. " I have 
 written to Baron Seiller, in A^ienna, the director of all the 
 theatres in Austria, a man whose acquaintance is no dis- 
 grace to me, and who in time may be of use to me. I 
 have written to similar, or at least to equally clever per- 
 sons in Danzig and Hanover ; and I do not think it can be 
 wrong to be known in other places besides Kamenz." He 
 will not admit that it is only actors who know him. " If 
 they know me, all must know me who have seen my work 
 represented by them. But I could show you letters, for 
 example, from Copenhagen, which were not written by 
 actors, and which prove that my correspondence does not 
 relate solely to the theatre. And it is a pleasure to me to 
 extend it daily. I shall soon wi'ite to Paris, to M. Cre- 
 billon, when my translation of his 'Catilina' is finished." 
 He here makes the most, as the pastor was probably 
 quick enough to suspect, of the relations he had formed ; 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 13.
 
 7J BERUX. 
 
 l.nt tliore can l)c no doulit that his nnlont and energetic 
 naturt' hail already produced an impression on many minds 
 of various tyj>e and culture. 
 
 On April 28 he replies to a letter from his father more 
 friendly in tone than those he had before received, ami 
 thus answere the gibe as to " a German Molitire :" ^ " If I 
 could justly claim the title of a German Moliere, I should 
 certaiidy be assured of an immortal name. To confess the 
 tnith, I have a strong "wLsh to deserve it, but his greatness 
 antl my weakness are two things which may cause the 
 strongest wish to be disappointed. Seneca gives the advice, 
 Omncm opcram impendc ut te aliqua dote notahilcm facias. 
 It is very diihcult to make ourselves notable in a depart- 
 ment in which many have ali*eady excelled. Have I, then, 
 done so very ill in choosing for the work of my youth a 
 department in which very few of my countr}'men have 
 yet exercised their energies ? And would it not be foolish 
 to stop before one has read masterpieces by me ? I cannot 
 comprehend why a writer of comedies should not also be a 
 Christian. A writer of comedies is a man who depicts 
 vice in its ridiculous aspects. May not a Christian laugh 
 at vice ? "\Miat if I promised to write a comedy which the 
 theologians wouhl not only read but praise? Would you 
 think it impo.ssible to fulfil the promise ? ^Miat if I ^v^ote 
 a comedy on the freethinkers, and those who despise your 
 office ? " 
 
 Meanwhile, the pastor, apparently impressed by the 
 mingled firmness and gentleness of his son, had sent him 
 nine thalei-s and a box containing some things he had left 
 at home. A letter dated May 30 contains the expression 
 of Lessings thanks for the latter favour.2 " I have re- 
 ceived the box with tlie things specified. I thank you for 
 this great proof of your kindness, and I shouhl say much 
 more if I di«l not unfortunately see too clearly from your 
 letters that you have for some time been accustomed to 
 think of me everj'thing that is lowest, most shameful, and 
 
 > S. S. xii. I'. 17. 'S S. xii. p. 18.
 
 BERLIX. 73 
 
 most godless. The lliaiiks of a man of w]:om you have 
 these prejudiced ()i)inions cannot be other tlian unpleasant 
 to you. liut what can I do in the matter? Siiall I 
 copiously excuse myself? Shjill I rtige at my calum- 
 niators, and in revenge disclose their weaknesses ? Shall 
 I call my conscience, shall I call God to witness? It 
 woulil ho necessary to have less morality in my actions 
 than I really have to let myself be so far misled. But 
 time will judge. Time will show whether I have re- 
 spect for my parents, conviction in my religion, and mora- 
 lity in my mode of life. Time will judge which is the 
 better Christian — he who recalls and talks of the principles 
 of the Christian religion, often without understanding 
 them, goes to church, and attends to all the ceremonies 
 because they are usual, or he who has once cautiously 
 doubted, and by the path of investigation has attained 
 conviction, or at any rate strives to attain it. The Chris- 
 tian religion is not something which a man can accept 
 on the word of his parents. Most people, indeed, inherit 
 it like their fortune ; but they show by their conduct what 
 sort of Christians they are. "Wliilst I see that the prin- 
 cipal command of Christianity, to love one's enemies, is dis- 
 regarded, I shall doubt whether those who give themselves 
 out as Christians desen-e that name." 
 
 In this letter — apparently hopeful that the pastor might 
 be persuaded, if free from feminine influence — he writes a 
 few sentences in Latin protesting against the injustice 
 done to ]Mylius. There is something highly comic in his 
 anxious protestations that he has the deepest reverence 
 for his mother, but that really she is here quite wrong, and 
 that his father — "Sed virum te sapientem scio, justum 
 sequumque " — ought not to let himself be misled by her. 
 " Cave, ne de muliebri odio nimium paiiicipes." It is to 
 be hoped the pastor had the self-restraint not to gi-atify the 
 lady's curiosity as to the drift of all this Latin. 
 
 There are no more letters until November 2, 1750, when 
 it is clear that, if his parents have not absolutely recon-
 
 74 BERLIX. 
 
 died themselves to tlie inovitaMc, tlicy have at least 
 ceased to make wild and cruel accusations. I^^ssing writes 
 to his father of his jjlans with sonic confidence, retails 
 gossip that he thinks maybe interesting, and ofiers to send 
 journals wliich cost him nothing, if tlio pastor cares to pay 
 the postage. This is how he refers to tlie proposed settle- 
 ment at Ccittingen : " You do me injustice if you think I 
 have already changed my opinicm again about Gdttingen. 
 I assure you once more that I should depart to-morrow, 
 if it were possible ; not because I am now unpleasantly 
 situated in Berlin, but because I have given you my pro- 
 mise. For indeed I have great hope that my luck here 
 will soon change. Hitherto I have in vain hoped for this, 
 but I must confess that some failings on my part have 
 perhaps had something to do with my disappointment." 
 
 •It is easy to see that he had many hardships to endure, 
 liut he refers to them in a tone of cheerful courage. " I 
 have so arranged my affaii-s," he says, " that I can live com- 
 fortably this winter in Berlin. "With me comfort means 
 what anotlier would pcrliaps call bare necessity. But if I 
 live, what docs it matter whether I live in fulness or not ? " 
 Farther on he assures his father that food causes him no 
 anxiety, as for one groschen six pfennige (about l|d.), he 
 can " dine heartily." 
 
 The last letter preserved from this time, also to his 
 father (Febniary 8, 175 i), thus disposes of the rival claims 
 of Gottingen and Berlin:^ "It is true tliat there is a 
 crowd of scholars in Berlin, and that among these the French 
 have always the preference ; but I imagine that Gottingen 
 has no lack of scholars, and that there also a man like me 
 has to push forward from a great multitude if he wishes 
 to be known. I do not tliink, tliorefore, that, it would bo 
 jirudent to change om\ great town for another where, as an 
 unknown person, I should have to overcome a number of 
 obstacles whifh I have here jtartly overcome already. Tlie 
 little I should have to ho|)e for in Giittingen cannot decide 
 > s. S. xii. p. 21.
 
 BERLIN. 75 
 
 tlio question, for liere in licrliii I can make in tlic courso 
 of the year at least twice as much. If you think I could 
 do the same in CJottingcn, you are mistaken ; for it depends 
 upon various persons, from whom I should Lc too far 
 removed for them to be interested in my work. Before I 
 could find similar persons in Gottingen, all the troubles 
 would overwhelm me that have often brought me here to 
 despair. Arc the fifty thalers and the free table quite 
 certain ? I have been too often deceived to trust to mere 
 promises. You are right. God's providence must do what 
 is best in regard to my happiness ; Init it can do as much 
 for me here as anpvhere else. Of this I have convincing 
 proofs, for which I should specially thank Heaven if I 
 thought one should thanlc Heaven for what is good alone." 
 
 III. 
 
 Tliere was no German theatre in Berlin to stimidate 
 Lessing's energies, but as the desire for distinction as a 
 dramatist was a deep-seated impulse, no outward stimulus 
 was needed to induce him to work the vein opened at 
 Leipzig. He began many plays, and in 1749 finished two 
 of the most important of his eaiiy efforts, "The Jews" and 
 " The Freethinker." 
 
 The first of these is what would now be called a play 
 with a purjiose. Even in our time the prejudice against 
 the Jews can hardly be said to have died out ; but in the 
 middle of last century, at any rate in Germany, it was 
 almost as rampant as in the Dark Ages. Confined in the 
 great towns to their own quarters, they were treated as 
 outcasts who scarce had human rights. Frederick himself, 
 the most philosophic of sovereigns, forgot all about his philo- 
 sophy in dealing with them. At Berlin every Jew who 
 passed through the Brandenburg gate paid toll, as if his 
 person was a piece of merchandise; and themeanest scoundrel 
 who called himself a Christian thought he was entitled to 
 insult one of the despised race. There is nothing in history 
 more strnge than the persecutions of which the Jews have
 
 76 liERLrX. 
 
 l>oen tlic victims. A pco])le whose oripn is lost in tlie most 
 n'moto nnti(iuity, who had hi-liind tliem a ^ofii juist vlicii 
 Zeus aiitl Ajxtlli) were still the gods of a young nation, 
 whose career to our nwn tinui has been one long romance, 
 whose traditions have hoen interwoven with the inmost 
 life of Kurojie, out of the midst of whoso religion sprang 
 the faith tliat has dominated modern civilisation: this 
 ]>eo]»le, with a vitality so astounding, qualities so distinct 
 and rare, might surely have been expected rather to fas- 
 cinate than to repel mankind. The treatment they have 
 received is all the more amazing when we reflect that, in 
 spite of every kind of bitter injustice, they have never 
 ceased to produce men of lofty intelligence, and character 
 rendered sul)lime by patience and charity. Fortunately, 
 notwithstanding the general intolerance, tliere have rarely 
 lieen wanting since the dawn of the modern age a few who 
 have resented the general wrongdoing, and to them it is 
 due that a more enlightened spirit now })revails. To this 
 select class Lessing belonged. As we shall see, his most 
 intimate friend was a Jew ; and it was a Jew he selected 
 as the hero of the most impressive of his dramatic works — 
 " Nathan the Wise." Even at this early period he had 
 formed the resolution to do everything in his power to 
 oppo.se the common feeling, and in "The Jews" ("Die 
 Juden") he struck his first l)low. 
 
 It might have been supposed that, in accordance, with 
 the method of his previous comedies, he wouM select a 
 particularly absurd representative of the prejudice he 
 wished to a.ssail, and cover him with ridicule. This, how- 
 ever, was not the plan ho pursued. The only Christian 
 character of any importance in the comedy is a baron who 
 has no more than the ordinary dislike of the Jews and is 
 otherwi.se an honourable man. The hero, a rich Jew, is 
 represented as possessing almost ever}' virtue of which 
 human nature is capable. He saves tlie lives of the baron 
 nnd his daughter ; and the baron, overwhelmed with gi*a- 
 titudc, desii'cs to make him his son - in - law. On hia
 
 BERl.IX. 
 
 77 
 
 nationality being revealed, this is felt to be impossiljle, and 
 the two men part with an expression of mutual esteem. 
 So sli^'ht a plot could not display more than superlicial 
 qualities ; and, in any case, the Jew is so plainly drawn to 
 be admirt'd that lie fails to touch our syiiii);ithics. lie is 
 a character in the air, without any quality to connect him 
 with ordinary men. Notwithstanding its dramatic defects, 
 however, the comedy will always have a certain interest 
 on account of the line sense of justice in which it origi- 
 nated. 
 
 "Tlie Freethinker" (" Der Freigeist") was written in 
 accordance with tlie hint Lessing had thrown out to liis 
 father that there might be a comedy of which even he would 
 approve. The hero, Adrast, is a sceptic of a kind Lessing 
 must have frequently met in Berlin. Probably, indeed, 
 Mylius suggested some lines of the picture. He is without 
 serious belief, perfectly self-satisfied, and convinced that 
 all professional upholders of religion are disguised rascals. 
 Theophan, a young clergyman, manly, dignified, and gene- 
 rous, is anxious to remove this silly prejudice, but the more 
 he makes advances the more rudely they are rejected. 
 Time after time oj)portunities present themselves for serving 
 his enemy, and he never fails, in a spirit of genuine self- 
 sacrifice, to avail himself of them. At last Adrtust's re- 
 sistance is overcome, and he not only acknowledges that 
 Theophan is disinterested and liigh-minded, but actu- 
 ally begs for his friendship. \Vlien the play opens, they 
 are engaged to two sisters, Theophan to Juliane, Adrast 
 to Henriette. Henriette is lively and playful, Juliane 
 thoughtful and serious; nevertheless, Juliane discovers 
 that it is the sceptical man of the world she really loves ; 
 Hem-iette, that she has given her heart to the theologian. 
 The two men also find they have made a mistake ; and as 
 the action concludes, love is allowed to have its way. 
 Theophan and Adrast have each a servant who presents 
 a vulgar copy of the principles and tendencies of his 
 master; and Lisette, the maid of the two young ladies,
 
 7S UERLLW 
 
 j)lays the usual r6lc in conducting the intrigue wliich leads 
 to tlie filial issue. 
 
 The iiU-a of tlic i)lot is partly taken from a play by 
 De L'isle; and in the attention paid to the unities, as well 
 as in the artilicial halancing of the cliaracters, the method 
 is still altogether French. It must also be said tliat there 
 is no single conception of so much vigour as that of the 
 pedantic Damon. The comedy is, however, a decided 
 advance on its predecessors, for the artist is at once richer 
 in materials and better able to control them. If there is 
 no instance of original portraiture, the main conceptions 
 are clearly outlined, and their development is etVccted by 
 simple and natural means. 
 
 "The Treasure" (" Der Schatz"), which belongs to 1750, 
 must have been conceived and written in haste, for it is 
 quite unworthy of such a work as " The Freethinker." It 
 is more on a level with " Damon," the earliest of all his 
 attemjtts. Incomparably higher is the fragment "Henzi," 
 comjirising the first and part of the second act of a tragedy 
 in rliymed Alexandrines. The hero was a citizen of Bern 
 who had recently been put to death — unjustly, it would seem 
 — as a rebel by the autliorities of that canton. The wisdom 
 of dramatising contemporary events may be questioned, for 
 men and things near us lack a certain ideal charm with 
 which remoteness invests them; and in the treatment of 
 our own tinte we require a strict fidelity to particular fiicts 
 which is not favourable to j)oetic elTect. It was ]irobably 
 a consciousness of this which induced Lossing to break olf 
 in the midst of his work. So far as he went, he triunqthed 
 much more than could have been anticipated over the 
 obstacles he had to contend against; and had he pro- 
 ceeded, notwithstanding the somewhat gitjtescpie elfect of 
 rhymed Alexandrines in German, " llenzi" would almost 
 certainly have .stood forth as a truly heroic representative 
 of freedom in the modern sense. "What gives a .special in- 
 terest to tiiis fragment is the Shakespearian inlluence to 
 be detected in il. In 1 749 a translation of " Julius Ca^ar,"
 
 BERLIN. 79 
 
 by ITerr von r.orp;lc, wlio liad Leon Prussian Anihassador 
 at the C'oui-t of St. James's, and was one of tlie few men 
 of rank in lU'ilin wlio troubled themselves about literature 
 in CJ(!nii;uiy, had for the lii-st time introduced the German 
 public directly to the English poet; and this rendering was 
 read by Lessing, to whom it dindy suggested ideas of which 
 he was ultimately to have a wide and clear vision. The 
 character of lleuzi was obviously designed to corres[)ond 
 to that of Brutus. Still more decided are the traces of 
 "Julius Crr.sar" in "Liberated Eome" ("Das befreyte 
 Kom "), a sketch iu which space is left for those incidental 
 appearances of the mob so skilfully introduced by Shake- 
 speare in his historical dramas, and for which Lessing 
 would have looked in vain in French dramatic literature. 
 
 A clever fragment, entitled ""Women are Women" 
 ("Weiber .sind Weiber"), is in imitation of the "Stichus" 
 of riautus. It portrays a crusty old father who denounces 
 his two daughters for not giving up husbands who have 
 deserted them, and for declining to marry suitors he has pro- 
 vided. The fidelity of thedaughters is humorously contrasted 
 with their former detestation of their lords ; and a comic 
 effect is produced by the fiither mistaking ferocious scoldings 
 for mild expostulations. " Tarautida " contains the opening 
 scenes of a rather wild burlesque of a popular writer of 
 " the words " of operas. The broad fun of this piece would 
 have secured for it some success, but Lessing did not com- 
 plete a task which he probably concluded was hardly worthy 
 of him. In " Palaiou " he had the boldness to attempt a 
 play in French. His brother represents it as a mere gram- 
 matical exercise, but it is far too seriously planned to be 
 regarded in this light; and the fact that he afterwards 
 translated it into German, and intended to finish it in that 
 language, may be considered to dispose of the theory. He 
 was living in a town where French was the fashionable 
 speech, where in polite circles French ideas and French 
 literature were the main subjects of conversation ; and he 
 had at least one intimate French friend, Pdcliier de Lou-
 
 to BERLIN. 
 
 vain. It was, therefore, natural tlmt so daring a spirit 
 should tiy to measure himself with the WTiters who wero 
 perpetually held xip as the solo standards of perfection. 
 No one can pretend that he achieved a very great result. 
 \\\it " Palaion " reveals a creditable knowledge of French ; 
 and the laudator tcrnporis adi who is its hero rails at Lis 
 age with much force and animation. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Even thus early Lessing had formed a lofty conception 
 of the function of the drama in a vigorous and many-sided 
 national life. This induced him, within a year of his 
 arrival in Berlin, to undertake in association with ^lylius 
 a truly gigantic scheme. It was the publication of what 
 may be called a Quarterly Eeview devoted to theatrical 
 subjects. Tlie title of the periodical was " Contributions 
 towards the History and Improvement of the Tlieatre " 
 (" lieytriige zur Historic uud Aufualime des Tlieatei-s "). 
 The introductory statement,^ although signed by " the 
 authors," is evidently — with the exception, perhaps, of 
 some words of praise regarding Gottsched, which may be 
 ascribed to Mylius, Gottsched's ardent disciple — Lessing's 
 work ; and it is impossible not to admire the tone of fear- 
 less enterj)rise by which it is pervadt-d. It is the privilege 
 and glory of youth to be unconscious of dilhculties in any 
 task to which it voluntarily devotes itself; and certainly 
 Lessing had no idea of being deterred by obstacles that 
 might have alarmed a more experienced writer. He starts 
 with the assertion that it is in the drama (Jerman litera- 
 ture is most deficient, and lays it down as the purpose of 
 the new periodical to elevate the i)ublic taste as well as 
 to guide and stinmlate dramatic authors. One way in 
 wliich these ends are to be attained is by the collection 
 and arrangement of all the most authoritative laws bear- 
 ing on the drama, and by the free criticism, in the light 
 of these laws, of contemporary jdays. " Our jmlgmenta," 
 Lc says, " will at all times be without bitterness, without 
 » b. a. iii. p. 7.
 
 BERLIN. 8r 
 
 prejudice. Contrary to the custom of art critics, wc will 
 seek rather for what is beautiful tlian for wliat is had ; 
 we will ratlier jiraise than hhinie." Yt-t tliey will he care- 
 ful to avoid giving the impression that " theatrical work 
 is a trille, a kind of work of which every one is capaMo." 
 Not content with this pro^^Tanuue, in itself sufhciently 
 large, Lessing proposes to bring within reach of the Ger- 
 man jjublic specimens of the grandest dramatic efforts in 
 which the liuman spirit lias disclosed itself. The reading 
 world being already tolerably familiar with the French 
 drama, it Wiis unnecessary to do much more than translate 
 contemporary French writers; but tlic Greek, Latin, Eng- 
 lish, Spanish, Italian, and Dutcli dramas were almost un- 
 known. The cliief works in these languages are, therefore, 
 to be rcnderetl, iind they are to be critically compared, so that 
 it may be discovered in what respects the ancients and 
 moderns are inferior to each other, and how the moderns 
 stand among themselves. It is noteworthy that a prin- 
 ciple is here stated to which Lessing afterwards gave 
 immense prommence, and which, particulai'ly in Berlin, 
 was startliugly novel. " It is certain," he says, " that if in 
 dramatic poetry the German will follow his natural im- 
 pulses, our stage will resemble rather the English than the 
 French." After hinting that some original works may be 
 included in the programme of the magazine, the sanguine 
 young reformer dwells on the importance of the actor's 
 as well as the dramatist's art. Declamation, he points 
 out, was heLl in much higher esteem in ancient than in 
 modern times ; and he adds that " if at the present time 
 the subject were studied with greater diligence, one would 
 certainly funl more orators than lay figures in our pulpits, 
 and those who are often like lunatics rather than apostles 
 there wouH know how to speak with more moderation 
 and attractiveness." The laws of effective declamation 
 are to be set forth, and at the same time attention will 
 be given to questions connected with the adornment of 
 the stage and the costume of actors. 
 
 VuL. 1. F
 
 82 LEKLIX. 
 
 As if all this wcro not onoujjh, the " Contributious" are to 
 include sketches of " the rise, the iiro^^ross, the fall, and tho 
 resuscitation of the theatre among all civilised nations; 
 biographical notices of dramatic poets and actors ; hLstorical 
 extracts from tho most authoritative works on the theatre." 
 All arguments for and against the theatre are to be brought 
 together, beginning with those of the Fathers and coming 
 down to the declamtions of modern divines. "It will thus 
 be clearly seen on what grounds the latter appeal to the 
 former ; that the considerations urged by the former against 
 the theatre are no longer applicable, and tliat the latter 
 condemn it from ignorance and pride," A hope Is ex- 
 pressed that clerical intolerance may be modified ; but this 
 result is not too contidently anticipated, "since many people 
 are accustomed to be most zealous when they are least able 
 to answer objections." The clergy are responsible for the 
 popular prejudice against the theatre and those who write 
 for it ; " but the time may perhaps soon come when even 
 the mob will be wiser, and when they will be the only 
 class for whom it will be necessary to wish a more healthy 
 understanding," — a sentence which proves that, notwith- 
 standing his contempt for Adrast, Lcssing could already 
 aim a pretty hard blow at the weak side of the clergy. 
 
 It is a little amusing to contrast these vast proposals 
 with the small achievement in wliioh they resulted. Only 
 four numbers appeared, chietly written by Lessing, and of 
 these the greater part was taken up with Plant us alone. 
 There is no reason to sui)pose that it was ]>opular neglect 
 which wrecked the tiny bark : it was bnjuglit to ruin 
 by the differences of the crew which manned it. Mylius 
 liad no literary creed apart from fJottsched, and, there- 
 fore, tlie old French drama seemed to him tho last word 
 of mankind on mattere theatrical Le.ssing was as yet 
 far from having fri'ed himself from Frenc-h inlluence; but 
 he intensely disliked (jottscluMl's supei-stitious adherence 
 to narrow rules, his fonnality and coldness, and, as wo 
 have seen, had already become aware that England pos-
 
 BERLhW 83 
 
 scssed a dramatic literature more akin tliau that of France? 
 to the (Irniiiiii f^'fiiius. From tlic l)(';,Mniiin^f, tlicrefore, it 
 was ilmililful whether lie and Mylius, liuwcver good friends 
 they might Ijc, could work together in an undertaking that 
 demanded comiili-te accord on fundamental questions. The 
 gulf between them became wider as they went on, and at 
 last Mylius committed a mistake which, doubtless greatly 
 to his sui-jirise, Lessing declared fatal to the enterprise. 
 He incidentally a.sserted that not a single good play had 
 ever apj)cared on the Italian stage. Lessing considered the 
 periodical for ever disgraced by this opinion, and announced 
 that he could no longer have anytliing to do witli it. As 
 he had been the life of the undertaking, it at once came to 
 an end. 
 
 The articles on Plautus were to a large extent tlie fruit 
 of those solitary studies which had given him so mucli 
 delight at St. Afra's, and prove that he had already ad- 
 vanced far beyond most of his contemporaries in the spirit 
 in which he approached the study of ancient writers. The 
 fii-st number contains a mere statement of the facts known 
 respecting the poet, with a list of his works and of the 
 various editions of Plautus. In the second there is a 
 spirited translation of the " Captivi ; " and the third presents 
 all the objections which could be brought against Plautus 
 by a critic of Gottsched's school. These are not drily 
 enumerated. Lessing loved argument, but he loved it as a 
 means of attaining truth: hence all tlirough life he strove 
 to put himself exactly at the standpoint of his opponent, so 
 as to understand precisely what it was he had to answer. 
 In this case he marshalled every possible hostile criticism 
 in a letter nominally addressed to himself by a corre- 
 spondent ; and Clottsched could not have done more justice 
 to his own principles. The reply is contained partly in the 
 third number, partly in the fourth and last; and it is in 
 this response that Lessing gives the first unmistakable 
 promise of his future eminence as a critic. We are now 
 familiar with the doctrine that, in judging the moral tone
 
 84 BHRLIN. 
 
 (if a writer, wo ought to ju(ljj;c him solely by the standard of 
 his own time. Tract ically it is still often norjlected, but 
 in theory it is almost as common])lacc as it is obviously 
 just. No principle, however, could have been more opposed 
 to the whole mode of thought of the eighteenth century. 
 An ideal ethical code was accepted for all ages, and men 
 of previous generations stood or fell in proportion as they 
 conformed to its niles. In answering the statement that 
 I'lautus is frequently loose in his morality, Lessing boldly 
 advances the view we now hold, urging that much which 
 shocks modern ears was perfectly innocent in those of the 
 llomans. " It is," he adds,' " the greatest injustice one can 
 do an ancient writer to judge him according to the refined 
 manners of the present day. "We must put ourselves 
 thoroughly in the place of his contemporaries if we would 
 not ascribe to him faults from which he is free." Lessing 
 goes fartlier, and maintains that moderns are not so very 
 superior to the ancients as they suppose in their feeling 
 respecting coarse words and phrases. " I do not know by 
 what right tlie often constrained facility in blushing and 
 appearing indignant at the mention of certain words and 
 the sight of certain objects can be placed among the vii-tues. 
 ^lodesty in this sense often merely disguises vice. I take 
 all the olVensive passages which people make so much of 
 against Plautus, and maintain that not one of them is put 
 in such a way as to mislead innocent feeling. They are too 
 rough, and can awaken only disgust. I am veiy nuich 
 mistaken if far greater harm is not done by jokes which 
 our fine wits are accustomed to call roguish. Poison which 
 is introduced without our remarking it fails less fret[uently 
 in its operation than that which one seeks openly to force 
 upon us." 
 
 Tlie otlier objections to Plautus are that his wit often 
 consists of a mere play upon words, and that — in the 
 " Captivi" particularly — he violates tlie unities of time 
 and place. With respect to the first, Lessing admits that 
 
 ' .S. S. iii. i>. 120,
 
 BERLIX. 85 
 
 playing upon wonls is a poor sort of wit; Imt lie draws a 
 distinction between what is dramatically appropriate and 
 what would he becoming in a poet if spoken in his own 
 nanu\ lie. insists tliat jukes of this description, when jnit 
 into the nioutlis of slaves, as I'lautus puts them, were 
 etrictly true to life. " Is he to blame for hitting off too 
 well those whom he represents ? or would lie not rather be 
 to blame if he had lent them his wit, and made them say 
 clever things which a Roman was not accustomed to hear 
 from his slaves?" As to the violation of tlie unities, 
 Lessing acknowledges this to be a real fault, but pleads 
 that it is at least excusable when committed for the sake 
 of larger and more essential effects. 
 
 Towards the end of 1750, ]\Iy]ius quarrelled with Herr 
 Iiudiger, and either resigned or was dismissed from his 
 post as etlitor. Paidiger, who had formed a high opinion 
 of Lessing's talents, wished him to succeed his friend ; but at 
 that time political journals in Berlin were so utterly trivial, 
 being compelled by a strict censorship to avoid all discus- 
 sion of public affaii"s, that Lessing refused, as he explained 
 in one of tlie letters to his father, to waste his time in so 
 profitless an occupation. Soon afterwards Eiidiger died, 
 and the paper fell into the hands of Herr Voss, his son-in- 
 law, also a bookseller, who changed its name to the " Voss 
 Gazette," the name it still bears. Voss had long been on 
 friendly terms "wdth Lessing, and now begged him, if not to 
 edit the journal, at least to conduct its strictly literary de- 
 partment, which consisted of reviews of new books. This 
 suited his taste, and fitted in with his ordinary pursuits ; he 
 therefore accepted the offer, and began his duties in Feb- 
 niary, 175 1. About the same time a project was formed 
 for publishing a monthly supplement to the paper, to be 
 entitled, "The latest from the Eealm of Wit" ("Das 
 Xeueste aus dem Reiche des AVitzes"), and to contain 
 a general view of the progress of European litera- 
 ture. This also was undertaken by Lessing; and from
 
 86 BERLIN. 
 
 April to Doccniher, 175 1, the supplement re^ilaily np- 
 jteart'd. AUliougli Lessiiig did not write absolutely every- 
 thiuL,' cither in the supplement or the ordinary literary 
 colunnis of the " Clazette," he edited Loth, and all tlio 
 articles of any value ■were his work. 
 
 These reviews are quite brief, and if Lessiiig had wiitten 
 nothing else, would of course have passed away witli the- 
 ephemeral literature of the day; but no one can glance 
 through them without detecting the stamp of a thoroughly 
 individual mind. They are all the result of conscientious 
 work. Lcssing evidently read every book submitted to 
 liim, and having done so, was rarely content to adopt the 
 common device of filling up space with extracts. After 
 making a short extract on one occasion, he adds, " It would 
 be an insult to our readers if we were to give more speci- 
 mens. It would seem as if we believed that a man of 
 taste can be satisfied with passages torn from their con- 
 texts." On the other hand, he does not fall into the 
 mistake of supposing that in the course of a brief article 
 lie can sum up the results of an elaborate treatise and 
 finally judge them. He usually takes one point, ])laces it 
 in a clear light, and, if possible, adds some contrilmtion of 
 his own to its proper understanding. Compressed as the 
 discussions necessarily are, they display not only wide 
 reading, l»ut a maturity of thought which is usually ex- 
 pected only from much older men. He might have been 
 excused if in his case maturity of thought had implied a 
 somewhat heavy style, for the idea of style had as yet 
 hardly dawned u])on German writers. Their sentences 
 were involved, dull, and confused ; and it would have 
 been in the ordinary coui-se of things if, at starting, Lessing 
 had been in this respect little better than his neighbours. 
 But already in these early papers we find the ajjtness of 
 l)hrase, the terseness of expression, the unexpected turn of 
 wit that are characteristic of the prose works with which 
 his name is now chielly associated. There is al.S(j that unmis- 
 takable linnncss of tone which marks his later utterances.
 
 BERLIN. 87 
 
 This is as far removed as possible from the self-confidence of 
 a mere sciolist and the exaggeration by which a timid man 
 sometimes keeps up his courage. It is the decided draw- 
 ing of the artist who has a clear vision, and knows exactly 
 how to reproduce its outKnes. 
 
 Anotlier and essential characteristic of Lessing's style 
 which niucts us even at this stage is his love of metaphors 
 and similes. This quality is found to the same degi'ee in 
 no other German author. It is improbable that Lessing's 
 thoaght was originally, in his own mind, so concrete as it 
 appears in his works; for although a poet, he was not suffi- 
 ciently a poet, he was too much a pure thinker, to pass 
 from judgment to judgment by means of individual images. 
 Had the imagination and the understanding been thus 
 fused in him, he would have given us less criticism and 
 more poetry. Ihit because he was so consummate a critic, 
 he knew that thought expressed in abstract forms is for 
 the ordinary intelligence powerless, for the educated intelli- 
 gence without charm. Hence he deliberately clothed his 
 ideas in visible and tangible forms ; he brought them, as 
 Sokrates brought philosophy, from the clouds, and made 
 them appear in shapes that the common understanding 
 would ajiprehend and take delight in apprehending. "We 
 find this preference for metaphorical expression in all his 
 writings : dramatic as well as critical, theological as well 
 as {esthetic. He ultimately became a master in its use ; 
 and this is ujiquestionably one of the strongest of the many 
 reasons for the power he still exerts. The objects from 
 which he selects his images are rarely remarkable for 
 grandeur or beauty; he is usually content if they ai'e 
 familiar, precise, and vivid.^ 
 
 The bitter controversy between Bodmer and Gottsched 
 and their followers, which had for a time lost its vehe- 
 mence, had acquu'ed fresh vigour through the publication 
 
 ' For a minute investigation of the A. Lehmann. The same author has 
 qualities of Lessing's style, see " For- treatises on the styles of Luther and 
 schungen iiber Lessing's Sprache," by Goethe.
 
 8S DERUX. 
 
 in 1/49 <^f ^^'c three first cantos uf Klopstock's " iressiali." 
 Witli<>nt (lonyin^ that particuhir passages of this famous 
 epic di.s})hiy genuine imaginative force, most readers now 
 find it utterly witliout human interest, the style strained, 
 the sentiment unreal. At the time of their puhlir.-ition, 
 liowcver, the early cantos created an incredible hubbub. 
 The author was hailed as the equal, if not the superior, of 
 ^f ilton ; and Germans held iip their heads, for now at last, 
 it was believed, they had something in literature which 
 even the French could not excel. Ijodmer and his friends 
 were especially enthusiastic, for they had taught that the 
 more wonderful the mere theme, the greater must be the 
 work which treats of it ; and what could be more won- 
 derful tlian the tale of the incarnation ? Klopstock was 
 invited to Ziiiich, and received the homage of the veteran, 
 who immediately began an epic in the style of his dis- 
 tingiiished disciple. Others followed suit, and by-and-liy 
 epics and odes according to the method of the new poet 
 became the order of the day, the humblest versifier look- 
 ing upon all pei-sonages beneath the dignity of a seraph as 
 iniworthy of notice. It is not impossiltlc that if the Swiss 
 School had been less noisy in its praise, Gottsched would 
 have deigned to extend .some encouragement to Klopstock; 
 for although the latter was far from keeping to the trim 
 garden walks to which the Leipzig professor would have 
 confined ])oets, he had classical culture, and might have 
 been induced to school his genius into a more decorous and 
 orderly mode of comporting itself. The same things could 
 not, however, be admired at Lei])7.ig and Ziirich ; and thus 
 Klopstock was as heartily abu.sed by Gott.st'lied and those 
 who still followed his lead as he was adored by Bodmer 
 and the liodmerites. The disjiute between the two parties 
 was renewed with all the old ferocity ; but now it was the 
 more deadly because each side liad a battle-cry, and the 
 war that had formerly raged res])(>rting ])rinri]il('s related 
 to a ]iarticular work l»y which these principles were brought 
 to a definite issue.
 
 BERLIN. So 
 
 Jjcsshi^ heartily agreed witli tlic Swiss School in its 
 eatimnte of ( Jottsched. Moved as he was by the impulses 
 of a di'cp and ex])anding life, familiar with the master- 
 pieces of j^enius in many lan.i^ftiagcs, he could not hut feel 
 repugnance to one who made it his business to force the 
 energies of minds of all classes into a narrow mould ; 
 and thiTC was nothing in the personal character of the 
 professor to soften the opposition to his literary creed. 
 "The other part," says Lessing, in reviewing an edition 
 of Gottsched's poems, ^ " is mostly new, and adorned Ijy 
 the same arrangement according to rank that gives the 
 first so distinguished an air. In the first book are all the 
 poems to crowned heads and princely personages ; in the 
 second, those addn^ssed to counts, noble people, and others 
 who to some extent resemble these ; the friendly lyrics are 
 in the third book." Of an ode to Leibnitz in this collection 
 he says : " The gi-eatcst part of it is taken up with the praise 
 of the city of Leipzig. That is Pindaric! When this sublime 
 singer had to celebrate the praises of an Olympic victor, of 
 whom he had nothing in God's world more wonderful to say 
 than that he had swift feet or strong fists, it happened now 
 and then that, instead of praising the man himself, he 
 praised his native town. "Who can remain serious when 
 Herr Professor Gottsched bases his praise of the philoso- 
 pher upon the discovery of such trifles as his Binary Arith- 
 metic, to discover which he did not need to be Leibnitz ? But 
 the Binar}' Arithmetic is, perhaps, for the HeiT Professor 
 as unintelligible a thing as the Analysis infinitorum seems 
 to be, wliioh he, with much insight, calls arithmetic in the 
 infinitely little." Gottsched's judgment of the " Messiah " 
 he thus dismisses : " We shall leave it alone in a book in 
 which it will make an impression only on those who are 
 punished enough by not understanding this gi-eat poem. 
 Admit that it has some faults, stiU it remains a piece in 
 virtue of which our Fatherland may boast of the honour of 
 possessing creative minds." The review concludes with 
 
 1 S. S. iii. p. T52.
 
 90 BEKLIX. 
 
 the brusque sarcasm: "These poems cost two thalers four 
 fjroschon. "With two thalers one pays for what is ridicu- 
 lous, wiih f(»ur groschen for what is useful." 
 
 Lut wliile Lessiug attacked Guttsclied, lie did not make 
 common cause with the Swiss writers. He saw that they 
 were as one-sided as their enemy, and, witli the indepen- 
 dence wliich was ever afterwards to distinguish him, took 
 up a position outside both parties. The sentences just 
 quoted show that he had been impressed by the " Messiah;" 
 and he elsewhere says that in criticising Klopstock he 
 does so as strategists criticise Hannibal for not besieging 
 Eome. A less great general would not be condemned for 
 not doing this ; and faults would be forgiven in poor or 
 mediocre poets wliich seriously offend readers of a poet like 
 Klopstock. At the same time, when five cantos are before 
 liim, he points out that it is impossible to form a judg- 
 ment of the writer's art, since art can be estimated from 
 the study only of a whole, not of parts : a principle by 
 wliicli the " ^lessiah " was implicitly condemned ; for as 
 years passed on, it became more and more clear that Klop- 
 stock had no harmonious whole in his mind, and that in 
 manhood he had little impulse to complete the haphazard 
 beginnings of his youth. Taking the opening lines of the 
 poem, Lessing proves, by a minute examination of line after 
 line, tliat he fails to sketch a definite plan, and convicts 
 him of vagueness and tautology. In a little notice of the 
 " Ode to God," he hits all tlie worst blots in Klopstock's 
 compositions of this class. " Tlie poet laments, in tliis ode, 
 the loss or removal of one beloved. He ajipears to love 
 liis maid as one seraph loves another, and only such 
 luve could be noble enough to justify one in speaking to 
 God about it. The wliole ode is pervaded by a sublime 
 tenderness which, because it is too sublime, may perhaps 
 leave most readers cold. Besides, one will occasionally 
 remark a meaningless play of ideiis, various tautologies, 
 and commonplaces splendidly expressed." After quoting 
 three stanzas full of passionate entreaty, Lessing drily
 
 BERLIN. 91 
 
 mlds : " "Wliat audacity to pray so earnestly fur a 
 woman ! " ^ 
 
 If Klojistock canio off thus badly, it may be supposed 
 that his imitators would not be very gently treated. To 
 them Lessing shows no mercy. He declares that even 
 Oottschud would have had his hearty approval if, "in- 
 stead of condemning the ' Messiah,' he had attacked those 
 stiff witlings who make themselves ridiculous by their 
 uuhapiiy imitations of Klopstock's sublime style." "There 
 are only too many," lie adds, " who fancy that a limping 
 lieroic measure, some Latin constructions, the avoidance of 
 rhyme, suffice to distinguish them from the crowd of poets. 
 Knowing nothing of that sjtirit which raises the kindled 
 imagination above these trifles to the great beauties of 
 perception and feeling, they take darkness for sublimity, 
 confusion for novelty, what is romantic for pathos. Can 
 anything be more ridiculous than when one in a love-song 
 speaks with his betrothed about seraphs, and another in an 
 epic describes pretty girls, the description of whom woidd 
 scarcely be justified in the humblest pastoral ? Yet these 
 gentlemen find admirers ; and to be called great poets, they 
 have nothing to do but to enter into relation with certain 
 wits who undertake to give the tone in everything that is 
 beautiful. By the copious praises they lavish upon the 
 ' Messiah ' in a manner which indicates that they do not feel 
 its real beauties, they cause in the minds of those who do 
 not sufficiently know this gi-eat poem a kind of prejudice 
 against it. Very few of them understand the sublime, and 
 therefore everything they do not understand they consider 
 sublime. Everything beyond their range of vision is for 
 them equally high." ^ 
 
 Elsewhere we find the following striking sentences : — 
 " "VVlien a bold spuit, full of confidence in its own strength, 
 pushes by a new entrance into the temple of taste, hun- 
 dreds of imitators come behind him in the hope of steal- 
 ing in through this opening. But in vain : with the same 
 
 ^ S. S. iii. p. 194. 2 s, s_ iii_ p_ 212.
 
 92 BERLIX. 
 
 Strength ^itli uliicli lie forces open the door he closes it 
 behiiul hini. IlisastonisluMl fdllowers see themselves shut 
 out, aii'l the imnioitality of wliich they dreamed is sud- 
 denly chaiifjed into derisive laughter." ^ 
 
 IJodmer liimself, douhtless to liis in*eat surprise, ^vas 
 among tlie imitators of Klopstock who were made uneasy 
 by this vigorous critic. A brief notice of his " Jacob and 
 Joso]ili" concludes with the words: 2 "A certain critic has 
 advised that only tliose works which deserve to be read in 
 foreign lands should be jirinted in the Eoman cliaracter. 
 In tlie case of ' Jacol) and Joseph,' they miglit safely have 
 retained the Gothic character." 
 
 Lessing by no means confines himself to the work of 
 Klopstock and the variety of opinion and eflbrt to wliich it 
 gave rise. All sorts of books, historical, theological, criti- 
 cal, come before him ; and on nearly all he has something 
 to say that is still worth reading. Even friendship does 
 not lead him to modify liis tone of strict impartiality. 
 Naumann, with whom he had been on intimate terms in 
 Leipzig, and with whom he remained on such intimate 
 terms tliat for some time they lived together during 
 Lessing's second residence in Berlin, had published some of 
 those ambitious poetic attempts which he used to inflict 
 so readily on all who would listen. One of tliese was an 
 epic entitled "Nimrod," in twenty-four books. Lessing 
 treats this production with good-humoured banter. "The 
 poet," lie says,3 " has given free scope to liis wit, and not 
 troubled himself with rhyme, but ch<isen hexameters 
 without feet ; to which, however, he is not so exclusively 
 attached that he does not often allow octamctei's and i»eu- 
 tameters to slip in among them." 
 
 A good many French books are discussed ; ami in the 
 case of several he complains of the lax moral tone of the 
 writers. " IJy what fate," he asks, " does it happen that 
 one has to accuse almost all the clever writers of France 
 on this snore ? Which of them has not written some- 
 
 ' S. S. iii. p. 213. 2 S. S. iii. p. 222. » S. S. iii. p. 255.
 
 BERLIN. 93 
 
 thing he must be ashamed of before the virtuous ? From 
 the great Comeille down to a I'iron, all have degraded 
 their wit." 
 
 By far the most important French book he had to 
 review was the famous "Discourse" in which llousseau 
 upheld the paradox that civilisation is an unmitigated 
 evil, and by which he opened a career full of significance 
 for the destiny of France and of Europe. Lessing speaks 
 of the eloquent advocate of natural virtues with the utmost 
 respect, amdysing with more than usual care and fulness 
 the leading doctrines of the treatise. In these days, when 
 the primitive man is so much more truly understood than 
 he could be in liousseau's time, it would not be worth 
 while to argue seriously with one who tliought we should 
 prefer savage to civilised life ; and even Piousseau was per- 
 haps hardly in earnest. Lessing, however, by a few rapid 
 strokes indicates what he considers the most effective reply 
 to the fidlacy as Itousseau puts it.^ He admits that the 
 decay of nations has often accompanied the highest devel- 
 opment of art and science ; but he maintains that the two 
 tilings do not stand to each other in the relation of cause 
 and effect. " Everything in the world has its epoch. A 
 State grows till it reaches this ; and whilst it grows the 
 arts and sciences grow with it. If it falls, it does not fall 
 because these overthrow it, but because nothing in the 
 world is capable of incessant growth, and because it has 
 reached the summit from which it must descend with 
 much greater rapidity tlian it mounted. AU great edifices 
 fall in time, whether they are built with art and adorn- 
 ment, or without art and adornment. It is true witty 
 Athens is gone, but did the virtuous Sparta bloom much 
 longer ? " Attacking the sul)ject from another side, he asks 
 whether, supposing the arts undermine warlike qualities, 
 that is so great an evil ? " Are we, after all, sent into the 
 world to make an end of each other ? " Besides, if art and 
 science do sometimes weaken manly virtues, they must 
 
 ^ S. S. iii. p. 2o3,
 
 94 liF.RLIX. 
 
 not be held responsible, for it is the abuse of them that 
 leads to sucli U'sult.s. 
 
 Tliore ^Vlls no French writer of the time wliom Leasing 
 held in higher esteem than iJiderot; and a brief passage 
 shows liow well lie alremly understood the nature of the 
 inlluence which that swift aiid penetrating thinker was 
 exerting upon Ids contemporaries. After giving an ac- 
 count of a letter by Piderot on the deaf and dumb, he 
 says : ^ " A short-sighted dogmatist, who dislikes notliing 
 so luuch as calling in question the learned principles 
 wliich make up liis system, will know liow to pick out a 
 number of errora in this writing of M. Diderot's. Our 
 author is one of those philosophers who give themselves 
 more trouble to make than to disjierse clouds. "Wherever 
 they let their eyes fall, the supports of the most fami- 
 liar truths shake; and wluit we imagine we see quite 
 near is lost in an uncertain distance. They conduct us 
 ' tin'ough dark paths to the shining throne of trutli ' 
 (Kleist), while schoolmen, by paths full of fancied light, 
 bring ns to the gloomy throne of lies. Admit that such a 
 philosoi)her ventures to dispute opinions which we have 
 held sacred. The harm is small. His dreams or truths, 
 however they are called, will do society as little harm as 
 those do great harm who seek to bring the thought of all 
 men under the yoke of their own." 
 
 It is noteworthy that in none of these ri'views does 
 Lessing utter a single disrespectful word resj)eeting Chris- 
 tianity. On the contrary, he expressly ])raises Klopstock 
 for ])icturing it in a manner which make.s his readers 
 forget its dilHcultitis, and fills them with wonder. "He 
 knows how to awaken in his readers the desire that it 
 were true, provided we were so unfortunate that it was 
 not true." Over and ovi'r again, however, ho returns to 
 the principle that conduct, not belief, is the imj)ortant 
 thing, and that mere dogmatic teaching is of no avail if 
 dissociated from practical goodness, " It is fortunate," ho 
 
 ' y. S. iii. p. 336.
 
 BERLIN. 95 
 
 8ays,l "that hero nii<l llicro a divine slill tliiul^.s of tlic 
 practical in Christianity, wlicn the majority lose th(!rn- 
 selves in IVuitluss coutroveraies ; at one time (hunn a 
 simple Moravian brother; at another, give a still more 
 siniplc soofl't'r at religion new material for sconing l)y their 
 80-calk'd refutations ; at another, fight about im]>os.sil)](! 
 schemes of union before they have laid the foundation for 
 union by tin; ]>urificatiou of their hearts from bitterness, 
 quarrelling, caliinmy, oppression, and by the promotion of 
 that love uhicli is the sole essential mark of a Christian. 
 The attemjit to put together a single religion before men 
 liavo been brougiit to tiie sincere exercise of tlieir duties is 
 an cmjtty fancy. Are two bad dogs made good by being 
 shut up in a single kennel ? It is not agreement in 
 ojiinion, but agreement in virtuous actions, that makes 
 the world calm and happy." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lessing's criticisms were too fresh and original not to 
 attract the attention of the Berlin literary world. "A 
 new critic has risen here," wrote Sulzer to Bodmer on 
 October 15, 175 1, "of whose worth you will be able to 
 judge by the accompanying criticism of the ' Messiah.' 
 He appears only a little too young." Somewhat later, 
 Spalding wrote to Gleim : " "\Miat do you think of the 
 pohte and accurate criticism of the 'Messiah' in the 
 'Berlin Gazette?' "2 Lessing had good reason to hope 
 that he would soon rise to a position which would com- 
 mand general respect. Nevertheless, about the close of 
 1 75 1 he resolved to leave Berlin, at least for a time. His 
 aims were high, and he was conscious that his culture was 
 not yet sufficiently profound to enable him to realise them. 
 A period of quiet study, such as he could not secure in 
 the busy Prussian capital, w^here there was so much to 
 distract him, was necessary ; and besides, as he had no 
 liigher title than that of medical student, he thought it 
 
 ^ S, S. iii. p. 154. 3 Danzel, p 210.
 
 96 nr.KLix. 
 
 would be veil to obtain tlio degree of blaster of Arts. 
 ] )min;^ tljc bist days of 175 i, tlu'reforc, lie was on his way 
 to Witti'nb(.'i"j,', where his brother Thcoiihilus Wiis tlK-n 
 studying divinity. 
 
 Wo have seen that, by an odd chance, Lcssing was 
 brought into slight relation with Voltaire. Still more 
 strangely, immediately after his departure from Berlin, 
 the two men came into rather serious collision. After 
 the Ilirsch trial Voltaire went to I'otsdam to finish 
 his great work on the age of Louis XIV., and, before 
 Lessing left, it was almost ready for publication. Calling 
 upon his friend Hichier de Louvain, Lessing found him 
 engaged in selecting from a number of copies two dozen 
 of the best for presentation to the royal family. On re- 
 ceiving a promise that no one else should see it, the secre- 
 tary was induced to lend him the first part for a few 
 days, as he naturally felt considerable curiosity respect- 
 ing a book that had been long looked forward to, and that 
 would not for some little time be before the world. Unfor- 
 tunately, another friend of Lessing managed to caxTy off 
 the work, and a lady, who saw it in this friend's posses- 
 sion, reported the fact to Voltaire. The latter was furious, 
 and, sending for ])e Louvain, overwhelmed him with 
 reproaches, and ordered him at once to bring back 
 the volume, liy this time Lessing hatl left for "Witten- 
 berg, and either l»y accident, or because he thought 
 no great harm could result, he had taken the book with 
 him. Voltaire, on hearing this, gave way to one of those 
 bursts of passion which so curiously contrasted with his 
 principles. There was evidently a conspiracy, he de- 
 clared, to issue a ])iratcd edition, or to steal a march upon 
 him by the publication of an unwarranted translation. 
 i)ictating to De Louvain a letter to Ix'ssing demanding 
 the instant return tif the stolen proj)erly, and compelling 
 him to sign it, VolUiire drove tlie unfortunate young man 
 from his service. Lessing was amazed to receive so iiaa- 
 siouatc a letter, but soon perceived the real state of the
 
 BERLIN. 97 
 
 cnse. He widLc! in French a reply, addressed to Pc Tvou- 
 vain but really meant for Voltaire, in which lie denied 
 that ho had the least evil intention in what he had done, 
 and tried to mollify Voltaire by one or two compli- 
 monts delicately administered. As this answer did not 
 i"each Berlin by return of post, Voltaire, confirmed in his 
 suspicions of treachery, himself wrote in an ant^iy tone. 
 leasing sent a rej»ly in Latin, which, as he afterwards 
 told De Louvain, " Voltaire would hardly post upon his 
 window." 
 
 Tliis incident,^ about which Voltaire made no secret, 
 caused considerable stir in Berlin. " Your affair with Vol- 
 taire," wrote Mylius, "has attracted much notice. Since 
 your departure you are better known than when you 
 were here." Afterwards Lessing was the most formidable 
 literary opponent who ever attacked Voltaire, and he 
 occasionally gave somewhat violent expression to his 
 dislike of the Frenchman's personal character. This 
 opposition has been represented as largely owing to the 
 petty quarrel now described, but nothing could be more 
 unjust to Lessing. He was of too gi-eat a mould to aUow 
 a squabble of this kind, even if he thought himself gravely 
 wronged, permanently to affect his judgment. He con- 
 •lucted a literary warfare against Voltaire solely because 
 there was much in the Frenchman's work of which he 
 disapproved ; and if he disliked the brilliant Mn-itcr per- 
 sonally, that was because Voltaire presented to the world 
 aspects of character which were naturally more offensive 
 to his contemporaries than to us, and as naturally often 
 blinded them to his warm impulses and noble aspirations. 
 
 ^ Those who wish full details will of Voltaire, also relates the incident 
 
 find them in Karl Lessing, p. 130. at great length, giving it an iniport- 
 
 Stnhr, who manifests in different aucc it certainly docs not possess. 
 puts of his biography a bitter hatred 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 (93) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 WITTENBERG. 
 
 " I LOVE," said Dr. Jolinson, " to hroicse in a library." 1 
 The like might have been said of liimself by Lessing. 
 Collections of books had an intense fascination for him ; 
 and he had the unfailing mark of the genuine book-lover 
 — a preference for old and rare editions. We have seen 
 that as a boy he liked to pass time by glancing through 
 books ; and there is a story told in connection with the 
 portrait of liim as a child, that he himself insisted on being 
 ])ainted with " a great pile of books about him." "\Mien he 
 was employed to arrange llerr liiidiger's lil)rary, he took 
 care to make liimself familiar with its i)rincipal works. 
 Indeed, in one of the letters to liis father, who had been 
 tokl tliat tlie loss of this oc('ui)ation had plunged him into 
 serious difliculties, he says, " I never wished to have rela- 
 tions with this olil man longer than was necessary for me 
 to become thoroughly actpiainted with his library. My 
 end was attained, and we parted." In AVittenberg he had 
 unusual opportunities for his favourite pleasure. An old 
 schoolfellow was employed in the university library, and 
 was able to secure for him the free use of its treasures. 
 lie afterwards used to say that he believed this collection 
 did not contidn a single book which he luul not pa.ssed 
 through his hands, so that the greater part of his time 
 must have been spent there. 
 
 1 Quotcil in II rlcvor ipajicr ou Lcssiug iu Mr. Lowell's collection of css.ays, 
 " Among my liooku."
 
 WITTENBERG. 99 
 
 "We miist look for the source of tliis passion partly in 
 his deep love of kiuAvledge for its own sake. In our time, 
 science — using tlie word in its largest sense — is so divided 
 and subdivided that no one can hope to appropriate more 
 than a small part of it. But last century it was still 
 possible to range over the whole field of knowledge, and 
 accordingly we lind in nearly all the leading minds of the 
 age a thirst for something approaching universal informa- 
 tion. It was almost equally strong in Diderot and Vol- 
 taire, Dr. Johnson and Hume, Kant and Goethe. Lessing 
 shared to the utmcjst this tendency of the epoch. It was 
 of little consequence that he did not at the moment see 
 how any particular addition to his vast stores could be prac- 
 tically ajiplied ; it was enough that there was something to 
 be known, and that he had the means of learning it. Prac- 
 tical use might bo left to the chances of the future ; or if 
 no practical use ever became possible, then the acquisition 
 itself was valuable. Yet he had none of the mere scholar's 
 superstitious reverence for books. In his later writings 
 he often alludes with impatience to those who consider 
 books the only, or even the chief, mode of communicating 
 intellectual impulse; the direct contact of mind with 
 mind he regarded as the highest of aU means of awaken- 
 ing thought. And knowledge acquired from without he 
 looked upon as a positive evil if it hampered the free 
 activity of the intellect. " The wealth of experience de- 
 rived from books," he ^vl•ites in one of his fragmentary 
 notes,^ " is called learning. One's own experience is wis- 
 dom. The smallest capital of this latter is worth more 
 than millions of the former." 
 
 Like nearly all gi-eat writers, and absolutely all gi-eat 
 schohirs, Lessing had a good memory; his knowledge, 
 therefore, liccame prodigious. He was especially learned 
 as to the history of literature. On the most unexpected 
 occasions he woidd reveal an astonishing acquaintance 
 with obscure authors of obscure periods, and there were 
 
 * Sainnitlicbe Scbrifteu, xi. (2), p. 403.
 
 100 U'lTTEXnERG. 
 
 few opinions in the higlier regions of thought of which he 
 coukl not liave given some sketch. He thus knew, when 
 u fivsli suhject presented itself, where to go for farther 
 information ; and if on any of the subjects he made his 
 own a bhinder was committed, it was a rare chance if it 
 escaped his notice. Of recent English writers Sir "William 
 Hamilton, as a scholar, probably presents the nearest 
 parallel to Lessing. AVhile, however, the Edinburgh pro- 
 fessor's learning was in his particular department deeper 
 than Lessing's, it extended over a much less wide range. 
 Besides, Hamilton was often a slave to his learning; Lessing 
 was complete master of his. The former sometimes quotes 
 long lists of authorities, in which no attempt is made to 
 tlistinguish their relative worth ; the latter never gives an 
 autho'rity greater weight than in his deliberate judgment 
 it deserves. The eftect of Lessing's vast reading on his 
 style is very marked. It not only gives solidity to his 
 conclusions, but tills his writings with allusions which 
 few readei's are learned enough to follow; and it per- 
 petually tempts him to turn into side paths, and pour 
 upon some incidental question a flood of new light. His 
 sense (»f proportion a.s an artist prevented him from giving 
 way to this temptation too seriously 
 
 II. 
 
 Among the books Lessing had reviewed at Berlin was the 
 third part of a lexicon by a wt-ll-known scholar, Jocher. It 
 was devoted to tlio history of learning, and tlicrefore went 
 over ground on which Lessing was well able to detect its 
 cn-ors. He pointed out several of these, but having again 
 studied the work in Wittenberg, and found out many 
 more mistakes, he resolved to ])ublish an independent criti- 
 cism. Several sheets were printed, and, for some reason 
 which cannot now be determined, he wrote to the publishers 
 at Leipzig, enclosing what he had completed. He probably 
 intended merely to warn them that they were issuing a 
 work which needed revision ; but the typical literary man
 
 WITTENBERG. icr 
 
 of lliiit time was not particular as to the methods he adopted 
 of obtaining money, and tlie publishers assumed that their 
 correspondent wislicd them to Imy him off. They did not 
 answer his letter, and placed neither it nor the printed 
 sheets before Jiicher. They talked of the incident, how- 
 ever, and by-and-by Lessing's friends at Leipzig learned to 
 tlieir surprise that he had been trying to extort money. 
 As a story of this kind loses all piquancy without details, 
 the sum he had demanded was set doM'n at something 
 between sixty and seventy thalers. "Weisse, with affec- 
 tionate alacrity, hastened to write to him on the sul)ject ; 
 and as his reputation had already been unpleasantly affected 
 l)y tlie olVence he had given Voltaire, he felt somewhat 
 keenly this fresh blow. At last Jocher himself heard of 
 the matter, and going to his publishers received from- them 
 the connnunication which ought at once to have been for- 
 warded to him. He was an honourable man, and seeing no 
 gi'ound for suspecting unfair dealing wrote to Lessing a 
 respectful letter, expressing regret that he himself had not 
 in the fii-st instance been addressed, and declaring that if 
 he had been, he would willingly have accepted, acknow- 
 ledged, and paid for any help that might have been ren- 
 dered liim. He offered to refund the amount which had 
 l)een expended on printing, and to buy such materials as 
 had been collected in manuscript. His only objection to 
 the part printed was that some of its expressions were a 
 little too severe. Lessing's reply must have been in an 
 equally courteous tone, for in a second letter Jocher ad- 
 dressed him as " his most worthy patron," explained that 
 he had taken advantage of the permission gi'anted him to 
 strike out the phrases he had disliked in the sheets placed 
 at his disposal, and declined Lessing's offer to submit to 
 him the remaining and all future articles in writing, as 
 he was convinced that nothing would be said opposed to 
 the good feeling which ought to exist between authors and 
 learned men. At this point Lessing reconsidered his deci- 
 sion, and gave up the plan altogether. He let Jocher have
 
 102 U-ITTENBERG. 
 
 tlie use of Ills remarks for supplementary volumes ; and 
 in a collection of "Ixttei-s" which he hy-and-hy jmhlishctl, 
 he reprinteil, with a brief explanation, the sheets that had 
 g^ven occasion to so much groundless talk. 
 
 Xo one wlio knows r)ayle can look throuLjh these articles 
 without recognising that Lessing was deeply indebted to him. 
 He is frequently cited, and the tone pervading the whole is 
 precisely tliat which gives so distinct a character to the 
 work of the illustrious Frenchman. Even the arrangement 
 of the materials immediately recalls Bayle. Lessing liad 
 long been a diligent student of this writer, and at no 
 period of his life did he give up the custom of reading and 
 consulting him. Bayle summed up the results of the vast 
 and untiring research of the seventeenth century, and until 
 tlie publication of the " Encyclopanlia " it was from hiiu 
 that the opponents of existing faiths and institutions in the 
 eighteenth drew their sharpest weapons. But it was never 
 in his mere learning that his fascination consisted. If this 
 had been so, the " Dictionary " would not have been opened 
 after tlie " Encyclopaedia " was given to the world, whereas 
 it is even yet one of the most invigorating and sugges- 
 tive of the works which have played a great part in the 
 intellectual development of Europe. Its peculiarity is its 
 incessant dialectic. Having shaken himself free from tradi- 
 tion, Bayle brought every opinion and custom to one test: 
 the test of reason. Open him where we may, we find him 
 always engaged in the process of incpiiry, rcacliing certainty 
 through doubt, opposing idea to idea, analysing, distin- 
 guishing, striving to reach the last ground of principles, to 
 pusli them to thuir remotest issues. Herein lies the explana- 
 tion of his power over Lessing. The latter saw farther than 
 the former, partly because he came later, partly because ho 
 had a greater and finer nature ; but the two men were in 
 full accord in their deepest intellectual tendency.l 
 
 1 Danzel (pp. 220-225) draws an in- nnd Lessing, but between the cir- 
 tf-rcsliiig parallel not only betwecMi cutnatnnccs of their careers, 
 ■unic mental cliaructcristicsi of liiij le
 
 WITTENBERG. 103 
 
 III. 
 
 For tlio university of Luther the age of llie rtcformatiuu 
 had an undying cliarni. It was the subject of research and 
 peciilation (.'hiedy cultivated, and tlie library was naturally 
 well furnished with works bearing upon it. Lessing, as 
 the ellect both of early training and of certain impulses of 
 his own, was also interested in this period. During his 
 i-esidence at Wittenberg, therefore, he occupied himself to 
 ;i large extent with the literature of the epoch; and none 
 of his contemporaries acquired either so vivid a conception 
 of the leading actors in that great drama, or so thorough an 
 ajtpreciation of the work they half unconsciously achieved. 
 The first fruits of his studies were contained in a series of 
 papers he entitled "Eettungen:" a word whicli may per- 
 haps best be rendered " Vindications." They are brief — 
 if Lessing had lived now, they would probably have ap- 
 peared as magazine articles — and they are on themes 
 which, apart from his treatment of them, could hardly stir 
 t he curiosity of the most inquisitive. So clear and animated, 
 however, is their style, so fresh their thought, that it seems 
 strange in reading them that their titles should have 
 appeared dry and repellent. By striking some chord of 
 human sympathy, Lessing always knew how to awaken 
 and sustain the interest of his readers. 
 
 The object of the papers is to defend certain writers of 
 the time of the Hcformation against the misrepresentations 
 of later critics. As in his corrections of Jocher, so here 
 the influence of Bayle is everywhere manifest. One of the 
 papers — that on Cardan — he distinctly describes as an 
 addition to Bayle's article on the same subject. The very 
 ilea of thus constituting himself a champion of wronged 
 authors was probably derived from the " Dictionary," for 
 J'>ayle was particularly fond of this r6le. 
 
 The most valuable of the essays is undoubtedly that 
 already named. Cardan was one of the band of Italian 
 thinkers, brilliantly represented by Giordano Bruno, who
 
 104 Jr/TTEABEKG. 
 
 in the sixteenth ccntuiy heralded the npproacli of tho 
 niodorn sciontific iiinvoment. In his principal treatise, "Do 
 Sul>tilitatt'," he vrnturi'd to C()ni])aro ^hat lie called, after 
 the fashion of his time, the four chief religions of the world : 
 Christianity, Jmlaism, Mohammedanism, and Paganism. 
 He stated the giounds on "which he sujiposed each to rest, 
 and concluded with an assertion inteii^reted to mean that 
 the victory of one or other of these faiths would he decided 
 hy chance {Igitur his arbitrio victoria: rclidis). As a 
 matter of course, the critics at once raised the ciy that he 
 was an atheist. The accusation was first made hy Scaliger; 
 and although Cardan afterwards removed the phrase that 
 gave most oflence, one wi-iter after another continued to 
 repeat the charge against him. Any one who had in .those 
 days the mLsfortune to he called an atheist was a sort of 
 intellectual Cain : the mark upon his hrow was deep and 
 inefl'aceahle. 
 
 In his vindication of Cardan Lessing first translates the 
 whole passage to which objection was taken. He then 
 asks whether, after all, it is a crime to compare Christianity 
 with other religions; and here we have his fii-st decisive 
 assertion of tliat right of free criticism which he was after- 
 wards to defend with so much splendid power. " Wliat 
 is more necessary than to convince oneself of one's faith, 
 and what is more impossible than conviction without 
 ])relimiiiary examination ? Let it not be said that the 
 examination of one's own religion is enough ; that if one 
 has discovered the marks of divinity in tliis, it is unneces- 
 sary to seek for such marks in other religions also. Let 
 not any one content himself with the simile, that if a man 
 knows the right way he need not trouble himself about 
 wronir paths. AVe do not learn the latter through the 
 former, l>ut the former through the latter."' It is admitted 
 that if, in com] taring religions. Cardan docs not rightly 
 estimate the evidences in favour of Christianity, he is to 
 be condemned ; but Lessing sliows that he presents witli 
 unusual force all the essential arguments for its divine 
 
 1 s. s. iv. p. 55.
 
 WITTENBERG. 105 
 
 authority. On tlie other ]iaii<l, lie protests that Cardan is 
 as unfair to otlier religions as he is scrupulously just to his 
 own. In " l)e Subtilitatc" Christians, Mohammcflans, and 
 Pagans arc represented as united in urging that Judaism 
 could not have been pleasing to the Deity since it had been 
 pennitted to }»erish; but Lessing retorts that it has not 
 perished. A Jew, he insists, might very well maintain 
 tluit his peo^de is only undergoing a sort of prolonged 
 Babylonish captivity; that the fact of its having been 
 preserved through so many changing conditions is proof 
 that it has before it an era of fresh triumph. With respect 
 to Islamism, he puts into the mouth of an intelligent 
 IMohammctlan the counter-statements by which those of 
 Cardan might be met ; and this imaginary speech is one 
 of the most eflective illustrations of that sympathetic 
 power which enalded Lessing to contemplate life from 
 the standpoint of the most diverse races. The Mo- 
 hammedan begins by drawing a highly unfavourable pic- 
 ture of the creeds of liis opponents. " That which the 
 Pagan, the Jew, and the Christian calls his religion is a 
 jumble of principles which a healthy understanding would 
 never acknowledge as its own. They all appeal to higher 
 revelations, the possibility of which has not yet been 
 proved. Through these they affect to have received truths 
 which may perhaps be truths in another possible world, 
 but are certainly not truths in ours. They themselves 
 acknowledge this, and hence call them mysteries : a word 
 which canies its refutation with it. I will not name 
 them t(3 you, but will only say that it is they which have 
 created the lowest and most sensuous ideas of eveiything 
 Divine ; that it is they which will not allow the common 
 people to think of their Creator in a worthy manner; that 
 it is they which seduce the mind to unfruitful speculations, 
 and form for it a monster which you call faith. To this 
 you give the keys of heaven and hell ; and it is good 
 fortune enough for virtue that you have felt compelled 
 to give it an accidental association with faith. Eeverence
 
 Io6 U'JTTEXBERG. 
 
 for sacrcil fancies mnkos man.ymi suppose, blessed without 
 righteousness ; but tlie latter does not have this eflect 
 without the ftmnor. "\\liat blindness!"! On the other 
 hand, there is nothinj; in ^rohanniietlanism which in the 
 smallest dej^e contradicts reason. " "We believe in one 
 God ; we believe in future punishments and rewards, of 
 which each will be measured out to us in accordance with 
 our deeds. This we believe — or rather, that I may not 
 use your unhallowed word, of this we are convinced — and 
 of nothing else. Do you know, therefore, what you have 
 to do if you desire to oppose us ? You must prove the 
 insufficiency of our doctrines. You must prove that man 
 is under an obligation to do more than know God, to bo 
 more than virtuous ; or, at least, that he cannot learn both 
 by reason, which was given to him for the purpose. Do 
 not talk of miracles if you will raise Christianity over us. 
 Jklohammed never wished to do things of that kind ; and 
 was it necessary he should ? lie alone needed to work 
 miracles who had to persuade lis of unintelligible things, 
 in order to make one unintelligible thing probable by 
 another. No such necessity, however, is imposed upon 
 liim who advances nothing but doctrines which cairy their 
 touchstone along with them. If one gets up and says, ' I 
 am the Son of God,' it is right we should call to him, ' Do 
 something which only such a one could do.* But when 
 another says, 'There is only one God, and I am His pro- 
 phet; that is, I am he who feels hinuself called to vindi- 
 cate His unity before you who are mistaken about it,' 
 what need has he for miracles ? Let not, therefore, the jtecu- 
 liarity of our language, the boldness of our mode of think- 
 ing, which WTaps up the smallest principles in blinding 
 allcgorios, mislead you into taking eviTvtliing literally, 
 and lo«)king upon things as miracles ab(tut which we our- 
 selves should be very much surjmsed if they really were 
 miracles. We gladly niake over to you these sui>i'rnatural 
 — I know not what I shall call tlicTii. "NVe make them 
 ' 8. 8. iv. i». 61.
 
 WITTENBERG. 107 
 
 over to you, I say, ami tliaiik our teadier that Ijc lias 
 not made liis ^'ood cause suspicious l»y tliciu." l 
 
 A less interesting' }»assa;;c follows, justifying' tlic ^foham- 
 niedans for sprcndin;]; their faith Ly the s^vo^(l, and deiid- 
 in;^ the notion that the sensuous representations of Para- 
 dise are to be taken literally, any more than the biblical 
 t atements respecting the heavenly Jerusalem. 
 
 It wouM be a mistake to regard this spcecli as purely 
 dramatic in intention. It is easy to read between the 
 lines, anil to see that the Mohammedan expresses to a 
 large extent Lessing's own convictions. He had already 
 leurne<l that conduct is of higher importance than belief, 
 and that no single religion can claim po.ssession of the 
 Mhole truth. What extension he was to give to these 
 ])rinciples we shall hereafter see. 
 
 The passage in which Cardan seems to say that in the 
 battling of tlie four religions victory will be determined 
 liy chance is next discussed; and Lessing endeavours to 
 make out that Cardan is referring, not to the spiritual 
 conflicts of these faiths, but to the opposition in Eastern 
 Europe between ^lohammedanism and Christianity, and 
 that it was in this struggle he believed triumph would be 
 decided by the fortune of war. 
 
 Of the remaining " Vindications," the least important is 
 that in which he points out that an obscure book cf the 
 seventeenth century, " Ineptus Religiosus," charged with 
 containing all sorts of blasphemies, was really satirical 
 and intended for the support of orthodox belief. Very 
 much more interesting is the article on Cochlanis, a 
 (Catholic contempiorarj' of Luther, usually described as the 
 controversialist who first traced the Reformation to a mere 
 monkish quarrel. It is shown that this account of the 
 Kefoiination did not originate with him, but was contained 
 in letters ^VTitten in 1520 and 1521 by a certain Alphonsus 
 Yaldesius. These letters, which are translated, are not 
 without historical value ; but it is when they have been 
 
 1 S. S iv p. 61.
 
 icS WITTENBEKG. 
 
 disposed of that tlie ]>aper liecomos really sii{?gestive. 
 Lossin^' raises the question: snjipose it \vere Inie tliat tlio 
 Tvefonuation had no more lofty ox'v^wx tlian tliat ascriliL'd 
 to it Ity Alphousus Valdesius, would Catholics gain any- 
 thing liy tlie fact? "Euoujj;h," replies Lessing,^ "that 
 through the liefonnation much good has been done, 
 which the Catholics themselves do not wholly deny; 
 enough tliat we enjoy its fruits ; enough that we have 
 to thank Providence for these. AVhat have we to 
 do willi the instruments of which God made use? He 
 chooses almost always not the most blameless, but the 
 most convenient. Let the Iveforniation, then, have had its 
 origin in jealousy : would to God that jealousy always had 
 such hajipy consequences ! The departure of the children 
 of Israel from Egypt was occasioned by manslaughter, 
 and, say what you will, by culi)able manslaughter: was 
 it, therefore, less a work of God, less a miracle ? " Again : 
 " A recent author expressed the witty idea that in Germany 
 the Eeforpiation was a work of selfishness, in England 
 a work of love, in musical France the work of a street- 
 song. Great pains have been taken to refute this fancy : 
 as if a fancy could be refuted. One cannot refute it 
 except by taking the wit from it, and that is here impos- 
 sible ; it remains witty, whether it is true or not. But to 
 take the poi.son from it, if it is poisonous, one has only to 
 express it thus : Eternal Wisdom, which knows how to 
 connect everything with its aim, efl'ected the Picformation 
 in Germany through selfishn&ss, in England through love, 
 in France through a song. In tliis way the faidt of man 
 becomes the praise of the Highest." 
 
 An article on Simon Lemnius, ^^Titten at tliis time, and 
 included in the "Lettere" subsequently pultli.shed, is so 
 completely in tlie spirit of tlie " Vindications," that it would 
 properly have formed one of these studies. Lemnius was 
 also a contcmporaiy of Luther, and attacked the reformer 
 in so many verses that it became the fashion among 
 
 ' S. S. iv. p. I02.
 
 WITTENBERG. 109 
 
 Lutherans to consiilcr Liin an unworthy wretch. Lessing, 
 without justifying his coarse gibes, proves that Luther 
 liad himself to Ijhime for liaving in Lemnius a persistent 
 enemy. The latter, while a resident at Wittenberg, pub- 
 lished a collection of Latin poems, in which he praised 
 the Elector of Mainz, not for his religious opinions or 
 policy, but for his just government and his patronage of 
 learning and the arts. Luther was scandalised, and raged 
 so iiercely against the offender that the unlucky poet 
 was compelled to fly to save himself from farther conse- 
 t[uences. Thereui)on the reformer, who had once affixed 
 to the church door a very different sort of document, 
 placed there a paper in which he denounced " the fugitive 
 knave," and declared that "if he were caught, he would 
 according to all law justly lose his head." In setting forth 
 this incident in its true light, Lessing was far from being 
 moved by a sense of hostility to Luther. There was no 
 historical character for whom he had deeper respect, and 
 whose work he considered more beneficent to humanity. 
 But Lutherans — especially "Wittenberg Lutherans — all l)ut 
 worehipped him ; his spiritual authority was absolute, and 
 cmshed every indication of freedom. Lessing, even at 
 this early age, could not tolerate that any one sliould 
 dominate thought ; and the letters on Lemnius were the 
 means he adopted for convincing his countrymen that in 
 looking on Luther as faultless they simply ignored facts. 
 He explains that he himself felt the necessity of being 
 reminded that, after all, the refonner was human. " I 
 hold Luther in such reverence that I like to discover some 
 small faults in him, because I should otherwise be in 
 danger of idolising him. The traces of humanity which I 
 find in him are to me as precious as the most dazzling of 
 his perfections. They are for me more instructive than 
 all these taken together ; and I shall consider it a merit to 
 show them to you." ^ 
 
 1 s. S. iii. p. 282.
 
 no WITTENBERG. 
 
 TV. 
 
 Althoii.uli Lopsini^f wandered freely over all lilerature, it 
 was clas.sieal literature which, during the greater part of 
 his life, formed the centre of his studies. Other subjects 
 were taken up and dropped; fortliit^liis enthusiasm not only 
 never abated, but gi-ew its hi.s knowledge became wider and 
 deeper. So steadily did he read the great Latin and Greek 
 writers that they came in a sense to be nearer to him 
 than the authors of his own time. It is here mc find the 
 secret of his passion for purity and nobleness of style; 
 and if he ultimately discussed M-ith rare confidence the 
 laws of literary expression, he did so because he relied 
 for his principles mainly on those matchless perform- 
 ances in which for once liuman effort all but touched its 
 ideal. 
 
 As yet he had devoted more attention to Latin than to 
 Greek authors ; and while in Wittenberg, the Latin writers 
 he ehielly read were Horace and Martial, in whose cool 
 worldliness he found a refreshing contrast to the heated 
 and stilling atmosphere of theological bigotry that sur- 
 rounded him. His reading of Martial induced him to 
 spend many leisure houi"s in the composition of epigrams. 
 Some of them are in Latin, Init the majority are in Ger- 
 man. Of the latter a considerable nund>er are translations 
 or adajjtations from Martial and other epigrannnatists ; 
 and both these and the epigi'ams which arc strictly original 
 are altogether in the style of Martial. That is, curiosity is 
 excited, and then gratified by some pointed, often unex- 
 pected, conclusion ; and the idea is forced into the naiTowest 
 possible limits, not a word that can l)e disjiensed with 
 being admitted even for the sake of rhyme. All through 
 life Lessing occasionally wrote epigrams; but none of 
 them have high literary merit, and some make as near an 
 approach to tediousncss as it is possilde to conceive so
 
 WITTENBERG. \\\ 
 
 liiilliant a writer making. Sometimes, too, tliey bear 
 unpleasant traces of the roughness of the time in which 
 they were produced. In nearly all, his tone is one of 
 biting satire. He is especially hard upon women, of whose 
 virtues and inlluence upon society in his own day he 
 had certainly not formed a lofty estimate. He represented 
 the world, not as it ought to be, but as he found it; and 
 his clear percej)tion of it.s defects did not in the least tend 
 to dry up the fountains of his humanity.
 
 ( iiO 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 I. 
 
 Towards the end of 1752, in his twenty-fourth year, 
 Lessing once more entered Berlin. In April he hail taken 
 the degree of Master of Arts ; and henceforth he was known 
 as Magister instead of as Studiosus Medicinie. He came to 
 the Prussian capital this time with very different feelings 
 i'rom those with which he first arrived there. His prospects 
 were no longer vague ; he knew precisely the sort of life lie 
 meant to lead, and was conscious of i)0wer to realise his 
 plans. Nor did he come as a stranger, with only one friend 
 to counsel and aid him. Every street of r)erlin was fami- 
 liar to him ; and he had many acquaintances, one of whom, 
 the bookseller Yoss, was able to be of essential service to 
 a young and as}»inng writer. 
 
 The three years he now spent in Berlin were among the 
 busiest of his life, but his work was rendered lighter and 
 more pleasant than it had been by the constantly increas- 
 ing recognition he received, and by as much social inter- 
 course as he chose to enjoy. All the chief literary men 
 of the town, including Sulzer and Pamler, were soon 
 counted among his friends. With the former, who loved 
 to patronise younger men than himself, he never became 
 intimate, but intercourse with tlie latter he valued very 
 highly. Tliese and many others he often met, not only in 
 society, but at a club which had recently been started —
 
 SECOND RESIDEXCE LV BERLIN. 113 
 
 the Monday Club — rif -wliicb he became one of the most 
 active members. He also took the lead in a Friday Club, 
 which was confined strictly to a few friends wlio thorougldy 
 understood each other. To the end of his life he was almost 
 as fond of clubs as Pr. Johnson. 
 
 lie was very careful not to confine his acquaintance to 
 persons who occupied themselves with literature. The 
 tendency of literary men is to look upon the world as 
 something which exists for no other purpose than to be 
 ^\Titten about ; and it must be said that they are not 
 usually very generous in their appreciation of the labours 
 of rivals. Lessing, who hated narrowness and pettiness, 
 cultivated society, therefore, outside the range of so-called 
 literary circles. He liked especially to associate witli 
 oliicers and actors. 
 
 Mylius was still in Berlin at tlie time of Lessing's 
 arrival, but in a few months they said to each other what 
 proved to be a last farewell. This eccentric j)hilosoplier 
 had for some time hesitated whether to devote himself to 
 literary or scientific work. As he achieved some success 
 in the latter and was encouraged by prominent men, he 
 finally decided for science, and as editor of a scientific 
 periodical made his name pretty widely known. His 
 restless nature was ill satisfied with anything having the 
 appearance of settled duty, and it by-and-by occurred to 
 him that it would be a fine thing if he could manage to 
 travel in foreign lands in the interests of science. Curi- 
 ously enough, a good many people agreed with him, and 
 among them no less a person than Haller. A subscrip- 
 tion list was opened, and in a short time a sum was 
 collected large enough to allow him to start for the 
 English colonies in America on a scientific mission. He 
 never reached his destination. Unaccustomed to the 
 rapture of having a tolerably large supply of money, the 
 good Mylius journeyed to Holland by easy stages, missing 
 no pleasure within his reach by the way. Instead of goin<j 
 straight from Holland to America, as had been an-anged, 
 
 TOL. I. n
 
 114 SECOXD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 lie sailo<l for London, under tlic pretence that it was nocos- 
 sarv to improve his Enj^lisli and to make various prcpara- 
 ti(tns. In London lie mingled freely with literary men, 
 published a letter criticising a new play, and translated 
 into (Jerman Iloi^arth's "Analysis of IVauty." Haller, 
 who had interested himself deei)ly in the enter[irise, was 
 stiirtled, even before Mylius left the Continent, by an 
 npiilication for more money; and from England the 
 demands of this kin<l became fonnidable. In the end a 
 report reached Germany that this singular apostle of 
 science was seriously ill, and the next tidings were tidings 
 of his death. 
 
 Another friend with whom Lcssing had associated in 
 Leipzig, Naumann, whose " Nimrod " he had so amusingly 
 criticised, was now in Berlin ; and f<jr somq time they 
 shared the same rooms. Lessing really liked Naumann, 
 who, although not very clever, was energetic, affectionate, 
 and entertaining. It was fortunate that he did not readily 
 take offence, for Lessing seems to have made a butt of him 
 rather mercilessly. He WTote a book on " The Under- 
 standing and Hai)pines.s;" and Lessing's remark on receiv- 
 ing a copy was, " ^ly dear fellow, how did you ever come 
 to WTite about two things you have never had ?" 
 
 It was during this st;iy at Berlin that Lessing secured 
 two friends who became far more to liim tlian such men as 
 Mylius and Naumann could ever have been, and whose 
 names were destined to l)e intimately associated with his 
 <jwn. These friends were Frederick Nicolai and Moses 
 Mendelsshon. The latter, a Jew, and now perliajis best 
 known as the grandfather of the nuisical composer of 
 liis name, became one of the leading poj)ular jihilosophers 
 of his <lay; and there was no friend whom Lcssing more 
 tnily loved. lie was of tiie same age as Lcssing, and had 
 come to Berlin young and friendless. At this time he was 
 a clerk in a silk manufactory, and was too modest and 
 retiring to attract much notice. Ma had, however, the 
 possibilities of high distinction. Uf delicate sensibilities,
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 115 
 
 utterly imwnrldly in his tastes and aspirations, largely 
 tolerant and syni])athi.'tic, and capable of the nearest and 
 most sacred attachments, he wils also a man of subtle in- 
 tellect and an ardent lover of truth. In his leisure hours 
 he had already taui;ht himself Latin, French, and English ; 
 he ^va3 an accomplished mathematician ; and besides 
 studying Leibnitz and Wolf, he was a diligent reader of 
 Locke. He was introduced to Lessing as a proficient at 
 chess, a game of which both were fond. Lessing, who was 
 a keen judge of character, speedily detected beneath the 
 unassuming manner of his new acquaintance signs of a rich 
 inward lile, and tliey were soon fast friends. Every morn- 
 ing between seven and nine, before going to business, 
 oMendelssohn called on Lessing, and in the room of the 
 latter they read together, and discussed those questions 
 which lead back to the last grounds of thought, and 
 which, the more they are seen to be insoluble, become 
 the more fascinating to energetic and penetrating minds. 
 It was Lessing who started Mendelssohn on the career 
 in which he achieved his reputation. Having lent him 
 a book by Shaftesbury, Lessing asked him when he re- 
 turned it how he had liked it. " Very much," said Men- 
 delssohn ; " but I think I could do as well." " Wliy not 
 do it ? " was the reply. Some time after, Mendelssohn put 
 into Lessing's hands a bulky manuscript. To the author's 
 surprise, he by-and-by returned the work — printed. He 
 had been struck by its vigour and freshness, and afraid 
 lest ^lendelssohn sliould object to its being published, he 
 had quietly used his influence to get it laid before the 
 public. 
 
 Nicolai, who was a year or two younger, had the misfor- 
 tune in his old age to put Imuself in opposition to the rising 
 influences of the new era. He thus called down upon him- 
 self the ridicide of Goethe and Schiller and the wrath of 
 Fichte. Whatever he may have been when he had outlived 
 his time, in youth he was fresh and attractive. He was the 
 son of a Berlin bookseller, and learned his father's trade at
 
 1 16 SECOND RESinnXCE IN nERUX. 
 
 rrankfurt-on-thc-OtliT. TluTt' lio read every book in tlio 
 sliop in which he served, and turned to the hest advantage 
 such opportunities of culture as were oflered him by asso- 
 ciation with university students. He afterwards came to 
 I'.erlin, where he helped his father, ultimately inheriting 
 the business and giving it a great extension. Indeed, in 
 liis hands it became a most potent factor in the develop- 
 ment of the literary taste of the age. His favourite study 
 was ]'higlish literature; and in 1751 he began liis work 
 as a writer by publisliing anonymously a little book on 
 ^lilton, which was highly approved by tlie adherents of the 
 Swiss School. The materials of this lirst attempt were de- 
 rived from English sources, but tliey were presented in a 
 clear and animated style, and his attacks on the nan-ow 
 judgments of Gottsched and his followers proved that he 
 could think on important subjects for himseK. A few years 
 later he wrote a series of letters on the contemporary liter- 
 ature of Germany, in which he derided Bodmer and Gott- 
 sched equally, and maintained that their long-continued 
 conllict had ceased to have any deep meaning or interest. 
 These lettera were issued by Voss, who was so pleased 
 with them that he gave Lessing the sheets as they were 
 passing through the press. They not only contained some 
 complimentary references to Lessing, but tlie writer had 
 evidently been profoundly influenced by his opinions 
 and style. He was naturally interested, and souglit 
 Nicolai's accjuaintance. Iso one could have been further 
 removed from Mendelssohn's type of character. Nicolai 
 was of a bustling, ])ractical nature, anything but retiring, 
 full of schemes that had a bearing on their originator's 
 pocket as well as on the intellectual progress of Germany. 
 Le.ssing, however, bad sympathies wide enougli for both 
 men, and not only became Nicolai's friend but made him 
 Mendelssohn's. The remarkable trio were daily drawn 
 more closely to each otlier, an<l tlieir frieiidshij* was liroken 
 oidy l)y death. ]»ut wliile, in the latter ]tart of liis life, his 
 uffection for Moudelssolm became, if possible, deeper and
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 117 
 
 womier, tlu; tendency of liis reliition to Nicolai was to 
 become somewhat less strong and iullucutiul. 
 
 ir. 
 
 Lcssini,' immediately began, as before, to make money 
 by translation. Among other works rendered l)y him was 
 an J'lngbsh i)amphlet on the relations of England and 
 Trussia, some French writings of Frederick II., part of 
 ]\Iarigny's " History of the Arabians," and a Spanish book 
 of the sixteenth century by Huarte on " The Examination 
 of Heads," a Mork in wliich some of the theories of phreno- 
 logists were anticipated. These translations are said by 
 his German biogi-aphers to be incomparably better than 
 anything of the kind that had been previously known in 
 Gei-many. 
 
 He also resumed his work as a critic in connection with 
 Yoss's newspaper, and that journal soon became closely 
 associated with liis name in the mind of the public. The 
 reviews which now appeared are distinguished by the same 
 freshness, clearness, and vigour as those he formerly WTote. 
 One of the first books he had to notice after his return was 
 the "Amalie, ou le Due de Fois," of Voltaire; and it is 
 interesting to observe, when we remember the cause of 
 oilence he bebeved Voltaire to have given him, and his 
 opposition afterwards to this great WTiter, how respectful 
 is the tone adopted towards him. Lessing cannot find 
 words emphatic enough to express his admiration of Vol- 
 taire's genius, and of this particular manifestation of it. 
 " What moves him, moves ; wdiat pleases him, pleases. 
 His happy taste is the taste of the world." These words 
 are taken from some verses WTitten by Lessing on the 
 character of a true poet, and he here applies them to 
 Voltaire. " "Wliat a poet ! " he continues, " who in his 
 age retains the fire of youth, as in his youth he antici- 
 pated the mature criticism of age." ^ Eousseau's " Discom-s 
 sur I'origine et les fondemens de I'inegalitd parmi les 
 
 ^ Sammtliche Schriften, iii. p. 377.
 
 Ii8 S/:COXD RESIDEXCr; IN nKRLIX. 
 
 homines" is nlso rcvieweil, wwA it is treated witli tlin 
 same considi'ration whicli lia«l formorly been displayed in 
 tlie discussion of Eousseau's paradox respecting' civilisa- 
 tion. " In all bis s})eculative oliservations bis beart bas 
 taken part, and bis tone is, tberefore, very difTerent from 
 tbat of a venal sojiliist wbom sellisbness or vanity bas 
 made a teacher of wisdom." l 
 
 IVo brief reviews of tlie translation of Ilorrartb's "An- 
 alysis of lieanty " by Mylius deserve notice, for they prove 
 tbat be had abeady made the principles of art a snbject of 
 serious study. He befjins the brst article by alludincj to 
 Hogarth as " unquestionably one of the gi'eatest painters 
 ■whom England bas produced," finding the chief power of 
 bis pictures in "a satirical morality which compels the beart 
 to participate in the pleasure of the eyes." He makes no 
 reference to the storm of ridicule excited by " the line of 
 beauty" in this country, but treats Hogarth's whole theory 
 as one of high importance. The book, he thinks, is " almost 
 indispensable " for " the philosopher, the naturalist, the 
 antiquary, the speaker in the puljjit and on the stage, the 
 painter, the sculjitor, and the dancer." It provides a firm 
 ground of doctrine for " all who take pleasure in the title 
 of connoisseur, but who in matters relating to art often 
 pronounce undecided and contradictory judgments, .so that 
 they make only too plain their want of decisive and clear 
 idea.s."2 
 
 Another noteworthy article of this time is on a German 
 translation, by Curtius, of Aristotle's " Poetics." Already 
 be recognises the imperishable greatness of this work, 
 which, as we shall see, was afterwards to excrci.se im- 
 raen.se influence on his critical judgments. Aristotle, bo 
 says, bad hardly bjst bis supremacy in ])bilosoj)hy when it 
 was di.scovered tliat be was the chief of critics. " Since 
 then he has ruled in the realm of taste among poets and 
 orators with as unlimited authority as he did among bis Peri- 
 patetics. His ' Poetics,' or rather the fragment of it, is the 
 
 ' S S. V. p. 57. • S. S. iv. p. 507.
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 119 
 
 sprin from \vliicli all the ITuraccs, tlic Boilcaus, llie 
 ][o{lelins, the l)udmers, even the Gottsclieils, have watered 
 their gardens."^ 
 
 Tlie attacks on Gottsehed were renewed with increased 
 ardour. A'on Sehonaich, author of an epic which Lessing 
 liad uiifavourahly reviewed, who was now recognised as 
 Gottsched's lieutenant, and who thought himseK bound to 
 overwhelm with abuse all who did not belong to his party, 
 is handled, if possible, with more contempt than his master. 
 He was one of those dull people who mistake hard words 
 for wit, and scarcely deserved the honour of being called 
 to account by a man of genius. Lessing, however, believed 
 that he and his school were doing grave injury to the 
 national taste, and missed no opportunity of making him 
 ridiculous. The correspondence that passed between 
 Gottsehed and his disciple shows that they felt keenly 
 the wounds inflicted on them by their formidaljle enemy, 
 and Von Schonaich retorted by many hea^7■ witticisms at 
 the expense of Gnissel, as he was pleased to call Lessing. 
 The Swiss School were enchanted at the blows dealt from 
 an unexpected quarter at their opponents, and they seem 
 to have had some hope of gaining the brilliant young 
 journalist as one of their leaders. In 1754 Bodmer made 
 inquiries of Sulzer respecting him ; and in the following 
 year Wieland, then residing at Ziiricli, and believing that 
 all criticism was summed up in Bodmer's literary creed, 
 and all poetical excellence in the " Messiah," wrote to 
 Gleim : " It woidd, in my opinion, be not bad if this man, 
 who has his good parts, could be Avon for the good cause, 
 for he has all the qualities of a champion." 2 Lessing had 
 given proof that he sided with neither party, but as, of the 
 two, he disliked the adherents of Gottsehed most, he was 
 quite willing to help the Swiss writers in the warfare they 
 had so long conducted. He persuaded Voss to publish 
 two works, mainly by "VVieland, one of them — " A Dunciad 
 for the Germans " — designed to give the Leipzig poets a 
 
 * S. S. iii. p. 402. 2 Danzel, p. 193.
 
 i:o SECOXD RESIDEXCE LY liERLlX. 
 
 1);itl qr.artor-of-aii-hnuv ; ami lie ami Niculai drew u]i an 
 amusiuLX schciiu' of a luu'iii, in imitation of "HudiUras," 
 ivpn-sciitinj^ the kniglit-errant (lottsclied willi liis faitliful 
 squire Von Schouaich riding througli Gennany to slay the 
 iiniunieralile serajthim ^vitll wlioni Klo^jstock and liis imi- 
 tators had lilk'd tlie huul. Had tliis i»hin been realised, 
 the pain it would have given would not have been confined 
 to one side. 
 
 m. 
 
 During his fonner residence at Berlin, Lcssing had issued 
 his lyrics in a small volume entitled "Tritles." Imme- 
 diately after his return from Wittenberg, he prepared to 
 make a much more serious bid for fame. This was nothing 
 less than the publication, in a series of volumes, of all the 
 ^^Titings he had completed, and on which he set any value. 
 In 1753 the two first volumes appeared. They included 
 his lyrics, his epigrams, the " Letters " to wliich allusion 
 has repeatedly been made, " The Young Scholar," and " The 
 Jews." These were followed in 1754 by two other volumes, 
 containing the "Vindications" and more plays. The iiflh 
 and sixth volumes, which concluded the series, were pub- 
 lished in 1755, and were made up wholly of plays. These 
 volumes were unusually small in size, Init their contents 
 were so sharply distinguished from the liea\y productions 
 with which German authoi-s then, for the most part, regaled 
 llie puljlic, that they at once took a distinct place in con- 
 temporary literature. In a very short time Lessing esteemed 
 them lightly, and, compared with his mature works, they 
 are ceitainly of slight importance. Had he achieved 
 nothing more, it is po.ssible his name would still have 
 lieen known, Imt not {ls a name ranking high above the 
 ordinary level. The men of the day, however, judged him 
 ])y a dilferent standard ; and it is not too nnicli to say that 
 tliesc volumes led tliem to look to him with respect and 
 hope, not only as a critic and a scholar, liut as a dramatist, an 
 epigrammatist, and a lyrical poet. Many reviews appeared
 
 SFXOXD RESJDEXCE JX BERLIX. 121 
 
 ns the volumes were issued. Of tlicse Lcssing appreciated 
 most \\vJS\\y the articles written l)y Michaelis, the well- 
 known Liblical critic, who occasionally wrote on general lite- 
 rature. In the " Gciltingcn Gelehrten Anzeigcu" he hailed 
 I^essing at once as a writer of whom Germany had cause 
 to he proud. The youn;^ author was naturally much pleased 
 by this cttrdial reco^Miition from one whose judgment was 
 \iniversally respected, and wrote to Michaelis to thank him 
 for his words of encouragement. In his answer, Michaelis 
 expressed a wish for more intimate acquaintance, and 
 Lessing responded by stating the main facts of liis life up 
 to the time of his writing. "What may yet happen," this 
 account of himself concludes,^ " I leave to Providence. I 
 do not helieve any one can be more indifferent respecting 
 the future than I." From this time forward friendly rela- 
 tions M-ere kept up ; and in the last and greatest of his 
 controversies Lessing respectfully alludes to Michaelis. 
 
 The publication of the first two volumes of Lessing's 
 writings was followed hy consequences of great import- 
 ance to his position and prospects. For nine years Lange, 
 the head of the Halle School, had been engaged on a 
 poetical translation of Horace. As his odes were consi- 
 dered to approach more nearly to the spirit of Horace than 
 those of any other German %viiter, and he had the reputa- 
 tion of being an accompHshed scholar, high expectations 
 were fonned regarding the forthcoming w^ork. At last, 
 while Lessing was at Wittenberg, it appeared ; and as it 
 was dedicated to, and gi-aciously accepted by, Frederick II., 
 it was ostentatiously welcomed by classes wliich were not 
 in the habit of paying much attention to native literature. 
 Lessing, being then deep in the study of Horace, was pre- 
 pared to receive much pleasure from the translation, espe- 
 cially as Lange's name had always been favourably known 
 to him. To his astonishment, he had no sooner glanced 
 through a page or two than he discovered gross blunders : 
 errors not arising from mere want of taste, but from ignor- 
 1 s. S. iii. p. 37.
 
 122 SECOXD RESIDENCE IX BERLIN. 
 
 ance of the meanincj of words and of ordinary grammatical 
 rules. He forthwith amused himself hy writing? a paper iu 
 which some of the more inexcusable of these mistakes were 
 pointed out. It so happened that some time before this 
 unfavourable judj^ment of Lance's book had been formed, 
 Professor Nicolai of Halle, a brother of the Nicolai who 
 was to become so close a friend of Lessing, passed through 
 AVittenberg, and called upon him. They liked each other; 
 and in a letter Lessing soon after wrote to Nicolai, he 
 referred to the translation, and said he thought of warn- 
 ing the public of its true character. Nicolai, who knew 
 Lange well, was anxious to save his friend this humiliation, 
 and suggested that Lessing should submit his criticism to 
 the poet, adding that the latter would of coui-se pay for 
 the article at as liberal a rate as a publisher. Lessing 
 declared that he had no objection to point out to Lange 
 some of his mistakes, but did not even allude to the 
 proposal of payment, which he deemed unworthy of notice. 
 IVIisunderstanding tliis silence, Nicolai went to Lange, and 
 telling him that an experienced writer had ready for pub- 
 lication a paper on his book, exposing serious errors, 
 advised him to buy the criticism and profit in a future 
 edition by its hints. Lange declined ; and so, it appeared, 
 the matter had come to an end. 
 
 In his "Letters" Lessing included the article on Lange; 
 and as it was trenchant, and seemed likely to lead to one 
 of those literary quarrels in which many spectators take 
 so strange a delight, a Hamburg journal quoted the 
 paper in full. Lange felt keenly stung, and addressed 
 to the journal a long and angry letter. Had he been con- 
 tent to make the best defence he could of his scholarship, 
 nothing very remarkable would have come of the dis- 
 ])ute ; but, unfortunately for himself, he not only railed at 
 Lessing as a scholar whose learning was derived wholly 
 frf)m l>ayle, and jeered at his writings — referring to their 
 small size — as a sort of "Vade Mecum," l)ut attacked his 
 critic's moral character. He represented Lessing as a
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 123 
 
 literary freebooter, who liail threatened, unless bought off, 
 to attack him, and who had published the criticism merely 
 because his base offer had not been accepted. 
 
 This was the third time Lessing had been brought before 
 the public in a questionable light, and he was justly indig- 
 nant at tlie slight upon his honour. He resolved that no 
 one should venture to play liim a similar trick a fourth 
 time without being aware that the result would be dis- 
 agreeable. In Voss's paper he inserted a brief paragi-aph 
 denpng Lange's accusation, and then set about the pre- 
 paration of a full reply. This appeared early in 1754, and 
 was entitled, in allusion to the pastor's small witticism, 
 " A Vade ]\Iecum for HeiT Sam. Gotth. Lange " (" Ein Yade 
 JNIecum fiir den Herm Sam. Gotth, Lange"). A more crush- 
 ing piece of criticism was never written. "With mock for- 
 mality, Lessing divides it, like a sermon, into two heads, 
 the first treating of Lange's mistakes of scholarship, the 
 second of his misrepresentation of the author's character. 
 The first head, again, is sulxlivided into two parts, one deal- 
 ing with Lange's answer to Lessing's previous criticism, the 
 other with blunders not before pointed out. " A glass of 
 fresh spring water," he says,^ after setting forth these divi- 
 sions, " to calm a little the agitation of your boiling blood, 
 will be very serviceable to you before passing to our first 
 subdivision. Another, Herr Pastor! Now, then, let us 
 begin." Lessing has no difficulty in convicting his opponent 
 of utter incapacity, and accompanies the exposure of his 
 astounding mistakes with a running fire of deadly satire. 
 In the concluding part, in which the incident Lange had so 
 grossly misrepresented is truly stated, Lessing goes straight 
 to the mark, and boldly brands the culprit as a " slanderer." 
 
 The effect of this powerful essay was instantaneous. 
 The whole learned world of Germany read it, and the most 
 distinguished scholars admitted its justice. The unfor- 
 tunate Lange, who had brought upon himself so severe a 
 punishment, never retrieved his position. Every joint of 
 
 ^ S. S. iii. p. 412.
 
 1 2a SECOXD EESIDEKCE IX LERUX. 
 
 his annour liad lu'cn pierced, ami even while he lived the 
 time cninc when hcMvus known solely as the enemy against 
 whom Lessing had gained his hist triumph. 
 
 In Lessing's later critical works he is never content with 
 merely negative results ; he uses the blunders and miscon- 
 ceptions of those he criticises as occasions for the exposition 
 of positive critical doctrine. There is nothing of this kind 
 in the " Vade Mecum." It is nevertheless still of value, 
 for it is far more tliau a mere exposure of ignorant blun- 
 ders; it is full of genuine dramatic force. Herr Lange 
 lives in its pages not only as the man who had offended 
 his assailant, but as the type of dulness, inaccuracy, and 
 the overbearing temper of a pretentious pedant. These 
 qualities are confined to no particular time ; they appear 
 in every age, and they are of all qualities the most repug- 
 nant to the literary spirit. It is to this general aspect of 
 the book that it will always owe whatever freshness it 
 possesses. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Notwithstanding Horace's wit and philosophy, it was at 
 one time the fashion to hold his personal character in con- 
 tempt. It was not only that his critics considered him 
 an easy-going Ejjicurean ; he was described, partly on the 
 ground of external, but mainly on that of internal evi- 
 dence, as a gross sensualist, a gourmand, and an atheist. 
 Having been much occupied with the study of this poet 
 when at "Wittenberg and in rei)lying to Lange, Lessing 
 undertook, in 1754, to dissipate the prevailing conception, 
 and included the paper in which he embodied his ideas in 
 the " Vindications." It is the only one of these essays 
 which has a classical subject, and, on the whole, it is the 
 best of the collection. Horace is treated in it as a friend 
 whom it is a duty to defend against ignorant and malicious 
 slanderers. The external evidence is first dealt with, and 
 shown to be worthless ; Lessing then turns to the writings 
 of Horace, and protests against the notion that a poet's
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 125 
 
 raptures are to be taken too literally. The poet, he insists, 
 moves in an ideal worlil, Lathing all things in the rich 
 hues of fancy, and it is utterly misleading to confound that 
 ideal world with his actual life. " Must he have emptied 
 all the glasses he professes to have emptied ; kissed all the 
 maidens he professes to have kissed ? Here, as every- 
 M-here, malice prevails. Let him express the most splen- 
 did moral truths, the most sublime thoughts concerning 
 God and virtue : it will not be allowed that his heart is 
 the source of these ; everything beautiful, it will be urged, 
 he says as a poet. But let anything offensive, however 
 slight, escape him ; speedily it will be said that out of 
 the fulness of the heart the mouth speaks." ^ The various 
 passages on which the unfavourable theory of Horace's 
 tastes and sympathies is based are passed in review ; and 
 it is now generally admitted that the more generous inter- 
 pretation is perfectly in accordance with the text. So just 
 a critic could not wish to make out that Horace was of 
 particularly heroic mould ; but Lessing did think that he 
 was distinctly above the average moral level of his time, 
 and so much the essay may be held to prove. Of real 
 interest on this ground, it is still more interesting because 
 of the scorn which glows through it for those mean people 
 who incessantly strive to drag illustrious names in the 
 dust, and because of the fine sympathy which impels the 
 WTiter to vindicate a spiritual associate, separated from him 
 by many centuries, with as profound earnestness as if the 
 bond between the two were that of daily and intimate 
 comrades. 
 
 In the same year Lessing had a difficult task to perform 
 of a very different kind. This was to edit the literary 
 works of Mylius, and to prefix to them a critical estimate 
 of his labours. Lessing would rather not have undertaken 
 the duty, but the friends of Mylius insisted that no one 
 else knew him so well, and that therefore no one was so 
 well fitted to describe him to the public. The question 
 
 ^ S. S. iv. p. 20.
 
 126 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 was, should he content himself with a few formal praises, 
 or attempt soniethincj like a true sketch ? ^lost men 
 would have preferred the former alternaLive. It seems so 
 hard to say anything harsh of those just dead, especially 
 of those with whom during life we have been familiar, 
 that few have the courage, even wlicn plain speecli is im- 
 peratively demanded, to speak plainly. Lessing, however, 
 would not allow a prejudice of this kind to induce him to 
 play false with his readers ; he would utter the trutli or 
 nothing. " I was," he says, " several years one of his most 
 intimate friends, and now I am his editor ; two circum- 
 stances which might be suflicient excuse for my launching 
 out iu liis praise, if I did not scruple to flatter one in 
 death who during his lifetime never found me a flat- 
 terer." ^ The criticism is in the shape of a series of letters 
 addressed to a common friend ; and the first presents an 
 outline, pervaded by a tone of sincere regret at the loss 
 German letters had sustained, of the literary career of 
 Mylius. In the remaining letters each class of his achieve- 
 ments is taken up in turn and calmly judged. Lessing 
 hardly treats them as serious attempts at literature ; and 
 sometimes, as he WTote, he must almost have fancied his 
 friend was before him, and that he was bantering him, as 
 he had often done when they lived and worked together. 
 Speaking of the first writing which ^lylius had puldished 
 with his name — an ode — he says :'- "I call it an ode, because 
 Herr ]\Iylius himself so calls it, and an author may with- 
 out doubt give his productions what names he chooses." 
 Of an essay justifying the vivisection of animals for scien- 
 tific purposes this is how he writes : 3 " From this article 
 ■we may see, among other things, that he must then have 
 learned algebra. He piles up his a's and x& like one avIio 
 has not lung been familiar with them. He has, however, 
 this in common with very great analysts, tliat ho perfectly 
 succeeds by the use of abstract .symbols in making for half 
 his readers a riddle out of a truth which would be easily 
 
 ' S. S. iv. J). .)79. = .S. S. iv. p. .\^2- ' •'?■ S. iv. p. 4S4,
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 127 
 
 coinprehcnsible if expressed in coininon terms. But — as if 
 one M'rotc only to make one's readers wise ! Enough if 
 a writer shows that he is wise liiniself ! " Mylius wa-ote 
 several comedies, and, like all superficial dramatists, he 
 composed quickly. " When he had formed his scheme," 
 says Lcssiiig,! in reference to one of his dramatic efforts, 
 " it cost him only four nights to complete it — a period which 
 another, going witliout sleep, will spend in the arrange- 
 ment of a single scone. While he was occupied with it, 
 I mure than once envied him his facility; but when he 
 had linishcd, antl road his production to me, I was again 
 the magnanimous friend in whose soul tliere was not the 
 smallest trace of envy." The labours of Mylius as a writer 
 of weekly moral essays give occasion to the following : 2 — 
 " You know who were the first authors in this kind of 
 literature — men wanting neither in wit, thought, scholar- 
 ship, nor knowledge of the world — Englishmen who, in the 
 greatest calm, and in easy circumstances, could study with 
 attention whatever influences the spirit and manners of 
 the nation. But who are their imitators among us ? Eor 
 the most part, young witlings who have scarce mastered 
 the German language, have read a little here and there, 
 and — worst of all — are obliged to make money by their 
 papers." 
 
 Lessing was conscious of the strange impression which a 
 criticism MTitten in a spirit so absolutely impartial would 
 produce. " Etrange monument," he %\Tote to Kastner,^ the 
 friend whom both he and Mylius had known so well at 
 Leipzig, " disez vous peut-etre, et j'en couN'iens. Pourquoi 
 me I'a-t-on extorqud ? On voulut absolument un recueil de 
 ses pieces fugitives et surtout de ses poesies ; le voila done. 
 Sans ma preface il ne manqueroit pas de charmer ]\I. 
 Gottsched. Mais jugez vous meme, si je n'ai pas bien 
 fait de sauvcr les ]\Ianes de ]\fylius de la honte d'etre loue 
 par cet ojtprobre des gens d'esprit." 
 
 Possibly, at a later stage, when the sense of justice wa3 
 
 1 S. S. iv. p. 49a 8 S. S. iv. r. 486. 8 s. S. xiL p. 38.
 
 128 SECOXD RESIDEXCE IN BE RUN. 
 
 not less powiM-ful, but touclu'd by softenin!:^ influences of 
 which yoiitli knows not, and -wlicn the slight token of a 
 life's endues would have been too closely associated with 
 the tnigcdy of balllod hope lying beliind it to be judged 
 solely by a standard of ideal excellence, Lc^ssing would liave 
 been rather more anxious to make something of whatever 
 nu-rit lay in his friend's Amtings. lie had, however, an 
 unusually strong motive for stating his ideas in their full 
 strength. He was everywhere known as the friend of 
 ^lylius, and, as we have seen, the friendshij) had caused him 
 serious trouble in his own family. It was natural it should 
 be assumed that he shared the aims and modes of life of 
 one he knew so well. In self-defence he drew in sharji 
 lines the bounds beyond which his intimacy had never 
 passed, thus negatively defining his own position, and sepa- 
 rating himself otf from the noisy class of so-called literary 
 men whose ostentatious gaiety was but a poor compensation 
 for their utter lack of any noble or worthy purpose in life. 
 
 The friendship of Lessing and Mendelssohn ripened so 
 quickly that in 1755 they undertook the preparation of a 
 joint critical work. The Berlin Academy of Sciences had 
 announced as the subject of a prize-essay the jihilosojihical 
 system of Pope. The candidates were re([uired, lii-st, to 
 expound this system ; second, to compare it with the system 
 of Leilmitz; third, to give reasons for its acce])tanee or 
 rejection. The choice of the subject was probably due to 
 ^laupertuis, president of the Academy, who bitterly dis- 
 liked the ])hil()snphy of Leibnitz, and hoped thus to damage 
 it in tlie esteem of the reading world. The two friends 
 agreed that the theme was one which ought never to have 
 been pro]»ose(l, an<l to prove this they wmte an essay wliieh 
 they puV)lished with the title " I'ope a ^letaphysician " 
 (" Tope ein Metapliysiker "). 
 
 The treatise starts with the ]irineiple tliat a poet as 
 such cannot jiossibly develop a ]»hilosophical system. The 
 metaphysician must strictly define his terms; he must 
 never, without explanation, depart from the meaning ho
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN HE RUN. 129 
 
 ascribes to tlicm ; he must not exchange tlieiii for otliei.s 
 that appear synonymous. Figures of speecli, which can in 
 no case be strictly accurate, are not allowed to liini; and 
 he must jiruceed according' to a fixed method IVom simple 
 to comi)lex truths. All this is wliolly opposed to the free 
 movement of the poet. It is true that Lucretius develops 
 a system in his " I)e lierum Xatura ; " but, f)f course, there 
 is no reason why i)hiIusophy should not be expounded in 
 verse, only such verse cannot claim to be regarded as poetry. 
 
 T'ope, therefore, as a poet, could not be a metaphysician, 
 and he would not have been one if he could. His airn was 
 to justify the ways of God to man, to produce in the minds 
 of his readers a vivid impression that these ways, although 
 not fully understood, are absolutely right and wise. For 
 this purpose he could not desire to follow the lead of any 
 one school, for each school is unjust to particular classes of 
 truths. The Stoic does not do justice to pleasure, nor the 
 Epicurean to virtue. It was necessary he should go from 
 one system to another, select from them whatever was 
 most in keeping with his main object, and combine the 
 various elements into a harmonious picture. 
 
 Assuming, however, for a moment that, notwithstanding 
 these considerations, there is a system in the " Essay on 
 Man," the writers set out in search of it, and bring together 
 the various propositions in which it nmst be supposed to 
 be contained. These propositions are then compared with 
 tlie doctrine of Leibnitz, and with masterly vigour and 
 clearness it is proved that such fundamental ideas as may 
 be found in Pope do not truly represent those of the 
 German philosoplier. The next step is to demonstrate 
 that the system which has been set up as Pope's is a mere 
 house of cards. The authors have no difhculty in showing 
 that he makes some assertions which are flatly contra- 
 dictory, others which cannot be logically defended, and 
 others for which the proof he adduces is insufficient. In 
 a word, he is not, and does not pretend to be, a philosopher. 
 He merely aims at exciting a certain feeling respecting the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 I30 SECOND EESIDEA'CE L\ nilRLIX. 
 
 order of the uorld ; a!i<l liis modo of attaining tliis end ii 
 to rolli'ct from dilVoront (juarters a variety of ideas, the 
 truth of wliich is of less concern to him than their capacity 
 of beinj,' efVoctivcly stated. 
 
 The 11 mil passages deal with the sources from whicli 
 Pope chiefly derived his conclusions. Shaftesbury is indi- 
 catod as one of his authorities ; but he is not allowed to 
 have properly understood this writer, who is highly praised, 
 and recommended to the Academy as a much truer parallel 
 than Pope to Leibnitz. Archbishop King is the author 
 from whom he is represented as drawing most freely ; 
 and this view is probably accurate. Johnson, following 
 Lord Bathurst, aflirms that Pope received the scheme of 
 his poem from Bolingliroke ; but internal evidence is alto- 
 gether in favour of the theory of the German critics. 
 Nothing was more natural than that Pope should have 
 looked into King, whose " Origin of Evil " was very gene- 
 rally read by the thoughtful men of the day. 
 
 The view of Pope taken in this treatise would not now 
 be called in question. No one would in our day dream 
 of going to the " Essay on Man " for a coherent body of 
 doctrine; the most ardent admirers of the poem would 
 admit that it is full of inconsistencies, and that its mode of 
 argument is weak and superficial. In one 'respect, how- 
 ever, the criticism is defective. It seems to be assumed 
 throughout that although Pope cannot claim the honours 
 of a metaphysician, his treatment of Ids theme is poetically 
 adequate. Since Goethe, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Victor 
 Hugo, this can no longer be admitted. The poetry of mere 
 common sense can do nothing to meet the cravings of the 
 religious mind ; at best, it can approach but the outward 
 a.spects of spiritual questions. Now Pope seldom rose above 
 the level of common sense. He was wholly without in- 
 sight, and could not have understood silent awe and 
 reverence. The bafUing problems of existence were with- 
 out fascination for him; and he undertook to say some- 
 thinu about them fur no other reason than that it was the
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 131 
 
 fashion of liis day to discuss t]ieolo;^y, as it was the fashion 
 to discuss the doings of the Ministry and tlie Oj>position. 
 His steps in tlie paths grandly trodden by l)ante and 
 ^Milton were thus as feeble and uncertain as would have 
 been those of Lely or Kneller in the sublime altitudes of 
 IMichael Angelo. The value of the " Essay on Man " con- 
 sists less in its ideas than its manner of expressing them. 
 Tope has little to say that is worth saying, but he says it 
 with so much terseness and grace that each generation 
 turns with pleasure to his artistic platitudes, and passes by 
 the profounder conclusions of less attractive teachers.'^ 
 
 No direct clue is given in " Pope a Metaphysician " to 
 the manner in which the two authors divided the labour 
 between them. The style and mode of thought, however, 
 are throughout Lessing's ; and we cannot be wrong in 
 assuming that the work is substantially his. ^lendelssohn 
 can hardly have done more than contribute to the partial 
 exposition of the philosophy of Leibnitz, although it is 
 possible, since he was well read in the serious literature of 
 England, that to him are also due the references to Shaftes- 
 bmy and King. 
 
 The little book was not a success, so far as its sale was 
 concerned. In 1756 we find Lessing, in reference to some 
 complaint of Mendelssohn respecting the indifference of 
 the public, asking him, "Will they still hear nothing of the 
 philosopher Pope ? " In private, however, some members 
 of the Academy showed that they were far from pleased 
 with so disrespectful a treatment of the subject they had 
 selected. " Quant a ce qui regarde M. Lessing," wrote De 
 Beausobre to Gottsched,2 " je ne le connois que de nom, 
 assez ignore chez nous ; il merite de I'etre chez nos 
 voisius. Son ou\Tage, Monsieur, a ii^ attribue longtemps 
 d un Juif nomm^ Moyse, et je ne sais pas encore bien 
 certainement, s'il est de Lessing. Je chargerai quelqu'un 
 de douner quelques petits conseils a ce (^crivain mordant." 
 
 ' See tliis view admirably stated in Mr. Mark Pattison's introduction to 
 his eJitioQ of tlie "Essay on Man." - Uauzel, p. 279.
 
 133 SECOXD RESIDENCE IN BERLIX. 
 
 "Wliilc at Wittenberg Tossing seems to have devoted less 
 attention to tlio drama than usual ; hut on his return to 
 Berlin he resumed liis dramatic studies. They led to the 
 publication of a periodical which he desired to be regarded 
 as the successor of the unlucky venture he and ^lylius began 
 with such high hopes, and wliich came to so untimely an 
 end. The title was changed to " The Theatrical Library " 
 ("Thcatralische Bibliothek"),and the aim of the undertaking 
 was greatly restricted. He no longer promised to criticise 
 contemporary German dramatists, or to afford a general view 
 of the existing condition of the German stage. And as 
 regarded the writers, wliether poets or critics, whom he 
 proposed to introduce to his readers, he decided to confine 
 himself strictly to those whose positive merits were likely 
 to repay investigation.' Two numbers appeared in 1754; 
 a third in 1755 ; the fourtli and last was published in 
 1758, during his third residence at the I'nissian capital. 
 They are made up chiefly of translations and abstracts; 
 and although of value to a community in which the 
 theatre had not yet taken deep root, and which had no 
 national drama, they are now of slight interest. One of 
 the most important contributions is the first paper of the 
 first number, in which he translates two treatises, one in 
 Latin by Gellert, the other in French by a Frenchman, 
 whose initials only are given, on "comedie lanuoyantc." 
 In a brief preface T.^ssing refers to it rather slightingly as 
 an ofTspring of French vanity. The French were tired, he 
 says, of seeing themselves always ridiculed in comedy, and 
 wi.shed to Ixj represented in a more noble light. Hence 
 their comic wi-iters sought to draw tears rather than to 
 e.xcite laughter : an explanation which falls far short of 
 the facts, and which Ixssing afterwiu-ds gave uj). 
 
 In some remarks added to the translation of a French 
 work on acting, he sets forth a princiiile of very great 
 importance. This is, that it is not enough for the actor to
 
 SECOXD RESIDENCE LV BERLIN. 133 
 
 experience the feelings he is to represent ; he must also 
 be master of Ihoir expression. There are certain universal 
 expressions of fedin;^' ; and it is the business of the actor 
 to learn these in their most general form. If he has not 
 (lone this, no amount of feeling will enable him to impress 
 the spectators ; while if he has, he may produce an efiect 
 withuut having the feelings of which he displays the out- 
 ward manifi'stations. After stating this doctrine, Lessing 
 announces that he will shortly publish an exhaustive trea- 
 tise on the subject. He never earned out his purpose; 
 but several fragments of the proposed work have been 
 l»rcser\'ed, and from them it is clear that he had long 
 made the actor's art a subject of profound and systematic 
 study. 
 
 In criticising Lessing's drama, "The Jews," Michaelis had 
 expressed a doubt whether an oppressed and despised race 
 could produce so noble a man as its hero. ]\lendelssohn was 
 naturally indignant at so unjust a statement, and in an 
 eloquent letter to a Jewish friend commented on the critic's 
 prejudice and naiTowness of mind. This letter was handed 
 to Lessing, who published it in the " Theatrical Library," 
 along with some observations of his own, as the most effec- 
 tive reply possible. Having sent to Michaelis a cojiy of the 
 number containing the letter, he thus wrote to him on the 
 subject : 1 " I have been so free as to make some response 
 to the remarks you were kind enough to offer on my 
 'Jews.' I hope the way in which I have done it will not 
 be displeasing to you. I am a little anxious only about the 
 accompanying letter. If it contains some offensive ex- 
 pressions, which I do not approve but have no right to 
 change, I beg you always to call the author to mind. He 
 is really a Jew, a man of five-and-tM-enty, who, without 
 any instruction, has acquired great attaiimients in lan- 
 guages, in mathematics, in philosophy, in poetry. I foresee 
 in him nn honour to our nation, if he is allowed to come 
 to maturity by his co-religionists, who have always dis- 
 1 s. S. xil. p. 36.
 
 134 SF.COXD KESWEA'CE /A' BERLIX. 
 
 ]»layc(l nn uiifortunate spirit of persecution towiiixls men 
 like liini. His camlour uiid liis philosophical spirit causo 
 nie to ri.';^'ar(l him in nntic-ipation as a second Spinoza, for 
 perfect resemblance willi \vlinm In- will lack imthing but 
 Sjiinoza's eiToi-s." 
 
 Lessin;; so disliked all theatrical display of feeling that 
 superficial observers sometimes supposed hira to be of a 
 cold temj)crament. It "will be seen, however, from this 
 letter, that there never was a more generous and high- 
 minded friend. 
 
 TI. 
 
 For some 3'oars, mainly because there was no regular 
 theatre at Wittenberg or Berlin to stimulate his energies, 
 Lessing gave up even sketching dramatic outlines ; but in 
 1755 he felt once more the creative impulse, and early 
 in the year went to Potsdam for a few weeks to give it 
 free scope. Here he lived in such complete retirement 
 that Kleist — who was still stationed in Potsdam — ^\Tote to 
 Gleim : " Our Lessing has been seven weeks in Potsdam, 
 l)Ut nobody has seen him. Shut up in a garden-house, he 
 is said to liave written a comedy, lie would perhaps have 
 succeeded Ijetter if he had not shut himself up, for there 
 are here plenty of fools to laugh at." 1 )uring these seven 
 weeks he comphited " ^liss Sara Sampson," a prose tragedy 
 in five acts, which he had plunned and partly executed 
 before leaving lierlin. 
 
 It was a tradition of the (!reek drama that the only 
 proper heroes of tragedy are jjcnsons of liigh social rank. 
 This was also the tradition of the classic stage of France ; 
 and in ICngland it was dominant until the early part of htst 
 century. Lillo, otherwise of no imiKirtaiirc, is memorable 
 for having broken with the tradition in his once famous 
 " (leorgo I'arnwcll ; " and he found many imitatoi-s, of 
 whom the chief was Moore, author of "The (Jamester." 
 In the hands of l{ichard.son the movement received deeper 
 significance, fur in "Clarissa llarlowc" the sorrows of
 
 SECOXD RESIDENCE IX BERUX. 135 
 
 pvivalo life were {lci)icte(l with a skill and iiisij^dit that 
 cuiiiinaiKlc'tl the attention of the world. 
 
 In the remarks on "conu'die larnioyantc" just alluded 
 to, Lcssinj; refers also to mi. idle-class tragedy, and as he 
 traces the ft»rnier to French vanity, so he traces the latter to 
 Kn^disli i)ride. " The Frencliman is a creature who always 
 wishes to appear greater tlian lie is. The Enghshman is an- 
 other, who wislies to draw everything great down to his own 
 level." Thus while it was disagreeal)le to the former to 
 he always laughed at in comedy, it was equally disagree- 
 ahle to the latter to see crowned heads alone in .splendid 
 situations. Englishmen felt that " mi-^dity passions and 
 suhlime thoughts were no more for kings tiuiu fur one 
 taken from among themselves." ^ 
 
 AVhether or not this is a true account of the matter, 
 r.essing was in full sympathy with the English move- 
 ment ; and in " Miss Sara Sampson " he followed in the 
 steps of Lillo antl Itichardson. It was distinctly as a 
 tragedy of middle-class life that it was hailed by his con- 
 temporaries as a work of high importance. 
 
 In all his previous efforts, as we have seen, Lessing was 
 thoroughly French in his ideals and methods. He is not 
 yet independent, hut in " Miss Sara Sampson " the influ- 
 ence under which he works is no longer French Itnt English. 
 The change is seen not only in the nature of his subject, 
 but in his characters, who have a close resemblance to 
 those most in favour in contemporary English literature. 
 I'^en the scene is laid in England ; and there is a 
 rapidity of movement and freedom of action and utter- 
 ance which would have been impossible had the stately 
 steps of French dramatists been followed. In going 
 to England for inspiration, he only did what was then 
 being done by all the younger and more vigorous 
 literary men of Germany. ^lilton had long been 
 closely studied ; and at this time the dramatists of 
 the llestoration, those of the inmiediately succeeding 
 
 1 S. S. iv. p. 1 15.
 
 136 SECOXD RESIDENCE IX HER I.I X. 
 
 gonomlions, anil tlio Lrilliant poets ami mastei-s of prose 
 in Qiu'on Anne's reign, vimo all well known. Younj; and 
 Thomson wore ponerail fuvonrites, and liiclmnlson was 
 hardly more admired in London ami Paris than ])y a 
 seleet cirele in lU-rlin. I'y-and-hy, mainly through Ia'SS- 
 ing's influence, Shakespeare began also to be rcafl ; and so 
 the intellectual yoke of France was slowly broken. 
 
 The heroine of " i\Iiss Sara Sampson " is clearly a remi- 
 niscence of Clarissa Harlowe. We find in both the same 
 jiassionate devotion to the proprieties, the same tilial loyalty, 
 the same e.xhaustless feminine goodness. Like Claris.sa, 
 Sara runs away with her lover ; and when the action 
 l»egins, they have been for some weeks together at an 
 inn. She is tilled with remorse at having, as she sup- 
 poses, broken the heart of her father, Sir William Sampson, 
 a coinitry clergyman. She entreats ]\rellefont — only the 
 name recalls "The Double Dealer" — to save her honour 
 by marrying her. He has all the fantastic avereion of the 
 men of his time to marriage, and, while full of love for 
 her, and displaying in his manner the utmost tenderness, 
 puts off the wedding on the plea that he must fii-st make 
 sure of a legacy wliich a relative who is dying is about to 
 leave him. As they talk of this subject — she with many 
 tears, he with ardent expressions of devotion — a letter is 
 handed to him by which lu^ is deejily moved. This is from 
 Marwodd, ii beautiful, sellish, and pii'^sionato woman who has 
 been his mistress for yeare, and I'V whom he has a young 
 daughter, Arabflla. Having discovered his liiding-]il;ice, she 
 has come to makc^ a last effort to win back his alTection. 
 He is furious at her persecutions, and hurries to the inn 
 from which slii- writes, to get rid of her. She, however, is 
 l)repared for him, and displays every kind of wile to revive 
 jiis dead love. When all else fails, she jmxluces their 
 daughter, and by her influence he is idtimately inducetl 
 to j)romise that he will at least n^turn to se(> them. Im- 
 mediately after he goes out the .spell is broken, and he 
 comes hastily back to say that they must meet wo more.
 
 SECOA'D RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 137 
 
 Slio now casta off disj^niise; her fury liccomes uncnntrol- 
 Inlilr, aiifl i)liickin^' a da^'t^'or from her bosom, she rushes 
 upon liini to slay him. After a stru^'},'le she is disarmed. 
 There is then a reaetion of feeling, and she entreats to he 
 forijiven. He ]tromises to forget all, on condition that .she 
 w ill instantly return to London and leave their daughter 
 uilh him. She consents, but begs that beik)rc leaving .she 
 may be allowed to see her rival, that she may judge whether 
 .she can ever hopt; that the future will be as the past. After 
 some hesitation he agrees to introduce her as Lady Solmcs, 
 his cousin. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sir "William Sampson, whose arrival at Sara's 
 inn occui-s in the first scene, has sent by his old and faith- 
 ful servant, AVaitwell, a letter to his daughter, nobly gene- 
 rous in tone. She hardly dares open it, but at last plucks 
 up courage, and as she reads a new light seems to fall on 
 heaven and earth, joy wells up and overflows in her heart. 
 She comnmnicates to ]\Iellefont the glad news, and is .so 
 relieved and hap])y that she makes no difficulty al)out 
 meeting Lady Solmcs, Marwood is torn with jealousy on 
 seeing Sara's beauty and moral loveliness ; and wdien she 
 hears tl.at a reconciliation has taken jdace by letter with 
 Sir William, she becomes ill and has to hurry away, for it 
 was she who gave the father the daughter's address, in the 
 hope that he would pursue her in anger. Soon afterwards 
 she again appears in Sara's room, and this time IMellefont 
 is called aAvay. She seizes the opportunity to poison the 
 mind of the young girl against her lover, tells ]\Iarwood's 
 story so as to refiect disgi-ace on IMellefont, and to present 
 herself in the light of a deceived and wTonged woman; 
 and finally, with Sara at her feet begging for guidance, 
 reveals who she really is. Sara, overwhelmed with horror 
 and disg\ist, flies shrieking for help. Marwood, after a 
 brief monologue, follows, finds she has fainted, and, before 
 leaving, ostentatiously helps the inaid to bring her back to 
 consciousness. 
 
 By and by Mellefont comes, and finds Sara suffering at
 
 138 SECOXD KKSIDENCE IX CERI.IX. 
 
 intcrvah fearful ajjoiiy. lie sends liis servant to secure 
 ^larwood ; l»ut tlie servant (juickly n'tnrns, ri'iHU't.s that 
 she lias lied wilh Arabella, and hands him a note she has 
 left for him. This records with fiendish triumjih that 
 she has j^uisoned Sara, and on reading it ^lellefont rushes 
 away wilh eries of anguish. Sir "William entere the room 
 just in time to see his dauj^hter die. I'.i tore dying she 
 tears up the evidence of Marwoods guilt, and expresses 
 Sorrow for the fate of the unfortunate Aral)ella. Melle- 
 font draws the dagger witli which Marwood attempted to 
 murder him, stahs himself, and with his last breath com- 
 mends Arabella to Sir "William's care. 
 
 The weakest element in the tragedy is undoubtedly 
 ^lellefont, for it is impossible to form anything like a 
 consistent theory of his character. Any one capable of 
 such love as he lavishes on Sara would not have sought 
 fur mean excuses for delaying their marriage ; and he cer- 
 tainly would not have introduced to her, for such a reason 
 as that Marwood suggests, a woman he had learned to loathe, 
 and who had just tried to kill him. ^Much less, having 
 introduced her, M-ould he have given her an opportunity 
 of doing the mischief he knew she longed to effect. These 
 are fatal defects, since they imjily that the play is without 
 a true tragic motive. We are never imi)ressed by the 
 conviction that soitow is the one possible issue ; we see too 
 clearly the hand of the dramatist bringing about calamity 
 by artilieial devices. It must also be said that the scenes 
 are tediously protracted, and that, after the manner of his 
 P'nglish models, Ix;ssing makes the characters indulge far 
 too much in vague abstract morali.'jing. 
 
 Nevertheless, the jday niu.st be sharply distinguished 
 from any he had yet produced. The scope of his art has 
 become larger, and he sounds deeps of human nature of 
 which he had before shown no knowledge. Marwood is 
 the j)roduct of an imagination that grasj)S without fear tho 
 most appalling and impressive facts of life. It is po-ssiblo 
 that she may have been suggested by Millwood, the biuso
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IX DERUX. 139 
 
 ■v'rmian \\\w jtliiys tlie roh of tlie tcinplcr in " ricor^'e 
 r.iirnwi'll ; " but lucre smoke is very difTercut from smoke 
 irradiated by a gleam of {golden sunshine. She speaks of 
 herself at one moment as a new Medea, but she lacks the 
 sublime (lualitics of Medea ; hers is essentially a low nature, 
 althougli saved from despicable meanness by its terrific au- 
 dacity. Of tlie remaining characters, Sir William Sampson 
 is a somewhat sliadowy type of that yearning paternal love 
 which sorrow enriches and deepens: the sort of love that 
 made the Vicar of Wakelield, in the simplicity of his heart, 
 go forth and seek in the cold worM for the lamb of his flock 
 which the wolf had snatched. The virtues of M'omen like 
 Sara have justice done to them in real life more readily 
 than in fiction; but in the concluding scenes there is a 
 touch of grandeur in the meekness with which she bows 
 before the awful fate that crashes down upon her happi- 
 ness and blasts her fair young life. 
 
 In the summer of 1755, "Miss Sara Sampson" was acted 
 at Frank furt-on-the-Oder, and Lessing went there to super- 
 intend the jtreparations. It met with a splendid reception. 
 " IIciT Lessing," wrote Eamlcr to Gleim, with a fine disre- 
 gard of the consistency of metapliors, " has had his tragedy 
 represented at Frankfurt, and the audience, who listened 
 for three and a half hours, sat like statues and wept." 
 
 A few years afterwards the play was reviewed and partly 
 translated in the " Journal Etranger." The writer, a dis- 
 ciple of Diderot, although blaming it for the inadequacy of 
 the links by which some of the scenes and incidents are 
 connected, treats it as a work of high power, and as afford- 
 ing proof that in Germany the drama had begun to look to 
 nature for its best effects. One of his criticisms is, that if 
 ^larwood was to be allowed to see Sara at all, she should 
 have been so, not on the ground of curiosity, but because 
 she desired, on saying ftirewcll to ^Mellefont, to commend 
 Arabella to his wife's love. This, he thinks, would have 
 been so like a movement of pathetic feeling that McUefont 
 would have gi'anted the request without suspicion.
 
 I40 SECOXD KESIDEXCE IX BERUX. 
 
 Shortly after tlie nppcftranco of tliis review the jilny was 
 acted in French in tht' private theatre of tlie Duke d'Ayen 
 at St. CJermain-en-Laye. " It is said," wmte (Irinun in one 
 of his letters, "that the Countess de Tesst', daughter of the 
 Duke d'Ayen, played the part of Miss Sara in a ravishing 
 niannrr, and it is easy t<3 believe it, ]Ier hrother, the 
 Count d'Ayen, adds to more essential and distinguished 
 virtues that of an excellent comedian ; he played the part 
 of Sara's lover. This piece, presented before the greatest 
 company in France, received great applause, and i>roduced 
 the most powerful impression." ^ 
 
 vir. 
 
 In 1/55, I-essing liegan to be tired of his life in Berlin. 
 His means of living were precarious ; and if he remained, 
 he had nothing to look forward to but a continuance of the 
 hard and poorly paid work he had carried on for three 
 years. For some time he was in negotiation about a pro- 
 fes.sorship at the newly-founded university of Moscow, 
 and in a letter to his father he intimated that it was quite 
 possible he might accept the oiler. The success of " Mi.ss 
 Sara Sampson," however, which was speedily ]»ut upon the 
 boards of nearly every theatre in Germany, tilled him with 
 a desire to be intimately coimected with the stage. Koch 
 had recently ojient'd a theatre in Leipzig, and one of the 
 j»rincii>al members of his company wa.s a young man named 
 liriickner, who had been in Voss's business, and to who.se 
 theatrical training Lessing had given considerable atten- 
 tion. Here, tlierefore, there seemed to be a good chance 
 for a young and ])o]tular dramatic writer. He resolved 
 not to let the o]»pnrtunity slij), and in October, 1755, he 
 reached the town he had so hurriedly left seven yt'ars be- 
 fore : quietly making his escape from lierlin witliout going 
 through the formality of saying farewell to his friends. 
 
 ' Danrc'l, p. 475.
 
 ( '41 ) 
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 I. 
 Although Lessing was not fond of writing letters, liis real 
 friends found him on tlie whole a tolerably faithful cor- 
 respondent; and luckily, from the time we have now 
 reached, a good many letters have been preserved which 
 enable us to miderstand the moods and sympathies that 
 nuirked the various periods of his career. They are sin- 
 gularly attractive letters. Without a trace of seutiment- 
 ahsm, they give evidence of a thoroughly genial nature; 
 and althougii their style is almost as finished as that of his 
 published writings, it never suggests the idea of effort. He 
 obviously writes only what is in his nn'nd at the moment, 
 and, as nuarly as possible, talks as he would if space were 
 suddenly to yield to the demands of affection, and he were 
 brought face to face with the friend he is addressing. It 
 is strange to take up, generations after he has passed into 
 silence, these waifs and strays of a great man's life. For 
 the time, we almost fancy we can catch the murmur of the 
 far-off sea by wIkisc laughing or storm-driven waves they 
 were flung upon the shore. 
 
 Two letters, M-ritten in December, 1755, one to IMendels- 
 sohn, the other to liamler, betoken a gay and cheerful 
 temper, as of one who has no fear for the future and 
 troubles himself with no useless regrets for the past. 
 Alluding to a conversation of Mendelssohn with ^lau- 
 pertuis, he reminds his friend of an interview between 
 Charles XII., " a hero like the ancient heroes, who pre- 
 feiTed to create rather than be kings," ^ and the King of 
 
 ' Siimmtliohe Schriften, xii. p. 42.
 
 Ua SECOXD RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 I'olanil, " also, they say, a licro, but at most a subaltern 
 liero." " These two potentates met in the capital of tho 
 latter, while it was beint; besieged by the former. What 
 dill they talk of at so critical a moment ? Of their boots." 
 " It would have been," he adds, " not a little comical, if 
 you and ^laupertuis had said anything of importance 
 to eacli other; and as at present everytliing pleases me 
 better the more comical it is, I shall be very glad if you 
 did so. Visit the great man diligently; but you need 
 not write to me every time you see him ; you may tell mo 
 of your visits when I am not amused by what is comical." 
 To Ramler he says :l "In the few weeks since I left 
 r>erlin, dearest friend, I have thought of you more than a 
 thousand times, spoken of you more than a hundred times, 
 determined more than twenty times to write to you, and 
 begun to write to you more than three times. In the first 
 letter I tried to imitate the stage-coach wit of Ilerr Gellert; 
 for you know that I travelled from Berlin in a stage-coach. 
 I had not, indeed, the luck to travel vdxXx a hangman, and 
 never needed, at tlio violent jolts of the carriage, to feel if 
 1 still had a head. I did, however, find an amusing per- 
 son among my travolliiig companions: a young Swiss, who 
 argued half the way with an Austrian al)out the sujieriority 
 of their (lialects. However, I soon bethought me that 
 nothing comes of iniitation, and began a second letter, in 
 which I was to be original, and avoid cliatter as well as 
 comjiliments : compliments, dearest liamler, but not less 
 sincere assurances how valuable to me is your friendshij), 
 about which I do not ceiuse to comi)lain that I obtained it 
 so late in Berlin. Complain of whom ? Of myself: of 
 my wilful habit of regarding even friends as gifts of for- 
 tune that I will rather find than searclj for. In my third 
 letter I prcpiu-ed to give you only news, and to tell you 
 all those who.se acquaintance I hail lure made. I wished 
 to write to y(»u that I had several times visited Herr 
 (Jellert. The lii*st time I came to hiiii a young baron, 
 » S. S. xii. p. 45.
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 143 
 
 who was al)()ut to travel to Paris, was taking,' kavc of him. 
 Can you ifuess what the modest poet begged of the baron ? 
 To defend him if in Paris they said anything bad against 
 liim. lluw fortunate, thouglit I to myself, am I, of wliom 
 they say nothing in Paris, either bad or good ! But tell 
 me, wliat epitliet would you apply to such a request? 
 Naive or silly I Wvw Gellert is otherwise the best man 
 in the world. My fourth letter — but it is enough that 
 I liave given you specimens of the first three to prove 
 that I really intended to write." 
 
 This letter allbrds proof of the attention Lessing now 
 excited, for he begs Ramler to contradict a report that lie 
 was the author of Nicolai's letters on the existing condi- 
 tion of Cierman literature, and adds : " I had as much to 
 do with them as with the 'Dunciad,' which Gottsched 
 here sets down with all his might to my account. And 
 you know that of this I am perfectly innocent."! 
 
 Lessing seems to have seen Gellert pretty often at this 
 time. There was, however, no genuine sympathy between 
 the two men. Gellert lived in a world of mild sentiment 
 and gentle platitudes, and rather shrank from the fearless 
 intellect which swept aside conventions, and spoke out its 
 convictions in clear tones. One day Lessing went to visit 
 him, and found him in low spirits, reading an ordinary 
 book of devotions. " Do not," pleaded the simple enthu- 
 siast, " disturb me in my faith, the only consolation in my 
 suflerings." 
 
 Since the days of student life, Weisse, like Lessing him- 
 self, had worked hard as a dramatist, and their impulses 
 were so far similar that both were equally disliked by Gott- 
 sched. Weisse, however, was essentially commonplace; 
 and qualities which were gi-atifying enough to the imma- 
 ture youth had no longer stimulus for one who had pushed 
 upwards to an independent position in literature. Weisse's 
 snare was the extraordinary facility with which he wrote. 
 He could begin work at any moment, and, having begun, 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 47.
 
 144 SECOXD RESIDENCE L\ LEIPZIG. 
 
 j^o on until liis |thysical energies were exliausteil. Lessing 
 had no faith in results easily achieved, and strove to niise 
 to a higher level his frii-nd's ideiU. "If," he would say, 
 " I could only make work thoroughly hard for you, you 
 might become an author." 
 
 The associates from whom he derived most pleasure 
 were undoubtedly Koch and his fellow-actors. They did 
 not affect to be literary men, were free from many of the 
 lestniints which make ordinary society irksome, and prac- 
 tised an art in which he was profoundly interested. It is 
 evident that he was highly popular among them, partly 
 because of his genial temperament, partly because his con- 
 cei>tion of their worlh teiuled to deepen their self-respect. 
 
 Almost immediately after his arrival in Leipzig he 
 resumed dramatic work. Unfortunately, he did not con- 
 tinue on the path he had so decisively struck out in " Miss 
 Sara Sampson." lie became acquainted with the works 
 of Goldoni, the most prolific of Italian playwTights ; and, 
 attracted by one of that writer's diamas, " L' Ertdo fortu- 
 nata," he resolved to make the plot the basis of a comedy 
 of his own. His intention was to publish at Easter, 1756, 
 a volume contauiing sbc i»lays, of which tiiis was to be 
 one. Of the otliei"S he had long had sketches in his port- 
 folio. In the letter to jMeudelssohn already alluded to, 
 he says he is hastenijig to get all his "childish trifles" out 
 of the way, for " the longer I put olf doing so," he declares, 
 " the more severe, I fear, will be the judgment which I 
 shall myself jiass upon them." The scheme, like so many 
 othei-s, came to nothing. 
 
 With all his energy, Lessing was of an extremely dilatory 
 nature. He formed jilans with startling raj»idity, but 
 there was nothing he disliked more than to begin in 
 earnest to realise them. Having once taken sha]>e in his 
 mind, they ought, he seemed to think, to leap forth like 
 Athena from the brain of Zeus, full armeil. He wouM 
 ]»ut olf to the last moment any task ho undertook ; and 
 having set to work, he would soon become tired of occu])y-
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 145 
 
 ing hiiiiscir witli one subject, and pass on to anotJicr. 
 I'artly to i)iL'VcnL liinisclf from ^ivin^' way to this tendency, 
 he was in the liabit of sending his .MS. to tlie printer as 
 he proceeded. Two slieets of the new comedy were thus 
 printed ; hut lie speedily lost interest in it, and resumed it 
 more unwillingly every day. His hookseller, who was 
 severely practical, did not understand this unbusiness- 
 like way of going on, and expostulated. The llowers of 
 Lessing's genius could not be forced ; they could bloom 
 oidy in the nindile air and open sunshine. He resisted 
 tlie i)ubli.sher's interference, threw his comedy aside, and 
 thought no more of the proposed volume. Some years 
 afterwards Nicolai heard of the incident, and, more anxious 
 than Lcssing himself about his writings, begged the book- 
 seller to let him have the proofs which had been printed ; 
 but that person knew nothing .about them. The printer 
 had, however, preserved one sheet, and after Lessing's 
 ileath, the first part of the MS. was found among his 
 papers. Judging from the scenes we possess, there is not 
 nuich reason to regret that the idea was not fully realised. 
 The fragment is, indeed, more swift and strong in style than 
 his youthful comedies, but it lacks the supreme virtue of 
 " Miss Sara Sampson : " its men and women are not real 
 persons, but conventional figures Avho have to go through 
 a definite amount of more or less clever talking. The tire- 
 some Lisette appears with precisely the same sprightlincss, 
 audacity, and love of intrigue that mark her in the earlier 
 writings; and the more important characters are conceived 
 Mith hardly more originality or force. 
 
 " Miss Sara Sampson " was not produced in Leipzig 
 until the spring of 1756, and then in a somewhat abridged 
 form. Lessiufj, who thouiiht it most dillicult to shorten 
 a single scene of a play without impairing its excellence. 
 Mould not undertake the task of bringing the tragedy 
 within the limits required by Koch. Weisse had no such 
 scruples, and cut down the work, very much to his own 
 satisfaction, but not at all to that of the author. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 SECOXD RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 II. 
 
 There am few more distinct notes of tlio modem man 
 than Ins love of tnivel. His own country does not sutlice 
 for his intulleetuul needs, rrolbundly inlluenccd by the 
 ideas, tlie art, the science of other hinds, ho lonj^ to come 
 into direct contact with the life in which these have their 
 root. To the end of his days Lessin;; was never without 
 the desire to visit the great centres of European culture ; 
 and after he went to Leipzig, the wish became so strong 
 that he was willing to accept an ii-ksome post Sulzer 
 offered to obtain for him — that of travelling tutor to a boy 
 ■who was to be sent off to see the world. Ik'fore the en- 
 gagement could be made, a much more favourable chance 
 presented itself. A wealthy young citizen of Leipzig, 
 named "Winkler, had resolved to spend three years in 
 making the grand tour, which was to include a visit to 
 Holland, England, France, and Italy. By some means or 
 other Lessing was introduced to him, and as "Winkler could 
 not have a better companion than one acipiainted with the 
 language, history, and literature of every country lie pro- 
 po.sed to go to, he asked Lessing to accomjiany him, oller- 
 ing both to pay his travelling expen.ses and to give him 
 a liberal salary. Lessing at once accepted the proposal, 
 and looked forward to three yeai-s of intenser hajjpiness 
 than any he had yet known. 
 
 Already, while he was writing to ^Mendelssohn in Decem- 
 ber, 1755, the matter was settled; ami in thiit letter he 
 tlius announces his decision: "Should the public be in- 
 clined to humble me a little a.s a too diligent \M-iter, should 
 it (h'uy me its ajijilausc because I have too often .sought it, 
 I will bribe it by the promise that from next Easter it shall 
 neither .see nor hear anything of me for three whole years. 
 How will that hapj)en ? you will certainly ask. I must 
 give you, therefore, the most important piece of news it is 
 possible for me to give about myself. It cannot have been 
 at an unfortunate hour that I left Berlin. You know the
 
 SECOND RESIDEhXE L\ LEIPZIG. i.\7 
 
 l>roposal Professor Sulzer made to mo about u journey into 
 ioreii^n liiiids. Notliinj^' will now come of this, because I 
 have iicroiited another, which is incom]»fira1)ly more advan- 
 tageous to nie. I shall travel, not as a tutor, not with a 
 boy by whom I shoulil feel burdened to the soul, not after 
 the directions of a wilful family, but merely as the coni- 
 jtanion of a man who lacks neither the power nor the will 
 to make the journey as useful and pleasant to me as I 
 C()uld make it for myself. He is a young man named 
 Winkler, about my age, of a very good character, without 
 parents and fiiends by whose fancies he must direct him- 
 self. He is inclined to leave all the an-angements to me, 
 and in the end he will rather have travelled with me than 
 1 with him." 
 
 They did not start till May, 1756 ; but it may be believed 
 that long before that time the excitement caused by a pro- 
 spect so much in accordance with Lessing's deepest wishes 
 unfitted him for serious work. It was, doubtless, partly 
 responsible for his failure to complete the scheme in which 
 he was to make the most of his " childish trilles." As the 
 time for setting out approached, he was obliged to make a 
 number of small journeys — as, for instance, to Altenburg 
 and Gera — and he also went for a time to Dresden, pro- 
 bably to study the art collections there with a view to pre- 
 paring himself for the splendid opportunities of aesthetic 
 culture to which he looked forward. By an odd chance, 
 Heyne and Winckelmann were both then in Dresden, the 
 former in a minor post at the Briihl Library, the latter 
 acting as secretary to Count Bunau, and already dreaming 
 of that sojourn in Eome in which he was to do so much 
 for the true appreciation of ancient art. Lessing made 
 Hoyne's acquaintance, but Winckelmann, with whom 
 his name was to be permanently associated, he did not 
 meet. 
 
 It so happened that his parents visited Dresden at the 
 same time as himself. For eight years he had not seen 
 them; but they had long ago abandoned their opposi-
 
 148 SECOND RESIDEXCE IX LEIPZIG. 
 
 tion to liis sclu'iiio of lilf. It mils not only that theysa\r 
 oji]>osition to III' nsrloss, but wlu-n a «fravc thcoloj^ian ami 
 scholar liko Michai-lis ostiniatcil dottliold's work so highly, 
 llie pastor knew that a more brilliant and a truer success 
 Nvas attainable than he had deemed possible ; and when her 
 lonl chauLjecl his opinion, it was not, of coui"SC, for the Frau 
 I'astorin to hold out obstinately against him. AVe have 
 only one letter from Lessing tolas father between the time 
 of his liret residence in Berlin and the period we have now 
 reached. It was written early in 1755, and is in a tone 
 which indicates that the old bitter strife had been practi- 
 cally forgotten. His brother Gottlob had been entrusted 
 for a time to his keeping, so that clearly a literary career 
 was no longer thought to imply the wreck of every good 
 and great princiide. The meeting at Dresden was, there- 
 fore, perfectly cordial on both sides ; and Lessing went 
 •with his parents to Kameuz, where he stopped a week, 
 intending — he was unable to fulfd his pur[)Ose — to return 
 before finally leaving Leipzig. From this time there are 
 numerous letters to his father, and through all of them 
 breathes a s])irit of deej) iilial loyalty. We miss the 
 touch of playfulness which gives its supreme charm to the 
 relation of son and jiarenl, but there is always unaflected 
 love and respect. l>y-and-l)y, when hard pressed by the 
 necessity of providing for a large family, the pastor and 
 his wife made incessant demands on the slentlcr jnii'se of 
 I^'ssing. It is easy to see sonu'limes that they c-laiin more 
 than lie can do for them; but an impatient word never 
 escapes him — he makes all kinds of sacrifices to meet their 
 wishes. 
 
 At liiiiith, on May 10, 1756, the last packet wa.s made 
 up, the last order given, ami Lessing started with "Winkler 
 for Holland. They went right through Cierniany, by 
 lMag<leburg and r.runswick, to Hamburg; from thence to 
 r»remon, and so into tlui United Provinces, through the 
 northern districts of which they wandered for s<»nie time, 
 kmding at the end of July in Amsterdam. Such a journey
 
 S/:COXD RESIDEXCK IX LKIPZIG. 149 
 
 was niiidt! in those days in comfortless carriages, wliich 
 jolted oviT uneven and dirty roads ; but it is not in all re- 
 spects an advantage to ■whirl in furious haste i)ast moun- 
 tain and rivir, handet and city. The eighteenth century 
 travelK'r had time to form a clear impression of the coun- 
 try thnnigli which he went, to exchange words of greeting 
 witli people at inns by tlie roadside, to stop for a day at 
 this town or that, if it happened in some unf(jreseen way 
 to hit liis fancy. It was thus that Lessing passed with 
 Winkler from Leipzig to Amsterdam. Details of the journey 
 arc not known, for a diary he kept, which, after his death, 
 came into his brother's possession, was lost. One fact of 
 importance, however, we do know; and that is that he 
 diligently studied the few collections of art wliich existed 
 on his route. He acqnired an especially wide knowledge 
 of engi'avings, and induced Winkler to buy a good many 
 fme specimens. Only once we catcli a definite glimpse of 
 him; it is at Hamburg, where, through the introduction of 
 Weisse, he met Eckhoff, the greatest living German actor. 
 " .Aly intercoui-se witli Ilerr ^Magister Lessing," \vrote Eck- 
 holl" soon afterwartls to Weisse,^ " enchanted me. How 
 much gratitude do I not owe you for making me acquainted 
 witli so excellent a man ! If he did not flatter me, he was 
 tolerably pleased with my acting." 
 
 The intention of the travellers was to make excursions 
 from Amsterdam to the chief Dutch towns, and in the 
 begiiniing of October to take ship for England. Lessing 
 nnist liave desired with some eagerness to visit a country 
 to wliose literature he was already so deeply indebted ; but 
 he never saw England. Before October, he an.l Winkler 
 were back in Leipzig. 
 
 The event which caused this precipitate retreat caused 
 many a more bitter disappointment, and was destined to 
 influence deeply the whole progi-ess of Europe. It was the 
 outbreak of the Seven Years' War. Eor eiglit years there 
 had been peace ; but Frederick, knowing that a web was 
 
 ^ Dauzcl, p. 329.
 
 ijo Sr.CnXD RESIDEXCE IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 Lciiifj woven for liis ruin, ami that lie would soon be caught 
 in its nicsht'S, sutldonly spnuiL; forwanl to hurst it asunchT. 
 Saxony he attuckcil first, and in a few days after lie crossed 
 the frontier his troops had seized Leipzig. Winkler's 
 house was taken possession of hy the rrussian ofTicer ap- 
 pointed to l»e eoniinandant of the town. It would have 
 been better for Winkler to remain away from the scene of 
 •lisaster, hut he was thrown into a state of wild excitement 
 and hurried back in hot liaste. The idea of the tour was 
 not, however, given u]>. During winter Lessing lived with 
 Winkh'r, and never doul)ted that the summer of 1757 
 would be spent in England. 
 
 Leipzig was no longer merely a city of peaceful activity. 
 Prussian olTicers, as little conciliatory in their Ijearing 
 then as now, stalked through the streets ; and tlie levy of 
 nearly a million thalers gave the citizens other than poli- 
 tical reasons for discontent. Deep and bitter was the 
 general liatred of tlie invaders, and loud were the curses 
 uttered by enraged patriots when no Pnissian was within 
 earsliot. Uuniours reached Lessiiig's friends in Berlin 
 that he shared the common feeling, and he even got tlie 
 credit of having written a pamphlet in whicli Frederick 
 was fiercely assailed, and of which Ileync was the real 
 author, liut it was not his way to allow reason to be 
 swayed by passimi. Saxon as he was, he had always 
 stood up f<ir Frederick, and had ])ul)lished odes in his 
 honour, which, if they are not very j»oetical, evidently 
 express genuine admiration. He now defended the Prus- 
 sian King, and associated as freely as he had done at 
 Berlin with Prussian olficers. Some of these he even took 
 with him, in the spring of 1757, to the liouse where he 
 and "Winkler dined. Here the guests, with reckless dis- 
 regard of <ligest ion, usually indulged in furious denuncia- 
 tion of the common enemy. In the presence of I^e.ssing's 
 inconvenient friends they could not enjoy this pleasure, 
 so that they began to go elsewhere for dinner. The 
 landlady complained to Winkler, who, evidently tired of
 
 SECOXD RESIDENCE IX LEIPZIG. 151 
 
 Iiis relation to one wliose sjinpatliics ■wore so o]ii)t»,-n;(l 
 to liis own, took tlic opportunity to cut tlie cord whicii 
 bound tlu'iii to each other. In a curt note he announced 
 tliat they Miiist part, and directed Lessing at once to 
 leave his iiouse. Lessing, wIkjso idea of a generous dis- 
 l)Osition was not that one should tamely sulnnit to in- 
 justice, demanded ct)mpensation for this sudden violation 
 of contract. Winkler refused, whereupon Lessing appealed 
 to the law. In the long-run he won his suit, hut not 
 until nearly eight years had passed, and then three 
 hundred of the six hundred thalers he obtained were 
 swallowed up in legal expenses. 
 
 III. 
 
 Notwithstanding the excitement caused by the war, 
 Lessing found it hard to pass tlie winter of 1756-57 
 ]»leasantly. "Your suspicion is riglit," he wrote to ]\Ien- 
 delssohn ; ^ " I am thoroughly bored in Leipzig." Even the 
 jtrospect of going to England did not always console him. 
 " Kow much rather," he says to Xicolai,2 " should I spend 
 next sunnner with you and our friend than in England. 
 Perhaps I shall learn nothing there but that one may 
 admire and hate a nation." He found time, however, 
 to translate two bof»ks — Hutcheson's " System of ]\Ioral 
 Philosophy," and, curiously enough, Law's " Serious Call." 
 He also issued a translation of Thomson's plays, with 
 an introduction, and in 1757 a translation of a work 
 for the young by Pdchardson, including a selection .^ sop's 
 Eablcs. 
 
 Much more interesting than these hack performances is 
 a remarkable correspondence he carried on with Xicolai 
 and Mendelssohn. 
 
 Kicolai's early writings achieved so much success that 
 he was encouraged to give up business and become a purely 
 literary man. This he did for a time, although ultimately 
 circumstances compelled him to resume his calling. In 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 57. 2 s. s. sii. r- 7^.
 
 132 SF.COXD RFSrDEXCE IX LEIPZIG. 
 
 view of his n(>\v raroer, In? itlaniicd a pcrioilical of rallicr 
 Iftpj^t' ]>rctcnsions, in carrying on wliich ho liopetl to 
 have tiu' ni<l both of Lcssing and Mendelssohn. It was 
 entitled, " Lihrarv of the Liberal Arts." One of its main 
 objects was to elevate and ])urify the national taste in 
 connection with the drama, and for the first nnmber 
 Nicolai prepared an article on tragedy. "Writing to him 
 during the journey with AVinkler, Lessing promised to 
 send him some thoughts on the tragedy of middle-class 
 life, apparently intended to be interwoven in this essay. 
 The promise was not fulfilled ; but Nicolai was not the 
 less anxious to have the opinion of his friend on the 
 treatise before it should be published. He accordingly 
 enclosed, in a letter dated August 31, 1756, an extract 
 from it, and about two months later, Lessing returned an 
 answer containing a very full criticism. This was handed 
 to ]\Iendelssohn, whose interest was stiired ; and thus 
 arose a lively correspondence, which went on uiiiniiirup- 
 tedly for about six weeks. 
 
 The subject of the correspondence is the nature of 
 tragedy. Nicolai maintained that tragedy is designed to 
 excite a variety of passions, and that its different kinds 
 may be classified according to the pa.'^sions chiefly stirred. 
 Thus we may say there are tragedies of terror, tragedies of 
 pity, tragedies of admiration. Agreeing with Nicolai that 
 the immediate purpose of tragedy is to call forth inten.se 
 ft'oling, Lessing does not admit that it is designed to call 
 forth different kinds of feeling ; its sole intention, he main- 
 tains, is to awaken one jiartieular ])assi(tn — pity. Terror, 
 in the strictest sense, he will not allow to have, any place 
 in the mind of the spectator; what is called terror is 
 merely l)ity surprised by some danger by which the hero 
 is threatened. Admiration, indeed, we, do experience, but 
 only as a su1)ordinate element in the general scheme. 
 Our pity, aeconling t<t Lessing, is dependent upon two 
 tilings: the good (pialities of the person pitiecl, and the 
 extent of Lis sufferings. In prnpurlinn as he is noble
 
 SECOXD RESIDEXCK IX LEIPZIG. i^i, 
 
 p.ii'l lii.s iiiisroi-(unc is great, our i)ity fur liiin is inteiis(3. 
 Ailinimtion, therefore, is necessarily stirred in tra^^-dy; 
 l)tit it is stirred simply as a means of deei)eiiiii;4 jiity. 
 Tlic epii", not tragi-dy, makes admiration its su^jreme eiul. 
 The hero of the opic, like the hero of tragedy, may suffer, 
 but his suffering is not so much designed to stir our 
 pity as to give us occasion to admire his greatness of spirit 
 in the mitist of disaster. 
 
 It is an essential principle of Aristotle's theory of 
 tragedy that the tragic hero shall neither be an utterly 
 bad nor a perfectly g(Jod character. In the first case, says 
 Aristotle, ■we feel that his sufferings are deserved, and 
 have no pity for him : in the second, we feel, instead of 
 l)ity, a sense of disgust; we are shocked that it should be 
 jiossible for a man to be undeservedly over^vhelmed with 
 misfortune. Hence the tragic hero should stand between 
 the two extremes. Lessing agi-ees that the woes of tragedy 
 nmst be caused by some fault of the person who endures 
 them, but on a wholly different ground from Aristotle. 
 " Is it true," he asks,l " that the misfortune of an all 
 too virtuous man awakens amazement and horror? If 
 it is true, then amazement and horror nuist be the hin-hest 
 degree of pity : which they certainly are not. Pity, which 
 grows in proportion to the perfection and the misfortune 
 of its object, must cease to be pleasant to me, and become 
 the more unpleasant the greater the perfection on the one 
 hand and the misfortune on the other." The true rea- 
 son why the tragic hero must not be blameless is this : 
 " because without the fault which draws down the misfor- 
 tune upon him his character and his misfortune would 
 not make a v:holc, because the one would not be grounded 
 in the other, and we should conceive each of tliese two 
 elements apart from the other." 2 
 
 As regards the ultimate end of tragedy, Nicolai rejected 
 the doctrine he presumed to be that of Aristotle: that 
 it is designed to exert upon us a high moral influence. 
 
 ^ S. S. xii. p. 8 1. 3 S. S. xiJL p. 8i.
 
 134 SECOXD RESIDEXCE IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 Apparently innoh to liis surprise, as Avell as to that of 
 Mendelssohn, Tossing took the opposite view. Ho insists 
 that traj^eily has a distinctly moral purpose. In reality, 
 however, his doctrine simply is that, as a matter of fact, 
 whether there is any such intention or not, true tragedy 
 tends to elevate character. The best man, he maintains, 
 is the man who feels pity most readily and most abun- 
 dantly. Now tragedy, by exciting*pity, deepens our capa- 
 city for it ; and thus it enriches our moral nature. 
 
 The influence of Aristotle upon these speculations is 
 obvious. Up to this time, however, ho had known the 
 " Poetics " merely from the translations of Dacier and 
 Curtius. The discussion induced him to turn to the 
 original, and to extend his studies to other works of 
 Aristotle, especially the " Rhetoric " and " Ethics." For 
 many years Lessing continued to study him willi an 
 earnestness which he applied to no other critical autlu)r; 
 and there is hardly one of his later purely literary writ- 
 ings which is not more or less affected by his researches. 
 His dramatic criticism, as we shall see, is altogether based 
 upon Aristotle. 
 
 The first fniits of his studies we find in a hastily written 
 letter to Nicolai, dated A\m\ 2, 1757, in which, after a 
 pause, he resumed and closed the correspondence on the 
 nature of trageily.^ Here he makes the imjiortaut remark 
 tiiat </)o/3o<r ought not to be translated terror, as had almost 
 always been done, but fear; and for Aristotle's iilea of 
 fear he refers Nicolai to the second and eighth chapters of 
 the second book of tlie " IJhctoric." "Arist(»tle exjjlains 
 the word </>o/9o9, which Ilerr Curtius translates most 
 frerpiently terror (Schrcckcti), and Dacier now tcrreur, 
 now crainte, through disjtlcasure at an imminent evil, 
 and says, fear is awakened in us by anything which, 
 if we saw it in another, would awaken jiity, and i)ity is 
 awakened by anything which, if it threateiu-d ourselves, 
 would awaken fear." Thus enlightened, Lessing agrees 
 • s. 8. xii. i>. 93.
 
 SECOXD RESIDEXCE IN LEIPZIG. 13; 
 
 tliiit fear has its place in the cfTect produced l)y tragedy ; 
 and ho now holds that the aim of tragedy is not 
 merely to exercise tlie faculty of pity, but through pity to 
 ]>urify the passions. This purifying inlhiencc he con- 
 lines, in one j)art of his letter, to pity; he will not allow 
 that Aristotle is right in ascril)ing it also to fear. Curi- 
 ously enough, in a later paragraph he maintains a con- 
 trary opinion. " If tragedy can awaken pity, it can also, 
 according to tiie above explanation, awaken fear; and it is 
 a natural and necessary consequence of fear that the spec- 
 tator should resolve to avoid the excesses of the passion 
 whicli has i)lunged the hero whom he pities into mis- 
 iortune." 
 
 It will be seen that Lessing had not yet attained to 
 settled convictions on the subject, but was merely feeling 
 his way. Meanwhile, however, it may be observed as 
 highly characteristic, that soon after having completed 
 " Miss Sara Sampson " he should be found striving after 
 the deepest conceptions of tragedy. It was thus that 
 creation and criticism were usually associated in Lessin"-. 
 Having achieved any particular work, he made it the 
 starting-point for speculation as to the ultimate ground of 
 the class to which it belonged ; on the other hand, if he 
 i'ovmed a body of critical ideas, he was dissatisfied until 
 he had applied them in actual artistic effort. The two 
 impulses were equally spontaneous ; they were perhaps, 
 at first, equally deep. They were never quite dissociated, 
 but in the long-run the critical impulse became the more 
 l»owerful, and to it we owe the greater and more strictly 
 original result. 
 
 IV. 
 In the spring of 1757, Major von Kleist joined the 
 Prussian force at Leipzig. He was in delicate health, with 
 some tendency to hypochondria; nevertheless, he felt 
 intense enthusiasm for liis profession, and longed for 
 active service. Professional zeal did not, however, ex-
 
 156 SFXOXD RESIDE:\CE IX LEIPZIG. 
 
 elude other interests. ]!'• I'laccil but little importance on 
 his poem on " Sprinj^," but he had a true poetic impulse, 
 and kept himself in livinjj; contact with the best literary 
 inovenu'uts of the time. He was as gentle and simplo- 
 liearted as he proved himself brave, so generous that his 
 friends dared not accept half the good oflices he would 
 thrust upon them, full of loyal and fresh airoction towards 
 all those who were fortunate enough to win his love. 
 
 It will be remembered that when Lessing was in Pots- 
 dam writing " ^liss Sara Sampson," Kloist expressed sur- 
 prise in a letter to Gleim that he had not seen the young 
 dramatist. It is possible that at that time, or soon after- 
 wards, Lessing was slightly acquainted with him ; but now, 
 thrown together in circumstances in which the society of 
 each was of the greatest benefit to the other, they became 
 intimate friends. It is doubtful whether Lessing's friend- 
 ship even with Mendelssohn was so close, and the source 
 of such intense pleasure, as that with Kleist ; but while 
 the former relation lasted to the end of Lessing's life, the 
 latter was snapt asunder by death after one short year of 
 direct intercourse. Kleist was fourteen years older than 
 Lessing, but so genial was his temper, and so active his 
 ima^'ination and intellect, that this long interval formed 
 no barrier to the interchange of thouglit and sympathy. 
 
 Kleist stirred the surprise of his brother oilicers by 
 seeking for no more exciting amusement tlian long walks 
 in the country. When rallied on the subject, he made a 
 reply which afterwards became famous among young poets : 
 " In walking I am not idle, I go out hunting for images."* 
 Lessing once said to him : " When you wish to refresh 
 your mind, you take a walk in the country : I go to the 
 coffee-house." Xo elaborate analysis of character could 
 better mark the dillerence lietween the two men. 
 
 Weis.se also knew Kleist very well ; and so long as 
 Ixissing remained in T/'ipzig, the three often met. Kleist's 
 rooms were the favourite rendezvous; and here they were 
 
 ' WuLi licit uud DicLtung, |>arl ii. book 7.
 
 SF.COXD RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 157 
 
 sometimes juincd by Von Brawc, a yoiinj,' nobleman study- 
 ing,' at Leip/.i^f, ami of keen literary tastes. lie was some- 
 tliing oi' a pliilusoiilier, passionately fond of deljatc; and 
 Lessing and he, Weisse says, would occasionally discuss so 
 long and so hotly that it was necessary for the onlookers 
 lo turn the current of conversation by some jocular re- 
 nun k. However earnest in talk, Lessing always kept 
 himself in restraint, and could without ditliculty pass 
 iVom serious to lighter moods. 
 
 Kleist's most intimate friend was the good-humoured and 
 somewhat too effusive ( lleiiu, wliosc; works are nowforgotten, 
 but who in his barren epoch had the fame and honours 
 of a gi-eat poet. Later in life he became the patron and 
 friend of young writers, mistaking often the lustre of 
 common gla.s3 for the Hash of the diamond ; and thus his 
 jiraises were perhaps more loudly sounded than those of 
 any other author of the time. Lessing had long been an 
 object of suspicion to him, but when the two men were 
 introduced — (lleim was the elder by ten years — he con- 
 fessed in a letter to Bodmer that the severe critic had 
 ] (leased him better than he had anticipated. Through 
 Kleist Lessing was now brought into closer contact with 
 him, although mainly by letter; and Gleim seems to have 
 become gradually more and more impressed by the lofti- 
 ness of aim, the mingled strength and gentleness, of one 
 whose nature was in all its manifestations almost the 
 opposite of his own. Many letters from this time passed 
 between them. The first, dated April 2, 1757, shows us 
 Lessing at Kleist's bedside, whence he writes in order to 
 allay (lleim's fears as to their common friend, who was just 
 recovering from a dangerous illness. 
 
 In the many letters Lessing wrote in the interval 
 between his separation from "Winkler and his return to 
 Berlin, there is no trace of anxiety respecting outward 
 needs. In reality, however, he passed through a time of 
 intense and bitter anxiety, for there was now no theatre at 
 Leipzig to write for, and the circumstances of the day were
 
 I<8 SECO.XD RES/DEJVCE /X LEIPZIG. 
 
 not favouml>lo to otlior forms of litomry achievement. It 
 is from the hitters of liis friemls tluit wo learn how severe 
 was the jtressure from wliich lie siiflered. " I am deeply 
 sorry," writes Sulzer to Kleist, in a letter dated May 22, 
 1757, "tliat a man like Lessin^' should still he troubleil 
 about the means of living, and that even the little he 
 requires is impossible for him." ( )n the 8th of May 
 Kleist had written to Gleim : " Try hard to obtain for hun 
 in your neighbourhood a position in the Council of "War, or 
 some other convenient oflice ; he will soon learn the duties, 
 for he is clever," Less than a week later the same 
 sympathetic friend says to Gleim : " In the Palace Library 
 at Berlin there is a very old librarian who must coon die 
 or want an assistant, and Sack ought to exert himself to 
 procure this post for Lessing. Write about it immediately 
 to Sack and Sulzer. It would be wrong to lose Herr 
 Lessing a second time from our country for want of an 
 income." Nearly a year afterwards, when Lessing was 
 about to leave Leipzig, his position was still more painful, 
 for on April 27, 175S, Kk'i.st again writes to Gleim: 
 " Work with me to obtain for our dear Lessing some post. 
 He is greatly to bo pitied. I have seen none of my friends 
 in such a ])Osition." ^ So utter wa.s his need that he had 
 to compel himself to accept aid from both Mendelssohn 
 and Kleist. 
 
 During ])art of this time Lessing occujiicd himself a 
 good deal with I'urke's recently published " Knipiiry into 
 the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful," a 
 translation of wliicli, witli criticisms, hi; intendcil to jaib- 
 lisli. The schemes, h(jwever, was never carrieil out, j)ro- 
 bably because the more closely ho examined the work, the 
 less fruitful did he find its leading )irincii»les. In a letter 
 to Men<lelssohn, Ik* commends it as containing many 
 materials whicli a thinker might turn to profitable account, 
 but at tlie sam<! time will give its " i)hilosuphising" no 
 higher praise than that it is "vciy cummodc." 
 > DaDwl, !>. 331.
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE IN LEIPZIG. 159 
 
 Nicolai, foiled in liis cfTorts to secure the puljlication of 
 liis "Library" in r.erlin, asked Lessing to obtain for liini 
 a Leipzig publislicr. This was done; and w]iil»j Lessiiig 
 remained in Leipzig he attended to tlic printing of tlie 
 successive numbers, and occasionally introduced changes 
 in the prt)ofs. One contribution ho made ^vhich attracted 
 general notice. Amid the stir of feeling produced by 
 the war, it was inevitable that a great many war-songs 
 should 1)0 written. For the most part, these productions 
 were remarkal)lc only for their patriotic fervour; but 
 two lyrics by Gleini, which fell into I^ssing's hands, had 
 genuine merit. They were nominally by a Prussian 
 grenadier in active service, and really breathed the spirit 
 of one who delighted in the fire and stir of battle. 
 Lessing printed them in the " Library," accompanying 
 them by a brief preface; and they so far interested him 
 that he was induced to enter upon a comprehensive study 
 of the war-songs of all periods. 
 
 The only other contribution of any importance was a 
 review of a miserably inefTicient translation of Theokritus. 
 The tone of the article was so severe that Nicolai expos- 
 tulated with him. " I wonder," replied Lessing,^ " that 
 my review should appear to you too severe. ... In 
 regard to ancient authors I am a true knight-errant ; 
 it enrages me to see them so pitifully ill-treated." 
 
 In order to encourage dramatic talent, Nicolai offered 
 a prize fur the best tragedy which should be sent to 
 him, promising to publish it and the next best in the 
 " Lilirary." The prize was awarded to " Codrus," a tragedy 
 — which long held the stage — by a young ^vriter, Vou 
 Cronegk, who died before the decision was arrived at. 
 The second place was awarded to a drama by Brawe, the 
 Leipzig student with whom Lessing discussed philosophy 
 in Kleist's rooms. Lessing took much interest in the pro- 
 gross of the latter work, and himself despatched it to 
 Nicolai. For a time he himself thought of competing, 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 123.
 
 irxj SECOXD RESIDEXCE IX LEIPZIG. 
 
 ami notually mnde some progress \\'\(\\ a traj,'i'ily, wliich 
 }ie recast and (•(»ini)k'te(l many years uftcrwartls, and 
 which, in the opinion of sonic critics, takes the lii^liest 
 rank among his writings: " I'.milia (lalotti." "There is 
 a young man licre," lie wrote to Mendelssohn on October 
 22, 1757/ " working at a tragedy, which might perhajts bo 
 the best of all, if he could devote a couple of mouths more 
 to it." 
 
 On January 21, 1758, when "Codms" had been pro- 
 claimed best, he says to Nicolai, after proposing that there 
 sliould be a fresh competition:- " Meanwhile, my young 
 dramatist would be ready, of whom, in my vanity, 1 fore- 
 tell a great deal that is good, for he works very much as I 
 do. Every seven days he writes seven lines ; he extends 
 his plan incessantly, and incessantly strikes out parts of 
 what he has completed. His present subject is a domestic 
 Virginia, to whom he has given the name of Emilia Oalotti. 
 He has separated the history of the Itoman Virginia from 
 everything that makes her interesting to the whole State; 
 he believes that the fate of a daughter slain by a father, 
 to whom her virtue is more precious than her life, is tragic 
 enough and capable enough of shaking the whole soul, 
 even if it is not followed by the overthrow of the State 
 constitution. His ])lan is in three acts, and he uses with- 
 out scruidc all the freedoms of the English stage. I will 
 not tell you more ; but so much is certain, I could myself 
 wish to have hit upon his idea of the suliject. It seems 
 to me 80 beautiful that I should doubtless never have 
 worked it out, so as not to spoil it." 
 
 It was the tendency of scholars in the eighteenth century 
 to look with contem]»t u])on mediicval literature. Like 
 riothic architecture — in wliich, by the way, Le.ssing him- 
 self could sec no excellence — it was usually condemned as 
 the monstrous production of semi-barbarians. Xo work 
 was deemed of ])ermanent beauty or value which was not 
 the o(T-<pring of CJreek or Latin civilisation, or which had 
 
 ' .S. S. sii. ].. 121. ' S. S. xii. J.. ia8.
 
 SECOND RESIDENCE I\ LEIPZIG. \(,i 
 
 not orij;iimk'd in the age of niDdciii cMliglitciiiin'iit. In 
 Germany an exception was found to tliis rule in the Swiss 
 Scliool, wliicli jjcrsistently souglit to awaken the national 
 intelligence to a sense of the worth of the treasures tliat 
 Imd for centuries been utterly neglected. At a inudi later 
 ]»erio(l the lioniiintic School, headed by tlie Sclilcgels, took 
 up the task wiiich was only partly executed, and whose 
 real importance was only dindy perceived, by their enthu- 
 siastic but lialf-iid'ornied ])n'dL.'cessors. Now every Euro- 
 pean nation has dug dt'cply into its past literary history, 
 and whether worthless or not, the smallest attempt of 
 niediieval writers at artistic expression is brought to light. 
 It would be dilheult to overrate the importance of this 
 Tuovement. It has not only widened our conceptions of 
 the many possible modes in which intellectual life may 
 reveal itself; it has deepened in each of the European 
 peoples the sense of the continuity of its history, and given 
 increased reality and freshness to its loyalty to the past. 
 
 Lessing, who was always on the outlook for new points 
 of view, had deeper insight than the Swiss WTiters them- 
 selves into tlie immense significance of their labours, and 
 during the latter part of his residence in Leipzig devoted 
 ;dniost his whole time to the study of early German writers. 
 I'^xcusing himself, in a letter to Mendelssohn, dated April 
 .:, 1758, for not writing sooner, he says:^ "I have been 
 once more deep in work in which I was unwilling to be 
 in any way interrupted. You know me, and I know 
 myself; I must try to act upon the first heat if I wish 
 to bring anything to perfection. . . . The subjects about 
 which you have written to me, and about which I have 
 had to answer you, are so wholly different, that this 
 time, dearest friend, I have necessarily looked upon letters 
 to you or Herr Xicolai as a distraction." Further on in 
 the same letter he reveals the nature of the occupation 
 about which he thus writes, but in a tone adapted to one 
 from whom he knows he can expect no sympathy. He 
 
 ^ S. S. xii. 11. 139. 
 VOL. r. L
 
 i6: s/:co\D i^r.siDEXCE IX i.r.irziG. 
 
 jiromises to rcspoiul to some pliilosojdiical ideas Mondels- 
 solin luid been cxpouiulinj;, " so soon ns lie sliall aj^nin have 
 ftl^IiroucluMl the splicres of truth." "At jircsent," lie acids, 
 " 1 am roving in tlie spheres of historical uncertainty, and 
 you would not believe what a mass of worthless trilles 
 tills my head. The sole advanta;^e I shall hrim^ away will 
 be that I shall have learned the old Swubian German, 
 and shall be able to read with greater ease the poems the 
 Swiss are making' known." 
 
 The particular work to wliich he alhuled was an essay 
 on the " Heldenbuch," which ho never published, but 
 which is now included among his postlmmous writings. 
 It is rather the outline of a discussion than a iinished 
 treatise; and its theories are of a kiml that could only 
 have been broached in the infancy of lliis department of 
 criticism. But it indicates intimate knowledge of medi- 
 aeval history, antl the studies of which it was one of the 
 results exercised very considerable influence in determin- 
 ing the objects at which he aimed in some of his later 
 writings. 
 
 V. 
 
 T'ut for his lawsuit Lessing would probably have left 
 Loip/.ig immediately after his break with Winkler. It 
 piicmed, however, desirable to be on the spot while that 
 progressed, and there are a good many references to it in 
 his letters, some of them expressing hope of a speedy 
 and favourable issue. At last it became evident that 
 there might be tedious delays, and when, in the spring 
 of 1758, Kleist was summoned to take charge of a 
 military hospital erected after the battle of liossbacli, 
 Lessing felt that the only link which connected him with 
 Leipzig was broken, and resolved to return to Pierlin. On 
 the 5fh of May, Kleist announceil to (Jh-im that on the 
 4th their friend had started for the Prussian capital with 
 the book.scUer Voss, having put ofT his journey for a day 
 in the liojiy of greeting tlleim, Mho was expected at the
 
 SECOiXD RESIDENCE E\ LEIPZIG. 163 
 
 Fair. ^Vc may Ijeliuve tliat Lessing was sincerely sorry 
 to i)arl lV(jiu the friend with whom lie had spent so many 
 ]ik'asant hours; fortunately, we are not left to guess what 
 were Klcist's feelings. Day after day had revealed t(j 
 him new ])hases of Lessing's deep and frank nature, and 
 he had felt himst'lf, in weakness and depression, consoled 
 and stimulated by their friendship. " In the year I have 
 spent at Leipzig," he wrote to Gleini, " I have become so 
 accustomed to him, and he has become so dear to me, that 
 1 feel as if he were dead, or rather as if I were half dead." 
 A few days later he asked the same friend, with whom 
 he was depositing 1 200 thalers, to divide 200 of them 
 between Lessing and liander in case he should fall in 
 battle. " Or rather," he added, " give the money to them 
 now, and if 1 live they may return it to me when they are 
 rieh enough : " which was the kind-hearted soldier's way 
 of forcing a gift on sensitive men sorely in need of help.
 
 ( lC4 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 'HIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 Lessing "was lieartily welcomed back to Berlin by his 
 friends ^Mcudelssulm, Xicolai, and liamler; and with all 
 three his intercoiu'se now became more constant than at 
 any previous time. They met daily, and whenever they 
 came to<j;ether their conversation invariably rose above the 
 small details that occupy the talk of ordinary men. Less- 
 in<; was fond of fun and banter, so that any one who spent 
 an hour with hiui felt it hard work to be dull and lifeless ; 
 but his thoughts played around so many subjects, he was 
 so invariably striving to penetrate beneath appearances 
 to the ultimate meaning of things, that conversation in 
 whicli ho took jiart always tended to become discussion, 
 and there wa.s not one of his friends who did not owe to 
 lii.s personal inlluence many of their most fruitful ide;is, 
 " His conversation," wrote Mendelssohn in a htter with 
 wliich Karl Lessing concludes the biogi-ajthy of his lirolher, 
 " was a rich fountain frotn wliich one incessantly drew 
 new ideas of the beautiful and the good: ideas which he 
 scattered about liim like common water for every one's 
 u.se. The liberality with which he communicated his 
 opinions caused me sometimes to be in danger of mis- 
 understanding the service, for it seemed to give him no 
 trouble; and sometinu'S he so intermingled my thoughts 
 with his that I was no longer able to distinguish them. 
 His li]>erality in tliis respect was not like that of narrow- 
 minded rich people, who cause it to be felt that they aro
 
 rillKI) RESIDENCE IN BERLIN i6; 
 
 dealing out cliarity. Ho spurred individual activity and 
 made one deserve ^vhat he gave." 
 
 Had he eliusen, Lessing could easily have made himself 
 at tliis time the head of a literary school. It was the 
 fashion of the age for young writers to gatlier around 
 some distinguished man, to act as the championa of his 
 doctrines, and while trumpeting his name to catch a little 
 reflected ghtry from his greatness. The more intimate of 
 Lessing's I'riends would have been much pleased to play 
 this part with respect to him, for he was not only already 
 well known to the German puhlic, but high expectations 
 liad been formed as to Uie mark lie would make in future. 
 Of all things, however, that which he most deeply disliked 
 was a clique. He knew well that, however fresh may be 
 its conceptions at starting, it invariably ends in intellec- 
 tual barrenness, repeating the same parrot cry with weari- 
 some iteration, and fancying that in its petty formuhe it 
 has caught and imprisoned the universe. Nothing could 
 be more repugnant to all the deepest needs and tendencies 
 of his intellectual life. Pioom for free movement he felt 
 to be absolutely essential ; he had no sooner mastered 
 one position than he sought to rise from it to another 
 and higher. Hence, during his whole career, he kept 
 himself studiously apart from every kind of association 
 that could have even the remote appearance of a school.^ 
 
 Deeply as his Berlin friends loved and admired him, 
 they were never quite able to hit it off with one who was 
 80 far removed from the usual types of character. They 
 were all, in the most rigid sense of the term, strictly re- 
 spectable ; punctual men of business ; models of practical 
 wisdom and propriety. Lessing was very different. "With 
 a sense of order that gave a certain regularity of its own 
 to his work, he did not care to fall into the habits that 
 
 ' "I hntc from the bottom of my c.iuses the unhappiticss of m.in ; yes, 
 
 heart," be once wrote to his brother, even sectarian trutli wouhl cause it, 
 
 "all people who wish to found sects, if truth could bo supposed to found 
 
 For not error, but sectarian error a sect,''
 
 iC6 THIRD RFSIDEXCE IX BERUX. 
 
 controlled other people. IF'* would stroll into a wine 
 cellar nt limes wlien his friends were diligently at duty, 
 nn<l thouf:;lit everyhody else ought to bo so; and lie almost 
 invariably, as we have seen, delayed doing what he con- 
 fessed he ought to do at once. There was, in short, a 
 consideralile dash of the Bohemian in him. It was not a 
 Bohcmianism that in any way interrupted the develop- 
 ment of his most serious convictions ; but it was decided 
 cnougli to puzzle his associates, and to call fortli from them 
 sometimes expostulations which indicate a pleasing con- 
 sciousness of moral superiority. 
 
 With llander he undertook, soon after his return, a 
 joint literary labour. This was the issuing of a volume of 
 epigrams selected from the enormous numl)er written by 
 Logan, a satirist of the seventeenth century already named, 
 all but forgotten in the eighteenth. The text was to be 
 accompanied by an introduction and a rather full dic- 
 tionary of obsolete terms used by the writer. "ITerr 
 Eander and I," wrote Lessiug to Clleim (July 8, 1758 i), 
 " form project after project. Only wait quarter of a cen- 
 tury, and you will be amazed at the quantity we shall 
 have written." The exemplary liamler, however, felt one 
 experience of the kind more than enough. Lessing's part 
 of the common labour was to provide the introduction and 
 dictionary. The latter he seems to have completed in good 
 time, but for the former his associate waited week after 
 week in vain. " Toor I^igau!" he complained to Gleim 
 (April 20, 1 759-); " the Fair is here, and no introduction is 
 as yet furthcoming. If llerr Lessing docs not bring it 
 to-day, I shall never again print anytliing with him, unless 
 he has everything ready before printing begins. To the 
 very last hour! Is not that too provoking for me, who 
 am a Trussian, and consequently rather accurate ? Yet I 
 cannot take it very ill in our frieml; he has ten irons in 
 the lire at once." 
 
 At last the work appeared, and ever since Logan lias 
 
 ' Biiinnitlichc Schriftcn, xii. p. ly. * D^nzcl, \\ 373.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN RERUN. 1C7 
 
 held an lionourablo place among (Jernian writers. Tlic 
 introduction sets fortli the few facts known respecting liini, 
 and sharply defines the excellences of his style. Tlio 
 dictionary is of more importance, and proves how high 
 was Lcssing's conception of the manner in which work of 
 this kind ought to he done. The absence of any attempt 
 at etymology deprives it of what, liad it been compiled in 
 the present day, wonld have been its main interest ; but 
 the definitions are keen and terse. In liis introduction, 
 Lessing expresses the belief tliat the compilation of similar 
 dictionaries in connection with all the chief writers of 
 former times woiUd be the most effectual step towards the 
 preparation of a general dictionary of the German language. 
 
 Among other undertakings in 1758, he issued the last 
 volume of his " Theatrical Library : " a volume not essen- 
 tially distiuL^niislied from its predecessors. He also saw 
 through the press a collection of the war-songs written by 
 Gleim in the character of "an old grenadier," and accom- 
 panied them with a brief but scholarlike preface. 
 
 Some of Gleim's later lyrics did not satisfy Lessing so 
 well as the two lie had introduced to the public in Xicolai's 
 " Librar}'." They were not only animated and vigorous, 
 but full of bitter invectiv'e of the enemies of Prussia, and 
 calculated to excite enduring hatred. Lessing's humane 
 and disciplined spirit could not but be shocked by such 
 explosions of violent feeling ; and we find him (December 
 16, 1758) thus expostulating with liis friend: "Suppose 
 that peace is sooner or later concluded, suppose that the 
 Powers which now so detest each other make up their 
 quarrels (which must inevitably happen) — what do you 
 think cooler readers, and perhaps the Grenadier himself, 
 will say to the many exaggerations which in the heat of 
 passion you now take for undoubted truths ? The patriot 
 cries down the poet too much ; and a military patriot, too, 
 who supports himself by pretexts which are anything but 
 proved ! Perhaps in me also the patriot is not quite 
 stilled, although the praise of a zealous patriot is the last
 
 iC3 THIRD RESIDEXCE IX BERUX. 
 
 which, ncconling to my way of thinking, T sliouM desire 
 to win : a ]^atriot, tl>at is, who shouM tearli mc to forget 
 that I ought to he a riti/.en of the worhl." ^ 
 
 Gleim was too much under the inlhience of the rage of 
 the hour to appreciate tliesc calm coimsels, and seems to 
 liave rcspontk'il with some lieat. I^ssing replied : " Ex- 
 plain, dearest friend, to our Cirenadier the letter which has 
 given so much ofllnce. If I wrote that I began to fear for 
 him, I regret only that I could not in writing adojit the 
 tone and manner in wliich I should have spoken. Other- 
 wise, he would certainly have understood me better, I 
 was unable to bring in some laughable idea at the end of 
 my letter, with the serious beginning of which I was not 
 satisfied. What I said about excessive patriotism was 
 nothing more than a general remark, suggested to me not 
 so much by the Grenadier as by a thousand extravagant 
 speeches to which I am obliged to listen here every day. 
 I have no idea of the love of country (I am sorry I must 
 confess to you what is jierhaps my shame), and at best it 
 appears to me a heroic weakness wliich I can very well do 
 without." - 
 
 Nothing Lessing ever wrote has tried the loyalty of his 
 German admirers like these few sentences. " No idea of 
 the love of country!" "A heroic weakness which I can 
 very well do without!" It has seemed impossible that 
 Ix'ssing, of all men, should have said anything so oj»posed 
 to the later sentiment of his countrymen ; and some writers 
 liave tried to esca}>e from thf dinieulty by sui>posing that 
 he was alluding, not to Germany, but only to Ids native 
 State, Saxony. His words will not l>ear this interpreta- 
 tion. Their dear meaning is that Ik? had no greater love 
 for Germany than for any other land; that he was inte- 
 rested in Germans, as in Frenchiiini or Italians, only as 
 men. 
 
 It would, however, be unfair to judge any great writer 
 by two or three i)hra.ses, espcciuliy when, a.s in th(' present 
 
 » .S. .S. xii. p. 150. ' S. «. xii. p. '5^.
 
 rillRD RESIDEXCI-: IX BERI.IX. 169 
 
 instance, llicy arc daslicd (ifl'in i<'i'ly In ^\il<l extravagance. 
 They iiitist lie to sonu; extent cunectcd by refen^ncu to 
 the ^vhoh» tenor of his -works. Looking impartially at 
 Lessing'.s life, mc should say that in a certain large sense 
 no German of his time was more thoroughly patriotic. It 
 was a source of hitter regret to him that his country was 
 in many respects so far hehiiid other nations; and he 
 especially deplored its tendency to distru.st its own powers 
 and to imitate foreign niodel.s. The ta.sk of his career was 
 to awaken it to a sense of its greatness, and to encouraue 
 it to escape from every trammel that hampered its inward 
 life. Surely this was to fullil in the highest possihle way 
 patriotic duty. 
 
 With a large class of per.sons patriotism means blindness 
 to the faults of one's country. According to these, the 
 nation in which one happens to have been born must lie 
 painted in glowing colours, and love for it must be accom- 
 panied by a certain amount of jealousy of its rivals. In 
 this sense Lessing was indeed utterly without patriotism. 
 His desire was always to see things as they were, and, 
 although he loved Germany, he would never stoop to flatter 
 her. Nor was he capable, because he loved her, of looking 
 upon other countries with distrust and indifference. Xo 
 nation is what it is in virtue of its own energies ; it is 
 borne onwards on the general stream of humanity, and to 
 humanity owes its best and greatest influences. Any one 
 who deeply realises this truth is necessarily a cosmopoHtan, 
 and from Lessing's mind it was never long absent. "We 
 may perhaps say that liis cosmopolitanism lay at the root 
 of his patriotism, for a nation pays its debt to the world 
 best by remaining true to the laws of its own being. In 
 serving his country as he did, therefore, Lessing was most 
 wisely serving mankind.
 
 170 THIRD liESIDEXCE L\ BERLLW 
 
 II. 
 
 Soon after LosKing went Imck to Berlin, Nicnlai re- 
 sumed tlie life of a bookseller, the business his father had 
 established havint:, by the death of his brother, falU-n to 
 him. lie felt that it would not be convenient for him to 
 eilit a ])eriodical which he did not publish; acconlinj^ly 
 the " Library " was handed over to "Weisse in Leipzij;, 
 who thenceforward conducted it. Nicolai, however, was 
 still an.xious to be engaged in some enterprise which 
 should influence the thou;,dit of his time; and he, Lessing, 
 and ^Icudelssohn often discussed the possibility of start- 
 ing a new organ of public opinion. The di faculties in the 
 way were so great that the three friends had reluctantly 
 to decide that a regular periodical like the " Library" was 
 beyond their reach. But one day, in November, 1758, 
 when Lessing and Nicolai were talking about a l»ook 
 which had just appeared, and respecting which they had 
 a great deal to say to each other, the thought Hashed upon 
 Nicolai : why not express in the form of letters, and 
 without liinding themselves to any iixed method or time 
 of publication, such thoughts as they were then uttering? 
 He communicated the idea to lA-ssing, who at once saw 
 its significance, and soon suggested a complete scheme. 
 In order to connect the letters with the actual movements 
 of the time, he ]>niposed that they should be addressed to 
 a st)ldier su})p<iseil to be wounded in tlie war; antl Jis 
 nothing was more ]>robable than that Kleist would bo 
 wounded — which he ultimately was — Lessing thought it 
 would be well to write as if the criticisms were really 
 intended f<ii- liim. lb- pinposetl, liowcvt-r. that they slutuld 
 confint! themselvL'S to such works as hail ajtpeari'd since 
 tlie outbreak of the war, and look forward to the c(»nclu- 
 sion of the series when peace should be establi.shcd. 
 
 Lc.ssing's ideas were adopted, and in January, 1 759, the 
 fii-st letter appeared. The series was called " Lettei's 
 relating to the most recent literature " (" Briefc, die 
 iicueatc Litteratur betrefVend "), and is now generally
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 171 
 
 known by tlie shorter title, " The Literary Letters " (" Dio 
 Littcraturbiii'fc "). So long as Lessing remained in Berlin 
 at this time, he wrote the great majority of the articles, 
 making nso of a variety of signatures; and altliongh 
 each of his two friends had a style of liis own, they 
 caught his sjtirit, so that his inlluence is felt even in 
 the treatment of subjects he would not himself have dealt 
 with. His authorship was suspected by a good many 
 readcra who had learned to recognise his vivid, manly 
 style; but Ik; never o])enly acknowledged his connection 
 witli the undertaking, and not until after his death were 
 tlie facts now recorded fully understood. 
 
 Of all the works we have passed in review, not one can 
 be said to have wrought any vital change or to be still a 
 living force in literature. These letters, however, frag- 
 mentary as they are, have played a splendid part in the 
 spiritual development of Germany, and to this day tliey 
 are looked uj)on as an essential factor in the cidture of 
 every educated German. If we pass suddenly from even 
 the best of his early writings to these, we seem to leap 
 into a wholly new world. It is true w-e find the same 
 penetrating insight, the same passion for mingled strength 
 and clearness, the same solidity of idea and \-ivacity of 
 manner in the one as in the other ; but in the " Vindica- 
 tions," in the contributions to the " Voss Gazette," in the 
 " Yade ]\Iecum for Herr S. G. Lange," these qualities are 
 only in blossom ; here they have ripened into rich fruit. 
 "We see at a glance that his mind has derived fresh 
 elasticity from the anxieties he has battled against and 
 conquered ; that much thought and reading have given 
 increased firmness to the step that never faltered, addi- 
 tional force to the grasp that was always strong and sure. 
 And it is impossible not to feel the influence of the events 
 in tlie midst of which the letters were WTitten. The pulse 
 of the Prussian people was throbbing with feverish rapidity; 
 the nation, aroused by the titanic stniggle in which its 
 king was sounding with it deeps of wliich it had not before 
 dreamed, scaling heights which would once have seemed
 
 172 THIRD RESIDENCE IX BERUX. 
 
 far beyond its vision, was in a mood fur audacious feats, 
 longed for bold and swift strokes. Cosinoitolitan as l>o 
 was, Lessing could not escape the prevailing temper; and 
 in any case it was necessary for him to address the j)ublic 
 in tlu' only tones to which they were disposed to listen. 
 The " Literary Letters " must, therefore, be regarded as in 
 one sense the direct outcome of the Seven Years' "War. 
 AlthouL;h indilU'rcnt to CJerman literature, Frederick was 
 in si)ite of himself breathing life into the sole work of 
 the day which was destined to go down with honour to 
 posterity. 
 
 One peculiarity of these " Letters " is that we never lose 
 sight of the author in his work ; and this is true of all 
 his later critical writings. On every line we feel the 
 impress of his personality. In precision of statement and 
 in logical method one of the most scientific of writers, 
 he has none of the abstractness, none of the remoteness 
 from human sympathy, which usually mark scientific 
 exposition. Although he knows precisely before he starts 
 the goal towards which he proposes to advance, he does 
 not make for it by the shortest cut ; he moves along the 
 winding paths by which he has himself originally reached 
 it. "With a work of his in our hands, we are in presence 
 of a liviu'' man, not of a mere book; one who has before 
 him as he writes the living men into whose minds he 
 desires to cast seed from the harvest that has slowly 
 ripened in his own. This is one chief source of the 
 eternal charm of Lessing's criticism. It has tlic quick- 
 ening inlluence of the spoken rather than of the written 
 word. 
 
 'ilie " Letters " have to some extent a connection m ith 
 the "Library" which Iwul i»a.s.sed under "NVeis.se's control. 
 Ixi.ssing repeatedly alludes to it, and makes its decisions 
 the starting-point of some of his best speculations. His 
 method is, however, essentially dilferent from the method 
 of that ]»eriodiral and of all the other critical attemjits 
 of the time. The ordinary critic, then as now, had a
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 173 
 
 ready-niaile apparatus of critical rules, which he api»liecl 
 to every achievenient tliat came before him. If it was 
 in accordance with these, tlie work passed muster ; if it 
 departed from tliem, it was condemned. Now, Lessing was 
 certainly as far as possible from approving of lawlessness 
 in literature. It was one of the objects of his life to con- 
 vince his nation that no work can ever rise to classical 
 rank which does not strictly conform to law. But the law 
 to which he would compel obedience was not a rigid 
 code of regulations ; it was a law which recognised the 
 free aspirations of the human spirit, which admitted tliat 
 the manifestations of each age, if they are true and spring 
 from deep life, must move on different lines from the 
 manifestations of all other ages. Hence his sympathy 
 was large enough to acknowledge excellence in many 
 Ibmis; he could detect the inward harmony of many 
 variations on tlie same theme. 
 
 The authors of the " Liljrary " had often been con- 
 demned for the severity of their judgments on the works 
 they criticised. Lessing supports them by reference to 
 a larger principle than any tliat had ever occurred to 
 themselves. " The goodness of a work depends n(jt upon 
 individual lieauties ; these individual beauties must make 
 a beautiful whole, or the connoisseur cannot read them 
 otherwise than with angry displeasure. Only when the 
 whole is found to be blameless must the critic refrain 
 i'rom an injurious analysis, and regard the work as tlie 
 philosopher regajxls the world. Lut if the whole does 
 not produce a pleasant impression,, if 1 clearly see tliat 
 the artist has begun to work without himself knowing 
 what he wishes to do, then one must not be so good- 
 natured, and overlook an ugly face for the sake of a beau- 
 tiful liaud, a liump for the sake of a charming foot. And that 
 our authors have very properly seldom done this : therein 
 consists their whole severity. Sometimes they have done 
 it, and to me they do not seem nearly severe enough." ^ 
 1 s. S. vi. p. 39.
 
 174 THIRD RESIDESCE IX BERLIX. 
 
 Tlie tunc of Lcssing was fur more decidod, and even 
 stern ; and it was fully justified by the needs of the time. 
 (Viwtls of writers competed for jmldic favour, but only 
 here and there did any one indicate a suspicion that 
 litemture is something gi-eat and diflicult, whose rewards 
 are to be won only by the strong and disciplined. Mild 
 and soothing criticism would, therefore, have been worth- 
 less. The atmosphere was too oppressive to be cleared 
 by softly-falling showers; it needed tempests of wind 
 and rain. 
 
 m. 
 
 In the first letter Lessing strikes the keynote of 
 the whole series, for he complains in almost bitter terms 
 of the absolute lack of great names in contemporary 
 (-lorman literature. " Against a hundred names — and a 
 hundred does not include all — wliich have become known 
 in tliis war as the names of meritorious heroes; against a 
 thousand bold deeds which have happened before your 
 eyes, in wliich you have taken part, which were 
 causes of the most unexpected changes : I cannot name 
 to you a single new man of genius ; I can cite only a 
 very few works of authors already kno\NTi which would 
 deserve to be preserved l)y posterity with those deeds. 
 This is true of us C'lcniians more than of all others. 
 AVar lias, indeed, erected among us her most bloody 
 stage; and it is an old complaint that the noiso of 
 weapons frightens away the Muses. If tlu-y an^ frightened 
 away from a land where they have ni»t very many or 
 very enthusiastic friends, where in any case they have 
 not met with the best reception, they may remain away 
 frightened lor a Ihul,' tiiuc. Teace will comt! again with- 
 fiut them: a sad peace, accumpanied by the single melan- 
 choly i»leasuie that we may weep over our lost po.sses- 
 sions." * 
 
 The three fulli.wing leliers (ical \\ith translations of 
 ' s. y. vi. p. 4.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 175 
 
 Pope, Cay, and lJoliiigl)i()kc ; ami Lcssing's readers were 
 probably astonished to find that in these and subse- 
 quent articles he treated translation, not as the mere hack 
 work it was gencially considered, but as a task of extreme 
 difficulty and importance. Having had great experience 
 in translation, ho knew the obstacles against which trans- 
 lators must contend and the temptations to which they 
 are exposed. He was very severe on the shortcomings of 
 those whose renderings he reviewed, and denounced them 
 for seldom understanding the language they undertook to 
 interpret. Their motive, he asserted, was usually to exer- 
 cise themselves in a language they wished to learn ; " and," 
 he adds, " they are clever enough to get paid for their 
 exercises." 
 
 The effect of these criticisms was most salutary. A 
 higher idea of the value of good translation, and of the 
 conditions on which alone it can be acliieved, was diffused 
 through the reading world of Germany ; and at this 
 moment there is no country so richly supplied with 
 scholarlike renderings from all the cultivated languages. 
 
 One of the translators whose blunders Lessing most 
 mercilessly exposed — Dusch — was also an original wTiter, 
 and in the seventy-seventh letter he is taken to task for a 
 common fault of professional authors : his fatal produc- 
 tiveness in connection with all sorts of subjects. " Herr 
 Dusch A\Tote, ^^Tites, and will write, so long as he can 
 receive quills from Hamburg : ' lapdogs ' and ' poems ; ' love 
 temples and slanders ; at one time Northern, at another 
 General, magazines ; at one time candid, at another moral, at 
 another love letters ; at one time descriptions, at another 
 translations; translations now from English, now from 
 Latin. 
 
 'Moiistrura nulla virtutc redeniptum ! * 
 
 O the polygraph! "With him all criticism is in vain. 
 One should almost hesitate to criticise him, for the smallest 
 criticism directed aizainst him Lrives him occasion and
 
 176 THIRD RES ID ESC E IN DERLIX. 
 
 material for a luw luiok. Docs the critic thus become a 
 sharer of his sins ? " ^ 
 
 In a ])rcvious articU'., ilividccl into tliroe k'ttci's, Ix'ssing 
 liad t'art'fully fstimatcd tlie claims of a hook by this author 
 entithnl " Descriptions from the liealni of Nature and 
 Ethics." Nature had been so often described according 
 to the seasons that Dusch, resolved at all liazards to be 
 oritiinal, chose to describe her as she a})peai-s in each suc- 
 cessive month. " According to the month ! " says Lessing. 
 " A bold, happy idea ! But where, may I ask, does Nature 
 know this division into months ? Is one month as distin- 
 guished from another as one se;ison from another ? "What 
 images, what scenes, occur in one particular month and in 
 no other ? And if the same images and scenes may occur 
 in more than one month, what sufficient reason luis the 
 writer for showing them to us in one rather tlian in 
 another ? " A passage is then quoted from Pope, wliose 
 works Dusch had translated, in which the English poet 
 urges this objection against the same method as adopted 
 by Spenser in his " Eclogues." " If," continues Lessing, 
 " Herr Dusch is, as they say, the translator of Tope's col- 
 lected works, it is all the more surprising that he did not 
 recall this remark of his hero. If lie had done so, we should 
 not have read, mutatis mutandis, of .so many of his subjects : 
 — The beautiful rose does not yet bloom ! — Now blooms the 
 beautiful ro.se! — Now the beautiful rose luis bloomed !"2 
 
 The remaining part of the criticism is devoted to .show- 
 infT the extreme indebtedness of Herr Dusch to other 
 
 O 
 
 wiiters, his tautology, mi.sstatcment of facts, confusion of 
 figures, and general pretentiousness. At great length, and 
 with keen satirical humour, the naiTative of a jjreposterous 
 dream, intended to be full of jihilosopliieid si;4nilitance, is 
 examined; and never was soaring ambition more liumiha- 
 tingly brought low. In concluding liis criticism Lessing 
 gives Ilerr Du.sch the following advice : — " He might really 
 have become a good author if he had conlined himself to 
 » .S. S. vi. p. 189. * S. S. vi. p. 93.
 
 THIRD RESIDEXCE IN BERLLW 177 
 
 suitable splioi-es. AtkI these the authors of the 'Library' 
 have clearly enough indicated to liiin. Kerr Dusch has 
 not wit and iina^iiiation enou<,'h to Ije a poet, nor enouf^h 
 penetration and tliorouj^hncs.s to be a philosoplier. Of 
 both, howi'vcr, he has something: almost as much as is 
 necessary to the coniitosition of a tolerable didactic ])oom.- 
 Let him write tliis, and not l)e misled either by his friends 
 or his vanity into undertaking works dz longue haleine 
 which demand plan, invention, and self-restraint!" 
 
 Uusch was naturally stirred to anger by this plain 
 speech ; but being a man of some good sense, he thought 
 over the rebukes and counsels administered to him, and in 
 the end produced precisely such a poem as that for which 
 Lessing had declared his capacities fitted him. 
 
 In no department of literature has Germany produced, 
 during the present century, more works of first-rate im- 
 portance thau in history ; but when the " Literary Letters " 
 were written, it could not boast of a single good historian. 
 In a few honest words Lessing explains this striking 
 defect. " Our clever writers are seldom scholars, and our 
 scholars are seldom clever writers. The former will not 
 read, will not turn up authorities, will not collect, in 
 short, will not work ; the latter will do nothing else but 
 this. The former are deficient in materials, the latter in 
 ability to give shape to their materials." ^ After condemn- 
 ing writers who, in telling the story of past ages, fill up 
 gaps in the evidence by their own fancies, he maintains 
 that " the name of a true historian is due only to one who 
 describes the history of his own times and of his own laud." 
 This dictum has met with much approval, and, in a period 
 when all kinds of dry researches were preferred to sub- 
 jects of living interest, it was not without value ; but a 
 principle which would exclude Gibbon from the list of 
 " true historians " can hardly be considered beyond dispute. 
 
 In one of the letters Lessing begins by seriously re- 
 minding his correspondent that a few yeare before a small 
 
 ^ S. S. vi. p. 140. 
 VOL. L M
 
 17S THIRD RESIDEXCE IN DERLIX. 
 
 lilirary had been discovered at Ilerculancum. "A scliolar 
 of Naples," he adds,^ " has succeeded in making out one 
 of the Greek manuscripts, and, as fortune would have 
 it, it turns out to be the EptoToiraiyvia of Alciplmtn. 
 Herr von Q., ^vllo now lives in Naples, has had the oppor- 
 tunity (»f co]\yinjjf a piece from it, -which he has sent to 
 Germany. Here it hi\s fallen into the hands of one of our 
 best poets, who has found it so excellent that he has made 
 the following translation." Some very graceful verses are 
 then quoted ; and Lessing continues : " Now, what do you 
 say to this? Oh, you are enchanted! 'what lovely little 
 vei*ses ! Never did a poet more exalt his maiden ! No- 
 thing can be finer ; nothing more tender ! Oh, the Greeks, 
 the Greeks ! ' " " Moderate your delight," he suddenly adds, 
 " I have imposed upon you. The scholar in Naples has 
 made out nothing; Alciphron wrote no EpayjoTraiyvia; 
 what you have read is not translated from the Greek, it 
 is the original work of a German. AVhy, I hear you ask, 
 have I imposed upon you ? For this reason — would I have 
 excited your curiosity if I had merely written to you : In 
 Leipzig four small sheets have recently appeared with the 
 title ' Love Poems ? ' ' Love I'oems ! ' you would have ex- 
 claimed. 'Why do we Germans so willingly do what we 
 are lea.st fitted for?' Li vain should I have added: but they 
 are pretty love poems; you will iind the author ujjon a quite 
 original path ; they are worthy of a Grt'ssct ! At most you 
 would have believed me, and therewith remained satisfied." 
 
 Lessing could not more effeotually have attacked the 
 tendency to exalt the remote merely because it is remote, 
 anil to pass by real excellence for no other reason than that 
 it is at hand. 
 
 1'hc writer whose general merit he thus praises he blames 
 for tlie lack of local colour in a i)oem called " The Song of 
 a Moor." " The Song of a ^loor ! And the Moor is hardly 
 anywhere to be found except in the title. Alter the single 
 ' black maid' and the ' cedar woods,' and a Calmuck miglit 
 1 a. a. vi. p. 69.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IS BERLIN. 179 
 
 sing it as well as a Moor." ^ In tliis respect tlie song 
 is contrasted ^vith "Tlio Song of a Laplander" l»y Klei.st. 
 " Here wc everywhere see the scene in whicli the song is 
 sung, everywhere the man who sings it." Thus Lessing 
 lirst (li.stinctly stated in Germany the now familiar prin- 
 ciple tliat it is possible for the poet to depict the (puilities 
 uhich underlie every variety of human nature, and at the 
 same time to be trae to the minute peculiarities which dis- 
 tinguish one variety from another. 
 
 The mention of " The Song of a Laplander " reminds liini 
 of a real Lapland song which Kleist appeared to have 
 imitated ; and this, again, of the translation of a few popular 
 Lithuanian songs he had recently read. He quotes two 
 of them in illustration of his conviction, " that poets are 
 born under every sky, and that lively sentiments are no 
 privilege of the cultured races." One of them is the 
 lament of a young bride who is about to say farewell to 
 her mother, and has touches of quiet and artless pathos. 
 The translator had ajjologised for troubling his readers 
 with " such vanities." Lessing says there ought rather to 
 have been an apology because more of them were not 
 translated. His appreciation of verses of this kind indi- 
 cates how far he had advanced beyond the position not 
 only of the formal Court poets, but of the anakreontic 
 versifiers in whose footsteps he had himself walked. He 
 was already in full sympathy with the movement which 
 in England led to the publication of Percy's " Reliques," 
 and in Germany to the enthusiasm of Herder and Goethe 
 for every form of poetry that had sprung directly from the 
 heart of the people. The marked manner in which he 
 drew attention to the Lithuanian songs is also an indi- 
 cation of his belief that the genius of each race brings 
 forth its best products only when it works according to 
 the laws of its own nature, expressing without afTectation 
 the ideas and sympathies excited by immediate contact 
 witli the facts of Ufa 
 
 1 S. S. ^-i. p. 73.
 
 iSo THIRD RES I D ESC E IX liERIJX. 
 
 As mij^ht Imvo 1)oen auticipatcd, Lcssing carried on \\\i\\ 
 increased vigour liis cnisade a*^ain.st Gottsched, wliose in- 
 fluence had not yet wholly died out. " Nobody," said the 
 " Liltmiy " * " will deny that the German stage has to thank 
 Herr Professor CJottsched for a gi-eat part of its first im- 
 provements." " I am this nohody," says Lessing in the seven- 
 teenth letter ; " I deny it wholly. It were to be wished 
 that Herr Gottsched had never had anything to do with 
 the theatre. His pretended improvements either relate to 
 superfluous trifles or have been thoroughly injurious." 
 
 This letter is the most famous of the collection, and at 
 once attracted general attention. The following is the 
 essential pait of it : — " "While Frau Neuber flourished, and 
 many a one felt a call to deserve well of her and of the 
 stage, our dramatic poetry was in a pitiful condition. 
 No rules were known; no one trouliled himself about 
 models. Our tragedies were full of nonsense, bombast, 
 filth, and the wit of the mob. Our comedies consisted of 
 di.sguises and enchantments, and blows were their wittie.it 
 ideas. To see their corruption it was not necessary to 
 be the finest and gi-eatest spirit. And Herr Gottsched 
 was not the first who saw it; he was only the firet who 
 had confidence in his own ]iower to remove it. And 
 liow (lid he .set to work? He understood a little French, 
 and began to tran.slate; everyone who couM rliyme and 
 understand ' Oui, monsieur,' he encouraged also to trans- 
 late. "With scissors and i)aste, as a Swiss critic says, ho 
 manufactured his ' ('ato;' he caused the ' Darius' and the 
 ' Oysters,' the ' Elise' and \\\o. ' Dandy in the Lawsuit,' the 
 ' Aurelius' and the 'Witling,' the ' Jlanist^' antl the ' Hypo- 
 chondriac ' to l)e made without scissors and ]>aste ; he laid 
 his ban up<in extemporising; he caused harlequin to be 
 formally banished from the theatre, itself the greatest har- 
 lequinade ever ]tlayed ; in short, ho would not so mueli 
 improve our old theatre as be the creator of a quite new one. 
 And what suit of new one ? A theatre after the French 
 » s. S. vi. p. ^0.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. iSr 
 
 fiu^liidii : ■witlidut examininf? wlictlicr a theatre in tlio 
 Freiicli fashion woiikl bo siiitalilc in (Jennany or not, 
 
 " From our old dramatic pieces which he rejected, ho 
 nu^'ht have remarked that we strike in rather with the 
 Knj,dish than with tlie French taste ; tliat in our tra^'edies 
 we wish to sec and tliiidc more tlian the timid Frencli 
 tragedy gives us occasion to see or think ; that the gieat, 
 tlie terril'h% tlie mcdanclioly, afTects us Letter than tlie coy, 
 the tender, the loving ; that too great simplicity tries us 
 more than too great complexity, &c. He had but to follow 
 this tiaik to be conducted by a straight path to the English 
 theatre. Do not say that he sought also to make use of 
 this, 83 his ' Cato ' proves. For precisely this, that he con- 
 ritlors Addis(»n's ' Cato ' the best English tragedy, shows 
 clearly that he here saw with the eyes of tlie French, 
 and did not know Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont au<l 
 Fletcher, «S:c., whom afterwards his pride woidd not per- 
 mit him to learn to know. 
 
 "If the masterpieces of Shakespeare, with some modest 
 changes, had been translated, I am convinced that better 
 consequences would have followed than could follow from 
 acquaintance with Corneille and Eacine. In the first 
 jdace, the people would have taken far more pleasure 
 in the former than they can take in the latter; and in 
 the second place, the fonner would have awakened quite 
 different minds among us from those whom the latter 
 have awakened. For genius can only be kindled by 
 genius : and most easily by a genius which seems to have 
 to thank nature for everything, and does not frighten us 
 away by the tedious perfections of art. 
 
 " Even if we decide the matter by the examples of the 
 ancients, Shakespeare is a far greater tragical poet than 
 Corneille : although the latter knew the ancients very 
 well, and the former hardly at all. Conieille comes nearer 
 them in mechanical arrangement, Shakespeare in what is 
 essential. The Englishman almost always attains the end 
 of tragedy, however strange and peculiar are the ways
 
 iSz THIRD RESIDENCE IX JJERLIX. 
 
 he selects; the Frendnnan scarce ever attains it, althoufjh 
 lie treads tlie paths beaten hy tlie ancients. After the 
 ' Qvliims' t)f Sopliokles, no ]»iece in tlie world can have 
 more ]H)wer over onr jnissions tlian * Otlicllo/ ' Kiii;^ Ijear,' 
 ' llanilrt/ «S:c. Has Corneille a single tragedy that has 
 moved you half as much as the ' Zayre' of Voltaire ? And 
 how far is ' Zayre ' inferior to tlie ' Moor of Venice,' a weak 
 copy of which it is, and from wliicli tlio whole character of 
 Oi"osmau has been borrowed!" 
 
 Lessing was undoubtedly somewhat unjust to Gottsched. 
 It is true that the literary syni])athies of Germans are much 
 more closely allied to those ot" the English than to those 
 of the French, for here, as elsewhere, the subtle influence 
 of race makes itself felt. But for tliis very reason it was 
 desirable that in awaking to new life Germany should in 
 the first instance follow the guidance rather of France than 
 England. Her prime necessity, while Gottsched was still 
 deemed a great man, was that she should learn not to con- 
 found wild irregularity with force ; that she should attain 
 to the conception of order and calm in literary effort. The 
 free and passionate poetry of England was not so well 
 fitted to convey this essential lesson as the more measured 
 literat\n-e of France ; and altliough Gottsched was a very 
 unintelligent guide, and fell into the fatal blunder that if 
 j)oeta have a proper system of rules they can afford to do 
 without a powerful imaginative imi)ulse, he at any rate 
 impressed his contemporaries with tlie belief that imagina- 
 tive impulse is not alone a suflicient equipment for writera 
 who aim at the highest effects. 
 
 When the "Literary Letters" were being writtrn, how- 
 ever, everything that Gott.sched bud to l.ach had been 
 Hunieieiitly jiroclaimed. This was ])roved by the fact that 
 all who acknowledged his sway seemed donmed to literary 
 Itarrenne.ss ; under his influence poetry liad bicoiiK! tamo 
 and meaningless. The time, thereftire, had ((ime for such 
 Btiinubis as Enghind c(»idil imitart; and, as we have seen, 
 the most active and progi-cssive minds of Germany were
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 183 
 
 nearly all lonkin^' to En^^hiiid for lid].. In luniiii,^,' in this 
 direction. Lossini,' was only lussociating liiniSL-lf wiili tlio cen- 
 tral current of tiie epoch. His appreciation of Shakespeare 
 coutra.st3 stron^'ly with the stranf,'e talk of Voltaire ahout 
 the "drunken .^ava;,^!;" and it is commoidy supposed in 
 CJermany that .Shakespeare's importance had never beforo 
 been suspected. Englishmen had certainly not realised that 
 in him they possessed the grandest literary force the world 
 has ever seen ; but before the fairest ilowers of the national 
 life faded under the breath of Turitanism, he was gener- 
 ally recognised as the first among his contemporaries ; and 
 when Puritanism became a less potent iniluencc, the vast 
 proportions of his work began to be dimly perceived. Out- 
 rageous liberties were taken with his text; but it was 
 Shakespeare, not the bold men who ventured to " improve" 
 his conceptions, that enthralled the enthusiastic audiences 
 of Garrick. Instead of first suggesting to Englishmen the 
 true value of their national poet, Lessing learned his im- 
 portance from English vsTiters, and no one would have been 
 more surprised than he had the fact been questioned. In 
 Germany, however, his stat^iments were a genuine reve- 
 lation, for although Shakespeare was not wholly unknown, 
 his commanding position was only here and there dimly 
 suspected. From this time forward he was studied by a 
 continually eidarging cii'cle of readers, and AVieland's trans- 
 lation soon brought him within general reach. By-and-by 
 his name became the symbol of the stormy party which 
 sought to transform the entire realm of thought ; and until 
 this day Shakespeare is the writer who, of all foreign influ- 
 ences, most profoundly touches the intellect of Germ.any. 
 Although we cannot concede that Germans taught us to 
 know him, we need not hesitate to allow that their admira- 
 tion of liis achievements has increased our pride in liis 
 gi-eatness, and that their criticism has in many respects 
 deepened and enlarged our comprehension both of his aims 
 and his methods of attaining them. 
 
 The onlv other serious reference to the drama is con-
 
 i?4 THIRD RESIDEXCE IX BERLIX. 
 
 taincil in nn article on a trajjedy Ity Weisse, and on some 
 iiitro(liict«»ry reniark.s Ly that -svriter, exprcssin;; rc;,Tet at 
 the lack of iini>ortant tra^^edies in (Jernian literature. 
 Weisse had talked of authors letting " the years of genius 
 fly past" until they heeame too much involved in the 
 Inisiness of the worlil to devote themselves to poetry. 
 Lessing makes short work of this sentimental and poj^ular 
 way of dealing ^vith a comjdicated jirdlilem. In the first 
 place, he is unalilc to conceive who the wonderful youths 
 can he of whom Weisse speaks ; hut even if they exist, he 
 insists that the wisest thing they can do is to postpone the 
 exercise of their talents on tragedy. " The yeara of youth 
 are not the years from which we can expect tragic master- 
 pieces. The best mind can in this department, under his 
 thirtieth year, bring forth only essays. The more a man 
 tries the more he often injures himself. Let not any one 
 begin to work until he is for the most part sure of his 
 suliject ! And when can a writer be so ? When he has 
 sufliciently studied nature and the ancients. Lut the 
 yeai-s of apprenticeship will be so long! -Enough that the 
 years of mastei-ship will last the longer ! Sojdiokles MTote 
 tragedies pa.st his eightieth year. And how good is it for 
 a tragic poet to lose the wild fire, the youthful facility, 
 which is so often called, and so seldom is, genius." ^ 
 
 Oidy those who fail to realise that the task of tragedy 
 is to reflect the greatest and most awful aspects of human 
 existence will be inclined to differ from this view. At fii-st 
 sight it seems a testimony to the imiiartiality of Ix'ssing 
 that he should have set forth a doctrine implying the 
 extreme imperfection of " Mi.ss Sara Sampson," the most 
 ambitious of the works he had yet i)roduced. At thirty, 
 however, a man begins to undei-stand that his opportunities 
 of high effort arc limited; and he was i)robably very will- 
 ing to let *' Mi.ss Sara Sanii).son " go, on condition tliat he 
 might hope to achieve r<'snlf>^ still more worthy of his 
 powers and fame, 
 
 ' .S. S. vj. )<. 203.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 1S5 
 
 Tlie two ^\■rite^s most commonly associated with Lcssinfj 
 aro Wielaiul and Klopstock ; and rij^^litly so, for each in liis 
 own way took an inij)ortant part in arousing the nation 
 from its intellectual slumber. Botli are suhjected to a 
 good deal of critici.sm in the "Literary Letters." AVieland, 
 who was then aljout twenty-six, although a lively writer, mos 
 of an essentially shallow nature, and sprang lightly from one 
 phase of thouglit to anotlier. For some years he had heen 
 living in Zurich in constant association with Ijodmer, and 
 playing the r6lc of a higldy moral and religious philoso- 
 l>her. A critic liavingmade some ol)Servations which were 
 displeasing to him, lie responded hy attacking with savage 
 fury the private character of his assailant. Lessing calls 
 him severely to account for thus overstepping the limits 
 which mark oil' the author from the man ; but he himself is 
 to some extent guilty of the same error, for he hints a doubt 
 whether the fen'our of "Wieland is quite sincere. He refers 
 to " M-hat people who knew Wieland personally in Iv(loster) 
 B(ergen) have told him," and declares that if the change 
 from his earlier to his more recent style was due to external 
 circumstances, " he pities him from the bottom of his soul." 
 Lessing had at this time an instinctive dislike to Wieland : 
 the dishke of a man of serious aims to one who seemed 
 wholly without seriousness. It is, therefore, strange that lie 
 was not on his guard against attributing motives of wliich, 
 as a ^vl■iter, it was his duty to be altogether ignorant. 
 
 In a collection of prose writings, Wieland had included 
 some passages which he called " Experiences of the Chris- 
 tian." Lessing, to whose straightforward nature any attempt 
 to pass off as religion what had nothing to do Avith it 
 was deeply repugnant, points out with some sharpness 
 that the so-called " experiences " — which, since they were 
 those of the Christian, ought to have been those of all 
 Christians — were mere exercises of an individual fancy 
 that left the heart " empty, cold." In another part of the 
 same collection, Wieland had sketched a "plan of an 
 Academy for the culture of the intellect of young people."
 
 1 86 THIRD KESIDEXCE IX BERLLW. 
 
 To the onlinary mind tlu-ro aiv few sultjects so dull as 
 education, yet there is scarce any other of ]tractical in- 
 terest which hius occni)ied the thou<,'hts of so many men of 
 genius. Almost all highly philosophical intellects find 
 somethinfT extremely fascinatinjT in the problem how the 
 powers of the growini^ mind shall be best unfolded ; and 
 the inquiry inevitably leads to the deepest grounds of 
 psychology and ethics. Fnnn his criticism of "Wieland's 
 ideal Academy, it is easy to see that the subject had 
 often awakened Lessing's curiosity : liis conceptions are 
 far in advance of those of the vast majority of his con- 
 temporaries. "Wielaud recommended teachers to adopt 
 the Sokratic method of instruction as the most pleasant. 
 Lessing agrees that the Sokratic metliod is best; but he 
 treats with contempt the notion that its pleasantness is what 
 recommends it. "^\^lat sort of an idea must llerr "Wieland 
 have of the Sokratic mode of teaching ? AVhat did Sokrates 
 do but seek to bring out by questions and answers all the 
 essential elements that belong to a definition, and finally 
 to draw conclusions from the definition in the same way ? 
 His delinitions arc thoroughly right ; and if his proofs do 
 not always stand the most severe test, it is e\'ident that liis 
 ai;e is to blame, not carelessness or an undervaluing of dry 
 investigation on the part of the phil<)su])liL'r. In our times 
 the Sokratic mode of teaching might be united with the 
 strirtness of the present metluxl in so clear a way that one 
 might Ijring out the deejjest truths while ajtpearing to seek 
 only for right definitions." ^ 
 
 The facts of natural history are those with which Lessing 
 would begin education; and when the pupil ri.ses to higher 
 gi-ound, he considers that the aim ought to be, not to givo 
 liim the results of research, but to set him on the i>ath by 
 which he may reach them fur himself. I'he function of 
 the teacher, in a word, is to lighten, not to abolish difii- 
 culties; to aid the intellect to a consciousness of its 
 strength by encouraging its free e.\i)ansion. 
 
 > .S. .S. vi. J). 23.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IX RERUN. 187 
 
 Dcalin.i,' with tlic i)lrtce of reli;;ioii in education, "Wiclmid 
 niaintiiined tluit it should lie tau.^dit, l)ut without rci'orenco 
 to dogma, ill tlie very words of Scrii)ture. Ai)art from 
 Scripture, his ideal of a serious instructor was Shaftes- 
 bury, whom he would have raised to the position of a 
 classical author in his Academy. Lessing says notliing 
 that indicates the exact nature of the religious teaching he 
 himself would ajiprove; hut he shows how illogical, from 
 tlie standpoint of those who accept Christianity as a super- 
 natural faith, is AVieland's position, seeing that the words 
 of Scripture may he twisted in support of all kinds of 
 lieresics. As for Shaftesbury, he is " the most dangerous 
 enemy of religion, because he is the most refined. And 
 however much good he may have in other respects — 
 Jupiter declined the rose in the mouth of the serpent." 1 
 
 The letters which contain these criticisms are among 
 the earliest in the series. At a later period, dealing with 
 AVieland's tragedy "Lady Jane Grey," Lessing exclaims: 2 
 " Eejoice with me ! Herr Wieland has left the ethereal 
 si)heres, and again roams among the children of men!" 
 The best parts of the work are taken from Itowe's play on 
 the same subject, and Lessing good-humouredly exposes 
 the plagiarism by accusing the Englishman of stealing the 
 fine thoughts of a German author. 
 
 Klopstock is alluded to in a very different spirit. Less- 
 ing, as we have seen, recognised in him true genius, and he 
 still treats him with unfailing respect. By no other critic, 
 however, were his defects so firmly and clearly defined. 
 Klopstock became more and more pious after the orthodox 
 fashion, and, in new editions of his chief work, introduced 
 changes in keeping with his stricter feelings. In one of 
 the letters Lessing complains that, in passages in which the 
 piety was improved, poetry had wholly vanished, and espe- 
 cially calls attention to the pettiness of substituting Chris- 
 tian for pagan conceptions — providence, for instance, for 
 destiny ; the singer of Zion for the jMuse. Of Klopstock's 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 26. - S. S. vi. p. 153.
 
 iS8 THIRD RESIDENCE L\ BERLIN. 
 
 lyrics he says, "they are so full of feelinj^ that they often 
 excite none in the remler." l This pamdox he afterwards 
 explains by suj,'i;estinj; that the poet omitted, in giving 
 utterance to his emotions, to express the ideas and images 
 by Avhich they vere aroused. The rcad'-r, not being al- 
 lowed tt) share the causes of feeling, could not be expected 
 to share the feeling itself. The doctrine which underlies 
 this criticism is essentially that of "Wordsworth, that poetry 
 is " the utterance of emotion remembered in tranquillity." 
 The poet cannot have too intense an experience; but it 
 must be peacefully recalled, with a full comprehension of 
 the conditions under which it arose. 
 
 The periodical moral essay was still a flourishing insti- 
 tution in Germany ; and one of unusual pretensions had 
 recently been started at Copenhagen by Cramer, a German 
 theologian who was also something of a poet and critic. 
 His associate in the work was Klopstock, at that time 
 settled in Copenhagen, the King of Denmark having given 
 hini, in consideration of his literary merits, what was then 
 deemed a liberal pension. The title of the new periodical 
 was the "Xorthern Guardian;" and it was so frankly an 
 imitation of the English " Guardian," that its fictitious con- 
 ductor was a son of the Nestor Ironside through whom 
 Steele had so long addressed his public. Here, as in every 
 other department of literature, CJermany suffered from the 
 lack of a great tradition and of a cultivated society which 
 would not be put olT with work that fell far below the 
 traditional standard. Anything was thought good enough 
 fur the German public, and the jmor Gorman ]>ublie meekly 
 accepted wliat its instructoi"S were kind enough to offer it. 
 Lessing devotes some letters to the " Northern Guardian ;" 
 and in the whole series there are none which i-xhibit more 
 clearly his contempt for weak and slovenly thinking, his 
 iibhorrence of connnonplace. In what he had intended to 
 be a liberal tone Cramer had dwelt on the jiritixr method 
 of religious training. Tliis was sunnued up in the doctrine: 
 
 ' S. S. vi. i». 249.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 189 
 
 proceed from sini])le to complex trulli. And the practical 
 application was tliat a cliild ought to be taught, not that 
 Christ is tlie second Person of the Trinity, hut that He is 
 an example of virtue and a high moral teacher. The way 
 would thus he prepared for the reception of dogma. Lessing 
 olTers no opinion as to the propriety of giving any sort of 
 instruction in religion, hut he very decidedly states liis con- 
 viction that Cramer's idea is based on a wholly mistaken 
 theory of human nature. Childhood, he points out — not 
 without a slight touch of sarcasm — is the age at which the 
 mind most readily accepts mystery ; and if plain truths 
 alone are then taught, the difficulty of accepting mystery 
 afterwards is greatly increased, since the Socinian and the 
 orthodox conceptions of Christianity are not related to 
 each other as simple and complex, the former conducting 
 to the latter, but are two opposed systems of belief. 
 
 This leads Lessing to comment on a still more con- 
 fused notion of tlie " Northern Guardian : " one, moreover, 
 opposed to every principle of his free and generous nature. 
 It was that without religion — meaning the Christian re- 
 ligion — no one can be an honest man. Cramer had evi- 
 dently imagined that he was here dealing with a principle 
 to which no reasonable person could object, and decked it 
 in that luxuriance of phrase by which preachers so often 
 hide from themselves the real force of their ideas. Step by 
 step Lessing follows his reasoning and lays bare his fallacies. 
 Ko man witliout religion can be honest, said Cramer, for he 
 is dishonest in the hicrhest of all relations, his relations to 
 God, But, answers Lessing, this is true only if the relations 
 to God are admitted to exist ; if a man is not convinced 
 that they exist, there can be no dishonesty in not acting 
 as if they did. Human passions are very powerful, urged 
 Cramer, and what assurance can we have that if a man 
 does not believe in future rewards and punishments he will 
 be able to combat them ? Suggesting in passing that 
 Christianity includes much more than a belief in rewards 
 and punishments, and that a man cannot claim to bo
 
 I90 rniRD liESlDESCE IN BR RUN. 
 
 religious in the Christian sense whose convictions do not 
 I'xtond fur heyond those limits, Lc'ssing retorts that, acc(»nl- 
 inj; to this arj^ment, relif^on only adils to the motives fur 
 nohle conduct. That it does so he admits ; but he insists 
 tliat tlie motives which it stren,i,'then3 may 1>c intense 
 enouj^h to lead to goodness without it. And, after all, he 
 continues, revealed religion assumes that its votaries are 
 already honest men. It is characteristic of Tossing that 
 he will not allow that it is Cramer who in this dispute 
 rejiresents the orthodox creed. He argues that the latter 
 does not deny that men heyond the i)ale of Christianity 
 may be virtuous ; it only a.sserts that their virtues lack 
 certain spiritual qualities conferred by the true faith. 
 
 The doctrine of Cramer is not only opposed to the 
 jilain facts of life, but strikes at the root of charity; and 
 that is wliy Lessing, in whuse eyes charity was the 
 suitreme virtue, turned against it his keen and polished 
 lance. That he did so is an important indication of the 
 position lie had attained in regard to definite creeds: a 
 position we shall have to investigate more fully here- 
 after. 
 
 Another article examined with some care was on the 
 dillerent ways of thinking of (lod, an article, as wa.s after- 
 wards known, written by Klnpstock. lie jeered at those 
 who treat God as if lb- were "an object of science, and 
 philosophise about Ilim with as little feeling as if they 
 were devel()i)ing the ideas of space and time." Tlien only 
 are men thinking of Him truly when the soul is filled with 
 delight and witli thoughts which words are ])owerless to 
 express. Lessing, on the contrary, maintains that it is not 
 in the act of thinking about Clod, in the strict sen.se of the 
 W(ird thinking, that we experience pleasure. If we are 
 really thinking of a subject, our .sok( jdeasun; at the 
 moment is in the e.\erci.se of our faculties of thought; the 
 tibject itself can give us pleasure only when the results of 
 Fp(!C»dation are removed to .some di.stance from tlie mind, 
 and we contcmidate them in their relations to the whole.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 19I 
 
 Then tlie j^Teatcr the variety of parts, and the iiutro coni- 
 pletoly tliey lianiKtnise, the more i»erfect is the subject; 
 and tlio (k'l'per is tlio satisfaction it communicates tu those 
 who retlcct uj)()n it. As to thou^dits which words are 
 powerless to express, there are, says Lessing, no such 
 thoughts ; if they cannot Le expressed, that means tliat 
 they are nut clearly conceived. What is beyond reach of 
 exi»ression is not thought, hut feeling. The mumccs of 
 feeling are indeed too line for utterance ; and their utter- 
 ance is not only impossible but unnecessary. 
 
 In one of his essays, Cramer solemnly warned writers on 
 moral subjects against the danger of stiiving after original- 
 ity. They ought not, he told them, to pass by important 
 truths simply because they are well known. " I hope," he 
 added, " that I shall be on my guard against this common 
 error of moral writers." " Yes," says Lessing,^ " the praise 
 must be allowed him. Against this error he has been very 
 much on his guard. lie is, however, wrong in calling this 
 a common eiTor of moral writers ; the reverse is, at least, 
 quite as conmion." Of course, if a writer is developing a 
 system of morals, he is compelled to include much that ig 
 well known ; but Lessing will not allow that, if he is ex- 
 pounding particular truths, he has a right to trouble the 
 public Avith any except those which are quite new, or on 
 wliich he is able to cast new light. 
 
 The style of the "Xorthern Guardian" is condemned as 
 severely as the commonplace character of its ideas and its 
 confused thinking. "To use many words; to weave laby- 
 rinthine periods, in reading which one must breathe thrice 
 before making out a complete meaning : that is the chief 
 distinction of the contributor wlio seems to have written 
 most of the articles in this periodical. His style is the bad 
 pulpit style of a shallow preacher, who declaims such sen- 
 tences only that his audience, before coming to the end of 
 them, may have forgotten the beginning, and may hear him 
 distinctly without in the least understanding him." 2 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 123. * S. 3. vi. p. 1132.
 
 192 TITIRD RESIDEXCE JX BERLIX. 
 
 Criticism of tliis kind wjis so unusual tliat it created a 
 fluttor of excitement anionj^ tlu-. adniiivrs of the virtuous 
 j«)urnal against wliich it ^vas directcil ; and one of the con- 
 tributors, lleiT Basedow, thouc;ht liiniself called upon to 
 \yrite an elaborate reply, lie nut only defended the 
 "Northern Guardian," but overwhchnctl the unknown 
 assailant with wild abuse, and grossly misrepresented his 
 motives. Xo opponents of Lessing ever had reason to 
 complain of his unwillingness to meet them ; he always 
 stood prepared for battle, and entered upon it with unmis- 
 takaV)le zest. He devoted to Herr Basedow no fewer than 
 twelve lettere; and the controversy is conducted with so 
 much humour, and displays a mind so keen and vigorous, 
 that they may still be read with interest. As Lessing was 
 especially anxious to estalilish the principle that morality 
 does not depend upon belief in dogma, it was this element 
 of the dispvite to which he devoted most attention; and 
 lie leaves not a single argument of Herr liasedow un- 
 answered. First of all, he strips ]'.asedow's ideas of tho 
 ma.ss of verbiage wliich obscures them, and gives them 
 their precise logical value. " What a small, insignificant, 
 feeble beauty," he exclaims,^ "is the 'Northern Guardian,' 
 when one removes her lluttering dress, her rhetorical finery, 
 her buskins ! Such u Venus cannot say, I am more powerful 
 naked than clad. Minerva would do no more than send 
 her owl into the field against her. liut stop: there must 
 Ixj no wit; Ilerr Basedow is a deadly enemy of wit. He 
 looks for arguments, and how can wit jiroviile argunu-nta ? " 
 Lessing accordingly i)roceed3 to give him argument,s, and 
 with so much force that he mu.st liave felt some doubt 
 whether he had acted (luite wisely in challenging so for- 
 miilable an oi)ponent 
 
 The "Northern Guardimi " wa.s the Ijust j)eriodical of 
 its cla-ss in Germany, and Ix-ssing's admirers likt; to l)olievo 
 that it was he who gave tho moral essay it.s death-blow. 
 Tho truth is, however, that tiio spirit of the age was 
 
 > S. S. vi. V. aa3.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 193 
 
 becominrf more nml more opposed to \\iitiiii^f of litis kind. 
 Witli sueli a draiiiii as tlmt of the Seven Year.s' A\'ar 
 uiifoldiiiL; itself hi'fore tliein, tlioii;^ditful men -sverc in no 
 mooil lor respectable Imt dull moralising,'. I'or them 
 the old ]tlatitiid('S had lost their vitality. Assume them, 
 Mas their feeling', and what then ? AVhat of the pro- 
 blems whieli actually confront us : the perplexing facts of 
 life here ami now ? No man of his time had so fine a 
 sense as Lcssing for the demands of his era; he heard 
 them afar oft', and responded to them before they had 
 been art ieulatoly uttered. He had thus, in attacking the 
 "Northern Uuanlian," a mighty unseen power behind 
 liim ; and it was because he had this in far more impor- 
 tant achievements that he became so great an influence 
 in the development of his nation. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The faille has been allowed by general consent to die 
 a natural death in modern literature, for it no longer 
 corresponds to any want in the cultivated mind. Last 
 century, however, it stiU played a considerable role in 
 all the leading coimtries of Europe ; and in Germany 
 hardly any one ventured to claim the honours of a literary 
 man who had not distinguished himself as a fabulist. The 
 theory of the fable was also a favourite subject of specu- 
 lation; and the Swiss ^Titers considered it, as we have 
 seen, the department in which poetry achieves its highest 
 ti'iumphs. 
 
 Lessing held aloof from no kind of activity which 
 deeply interested his contemporaries ; and fables are to be 
 found among the earliest of his writings. At Leipzig 
 the subject evidently occupied him a good deal, for there 
 are many references to it in his letters, especially his 
 letters to Mendelssohn. On going back to Berlin, he 
 turned to it so seriously that in 1759 he published a 
 volume of fables, accompanied by an admirable critical 
 essay : " Discussions " (" Abhaudlungen "). 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 THIRD RESIDENCE IS UERLIS. 
 
 Ilitliorto wo Imve seen Lessincj as a critic treating merely 
 of ]i!irti(.Mil;ir IxKiks or ]tiirti('nlar opinions. Here he cU-aln 
 Aviili a \vlu»le (U'lKirtnu'iiL of litt'niry activity. As we shall 
 repeatedly find him doin^' this hereafter, it may be well to 
 ]»oint out at once the nn-thod he invariahly follows. Ho 
 nrviT .starts in an abstract niannfr, as if he were the first 
 to investigate his subject, deducing his conclusions from 
 certain ]>vineii)les and in accordance with certain defini- 
 tions. He takes the opinions of his i>retlecessors, and by 
 a complete examination of their reasonings slowly attains 
 to his own results. His method, in short, is that of a 
 thorough dialectic. It is an advance through the nega- 
 tive to the positive: a battle with error for truth. How 
 deliberat<.dy he adopted the method will be seen from a 
 passage in the "Dramaturgic," which may be here ([uoted:^ 
 " From the smallest observations of M. de Voltaire there 
 is something to be learned, if not always that which he 
 says, at least that which he ought to have said. Primus 
 sapicntict gradtis est, falsa intdligcrc ; and I know no 
 author in the world by whose means a man can so well try 
 to find out whether he .stands at this first stage of wisdom 
 as M. de Voltaire. At the same time, there is no one who 
 can aid us less to mount to the second stage — sccundus, 
 vera cof/uoscerc. A critical writer, it seems to me, finds in 
 this little saying his beat method. Let him first seek for 
 some one with whom he can dispute ; thus he will come 
 gradually into his subject, and the rest will follow of 
 itself. For this purpose, I frankly confess, I have chosen 
 l»y preference French writers, and among these especially 
 ^I. de Voltaire. If this method seems to any one more 
 ])etulant than tlioritugh, he must know that the thorough 
 Aristotle himself has almost always adopted it." 
 
 His constant dialectic gives to all Ix-ssing's prose writ- 
 ings a certain dramatic interest. "We are always in the 
 presence of two contending thinkers. Kaeh has a fair tiehl 
 and strong' aim ; and the combatant who triumplis carries 
 
 ' S. S. vii. i>. 397.
 
 rJIIRD RESIDENCE I\ BERI.IX. 19; 
 
 off tvutli as a lianl-won conquest. In most of tlio Miilinj^'S 
 ^ve liave alivady ]ia.s.siMl in reviuw we have found tliis 
 characteristic; it is si ill more marked in those we liave 
 yet to examine. 
 
 The chief writtis whose opinions he discusses in the 
 Essay on the Fahle are De hi :Mutte, llicher, lireitinger, 
 and liatteux; and the ol.ject lie keeps in view is the 
 attainment of a thoronj^ddy satisfactory definition. It is 
 as if he wished to jtrove that lie had not spoken at random 
 in tlie " Literary Letters," when he said that the Sokratic 
 mode of teachinfj might he as applicahle to the necessities 
 of modern as to those of ancient thought. 
 
 One of the most essential principles of the treatise is 
 that the fahle mu.st set forth an action. That is, it mu.st 
 consist of a series of changes. " A change, or even several 
 changes wdiich co-exist but do not follow one another, will 
 not sullice to make a fable. And I regard it as an infal- 
 lible proof that a faljlc is bad, that it does not deserve the 
 name of a fable, if the supposed action may be painted as 
 a whole. In that case it contains merely a picture, and 
 the painter has not painted a fable but an emblem. 'A 
 fishei-man, having drawn his net from the sea, obtained 
 possession of the larger fish which were caught in it ; but 
 the smaller ones slipped through the net and got happily 
 into the water.' This is included among the fables of 
 ^sop, but it is not a fable ; at least it is a very mediocre 
 one. It has no action, it contains merely a single fact 
 which may be painted ; and if I extended this single fact, 
 this detention of the larger fi.sh and slipping through of the 
 smaller ones, by ever so many other circumstances, the 
 moral principle would lie in it alone, not in the other 
 circumstances also." l 
 
 I'ut an action is not merely a series of changes. It is " a 
 scries of changes which together make a whole ; " and " the 
 unity of the whole depends upon the harmony of all the 
 parts with an aim." - In this sense a drama contains an 
 
 1 S. S. V. p. 414. s S. S. V. p. 413.
 
 196 THIRD RESIDEXCE IX IJERL/X. 
 
 nction; and so does an c])ic. Wherein, tla-n, docs tlie 
 aetion of tlio faMe difler from that of tlie epic and tlie 
 dnuna ? The aim of tho ihamatic and epic poet is to 
 excite passions. lUit lie can excito passions only by 
 imitatini^ tliem ; and he can imitate them only hy settinj^ 
 up goals ■svhich they approach anil from \vhiih they recede. 
 Hence he must place within the action certain aims, and 
 subordinate these to a chief aim, so that various ]»assions 
 may he able to co-exist. The fabulist, on the other hand, 
 lias nothing to do -with passions ; his object is simply to 
 instruct, to give us a vivid apprehension of a particular 
 moral truth. It is not, therefore, necessary for him to 
 ])lace within the action certain aims and to subordinate 
 them to a chief aim : his object is gained at the point at 
 which the moral priiicii)le is made sulliciently clear. " He 
 often leaves his character alone in the midst of the way, 
 and is indiflbrent about satisfying our curiosity. 'The 
 wolf accuses the fox of a theft. The fox denies the deed. 
 The ape is made judge. The accuser and accused bring their 
 arguments and counter-arguments. At last the ape passes 
 sentence : ^ 
 
 Tu non viderU ]ierJiilisse, quoil pelis ; 
 Te credo surripuisse, quoJ piilchre nep.is.' 
 
 The fable is comjtlete; for in the sentence of the ape lies 
 the moral which the fabulist intended to laiiig out. ]{ut 
 is the incident comidete? Conceive this story on tho 
 comic stage, and one will immediately see that it is cut 
 short by a clever fancy, but not ended. The spectator is 
 not contented when he sees that the dispute must go on 
 behind the scenes. 'A \u»\r harassed old man became 
 indignant, threw his burden from his back, and called for 
 Death. Death ap])ears. The old man is terrified, and 
 feels strongly that even to live mi.serably is belter than 
 not to live at all. AVell, what am I to do ? asks Death. 
 Ah, dear Death, help uw. \\\> with my Innden again!' 
 
 • l'lix-<lru<, lib. i. fiib. lo.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN 197 
 
 llie fiiLulist is liap])ily, ami to our satisfaction, at his goal. 
 But tliu story ? "What liai)]K'nt'(l to the old man? I)i(l 
 Death let him live or take him away ? Ahout sucli ques- 
 tions the fabulist docs not trouble himself; the dramatic 
 poet, however, is bound to answer them." ^ 
 
 In a word, the action of the epic and the drama must 
 be complete in itself; the action of the fable is made 
 comjdi'te l>y reference to something outside itself, a moral 
 jirinciple. For this reason Lessing puts yEsop and riuedrus 
 far above La Fontaine and his innumerable imitators. The 
 latter do not make it their object sim[>ly to set forth a 
 moral principle: hence they invade provinces of art witli 
 which, as falmlists, they have nothing to do. ^sop and 
 I'hiedrus, having attained their proper aim, stop short, 
 careless as to literary beauties that do not belong to them. 
 
 The frequent use of animals in fables was explained by 
 Breitinger, the gi-eat critic of the Swiss School, by suppos- 
 ing that in literature we demand above all things the mar- 
 vellous, and that the talking aud arguing of animals are 
 always a fresh surprise. Lcssing disposes of this curious 
 view by pointing out that the fabulist starts by assuming 
 a world in which the fox and the wolf are capable of 
 rational conversation, and that, therefore, there is no sense 
 of strangeness in their discussions. The real reason why 
 animals are so often introduced is, that their characters are 
 permanent and universally known. Through them, there- 
 fore, a moral principle may be vividly set forth without 
 explanation. To this Lessing adds the suggestion that 
 animals are often preferable to men for the purposes of the 
 fable, because human ills excite our feelings more keenly 
 than those of the lower creation, and strong feeling ob- 
 scures our perception of ethical truth. 
 
 Lessing's fables are in strict accordance with his prin- 
 ciples. He rarely introduces ornaments of style ; the moral 
 idea to be impressed on the mind of his readere is 
 kept strictly in view, and nothing that could diminish its 
 
 1 S. S. V. p. \2Z.
 
 iqs third residence L\' beri.ix. 
 
 effect is aJmittoil into liis sclicinc. The result is sli«;litly 
 (lepressinj^. Mrntal food must have some (k'fj^rce of fivsh- 
 ncss to cxhilunite the intcHectual energies ; and freshness 
 is precisely the quality which must necessarily, lus a rule, 
 he wanting in moral instruction. When, therefore, the 
 fable is deprived of such charms as those with whieli 
 La Fontaine strove to invest it, it is apt to become some- 
 what dull. To say that we violate the fundann-ntal con- 
 ception of its nature by nuiking it interesting, may be 
 quite true; but that is really to say that it ought not, 
 strictly speaking, to be regarded as a department of lite- 
 rature. The utmost that can be urged on behalf of Less- 
 ing's fables is, that they display a considerable power of 
 ingenious invention ; that the nuixims they enforce are 
 those of a manly and straightforward nature, and that they 
 ai'e models of tei*se and clear statement. 
 
 One of the best of the collection is entitled " Zeus and 
 the Horse " : — 
 
 " ' Father of beasts and men,' said the horee, approaching 
 the tlirone of Zeus, ' they say that I am one of the most 
 beautiful creatures with which thou hast adorned the 
 world, and my self-love makes me believe it. But is 
 there nothing in me that might be improved?' 'And 
 what dost thou think might be improved in thee ? Speak; 
 I accept instruction,' said the kind god, smiling. ' Perhaps,' 
 said the horse, ' I might be more swift if my logs were 
 higher and more .slender; a long swan's neck would not 
 deform me; a broader chest would increase my strength; 
 and as thou hast destined me to carry thy favourite, man, 
 1 might po.ssess ready-nuide the saddle which the benevo- 
 lent rider places upon me.' ' Good,' replied Zeus ; * have 
 ])atience for a moment.' With seri<jus face Zeus uttered 
 the word of creation. Then life sprang uj) in the du.st; 
 organised matter shaped itself; and suddenly there stood 
 iKjfore the throne— the ugly camel. The hoi-se looketl, 
 .shuddered, and tnunbled with amazed horror. ' Here,' said 
 Zeus, ' are higher and more slender le^/s ; here is a long
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 199 
 
 swan's neck; liere is a broader chest; here is the saddle 
 reudy-niadu. J)()st thou wish, horse, that I shoidd tlius re- 
 shape thee ? ' The liorse still trembled. ' Go,' continued 
 Zeus. 'F«»r this time be tau;^dit without being punished. 
 But that thou niayest be sometimes reminded of thy j)re- 
 sumption, continue to exist, thou new creature' — and Zeus 
 cast a preserving glance at the camel — ' iind may the horse 
 never look at thee without shudderinjj;.' " ^ 
 
 "The owner of the bow" maybe taken as an illustration 
 of Lessing's favourite principle, that each art attains its end 
 only by Iteing confined within its proper limits: — "A man 
 had an excellent ebony liow, with which he shot far and 
 sure, and which he highly valued. Once, however, as he 
 carefully looked at it, he said : ' After all, thou art a little 
 connnon ! Smoothness is thy sole beauty. What a pity ! ' 
 But the thought occurred to him, ' It may be put right ! I 
 will go to the best artist and get him to carve the bow.' 
 He went, and the artist carved a whole hunt upon the 
 bow ; and what could have been more suitable for a bow 
 than a hunt ? The man was delighted. ' Dear bow, thou 
 deservest these decorations ! ' Forthwith, wishing to try 
 the bow, he bends it, and — it breaks." 2 
 
 V. 
 
 At the conclusion of the seventeenth " Literary Letter," 
 in proof of the fact that in the old German ckamatic pieces 
 there was a strong English element, Lessing refers to " the 
 best-known of them. Dr. Faust." In this he finds "a 
 number of scenes which only a Shakespearian genius could 
 have conceived." " One of my friends," he continues, " has 
 an old scheme of this tragedy, and he has given me a scene 
 of it in which there is certainly much that is great. Are 
 you anxious to read it ? Here it is ! " 3 Then follows a 
 scene in which Faust, surrounded by seven spirits, demands 
 which of the seven is swiftest ? No one who has made 
 himself familiar with Lessing's style could for a moment 
 
 1 S. S. i. p. 165. 2 S. S. i. p. 186. 3 s. s. vi. p. 42.
 
 2O0 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN 
 
 doubt that the fra<jinent is Ity liim. The idea is old ; Imt 
 the strcn;j;tli, precision, and rapidity ■\vitli wliich it is 
 expressed, and the new and deeper significance attaclied 
 to it, are altogether in Lessing's style. After questioning 
 four spirits, he comes to tlie iiftli. 
 
 " Faust. — And liow swift art thou? 
 
 " Th^ Fifth Sjiirit. — As swift as the thoughts of men. 
 
 "Faust. — That is somctliing! But not always are men's 
 thoughts swift. Kot uhen truth and virtue demand them. 
 How hea\y are they then ! Thou canst be swift if thou 
 wilt ; but who can assure me that thou always wilt be so ? 
 Ko, I should trust thee as little as I should be able to trust 
 myself. Ah! (I'o the Sixth Sjnrit) — Tell me, how swift 
 art thou ? 
 
 " The Sixth Spirit. — As swift as the vengeance of the 
 avenger. 
 
 " Faust. — The avenger ! "\Miat avenger ? 
 
 " The Sixth Spirit.— T\\q IMighty, the Tenible, who re- 
 served vengeance for himself, because vengeance pleased 
 him. 
 
 " Faust. — Devil ! thou blasphemest, for I see tliou trem- 
 blest. Swift, thou sayest, as the vengeance of the — I had 
 almost named him ! No, he shall not be named amonjj 
 us! — Swift a.s vengeance? Swift? And I still live? 
 And T still sin ? 
 
 " Tlie Sixth Spirit. — Tliat he still lets you sin is ven- 
 geance ! 
 
 " Faust. — And tliat a devil must teach me'this ! — But 
 to-day, for the first time ! No, his vengeance is not swift, 
 and if tliou art not more swift than his vengeance, go ! 
 {To the Seventh Spirit) — How swift art tliou ? 
 
 " The Seventh Spirit. — Insatiable mortal, if even I am 
 not swift enough for thee 
 
 " Fanst. — Then say, how swift ? 
 
 " Tlie Seventh Spirit. — Not more and not less than the 
 transition from good to evil. 
 
 " Faust. — Ha ! thou art my devil ! As swift as the pas-
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 201 
 
 sago irdiii good to evil ! Yes, tliat is swift; swifler lliaii tliat 
 there is nothing ! — Away from here, ye snails of Orcus ! 
 Away! — As the transition from good to evil! I have 
 experienced how swift it is ! I have experienced it ! " 
 
 The Faust legend had long before awakened his curiosity, 
 and in 1755 he had certainly begun to work at it, for in 
 that year Ave find ]\Iendelssohn writing to him : " Where 
 are you, dearest Lessing, with your tragedy of middle-class 
 life ? 1 should rather not mention it by name, for I doubt 
 whether you will continue to call it 'Faust.' A single 
 exclamation, ' Faustus ! Faustus ! ' might make the whole 
 pit laugh." 1 During his present residence at Berlin he 
 occupied himself so much with the subject that in the 
 summer of 175 8, according to a letter to Gleim, he hoped 
 soon to have a play ready for representation. At two later 
 periods, in Breslau and in Hamburg, he was again at work 
 upon it ; and there can be no doubt that he had two schemes, 
 one in accordance with the old legend, another in which 
 Faust was led astray by a human tempter.2 It was long 
 believed that he had finished both, and that they disap- 
 peared with other valuable papers in a box which was lost 
 on the way between Leipzig and Wolfenbiittel, We do not, 
 however, possess the evidence of a single person who ever 
 saw the plays ; and in a letter to his brother Karl, in which 
 he gives a list of the contents of the box, he makes no 
 allusion to Faust ]\ISS. The more probable theory is that, 
 finding there were insuperable difficulties in the Avay of 
 a satisfactory solution of the tragic problem, he himself 
 destroyed the parts he had finished.3 
 
 1 Danzel, p. 451. Eugel, as probably the second of 
 
 2 The second scheme Lessing him- Lessing's dramas. Kuno Fischer 
 self mentions in a note in his " Col- must be considered to have once for 
 k'ctauea," entitled "Dr. Faustus." all disposed of its claims. There is 
 
 3 See a masterly article, ''Ein no ground whatever for ascribing the 
 literarischer Findling als Lessings work to Lessing ; and it has nothing 
 Faust," in " Nord nnd Siid," Band in common with his style or mode o'' 
 i. Heft 2, by Kuno Fischer. The thought. It is so far beneath his 
 "Findling" is a play published in mark that it is surprising any one 
 1876 ; issued by the editor, Karl shoidd have supposed it his.
 
 ro2 THIRD RESWEi\Ci: IX DERLIX. 
 
 If he ilid this, liowever, one brief paper escaped his 
 notice: a ])a])('r fuiitaiiiin<,' a rougli sketch of tlie ])ream1)hi 
 ami the lir.st f«)ur scones of tlie earlier of tlie two drama.';. i 
 "We are introduced to an old cathedral, where Beelzehuh is 
 receiving from a number of devils reports of their pro- 
 ceedini^fs. Allusion is made to the high virtue of Faust ; 
 and one of the devils undertakes to bring about his fall, 
 " Now," says a devil, " he sits by his nightly lamp and 
 searches after the deptlis of truth. Too much curiosity is 
 a fault ; and out of one fault may all crimes spring, if one 
 gives way to it too much." In the first scene Faust is 
 discovered among his books by lamplight. He is per- 
 plexed by difficulties in the scholastic philosophy, and 
 remembers that a scholar is said to have made the devil 
 appear in order to solve certain doubts respecting Aris- 
 totle's Entelechy. He himself has often tried to do the 
 like, but in vain. As the present is the right hour, he will 
 try again ; and no sooner does he pronounce the mystic 
 words than a spirit springs from the ground " with a long 
 beard, wra])ped in a mantle." There is then, in the second 
 scene, a dialogue, in which the spirit declares himself to 
 be Aristotle; in reality it is the devil wlio has undertaken 
 to destroy him. It was intended that, in the third scene, 
 Faust, overjoyed at the power of his charm, should sum- 
 mon another spirit, and that in the fourth a devil should 
 respond to his call, and enter upon a fresh dialogue. 
 
 At this point the fragment l)reaks oil". Two of Lessing's 
 friends, Herr von Blankcnberg and Herr Fngel, in brief 
 j)apcrs recalling what he had told them of the i)lay,2 assert 
 tlicit when at the close the diabolical counsi-ls seem to 
 have triumphed, an angel proclaims that the devil has been 
 dealing only with a phantom, and that the real Faust is 
 uninjured. According to Engel, all that pa.sses ai)i»ears to 
 Faust as a dream; and on awaking he " thanks Providence 
 for the warning which it has designed to give him through 
 so instructive a dream." Von IJlankenberg merely says 
 that as the devils are singing songs of victory an angel 
 
 ' S. S. ii. i». 512. ^ S. S. ii. x>\\ 5'? 5=2.
 
 IIIIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 203 
 
 exclaims from lieaven : " Tiiuiiiph not! you liave not been 
 victuriuus over luuiiauity and science; tlie ]Jeity lias not 
 given man the noldest of ini[>ulses in order to make him 
 unhappy ; Avhat you saw and ncnv believe yourselves to 
 possess was nothing; except a i)]iantom." 
 
 If the evidence of these two friends is to be trusted, the 
 real Faust would liave had little or nothing to do; and it 
 is diflicult to see how Lessing could have expected to 
 excite living interest in a ])hantom. It is, however, worth 
 wliile to observe in how dillerent a spirit from Marlowe and 
 Goethe he approachctl the legend. The former finds his 
 tragic motive in a love of power; the latter in a love of 
 pleasure. With Lessing the tragic motive is drawn from 
 a love of knowledge. The ultimate deliverance of Faust, 
 liowever, must have tended to suggest a doubt whether the 
 scientific impulse is capable 61 providing a real tragic motive. 
 
 Another play written at this time, published in 1759, 
 was " I'hilotas," a prose tragedy in one act. It was pro- 
 bably never intended for representation ; and we shall best 
 understand it by regarding it as a protest against a prevail- 
 ing mode of dramatic writing. In " Miss Sara Sampson " 
 he himself had set the example of indulging freely in 
 general moral reflection, and of stopping the action to 
 develop to the utmost the possibilities of particular situa- 
 tions. Ivlopstock, in a recently pubhshed play, " The 
 Death of Adam," had adopted a similar method, but jjre- 
 senting much vague sentiment without the true passion 
 which underlies Lessing's work; and it seemed probable 
 that this style would soon triumph over all others. Of 
 late Lessing had been engaged in deep study of Greek 
 tragedy, and as the English drama had suggested to him 
 the supreme importance of strong impulse and free move- 
 ment, that of Greece had convinced him that severe self- 
 control is not less necessary. In " Philotas," therefore, he 
 resolved that there should be no luxuriance of phrase, that 
 the action should be simple and direct, advancing to its 
 aim with swift steps and by the nearest path.
 
 204 THIRD KESIDEA'CE IX BERLIX. 
 
 The licrn, riiilotas, is tlie son of a kinj:^ at Mar \\\{\\ 
 Aiithi'iis, a iKM;4lil)(»uiin,i,' moiiarcli. lie is taken ]>risuner, 
 an<l bitterly rejtroaelies himself for the raslniess which has 
 hnnii^ht upon him this liarcl fate. Afraid lest his father 
 should he compelled to accept \infavouTalile terms of peace 
 to procure his release, he determines to kill himself He 
 learns, however, that the son of Aridanis is, like himself, 
 a prisoner, and that the kings are ne_t;(jtiating for an ex- 
 change. It instantly tlaslies upon him that if he were 
 dead his father, through possession of the son of ^Vridieus, 
 would be in a condition to exact any terms he chose. He 
 is, therefore, strengthened in his original purpose, sends a 
 message to his father, entreating him not to give up his 
 prisoner immediately ; and in the last scene, in the pre- 
 sence of Aridffius, he stabs himself. 
 
 In his immediate object Lessing fully succeeded, for the 
 action is strictly compressed, and each link in the chain is 
 made absolutely dependent upon all the rest. Yet Philotas 
 himself does not excite our interest. Patriotism and lllial 
 loyalty are the only passions of which we find the smallest 
 trace in his character; and they are so vehem -nt, so thea- 
 trical, that it is impossible to sympathise with them. He 
 leaves the impression rather of an excitable and wayward 
 boy than of a deeply thinking man who knows the sacrifice 
 he is about to make, yet who makes it dehberately from 
 noble motives. 
 
 Le-ssing sent a copy of this play to CJleim, and, in onUr 
 to obtain an impartial opinion, pretended that it was by a 
 friend f>f his who desired to learn the judgment of " the 
 old grenadier." Clleim, who did not suspect tiie authoi-shij), 
 was so pleased with it that he announced his intent i(m of 
 rendering it in verse, and forthwith let Lessing have some 
 specimens of his workmanship. Lessing expressed himself 
 much gratified. " I cannot describe to you," he wrot<3, 
 (March, 1759^), " what pleasure you have given the author 
 of ' I'hilotas' by the translation you have begun. He 
 > S. S. xii. p. 155.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 205 
 
 concludes from tliis tliat lie must to some extent liave your 
 applause. I add that your translation, if you continue as 
 you have Ijegun, Mill be excellent, and the hest criticism 
 for the author. Let him have the model ^vhich he still 
 lacks: tlic model, I mean, of a noLle tragical language, 
 without l)f)mbast, without the ornamental little modes of 
 speech which, in my opinion, are the sole merits of French 
 tragic poetry. The idea of borrowing the name of tlie 
 grenadier for it is excellent; I am only concerned that the 
 l)ul)lic may ask in a somewhat disjjleased tone : ' But why 
 does not the gi-enadier himself write a tragedy? ' Patience, 
 lie will yet do so ! " 
 
 Six weeks later he wrote : " Accept before all things my 
 thanks for your ' I'hilotas.' You have made it your own ; 
 and the anon}'mous prose author can claim little or nothing 
 of it. I knew beforehand that the grenadier could not 
 merely translate. And it is well that he cannot. To some 
 extent I also knew that he is far too much of a poet to let 
 himself down altogether to tragic simplicity. His language 
 is too full, his imagination too fiery, his expression often 
 too bold and too new ; at once passion bursts with him 
 into full ilame; in short, he has everytliing necessary to 
 make him our yEschylus, and iEschylus will not do for our 
 great tragic model However, I shall get his ' Philotas ' 
 printed, because I am proud enough to believe that Avhat 
 has taught me so much may teach others not less : in 
 respect, namely, to dignity of style, expression, rhythm, 
 &c. If he M-ill allow me, I shall explain myself more 
 fully in an introduction about various points ; and why 
 should he not allow me, since I shall find nothing except 
 beauties to set forth and criticise ? " 1 
 
 Lessing's German biographers have detected in these 
 passages a great deal of fine 2)C7'siJ{af/e ; but to take his 
 words in this way is to put upon them a somewhat forced 
 construction. It is quite evident that he did not form a 
 very high opinion of his friend's work, for the qualities he 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 156.
 
 2o6 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 ilescribes as yEscliylean cnnnictcil \vitli liis central (lt'sii,'n ; 
 liiit (Jk'iin tlionlu'ldaliijih ]iositi(tn in literature, and LessiiiL,' 
 luul a jiennine esteem for him. There is, therefore, no rea.soii 
 for nscrihini,' to the letters any other meanini,' than that 
 M hit'h they ])lainly hear, (lleim's verses were jfuhlishcd ; 
 and, in the copy sent to him, Lessinj^ is said to have puzzled 
 his friend hy changing " riiilotas versified " to " Philotjis 
 verified," "When Clleim discovered Avhose work he had un- 
 dertaken to improve, he good-humouredly sent Lessing, as 
 a pcace-ofiCering, an anker of excellent lihine wine from 
 the catliedral cellars at Hall)erstadt. 
 
 Of this "poetical present" Lessing writes (July, 1759) : — 
 '' I do not know how I can better thank the grenadier 
 than hy drinking his health Mith every glass. AVith how 
 much heart would I drink for him hy myself ! And how 
 doubly good would the wine taste if you came to us and 
 helped us to finish it ! ^fy summer room would certainly 
 not displease you. Only for heaven's sake do not suppose 
 that I work there. I am never lazier than when I am in 
 this my hermitage, '\^^len I am in high spirits, I form 
 projects — projects for tragedies and comedies ; I then play 
 them to myself in thought ; laugh and cry in thought ; and 
 a]i])laud myself in thought; or rather make those friends 
 ai>]ilaud in thought, of whose applause I am proudest." ^ 
 
 The next letter to Gleiin, dated August 25, 1759. is full 
 of anxiety. Kleist's friends in Berlin liave heard that he 
 is among the wounded in Frankl'urt-on-the-Oder, and they 
 are uncertain whether he is dangerously ill. Another letter, 
 six days later, announces that a ]^Iajor von Kleist has died 
 at Frankfurt; but Lessing will not believe that it is their 
 Kleist. "No! Our Kleist is not dead; it cannot be; he 
 lives still. 1 will not vex my.self before; the time ; and I will 
 not vex you before the time. Let us hn]»e tlie l)cst. By 
 the next Frankfurt pest we shall jrarn all. 1 f he still lives, I 
 shall visit him. I shall no mon' sec him >. I sliall in my life 
 no more see him, speak with him.emliracc him? — Farewell." 
 ' S. S. xii. p. 159.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 207 
 
 "Alas, dearest friend," writes Lessing, on September 6, "it 
 is iniliap])ily true. lie is dead. We possessed liim. He 
 (lied in the liouse and in the anus of I'rofessor Xicolai. 
 In tlie greatest pain he was througliout tranquil and 
 clieerful. ]!(! greatly desired to see his friends once more. 
 "VVouhl that it liad been possilde ! My sorrow is a very 
 wild sorrow. I do not, indeed, wish that the balls should 
 ha\e taken anotlier way because an honourable man stood 
 
 tliere ; but I do wish that the honourable man . See, 
 
 many a time my pain causes me to be angry at the man 
 himself who has excited it. Already he had three, four 
 wcdinds : wliy did he not go ? For fewer and smaller 
 wounds generals have retired without dishonour. He 
 wished to die. Forgive me if I am too hard on him. For 
 it may be that I am too hard on liim. They say he would 
 not have died of the last wound, but he was neglected. 
 Neglected ! I know not at whom I shall rage. The WTctches 
 
 wlio have neglected him Ha ! I must break off. The 
 
 professor has doubtless written to you. He delivered a 
 funeral oration over him. Another, I know not whom, 
 has made a poem upon him. They cannot have lost mucli 
 in Kleist who are now in the position to do this. The pro- 
 fessor wishes to print his oration, and it is so pitiful ! I 
 know for certain that Kleist would rather have taken with 
 him another wound to his grave than have such stuff talked 
 about him. Has a professor a heart? He wants from 
 liamler and me verses to print along with his oration. If 
 he has asked the same from you, and you gi'atify his wish 
 — dearest Gleim, that you must not do. At present you 
 feel too much to be able to say what you feel. And it is 
 not all the same to you, as it is to a professor, what you 
 say and how you say it." ^ 
 
 A nobler and more fragrant wreath has rarely been 
 placed upon a poet's grave. Such a letter from such a 
 manwoidd alone suffice to givelOeist immortality; and for 
 one brief moment it lays open depths in Lessing's o^^-n 
 
 ^ S S. xii. p. 162.
 
 2o8 THIRD RESIDENCE IX BERLIX. 
 
 nature wliirli lie seldom revealetr even to tlie few whom 
 he nidsl (Irarly loved. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lessinj^'s classical studies at this time went over a wide 
 ranj:je, hut the authors he chielly read were Homer and 
 Sophokles. " ] lave I not seen in your liljrary," he \vrote 
 to Gleim in Felmiary, 1760, "an Italian translation ot 
 .Sophokles \ AVill you have the kindness to lend it me for 
 a short time ? And anything else you may possess that 
 relates to this ancient tragic poet, who occupies mo at 
 present more than anything else ? " ^ He began to write a 
 Life of Sophokles, intending that it should accompany a 
 translation of the poet's works. Unfortunately the under- 
 taking was broken off before he had advanced very far, 
 and he could never be persuaded afterwards to resume it. 
 "When his friends urged him to do so, he pleaded that he 
 would have to learn Greek again, and fill liis mind anew 
 with subjects which had been displaced by others. 
 
 Another task in which he was engaged was the trans- 
 lation of Diderot's plays and remarks on the theory of 
 the drama. The main object of Diderot's criticism was to 
 turn the sympathy of the French people from their clas- 
 sical drama. Why, he asked, should the stage incessantly 
 represent the crimes and the follies of men ? In human 
 life duty and virtue play a much more important part than 
 either folly or crime ; and it is the function of the stage to 
 mirror the whole of life, and not this or that particidar 
 asi)ect of it. Hence he insisted that besides tragedy and 
 comedy there should be a third class of dramatic works, 
 " le genre sdrieux," a species standing midway between the 
 two extremes and having alTniitii's with both. " Je le 
 repute done," he exclaimed, in his usual rapid and animated 
 style : " L'honnete, riioiniete. 11 nous touche d'uno 
 maniere plus intime et plus douce (pie ce qui excite notro 
 ijiepris et nos ris; poete, etcs-vous sensible ct dclicat? 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 1O6.
 
 THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. zco 
 
 pinccz cctto cnrde, et vous rentendrcz rdsonncr ou fr^mir 
 dans toutes les aiuos." It was an essential ])art of tlie 
 theory that the themes of this " genre serieux " should be 
 the fortunes not of kings and heroes, but of common men, 
 and that the dramatist should trust for liis effects to tlu! 
 simple and unadorned lanL;uage of nature. In " Lc Fils 
 Nature! " and " Le Pore de Famille" he gave practical 
 illustrations of his critical doctrines. 
 
 Lessing furmed a high opinion Ijoth of these works and 
 of the theory they embodied. " Those competent to 
 judge," he says in the preface to his translation, " will miss 
 in the former neither genius nor taste ; and in the latter 
 will everywhere see traces of the thinker who extends 
 the ancient ways, and cuts new paths througli unknown 
 regions. I might, indeed, say tliat since Aristotle no 
 more philosophical mind than Diderot has treated of the 
 theatre." ^ Twenty years later, when his career as a dra- 
 matist was over, Lessing, in republishing the translation, 
 and publicly acknowledging it as his work, expressed his 
 gratitude to '* the man who liad tak'eu so great a share in 
 forming his taste." " For," he continued, " be this what it 
 may, I know that without Diderot's example and doctrines 
 it would have taken a quite different direction. Perhaps 
 a more individual direction, but hardly one with whicli 
 in the end my understanding would have been more 
 satisfied." 2 
 
 This is a very remarkable confession, and one whieli, in 
 view of Lessing's actual work, it is difficult to explain. 
 For already, in " Miss Sara Sampson," he had proved that 
 he had shaken himself free from the influence of the old 
 French drama ; and not one of his later dramatic writings 
 can be classed in Diderot's " genre serieux." What, then, 
 was it that he owed to the French critic ? The answer 
 seems to be that Diderot first made him vividly realise 
 the necessity of simple and natural action, such as in- 
 stantly appeals to the feelings of the spectator. In his 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 355. 2 S. S. vi. p. 357- 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 2IO THIRD RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 earlier comedies we move in a world wliicli does not 
 profess to have a close connection with reality ; and in 
 "Miss Sara Sampson" the characters are sometimes im- 
 pelled by unintelligible motives, while they often talk in 
 stilted language. The feeling expressed in " Philotas " is 
 also violent and exaggerated. The later and greater plays, 
 as we shall see, are not open to these objections. The 
 actions which they present bear the stamp of truth ; and 
 the dialogue is strictly appropriate to the nature of the 
 persons by whom it is conducted. In this respect Lessing 
 is far superior to Diderot himself. It was not strange 
 that, in the reaction against liaciue and Curneille, " Le his 
 naturel" and "Le p^re de famille" should be hailed as 
 utterances of genuine feeling; but it is impossible for a 
 later generation to share the admiration they excited. 
 Not only are they defective in every important technical 
 quality, but the " nature " on which the author prided 
 himself now seems of a very theatrical description. The 
 distinction between the two men as dramatists could not 
 be better expressed than it was expressed by IMadame de 
 Stael : " Mais Diderot, dans ses pieces, mettait I'affecta- 
 tion du naturel h. la place de I'affectation de convention, 
 tandis que le talent de Lessing est vraiment simple et 
 sincere." ^ 
 
 1 The relations of Lessing to Diderot Diderot, who lir\d sevcr.il striking 
 
 are discussed by Danzel, pp. 472-481 ; points of resemhhince, will be found 
 
 and by Guhrauer, (i) pp. 321-323. in Hcttner's Literaturgescliiclite, ii. 
 
 An interestiug parallel of Lessing and pp. 330-332.
 
 (211 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BRESLAU. 
 
 Towards the end of 1760 Lessing had been nearly three 
 years in Berlin, and he began once more to long for change 
 of scene. He had exliausted all the sources of mental 
 stimulus which the town contained ; he was no longer in 
 such active sympathy with his friends in regard to the 
 highest subjects of thought as he had been some years 
 before; incessant labour had injured his health; and he 
 desired some position in which, at least for a time, he 
 should be able to procure an income -without the necessity 
 of straining to the utmost his intellectual energies. Things 
 of the mind had for him so intense a fascination for 
 their own sake, that he always felt it a kind of degrada- 
 tion to be compelled to win his daily bread by means of 
 them. His desire for some change in his mode of ex- 
 istence seems to have become generally known, for we 
 find Gleim making inquiries whether it was true that he 
 had become quartermaster of a regiment, while in Leipzig 
 it was stated that he had accepted a commission in a 
 regiment of Free Lances. 
 
 Among the officers whom he had met at Ivleist's in 
 Leipzig was a Colonel von Tauentzien. The latter had 
 now become a General, and had lately distinguished him- 
 self by his gallant defence of Breslau against the Austrians. 
 In return for this service, Frederick had made him Governor 
 of the town ; and he became also director of the Mint. 
 He was a vigorous, frank, loyal soldier, of whom Lessing 
 afterwards said that if Frederick were so reduced that his
 
 :i2 BRESLAU. 
 
 whole anny could be collected under a tree, Tauentzien 
 would undoubtedly be one of this remnant. Lessing seems 
 to have made a profound impression upon him, for beinir 
 on his elevation in want of a secretary, he forthwith ofTered 
 him the post.i It was not precisely the sort of office for 
 which Lessin.uj's training had fitted him ; but the very fact 
 that it would take him away from the mere world of books 
 and plunge liim into the world of men added to its attrac- 
 tions. He accepted it, and in November 1760, as usual 
 without saying farewell to his friends, started for Breslau. 
 On the W'ay he stopped at Fraukfurt-on-thc-Oder for the 
 purpose of visiting Kleist's grave. 
 
 His motives for making so great a change may best be 
 gathered from his own words, written at this period : " I 
 will for some time spin aroimd myself like an ugly cater- 
 pillar, that I may be able to come to light again as a 
 brilliant butterfly." 2 
 
 A week or two after his arrival in Breslau (December 6, 
 1 760), he wrote to Earaler : " You will perhaps be surprised 
 at my decision. To confess the truth, I am myself sur- 
 jirised at it, at least for quarter of an hour every day. But 
 would you know, dearest friend, what I then say to myself? 
 ' Fool,' I say, striking my forehead, ' when will you begin 
 to be content with yourself ? It is true that nothing in 
 particular drove you from Berlin ; that you will not tind 
 here the friends you have left there ; that you will have 
 little time for study. But was not everything done of 
 your own free will ? "Were you not satiated with Berlin < 
 I)o you not believe that your friends must have been 
 satiated with you? that it is time to live again more 
 among men than among books ? that after his thirtieth 
 year a man ought to think of tilling not only his head but 
 liis purse ? Patience ! The latter may be more rapidly 
 
 1 Dnnzcl first BURRCsted that Ijosaing with Kleist, in Priililc's Lcssing, "Wio- 
 
 li.id made Tauciitziun'n acquiiintanco lajid, Hi-inHf, kc. 
 
 tlirotigh Kleist. The matter lias now ^ .Siimuitlicho ScLriftun, xi. (2), p. 
 
 liien i>ut beyond dispute l)y the pub- 406. 
 lioutiua of Ulciui'ti cuiTCspuudcuco
 
 BRESLAU. 213 
 
 filled than the former. And then! — then you will he 
 again in Berlin, again among your friends, and again study. 
 Oh, if this then were to-morrow ! And so, dearest friend, 
 hope calms me again, and causes me to approve the step I 
 liave taken, and to flatter myself that my friends will also 
 approve it. You know me, and if I am not to he praised, 
 1 am at least to he excused." ^ 
 
 Soon after he left Berlin he was made foreign member 
 of the Academy of Sciences. This honour would not 
 under any circumstances have greatly elated him; but as 
 the announcement of it in the newspapers was accom- 
 panied by the absurd statement that he had been elected 
 at his own request, he was irritated rather than pleased. 
 Strangely enough, his friend Sulzer had objected to his 
 election, on the pedantic ground that it was difficult to 
 associate him with one special department. In a letter to 
 Mendelssohn he declares himself "very indifferent" with 
 respect both to the Academy and to Sulzer. " Whether 
 he is false I know not ; but I do know that he is often 
 very illogical. Perhaps in this case also he was only the 
 latter." 
 
 If he had chosen, Lessing might now have become a 
 rich man, for the necessities of war compelled Frederick 
 from time to time to undertake doubtful Mint operations, 
 and of these the secretary of the director had necessarily 
 the earliest information. Tauentzien himself amassed a 
 fortune of from 120,000 to 130,000 thalers; but Lessing 
 was a man of finer mould, and passed through this ordeal 
 with honour unstained. When he finally left Brcslau, 
 after nearly five years' service, he was very little better off 
 than when he entered it. 
 
 "Lessing," says Goethe, "who, unlike Klopstock and 
 Gleim, readily flung away personal dignity, because he 
 had confidence that he could at any moment resume 
 it, took delight in frequenting taverns, and in the free 
 life of the world, as he constantly needed something 
 
 ^ S. S. xii. p. 170.
 
 -14 BRESLAU. 
 
 lo coiintcrbnlanco liis powerful inward activity." i What- 
 ever we may think of Goethe's exphuiation of this ten- 
 dency, it did undoubtedly mark liim off from all the 
 prominent literary men of his time, and at no period 
 more than during his residence in Breslau.^ He went a 
 great deal into society, and the society he found most 
 congenial was, as ever, that of officers and actors. Of 
 the former class he necessarily met a great many, gradu- 
 ally, iudeed, forming the acquaintance of nearly all the 
 higher officers of the Prussian army. Almost every 
 evening he ^dsited the theatre. Here the favourite pieces 
 were of a rather rough description, harlequin contributing 
 largely to the entertainment ; but Lessing used to say to 
 one of the actors, who afterwards became a dramatic 
 writer, and to whom he gave many useful hints, that he 
 greatly preferred "a healthy, rapid farce to a tame or 
 sickly comedy or tragedy." Earely stopping to the end 
 of the performance, he would go from the theatre to some 
 tavern, whence he would return home when most respect- 
 able citizens had long been asleep. He lived for some 
 time in the house of a confectioner ; and this worthy per- 
 son was so enraged by the late hours of liis irregular 
 lodger, that he made a particular kind of gingerbread cake 
 in the form of a night watchman, to which he gave the 
 name of Gotthold l^pliraim Lessing ! In the morning he 
 did not rise till eight or nine. " I have even," says the 
 friend of his to whom tlie world owes these details, 
 "found him in bed at ten o'clock." 
 
 Among otlier tastes developed at this time was an 
 extraordinary love of gaming, which never afterwards alto- 
 gether deserted him. He ])layed for such high stakes 
 that even General Tauentzicn on one occasion expostulated 
 with him. His excitement in ])lay was intense. " One of 
 his friends," says Karl Lessing, " once saw drops of perspira- 
 
 1 Wahrheifc und Dichtung, partii. to somo notosby lloctorKlose, one of 
 
 book 7. LesHinn's friends, who sujiplioil tliem 
 
 ^ For details respecting Lessing's for the biogriipliy by Karl Lessing. 
 life in Breslau we are cliicOy indebted
 
 B RES LA U. 11':, 
 
 tion running down his face ; yet that evening he pLayed 
 very luckily. As they went home together, his friend 
 urged that he would ruin not only his purse but, what was 
 much more important, his health. ' Exactly the contrary,' 
 answered Lessing. ' If I played coldly, I should not play 
 at all ; I have an object in playing with so much passion. 
 The vehement movement puts my blood in circulation ; it 
 delivers me from a certain physical oppression from which 
 I sometimes suffer.' " 
 
 His friends in Berlin, who heard exaggerated rumours of 
 his way of living, shook their heads with much solemn 
 gravity at what they considered his sad fall. Mendelssohn 
 almost gave him up as lost, and wrote to him with 
 particular fervour on the evils of gaming. Lessing himself 
 had occasional fits of remorse for letting so many hours 
 slip from his grasp without profit. "Most sorrowfully 
 I confess," he wrote to Mendelssohn in March, 1761, 
 " that hitherto I have been anything but happy. I must, 
 however, confess this, because it is the sole reason why 
 I have not written to you for so long a time. I have 
 written to you from here only once, have I not ? You 
 may, therefore, boldly wager that I have only once rightly 
 come to myself. No ! I could not have foreseen that. 
 But in this tone all fools complain. I should and might 
 have foreseen that trifling occupations would tire one more 
 than the most severe study ; that in the circle within which 
 I allowed myself to be enchanted, false pleasure and dissipa- 
 tions upon dissipations would unsettle the blunted mind ; 
 that — All, my best friend, your Lessing is lost ! By-and- 
 by you will no more know him ; he himself no more. Oh, 
 my time, my time, my all that I have — to sacrifice it 
 in this way, I know not for what objects ! A hundred 
 times I have thought of forcibly tearing myself away 
 from this connection. Yet is it possible to make good one 
 inconsiderate act by another ? Perhaps, however, this 
 is only one of those dark days in which nothing reveals 
 itself to me in its true light. To-morrow perhaps I shall
 
 2i6 LRESLAU. 
 
 '.vrite to you more clioerfully. Oh, -write to mc ofton, T)ut 
 more than nuTc sculilin<:;s for my siloiiec. Your letters are 
 to me a true alms ; ami Avill you give alms only for recom- 
 ])ense ? Farewell, my dearest friend ; the first good hour 
 Mhieh my discontent leaves me shall certainly be yours. I 
 look to yen Avith all the restless longing ^vith which an 
 enthusiast awaits heavenly manifestations." ^ 
 
 I'tterances of this kind ought not to have been taken 
 very seriously, for it was Lessing's way, under the influence 
 of a momentary impulse, to condemn himself with far too 
 much liarshness. He had not only lost none of his interest 
 in literature, but was slowly preparing for his greatest 
 undertakings. At the very time when he seemed to be 
 sauntering idly through life he was engaged in profound 
 study of Spinoza, and he read the Christian Fathers wdth 
 an energy which enabled him many years afterwards to 
 strike some very unexpected blows at theological intoler- 
 ance. A considerable part of " Laokoon " was written in 
 Ikeslau ; and when he returned to Berlin, " Minna von 
 Barnhelra " needed only a few finishing touches. In 
 reality this was one of the busiest and most fruitful periods 
 of his career ; and his work was all the more splendid 
 in its results because it was in no way forced, but was 
 taken up or dropi)ed according to the inclination of the 
 moment. 
 
 His improved circumstances gave rise to very wild 
 hopes in the large and somewhat distressed household 
 at Kamenz. To the pastor and his family it appeared 
 that an 1^1 Dorado had suddenly been opened for their 
 benefit ; and many and urgent were the applications for 
 help to which Lessing had to respond. The tone of his 
 letters to his father sometimes implies that the demands on 
 his purse were greater than he could meet ; but he never 
 refu.sed help he was able to give, and he gave it with a 
 readiness wliich must have made it doubly valuable. 
 
 In his treatment of the poor at Breslau he l)y no means 
 1 s. S. xii. p. 173.
 
 DRESLAU. 217 
 
 niiticipateil the ri^iJ doctrines of political economy. lie 
 used to cany f^old and silver in the same pocket, and wlion 
 a beggar appealed to him he would take out the first coin 
 that came to his hand. Sometimes an honest man would 
 bring back a gold piece, but Leasing would only praise his 
 honesty, and point out to him that Providence had evi- 
 <lently intended this good luck for him. Somebody once 
 expostulated with Lessing for helping a person who di<l 
 not deserve to be aided. " If we only received what we 
 deserved," he answered, "how much should any of us 
 have ? " 
 
 The only passion he fully gratified — exce])t gaming — 
 was his i)assion for books. He had always wished to have 
 a library of his own ; and now at last he was in a position 
 to see the wish fulfilled. Every auction in Breslau at 
 which books were for sale he diligently visited ; and cata- 
 logues of future auctions were sent to him from Berlin, 
 where his friends were often asked to make purchases for 
 him. He once gave Nicolai directions to buy a particular 
 book, no matter what it miglit cost; but unfortunately he 
 forgot tliat he had sent precisely the same directions to 
 another friend. The result was that at the sale the two 
 men bid against each other until, to the astonishment of 
 the bystanders, they rose to a sum enormously beyond the 
 value of the book. At last each begged the other to ex- 
 plain, when of course the mystery was solved. 
 
 In 1762 Lessing accompanied his chief in a military 
 expedition to Schweidnitz; and in the following year, 
 when the Seven Years' War came to an end, it was his 
 duty, as the Governor's secretary, publicly to proclaim in 
 Breslau the conclusion of peace. Shortly afterwards he 
 went with Tauentzien for a few weeks to Potsdam, whence 
 he visited his friends in Berlin. Nicolai had been for 
 some time married ; and Lessing had now to make the 
 acquaintance of his wife. He had once written to her a 
 very lively and amusing letter, begging her to allow her 
 husband to attend an auction for him : the auction, as it
 
 CIS BRESLAU. 
 
 h;i]>pened, at which his fori^etfuhicss led to the expensive 
 little comedy above mentioned. 
 
 After the concUision of peace, Tauentzien became 
 Governor of Silesia, and althnuL!;h Lessing often tlionght 
 of returning to his old life, he did not really do so 
 till 1765. The pressure of business was much less 
 severe tiian it had been during the war; and with in- 
 creased leisure he continued Mith more persistent energy 
 than before the various w^orks he had begun. "Minna 
 von Barnhelm " he was especially anxious to complete ; 
 and visitors long saw the garden — now built over — in 
 M-hich, in the fresh morning breeze, he used to "write 
 it before the routine work of the day began. Never 
 had intellectual achievement been more easy or de- 
 lightful to him; but in the midst of his activity, in 
 the summer of 1 764, he was struck down by fever. Poor 
 Lessing ! As if this were not enough, he had the misfor- 
 tune to be attended by a doctor who thouglit that the best 
 way of entertaining him was incessantly to sing the praises 
 of Gottsched ! A curious little anecdote is told of this 
 illness. AVlien it was at its worst, a friend came in and 
 found the sufferer lying with extraordinary stillness. 
 "What are you thinking of r' asked the visitor. "lam 
 trying," answered Lessing, " to realise what passes in the 
 soul at the moment of dying." The anxious friend hastonod 
 to make the profound remark that this was impossible. 
 " You bother me," Lessing interrupted coldly. 
 
 Some such time of enforced rejwse was ])reciscly what 
 wa,s needed by his restless and often tronl)led sjjirit. 
 ]\Iany thoughts of his past and future swept tlirough his 
 mind, and it is not too much to say that this illness marked 
 im era in his career ; that he rose from it Mith more serious 
 I)urpo.se and firmer will " A thousand thaid^s," lie wrote 
 to Itamlcr as he was recovering, on August 5, 1764, "for 
 your considerate friendshij)! Ill indeed I may still be; 
 but I will not on that account die yet. I have so far re- 
 covered, except that I am still troubled by frequent dizzi-
 
 BRESLAU. 219 
 
 Ticss. I hope this also will soon pass away, and then I 
 shall be as if horn again. All clianges of our temperament 
 are, I hclieve, connected witli the action of our physical 
 economy. The serious epoch of my life approaches; 
 I begin to be a man, and Hatter myself that in this 
 burning fever I have destroyed the last remnant of my 
 youthful follies. Happy illness ! Your love wishes me 
 liealthy; but ought poets to desire for themselves the 
 health of an atldete ? Would not a certain measure of 
 ill-health be more advantageous for fancy, for sentiment ? 
 The Horaces and Ramlers live in weak bodies ; the healthy 
 Thcophili ^ and Lcssings become gamesters and drunkards. 
 Wish me, therefore, healthy, dearest friend ; but with a 
 little reminder, with a little thorn in the flesh, which 
 will make the poet from time to time conscious of human 
 frailty, and force upon him the fact that all writers of 
 tragedy do not become with Sophokles ninety years of age, 
 but that even if they did, Sophokles wrote about ninety 
 tragedies, while I have as yet written only one ! Ninety 
 tragedies ! At once dizziness comes upon me ! Oh, let 
 me break off, dearest friend ! " ^ 
 
 A fortniaht later he writes again to Ramler: "I am told 
 that you are very well. Eemain so, and do not become 
 sickly ! Sicldy, I say ; for I have for some time held 
 sickliness to be worse than sickness. A wretched life 
 when one is up and vegetates, and passes for healthy 
 without being so ! Before my illness I was in a mood for 
 working such as I have seldom been in. I cannot yet get 
 into it again, begin as I may. I burn with anxiety to put 
 the last touches to my ' Minna von Barnhelm ; ' and yet 
 I would not like to work at it with half my powers. I 
 have not been able to say anything to you of tliis comedy, 
 for it is really one of my latest projects. If it is not 
 better than all my previous dramatic pieces, I am firmly 
 resolved to have nothing more to do with the theatre." ^ 
 
 ' The reference is to Thcophilus Dobbelin, an actor of whom Lessing had a 
 vei-y low opiuion. 2 g g ^ii. p. 196. ^ S. S. xii. p. 198.
 
 2 20 BRESLAU. 
 
 Lessinc:'s parents made up their minds that he would 
 not again lift his anclior and set his sails to the breeze, 
 ]>articularly as it was hi;4hly desirable that ho should con- 
 tinue to lighten their many burdens. Nothing, however, 
 was further from his mind than the idea of remaining for 
 ever in Breslau. "With all his love for contact with actual 
 life, his love of letters and of freedom was still more 
 intense ; and no one who really knew liim could have 
 doubted, especially after the conclusion of peace, when his 
 duties became less exciting, that he would soon make him- 
 self once more his own master. In letter after letter he 
 gave his family to understand that they must not count 
 much longer upon his being able to aid them to the same 
 extent as he had been doing. 
 
 On November 30, 1763, he wrote to his father: "I 
 hope you do not trust to me as if I had hung my studies 
 on the nail and would devote myself to pitiful occupations 
 de "pane lucrando. I have abeady lost more than three 
 years with these trifles. It is time I had returned to my 
 old track. Everything I hoped to attain by my present 
 mode of life I have attained ; I have tolerably re-estab- 
 lished my health; I have rested, and with the little I 
 could spare collected an excellent library, which I do not 
 wish to have collected in vain. Whether I shall have 
 some hundreds of thalers over, I myself do not know." ^ 
 
 About six months later, a little before his illness, he 
 again gave his father tins necessary warning : ^ — " The con- 
 fusion of my alfairs is made greater by the fact that 
 General von Tauentzien lies dangerously ill. "Whatever 
 may be the result of this illness, the total change of my 
 present situation remains quite certain. It will vex me if 
 my dearest parents, misled by false intelligence, have 
 formed a false conception of my circumstances hitherto. 
 I have certainly given no occasion for misunderstanding, 
 but have more than once mentioned that my present 
 engagement can be of no duration, that 1 have not resigned 
 
 » S. S. xii. p. 189. ' S. S. xii. p. 193-
 
 BRESLAU. 221 
 
 my old plan of life, and that I am more than ever re- 
 solved to undertake no kind of employment that is not 
 jjerfectly to my mind. Half of my life is past, and 1 know 
 no reason why, during the short remainder of it, I should 
 make a slave of myself. I write this to you, dearest father, 
 and must write it to you, that it may not surprise you if in a 
 short time you again see me far removed from all hopes of, 
 and claims to, a fi.xed position, as the phrase is. I need 
 only some time to deliver myself from all the perplexities 
 in which I have become involved, and then I shall cer- 
 tainly leave Breslau. What will happen afterwards gives 
 me no concern. Any one who is healthy and will work 
 has nothing to fear in the world. To dread long illnesses 
 and I know not what circumstances that may prevent one 
 from working, shows poor trust in Providence. I have 
 more faith, and have friends." 
 
 During his residence at Breslau Lessing was offered the 
 post of I'rofessor of Eloquence at the university of Konigs- 
 l3erg. Had he accepted it, he and Kant would have been 
 colleagues ; but one of the duties of the office was to deliver 
 an annual oration in honour of the reigning sovereign, and 
 this alone sufficed to decide him against it. 
 
 There is probably no man of high culture who does not 
 at some time of his life long to visit Italy and Greece, the 
 lands with which the best impulses of the modern world 
 are associated, and whose glorious epochs, although far off, 
 are in reality nearer to us than the intermediate ^Middle 
 Ages. To Lessing it v/as at tliis period one of his dreams 
 of perfect happiness to spend some time in both countries 
 in close study of the remnants of ancient art. A gleam of 
 poetry was cast across common duties by the hope that 
 this happiness might not be beyond liis reach. His idea 
 was to go to Vienna and make free use of the Imperial 
 Library there; then, when he felt himself in a position 
 thoroughly to profit by the experience, to make for Itome 
 and Athens. But the hard facts were very different from 
 his glowing anticipations. "When at last, in the spring of
 
 22 2 BRESLAU. 
 
 1765, tlio moment for final decision came, lie found himself 
 under the necessity of turning,' his steps once more towards 
 the I'russian capital, lie went by Leipzig, whence he paid 
 a visit to his family at Kamenz. Nicolai happened to be 
 at the Leipzig Fair ; and the two friends travelled north- 
 wards together, arriving in Berlin in the latter half of 
 ]\Iay.
 
 (223) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FOURTH RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 In going to Berlin this time, Lessing was not witliout hope 
 that he would find an agreeable settlement. The keeper 
 of the Eoyal Library, a very old man, had just died ; and 
 as Lessing's friends had long thought that this was -pre- 
 cisely the proper post for him, they made every efibrt they 
 could to secure his appointment. Colonel Guichard, known 
 as Quintus Icilius, a great favourite at court, mentioned 
 his name to the King ; but the petty quarrel with Voltaire 
 had made a disagreeable impression on Frederick's mind, 
 and, strange to say, notwithstanding all that had passed in 
 the interval, he had not forgotten it. He, therefore, refused 
 to make Lessing his librarian. Winckelmann was then 
 suggested, and to him, although a German, no objection 
 could be offered. By one of those strokes of perverse 
 humour, however, which constantly irritate even the greatest 
 admirers of Frederick, the negotiations that were forthwith 
 entered into came to nothing. In consideration of "Winckel- 
 mann's high position as a scholar and critic, the salary of 
 five hundred thalers received by the former librarian was 
 raised to fifteen hundred ; and he was made to understand 
 that the amount might be raised to two thousand. He 
 very naturally asked the latter sum. Thereupon Frederick 
 announced that the income would be a thousand thalers. 
 "Winckelmann of course regarded this as an indignity, and 
 refused to have anything more to say to the proposal. 
 Writing to the friend M'ho had communicated with him 
 on the subject, he recalled the story of the singer of whom
 
 224 FOURTH RESIDENCE L\ BERL/X. 
 
 Frederick liad said tliat tlie ])ay lie demanded was that of 
 a general, and who had replied, " Ebben' ! faccia canlaro 
 il suo generale ! " This answer was adopted by Wiuckel- 
 mann as a])i>ropriate to his own case.^ 
 
 Lessing's friends now thought there would be greater 
 hope of success than before. The courtier who had for- 
 lui-rly urged his claims ventured, therefore, once more to 
 remind Frederick of him, insisting that he was one of the 
 most learned men in Europe, and that they would in vain 
 seek in oiher countries for so good a librarian. Frederick 
 was annoyed by this persistence, denounced German 
 scholars as pedants, praised the French as vastly their 
 superiors, and announced his intention of finding in France 
 the man he wanted. He had no reason to congratulate 
 himself on the result of his obstinacy. Having read a 
 learned work by Fernety, and being much pleased with 
 it, he asked a high official of this name in his service 
 whether the scholar was a relative of his. The answer 
 was that they were brothers. Through the official, there- 
 fore, an offer of the librarianship was made to his brother, 
 who lost no time in signifying his assent. Only Jifter he 
 was installed did the King discover that the real Pemety 
 was not a brother but a cousin of the person he had con- 
 sulted. The new librarian was a man of so weak a cha- 
 racter that after sixteen years' service he fled in terror 
 from Berlin, having been convinced by a fanatical preacher 
 that the end of the world was at hand, and that the vials 
 of Divine wrath would first be poured out on Brandeu- 
 burg.2 
 
 On the pedestal of Itauch's great staliie of Frederick, 
 Lessing has a place among the King's illustrious coutem- 
 jioraries — beneath the horse's tail, it is true, but fitill'lie is 
 there. And with a true instinct the (lerman nation has 
 fastened upon Lessing as the one contem})(>rary of l-'retlerick 
 who stood on tlie same level with him, and wrouglit with 
 eiiually splendid force in the great task of amusing (Germany 
 
 » SuLr, i. p. 26a. * hitiilir, i. p. 264.
 
 FOURTH RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 225 
 
 to new energy. Yet ^lien an opportunity offered of serving 
 the man whose name was to be so intimately associated 
 with his OA\Ti, Frederick coldly passed on, ignorant of the 
 brilliant chance destiny had thrown in his way. He has 
 been mnch blamed for this mistake, and generally for his 
 complete indifference to the rising tide of intellectual life 
 that surrounded him. It is, however, only fair to remember 
 that in the days of Frederick's youth there was no real 
 modern literature in Germany, and that he could hardly be 
 expected, amid the pressure of later duties, to change his 
 habits, and give minute attention to the hterary progress of 
 his countrymen. We may perhaps add that, although it 
 would have been fortunate for Lessing had he obtained the 
 settled position he wished, it was not, on the whole, unfor- 
 tunate that Frederick neglected German literature. His 
 influence could only have tended to keep it in strict 
 subjection to France. Left to itself, it took a natural 
 direction, and became a completely independent product. 
 
 "What with additional aid given to his family, and 
 the expenses attending his change of life, Lessing found 
 liimseK under the necessity of once more 'WTiting for 
 money. While in Breslau he had persuaded himself that 
 he would have no great difficulty in resuming this kind of 
 employment. In reality, however, it wonied liim more 
 than ever to be compelled to work whether he felt inclined 
 or not. His brother Karl, who entered at this time upon 
 a literary career in Berlin, has drawn a vivid picture of 
 the manner in which a day would pass, pointing out that 
 while he had in Breslau many outward liindrances, he 
 now found them in the nature of his occupations and in his 
 own free disposition. 
 
 " AVhen, in the best mood for work," he says, evidently 
 thinking of the experiences of a particular day, but one 
 typical of many others, " he walked up and down, the title 
 of a book would attract his attention. He looks into it, 
 finds a thought there which has no relation whatever to 
 the subject of his meditation, but which is so splendid, 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 FO UR Til RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 so excellent, that he must really make a note of it ; and in 
 doing so he caTinot pass Ly his own thoughts in sih^nco. 
 These point to something else, which he will have imme- 
 diately to investigate if he will not run the risk of losing 
 it wlion he wants it. \\niat a new discovery! What a 
 l)oautiful explanation! Now the matter has a quite dif- 
 ferent aspect! Tlie printer's boy, however, knocks and 
 demands manuscript. Yes, that is ready; he has only 
 once more to glance through it, and in order to do so he 
 liad set to work that day very early. But he had risen 
 from his work, and his rising had given him material for a 
 new hook ; the manuscript, the printing of which was going 
 on, had, therefore, not been glanced through. The boy 
 comes again, as directed ; and driven by necessity, he has 
 been able to collect his thoughts. He himself sees it 
 will l)e out of his power, but he will not put his foot 
 out of the room until the manuscript is ready ! Good God ! 
 About evening the atmosphere of the room oppresses his 
 whole soul; he must have some fresh air. He will go 
 only for one hour to a friend ! The friend talks to him 
 of an interesting matter, and they get into conversation. 
 He returns home in good time, but for that day his 
 manuscript is forgotten. He sits up, however, till twelve 
 o'clock. His friend's opinion has nmcli that is attractive ; 
 it must, however, be corrected by a certain circumstance. 
 If the latter is not beyond doubt, then the opinion is 
 beautiful appearance without reality. He goes to bed, 
 rises, is not cheerful, and would rather do anything than ■ 
 sit and read through his own work, which does not at all 
 please him. ' Brother,' he at la.st says, ' authorship is tho 
 most abominable, the dullest employment. Take warning 
 by me!' He is again on the right track, but for how 
 long ? He has only to look up, and his books play him 
 a new trick. If only he had no books !" 
 
 He was distracted by fonning all sorts of plans. "At 
 one time he would go away from Berlin, for every place 
 afforded that by which he thought of living; now he
 
 FOURTH RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 227 
 
 ■would go to Dresden, again to t]io country in order to work 
 for sonic years at comedies alone, afterwards getting them 
 represented Ly a troupe of his own, with which he would 
 go about from place to place. Then the looseness of this 
 kind of life would occur to him." 
 
 The " Literary Letters " had gone on during liis absence, 
 although with gi'eatly diminished power and splendour. 
 A few weeks after his return Lessing wrote the last, as six 
 years before he had written the first, of the series. Tliis 
 concluding article is a review of a book by a Herr 
 Meinhard on " The character and the works of the best 
 Italian poets ; " and it is one of the most genial he ever 
 wrote. Meinhard seems to have been a man after Lessing's 
 own heart, thoughtful, unaffected, thorough in his work, 
 and master of a clear and manly style. He had charac- 
 terised as the leading quaUties of Italian poetry " vividness 
 of imagination and wealth of images." Lessing points out 
 that the Germans had also produced a crowd of descriptive 
 poets ; " but," he adds ^ — and readers of " Laokoon " will 
 at once perceive in the remark the influence of the prin- 
 ciples unfolded in that work — " I fear very much that they 
 wiU compare with the descriptive poets of Italy only as 
 the Dutch with the Eoman School. We have been too 
 partial to pictures of lifeless nature ; we succeed in scenes 
 of sheep and shepherds ; our comic epics have many good 
 Bambocciade ; but where are our poetic Eaphaels, our 
 painters of the soul ? " 
 
 In pointing out the poverty of poetic invention in the 
 age of the Medici, despite the encouragement given to 
 genius by that house, Meinhard protested against the 
 common notion that the brilliance of a literary epoch 
 depends upon the amount of patronage received by writers 
 from "the great." "Lilce a rushing torrent," he said, 
 " true genius works, a way for itself through the greatest 
 hindrances : " a general principle which he illustrated by 
 the case of Shakespeare. A patron, he maintained, id 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 266.
 
 228 FOURTH RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 
 
 positively injurious to poets " unless he himself possesscn 
 tlie true, the jip'oat taste in the arts." Eacinc, for instance, 
 was prevented from displaying his power at its hest by the 
 necessity of winning the approval of " an efieminate court." 
 Moreover, when princes encourage literature, multitudes 
 of men who have no real poetic impulse are sure to begin. 
 to wiite ; and these, in order to seem original, adopt all 
 manner of affectations, so that the public taste is inevit- 
 ably vitiated in the long-run. These principles met with 
 Lessing's hearty approval ; and in calling attention to 
 them he hopes they may silence " those who complain 
 often and bitterly of the want of support, and in tlie tone 
 of true flatterers so exaggerate the influence of the great 
 upon the arts that their selfish object is only too plain." ^ 
 Lessing was one of the first in Germany to understand that 
 the true and most effectual patronage of literatm-e must 
 come from a free and highly instructed community. 
 
 The works which chiefiy occupied his attention at this 
 time were " ]\Iinna von Barnhelm " and " Laokoon." The 
 former he submitted scene by scene to Eamler, all of whose 
 suggestions, with the exception of two or three, he adopted. 
 On the subject of the latter he had many conversations 
 with Mendelsohn, for whose powers of philosophical specu- 
 lation he continued to have tlie highest respect. Although 
 the most original thinker of his time, Lessing was not one 
 of those "who shut then^selves up within the narrow circle 
 of their own ideas. In the contact of mind witli mind he 
 found to the last one of his chief pleasures, and the best 
 means of preserving his intellectual fervour and freshness. 
 
 He maintained, however, absolute independence, and 
 would not even associate himself with his friends in an 
 enterprise which they now began, and which became better 
 known than any otlier literary undertaking of the kind 
 published in Germany in the eighteenth century. This 
 was the "General German Lil)rary" ("Die Allgemeino 
 Deutsche Bibliothek "), of which Nicolai was the editor 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 263.
 
 FOURTH RESIDENCE IN BERLIN. 229 
 
 and ]nililislicr, aiid for wliieli ho obtained contriljutions 
 from many of the best writers in the country. It was 
 essentially critical ; and Nicolai's aim was to make it an 
 organ of common sense aj^plied to every department of 
 thought, but especially to literature, art, and theology. It 
 long remained a powerful influence, giving to the ideas of 
 the " enlightened " philosophers the most popular forms of 
 which they were capable. It ultimately became shallow, 
 intolerant, and pretentious, but in its early days it met, not 
 altogether inadequately, a true need of the community. 
 Kicolai often urged Lessing to write for it; and he had 
 been so long famous as the chief of the Berlin critics, that 
 it was generally believed he was the principal contributor. 
 Henceforth, however, he stood aloof from all other workers, 
 going on his own way alone,
 
 ( 230 ) 
 
 CI I AFTER XI. 
 
 "MINNA VON B A R N II E L M." 
 
 Lessing did not deceive himself wlieii, in writing to 
 Eamler, lie indicated his helief that "Minna von Barn- 
 helm ; or, The Soldier's Tortune " (" Minna von Larnhelm, 
 Oder Das Soldatcngliick "), would surpass all liis previous 
 dramatic ^vTitings. From the Lest of these it is separated 
 by a wide gulf. It displays a vividness of conception, a 
 delicacy of touch, a mastery of the resources of dramatic 
 art, for which we should look in vain in "Miss Sara 
 Sampson " or his earher comedies. And there is no longer 
 any trace of foreign influence. It is true that " Minna " was 
 VTitten under the impulse communicated by Diderot ; but 
 tliis impulse, it need hardly be said, did not reveal itself in 
 imitation of the Frenchman's ideas or style, AVliat Diderot 
 did for Lessing was this : he helped him to look within for 
 the sources of inspiration, deepened his assurance that he 
 would be most eflective by being perfectly true to himself. 
 It is said that the play was suggested by an incident 
 which occurred in an inn at Breslau during Lcssing's resi- 
 dence there. I During the Seven Years' War, Tellheim, a 
 '^ major in a I'russlan regiment of Free Lances, is stationed 
 for a time in a district of Saxony, and receives orders to 
 levy from the inhabitants a large contribution. Tliey are 
 unable to raise the whole sum, and Telllicini, ]titying their 
 distress, advances the sum by which they aie deficient, 
 receiving from the local authorities bills to be paid through 
 the Prussian war treasury after the conclusidii of jieace. 
 Minna von IJarnhelm, a young lady of the neighbourhood,-
 
 ''MINNA VON BARNHELM:' 231 
 
 resiiUng on the estates of tlie Connt von Bruclisall, her 
 uncle, whose heiress she is, hears of this splendid deed, is 
 struck Avith admiration, and gladly goes to the first social 
 gathering at which Tellheim is to he present. Acquaintance 
 soon lipens into passion, and although their countries are 
 at war, they exchange the rings of Ijeirothed lovers. 
 
 The war at an end, Tellheim is discharged, and his affairs 
 fall into confusion. He presents the bills at the war treasury 
 in Berlin, hut, to his astonishment and horror, not only are 
 they not honoured, he is laughed at when he asserts that 
 they represent money he has actually paid. He is accused 
 of having obtained them as a reward for receiving from the 
 Saxon authorities the very smallest sum with which his 
 superiors would be satisfied. Bitterly resenting the wrong 
 inflicted upon him, he decides, although his love is undi- 
 minished, that his honour will not allow him again to see 
 Minna until his reputation is cleared. He remains moodily 
 at an inn in Berlin, attended by Just, the only servant he 
 can now keep. 
 
 Minna, who loves Tellheim with her whole soul, is per- 
 plexed by his silence. Never doubting his loyalty, she 
 concludes that he must be in trouble, and, at last deter- 
 mines to go in search of him. Accompanied, by her uncle 
 and. Franciska, her maid, she accordingly starts for Berlin. 
 Within a day's journey of that city their carriage breaks 
 down. The uncle remains behind to see it put right, but 
 Minna and Franciska go on, alighting, as it happens, at 
 the inn in which Telllieim is residing. As he has been 
 unable for some time to pay the landlord, the latter, taking 
 advantage of his temporary absence, gives his room to the 
 young lady, setting apart an inferior one for his use. The 
 action begins., on the morning after IMinna's arrival, these 
 details being incidentally brought out in the course of the 
 play. 
 
 Tellheim has in his desk a sum of money committed to 
 him by Werner, his old sergeant. The landlord discovers 
 tliis, and imagining it belongs to Tellheim, tries anxiously-
 
 232 ".i//.\'.\v/ VOX barxhelm:' 
 
 to conciliate him for liavinu; tuniod him out of his room. 
 He is incliL,Miant at the insult, however, and ordcra Just, his 
 servant, to lind accommodation innnediatcly in some other 
 inn, being confirmed in his resolution by a message of 
 aixdogy brought to him by a servant of the lady who has 
 displaced him. lie urges Just to make ha.ste, stating 
 that he will await him in the neighbouring coflee-house. 
 Brought to the utmost straits, he is compelled before going 
 to give Just his ring of betrothal, Avith directions that he is 
 to pawn it. Just, who is enraged at the treatment his 
 master has received, pawns the ring— a very costly one — 
 with the landlord, wishing to amioy him by this unex- 
 pected display of wealth. 
 
 The landlord, who goes to make necessary inquiries as 
 to the name of the new inmate of his house and her busi- 
 ness in Ijerlin, asks her if she understands about rings, 
 and produces the one he has received from Just. IMinna 
 instantly recognises it, overwhelms him with excited 
 questions, and sends him for Telllieim's servant. The latter 
 is sullen and suspicious ; but the landlord offers to bring 
 Telllieim himself, who comes without knowing who it is 
 that has asked for him. His first inqnilse is to embrace 
 ;Minna with piissionate fervour, but he remembers, draws 
 back, and soiTowfully tells her that their engagement is at 
 an end. Finding out that he still loves her, she speaks 
 to him with all her former tenderness. ]Ie is deejdy 
 moved, but holds to his resolution, and at last Ilies from 
 the rot)m. 
 
 ]\Iinna soon receives from Tellheim a long letter setting 
 forth the circumstances which must for ever separate them. 
 This only intensifies her love and admiration, lleturning 
 the letter through Franciska, witli the prett-nce tliat she 
 has not read it, she invites him to accompany lur on a drive 
 in the afternoon. AVlien he comes, for the iuuimisc not of 
 accepting her invitation but of making final e.\]»laiia(ion.s, 
 she i»layfully makes light of his objections; but he is 
 deeply serious, and, full of bitterness at the wrongs he has-r
 
 "MINNA VON BARXHELMr 233 
 
 to ciulurc, declares that they must say farewell. Seeing,' 
 tliat she will never overcoTiie him by reasollin;,^ Minna lias 
 recourse to womanly stratagem. She allects to be oll'ended, 
 thrusts his ring, ^vllich she has taken from the landlord, 
 into his hand as if she were returning her own, and liint- 
 ing at some terriljle misf(jrtune, escapes into her bedroom. 
 Franciska, who takes part throughout in tlie development 
 of her mistress's schemes, then tells him that :Minna has 
 concealed the truth from him ; that she has lied from her 
 home rather than marry as her uncle desires; that for his 
 sake she is disinherited and ruined. 
 
 In an instant all Tellheim's scruples are forgotten ; he 
 thinks now only of his love. Going to Werner, whose 
 help, offered under all kinds of ingenious pretexts, he has 
 hitherto declined, he asks for a large loan, thereby de- 
 lighting the heart of the old soldier. Minna is overjoyed 
 at her complete triumph, but resolves, now that her lover 
 is her own, to tantalise him a little. He has not recog- 
 nised his ring, and wishes her to take it back. She, how- 
 ever, coldly refuses, pointing out that she has another on 
 her finger not less valuable ; afterwards, in broken tones, 
 protesting that she cannot consent to add to his sorrows. 
 While they converse, a letter is brought from the King, 
 stating that he has investigated Tellheim's claims and 
 found them just, and inviting him, in complimentary 
 terms, to continue in the ser\-ice. All difficulties are now 
 removed ; but Minna still affects to hold out. She obsti- 
 nately declines the ring, and informs Tellheim that she will 
 not hinder him in the great career which is evidently be- 
 fore him. At this point Just comes in, and wliispers to 
 his master what he has done with the ring, and that the 
 landlord asserts it is in the possession of the lady. New 
 light seems to burst upon Tellheim. Minna has all along 
 wished to break with him ! That is why, having his ring, 
 she will not take back her own ! He is so overwhelmed 
 that when Werner enters "svith the money he had asked, 
 he sharply tells him it is not wanted; whereupon Werner -*r
 
 2 34 "M/XX.t ]'0X nARNHELM:' 
 
 throws it, in momentary nnj^'cr, at liis feet, ^fimia is in 
 vain tryin;4 to ex])lain, ^vhen her uncle's carriage (hives up 
 to the (h)or. Telllieim, Avho is still under the impression 
 that the Count von Ihnichsall is now her enemy, remem- 
 bers only that she needs protection, and drawing her 
 towards him bids her be fearless. She then smilingly 
 dispels all illusions, and taking the ring from him, jiuts it 
 on his finger. " Now," she asks, " is all right?'' "Where 
 am I ?" replies Telllieim, kissing her brow. " Oh, you mis- 
 chievous angel, to torment me so!" Her uncle cordially 
 greets him. " I am not," says the Count, pointing to Tell- 
 heim's uniform, " partial to officers of this colour ; l)ut you 
 are an honourable man, Telllieim ; and an honourable man 
 may appear in what garb he pleases, one must love him." 
 Uncle and niece going into another room, Tellheim remains 
 to say a kind word to "Werner, exclaiming, as he follows 
 his betrothed, " I should like to see any one who has a 
 better maid or more honest friend than I." As the cur- 
 tain falls, Franciska and AVerner, wlio have been gradu- 
 ally a]>proaching each other during the play, resolve to 
 follow the example of their superiors, the former going 
 directly to the point by asking the latter "whether he 
 does not want a Frau Wachtmeisterin ?" "Now," shouts 
 Werner, " I have at least as good a maid and as honest a 
 friend as you !" ( 
 
 It would be impossible for a dramatic work to stand in 
 closer relation than " Minna " to the epoch of its author ; 
 it is steeped in the hues of the time in which it was 
 written. Frederick the Great, with the honours of the 
 Seven Years' War still fresh upon him, was the subject of 
 all men's thoughts ; and throughout the gi-caler ]tart of the 
 j)lay he stands in the backgi-ound as the jiowcr witli which 
 rests the decision of the hero's hapjiiness or misery. 
 Tidlhcim's fortunes constantly lead us back to the recently 
 closed struggle, and we are everywhere rcmindcil of the 
 state of feeling it left behind it in the minds botli of 
 I'liissiana and Sa.\on.3. Yet tlie play is almost of as fresh
 
 ''MINNA VON DARNIIELMr 235 
 
 interest now as when it first appeared, and may he read 
 or listened to with hardly less pleasure hy Enghshnieu 
 than l.y Germans. The reason is that Lessing does not 
 confine himself to the mere manners of his time and 
 country ; he penetrates to qualities which are common to all 
 the modern and cidtivated lands of Europe. It would be 
 easy to mention German plays which touch life at deeper 
 points, and which are grander and more imaginative ; hut 
 there is not one whose characters are more exactly defined, 
 A range of hills in the bright atmosphere and against the 
 clear sky of the Levant could not stand forth in bolder or 
 more distinct outUnes. 
 
 The whole interest of the play centres in Tcllhcnm, and 
 the conception is one which Lessing evidently worked out 
 ■with elaborate care. It would be a complete mistake to 
 suppose that he is intended to represent an ideal or perfect 
 character. His respect for what he calls his honom- often 
 verges on the absurd, for his honour in any true sense of 
 the term is not in the smallest degree injured. He has 
 been guilty of no wa-ong ; he is incapable of a mean act ; 
 he is merely misunderstood. And although it would be 
 affectation in any one to deny tliat he feels keenly an un- 
 just charge, yet a man of the very highest type of manli- 
 ness would not allow such an accusation to crush him to 
 the earth. Much less would he allow it to stand between 
 his enduring happiness and that of one who is dearer to 
 him than himself. He would call to mind that a human 
 spirit is degraded only by its own act, and after doing 
 everything in his power to clear his reputation, await the 
 result in proud silence. Tellheim, however, is so overcome 
 by the injustice done to him that his judgments of men and 
 thing-s are utterly warped, the deepest sources of his feeling 
 poisoned. But in spite of this weakness, how admirable 
 a character he is ! Absolutely fearless, he is tender and 
 spupathetic towards weakness and misery ; and there are no 
 limits to his power of self-sacrifice. Even his " honour " 
 gives way when ^Minna appeals to a higher principle. She
 
 235 "A//XX.I VON BARNHEUry 
 
 has sufrered for his sake ; that is enough ; he will throw 
 re]mluti(iu to tlie winds, accept his humiliation, and, 
 allhuugh with a sad licart, unite liimself for ever to one 
 who has been so true to him. Of all his noble qualities he 
 himself seems to be utterly unconscious ; he acts greatly, 
 as a tree Idossoms and as the sun shines. A man of this 
 kind may provoke us by his temporary sacrifice of reality 
 for appearance; but in the end he commands both our 
 respect and love. 
 
 Occasionally we detect in his words the best notes of the 
 eighteenth century. What fine humanity, for instance, 
 there is in his reference to the profession in which he him- 
 self has gained high distinction ! " I became a soldier," he 
 tells ]\linna, after receiving the King's letter, " from par- 
 tisansliip, I myself know not for what political principles, 
 and from the fancy that it is good for every honourable 
 man to try liimself for a time in this position, in order to 
 make himself familiar with everything called danger, and 
 to learn coolness and decision. Only the most extreme 
 necessity could have compelled me to make of this experi- 
 ment a calling, of this temporary occupation a profession." 
 The war being over, and he himself discharged, his sole 
 ambition is to be once more " a peaceful and contented 
 man."^ lie is equally in harmony with the central 
 cun-ents of the time in his allusion to " the great." 
 "How did it happen," asks Minna, "that they did not 
 retain a man of your merits ? " " It could not be otlier- 
 wise," Tellheim answers.^ "The great have convinced 
 themselves that a soldier does very little for them from 
 inclination, not much more from a sense of duty, but 
 everything for his own honour. What, then, can they 
 think they owe liim? I'eace has enabled them to dis- 
 pense with several like me; and in tlie last resort no 
 single person is indispensable to them." "You speak," 
 repUes Minna, " as a man must speak who can very easily 
 dispen.se witli tlie great!" 
 
 1 Act V. 8c. 9. - Act iv. 80. 6.
 
 « MINNA VON BARNHELMr 237 
 
 Ticck has suggested that Lessing derived his idea of 
 Telllieiin from ]\Iaiily in Wychcrley's "Phiin Dealer:" surely 
 the most astouishing blunder ever committed by a literary 
 critic, since there could not he a more profound contrast 
 than that which exists between the noble delicacy of Tell- 
 heim and the unutterable coarseness of Wychcrley's brutal 
 hero. The comparison of Tellheim with Diderot's Dorval 
 is hardly more happy ; and tire theory that Lessing meant 
 to portray his own character will not stand the least ex- 
 amination. Few distinguished men have ever shown them- 
 selves more independent of the world's opinion tlian Less- 
 ing ; and besides, humour was a vein that struck deeply 
 into his nature, whereas the lack of humour is Tellheim's 
 grand deficiency. Had he possessed a sense of humour, 
 his sense of honour would have been a less oppressive 
 quality ; it would have been more sternly under control. 
 The character cannot have been meant as an exact portrait 
 of any one ; but if it was suggested by a single person, 
 the original was undoubtedly Lessing's most intimate 
 friend, Kleist. It is certain that he had the characteristic 
 virtues of Tellheim in a very marked degree ; and being 
 an officer in the Prussian army, and therefore subject to 
 similar influences, it is not impossible that he may also 
 have had Tellheim's exaggerated ideas of honour. Nothing 
 was more natural than that Lessing should desire to per- 
 petuate in this way the memory of a man he had so dearly 
 loved. 
 
 It has often been asserted that Lessing failed to repre- 
 sent the charm of womanly qualities ; but in tlie whole 
 range of German dramatic literature there are few more 
 delightful feminine characters than Minna. Without a 
 touch of sentimentalism, she has deepleeling; she is 
 neither shy nor forward, but simple, unaffected, never 
 misunderstanding others, and assuming that others will 
 not misunderstand her. Her good sense enables her to 
 go at once to the heart of any difficulty that presents 
 itself, and she has the playfulness of those happy, sunny
 
 23S "Af/XXA VON BARNHELMr 
 
 natures tliat see good in everything, and whom years do 
 not really make old. Some critics have been oftended by 
 the idea of her going in search of her lover ; but tliere is 
 nothing unwomanly in her doing so, for she has absolute 
 confidence in Tellheim, and knows that he will not mis- 
 judge her. As for the rest of the world, she goes accom- 
 panied by her uncle, and it is not to be supposed that 
 the real object of her journey is proclaimed on the house- 
 tops. 
 
 A slight touch brings out the fact that her joyous dispo- 
 sition is not incompatible wdth unaffected piety. When 
 she has discovered that Tellheim is at hand, and the first 
 rush of ecstatic delight has subsided, she finds herself 
 alone for a moment. " Am I alone ? " she says. " I will 
 not be alone in vain." And folding her hands and glancing 
 upwards, she exclaims : " I am not alone. A single thankful 
 glance towards heaven is the most perfect prayer. I have 
 liim, I have him ! I am happy, and cheerful ! "What would 
 the Creator rather see than a cheerful creature ? " ^ And 
 she is as thoughtful as she is good. " Girl," she says to 
 Tranciska, "you understand good men excellently, but 
 when will you learn to tolerate the bad ? They also are 
 still men. And often not nearly such bad men as they 
 seem. One must seek out their good side." ^ 
 
 Exanciska has nothing in common with the Lisette of 
 the early coinedies. She has geimine life, and attracts us 
 by her vivacity and humour. She is treated as a friend 
 rather than as a servant; and this is rendered j)crfectly 
 natural by the fact tb.at she is the daughter of a miller on 
 the estates of Minna's uncle, and has been brought up from 
 childhood with her young mistress. Werner is an excellent 
 tyije of the best kind of soldier produced in such a time 
 as that of the Seven Years' War. Hough in imninrv, ho 
 lias a true, kind heart, and is never so hap])y as when per- 
 mitted to do some service to his late superior ollicer. The 
 one thing he detests is a regular, peaceful life ; he is really 
 
 1 Act ii. sc. 7. ' ^^ct iv. sc. 3.
 
 "MINNA VON BARNHELM:' 239 
 
 at lioiuc only when each inoniing brings Avith it a chance 
 of fresh adventure. The sole question he asks Franciska 
 when she ofl'ers to become his wife is whether slie will 
 accompany him to Persia, whither he is resolved to go, as 
 he has a vague impression that wars are going on there. 
 She has no ol:>jcction ; and in ten years, he tells her, with 
 much exultation, she will be either a general's wife or a 
 widow. 
 
 The landlord is evidently taken directly from life. 
 His bustling self-consequence, inquisitiveness, time-serv- 
 ing, and mean worship of money, are portrayed with a 
 light but masterly touch. Just, Tellheim's servant, is 
 also vigorously conceived. Although coarse and unlovely, 
 his bad qualities are redeemed by his doglike fidelity to 
 his master. The epithet doglike is suggested by himself, 
 for when Tellheim dismisses him, and he entreats to be 
 allowed to remain, this is how he argues:^ "Make me out 
 as bad as you will ; I will not on that account think worse 
 of myself than of my dog. Last winter I went in the 
 evening to the canal, and heard something whine. I 
 went down, caught at the voice, fancying I should save 
 a child, and dragged a poodle out of the water. Good, 
 however! thought I. The poodle came after me, but I 
 was no lover of poodles. I drove him off — in vain; I 
 beat him from me — in vain. At night I did not allow 
 him into my room ; he remained at the threshold. When 
 he came near me, I kicked him ; he yelped, looked at 
 me, and wagged his tail. A bit of bread he has never 
 received from my hand ; and yet I am the only person 
 he obeys and who dares touch him. He springs before 
 me, and docs his tricks before me unbidden. He is an 
 ugly poodle, but really a good dog. If he goes on much 
 longer, I shall cease to dislike the poodle." 
 
 After this Just is of course forgiven. It is a happy 
 stroke that soon afterwards, when Tellheim leaves the inn 
 in a state of irritation at the landlord and despau" at his 
 
 ^ Act i. 8C. 3.
 
 240 «M//X\V/ VOX BARNHEUrr 
 
 own misfortunes, he returns and exclaims : " One tiling 
 more, take your poodle with yoii. Just." 
 
 One character, incidentally introduced, has not yet been 
 named, yet he is one of the most famous in the play, and 
 gives occasion to a scene of admirahlc humour. This is 
 liiccaut de la Marliniore, a Frenchman Avho has been in 
 Frederick's service, but now makes a living as a " sharper." 
 His broken German, varied by occasional outbursts of 
 French, is highly comic ; and by a few bold strokes we 
 are presented with a vivid picture of his conceit, un- 
 scrupulousness, and audacity. The messenger entrusted 
 with the King's letter has asked him whether he knows 
 Tellheim's address. Armed with this hint, he comes to 
 announce the good news to Tellheim. Finding Minna 
 in the room, he talks largely of his friend the ^Minister 
 of the War Department, and so delights her by his 
 intelligence that he easily works upon her feelings, and 
 induces her to ask him as a favour to accept money from 
 her. His roguery affords an excellent foil to her simple 
 confidence in human virtue : a confidence by no means 
 shared by Franciska, who mercilessly mimics him after 
 his departure. One little passage in the amusing dialogue 
 may be taken as evidence of the growing sense of inde- 
 pendence which was diffusing itself through German 
 society. " Your ladyship speaks French ? " ^ asks Eiccaut. 
 "Sir," replies Minna, "in France I should try to speak it. 
 liut why here ? I perceive you understand me, sir ; and 
 I shall certainly understand you. Speak, sir, as it pleases 
 you." 2 
 
 The interest of the play is intensely concentrated, for 
 we never pass beyond two rooms of the inn, the public 
 room and Minna's apartment ; and the action is concluded 
 on the afternoon of the day on which it oi)ens. Yet there 
 is nothing forced in the behaviour of the various cha- 
 racters. From the rising of the curlain in the first act 
 to its fall in the iiftli, not an intention is formed, not a 
 
 * " Nit 7 Sio spreck nit Franzosuch, Ihro Gnad 7 " » Act iv. bc. 2.
 
 ''MINNA VON BARNHELM." 241 
 
 wish cherished, which we do not recognise as consistent 
 and necessary; and the language of the dialogue, although 
 more kuen, swift, and vivid than that of ordinary life, is 
 essentially the language of nature, appropriate to the 
 persons by whom and the circumstances amid which it 
 is spoken. Nothing depends npon mere accident. The 
 prol)lems of the play have their root in the impulses and 
 sympathies of the characters, and in these also find 
 their solution. The progress is from within outwards ; 
 the changes are those of a flower slowly expanding its 
 petals to the dew and sunshine. Even the King's letter 
 does not come upon us as a surprise. From the outset we 
 are aware tliat Tellheim labours under a false accusation ; 
 and as we know that the issue depends upon tlie judgment 
 of a just sovereign, we are prepared for a favourable result. 
 Tlie background of the play is an orderly social system, 
 and it would have been untruly mirrored had Trederick 
 been allowed to leave in disgrace an officer as distinguished 
 for his moral as his military qualities. Besides, the main 
 difficulty is not overcome by means of the royal message. 
 When it arrives, Minna has already found the secret spring 
 in Tellheim's character which moves him to her will; 
 the good news from without only makes their happiness 
 complete. 
 
 The effects of a play may be absolutely dependent upon 
 the evolution of the characters, and the characters may be 
 always true to themselves, yet the progi-ess of the action may 
 be imperfect ; each of the characters may not receive the 
 exact prominence due to it from the nature of the general 
 scheme. In this respect " ]\Iinna " Ls not quite beyond 
 criticism. Goethe has complained that in the third act the 
 movement is not sufficiently rapid; and every impartial 
 reader will agree with this judgment. At the conclusion 
 of the second act, Tellheim has Hed in despair from Minna, 
 and we eagerly anticipate the next stage in the conflict 
 which we know must result in the triumph of love. In- 
 stead of being presented with this, wc are put off with 
 
 VOL. I. <i
 
 242 *'j\//.vxA VOX barnhelm:* 
 
 scenes in wliicli Werner and Franciska are tlie leading 
 figures. As these are also to unite their fortunes, it is ri'^lit 
 tliat we sliould he made to C(inii)rehcnd tlie progress of their 
 mutual good-will ; but they are out of place in the fore- 
 ground at the very time when preparations seem to have 
 been made fur the appearance of the hero and heroine. The 
 truth seems to be, as Goethe suggests, that Lessing had 
 fallen in love with his subordinate characters, and wished 
 to hear them talk : all the more, we may su})pose, djs, they 
 were ordinary folk, belonging to a class not often seriously 
 represented. Another part of the play in which there is 
 some defect of construction is in the episode of the ring, 
 which is so far prolonged as barely to escape being tedious. 
 If, however, we except these passages, " Minna " advances 
 from stage to stage with almost perfect art. In conversa- 
 tion with Eckermann, Goethe spoke of the first two acts as 
 second only to the first two of " Tartuffe," the absolute 
 model, in his opinion, of the art of exposition.^ In both 
 these acts the mind is kept in a state of agreeable suspense ; 
 no incident is complete in itself; each has its gi'ound in 
 those which have preceded, and imperceptibly shades into 
 those which follow. In the fourth act, in which ^Minna 
 and Tellheim come to serious explanation, and the former 
 LS driven to her womanly device for winning him, there is 
 the same onward movement; and the fifth act, in which 
 his fair fame is re-established, and she gaily plays with her 
 happiness, maintains, although for rather too long a time, 
 the expectant attitude (»f the .spectator. Not until the last 
 words are spoken by Werner and Franciska is the tension 
 altogether relaxed. Occasionally a wave does not touch so 
 advanced a margin as that which has gone before it; but 
 on looking back at the close, we perceive that on the whole 
 the tide has steadily crept forwai'd until it has covered the 
 entire shore. 
 
 Goethe was of opinion that Lessing's intcnliun in writing 
 
 ' Conveniationa of Goetlio wilb Eckermauu (Oxuufurd's traoslatiou), p. 
 172 aud J). 541.
 
 " MINNA VON BARNIIEUL" 243 
 
 tlie^ play was to liclp to bring to an end the antagonism 
 of Saxony and Prussia. "The frightful tension," he says,^ 
 " between l*russia and Saxony during the war could not Ije 
 destroyed by the conclusion of the conflict. The Saxon 
 felt most painfully the wounds inflicted upon him Vjy the 
 too proud l'rus.sian. Political peace could not immediately 
 re-establish peace between their feelings. This, however, it 
 was the design of ' Minna von Pamhehn ' to effect by art. 
 The grace and amiability of the Saxon ladies subdue tlie 
 stolid character, the dignity, the obstinacy of the Prussians, 
 and both in the leading and the subordinate personages a 
 happy reconciliation of bizarre and conflicting elements is 
 artistically represented." There is no evidence that Lessing 
 had the purpose here ascribed to him ; but the actual ten- 
 dency of his play must have been to soften international 
 as2:>erities. 
 
 A question has been raised as to tlie class of dramatic 
 works to wliich " Minna von Barnhelm" belongs. Lessing 
 himself published it as a comedy ; and it includes several 
 highly comic conceptions. Tellheim, however, is in no 
 sense a comic figure. It would be possible to make his 
 extravagant sense of honour ridiculous ; but Lessing never 
 does this. We may be sorry for Tellheim, or feel provoked 
 at his obstinacy, but we cannot laugh at him ; and, if we 
 did, that would be proof that the dramatist had missed 
 Ids mark. In the strictest sense, then, "Minna" is not a 
 comedy ; nor can we class it, as some critics have done, 
 with "le genre serieux" of Diderot. That included 
 tragedy of middle-class life ; and it would be to confound 
 all distinctions to say that " Minna " and " i\Iiss Sara 
 Sampson" belong to the same category. There is no 
 particular advantage in classing the play at all It reflects 
 with true art certain aspects of life; its prevailing tone is 
 that of cheerful gaiety ; and here and there we find in it 
 genuinely comic strokes. We cannot say more than this, 
 
 ^ Wahrheit und Dichtung, pai-t ii. liook 7.
 
 244 *'.VLVyA I'OX nARMIKLM." 
 
 ami there is no urgent reason wliy we should wish to say 
 more.' 
 
 "Minna von r.arnlielm" was actcil fur the first time in 
 the autumn of 1767 in Ilamhurg, where it was somewhat 
 coMly received. In llerlin, however, where it was pre- 
 sented in March, 1768, it produced an extraordinary im- 
 pression. Ten times in succession it was called for by the 
 pulilic; and it would have been called for again l>ut for 
 the presence of some members of the royal family, in 
 whose presence etiquette compelled the audience to remain 
 silent. Soon afterwards it was again played three times 
 in succession. "To-day," wrote Anna Lt^uise Karsch,- the 
 poetess, to Gleim, her patron, on March 29, 1760, "'The 
 Soldier's Fortune' will be for the ei;.:hlh time presented; 
 and it was astonishing how the Berlin world crowded to 
 hear it yesterday. The gallery, the boxes, the pit, were 
 all full; and I had to content myself with a seat on the 
 stage, for even that was occupied at both sides : an extra- 
 ordinary addition to Herr Lessing's honour, for .before him 
 no German poet has succeeded in filling with enthusiasm 
 and tlioroughly phasing both gentle and simple, the learned 
 and the unlearned." 
 
 This unprecedented success secured immense fame for 
 " Minna." From Vienna to Danzig it became the most 
 popular ]»lay of the day ; and in private theatricals, which 
 were at this time much in fashion at the various courts 
 and universities, it was a general favourite. " You may 
 imagine," said Goethe to Eckermann,' "what an effect 
 
 1 The fjuoRtion is iliscusscil by will \>c found in the histories of 
 
 Diintzrr in li v<'ry careful o»s:iy on CIrrnian litomtnre by Vihniir, Julian 
 
 the i>liiy in liiH Kiliiutcrunson lu Scliniiilt, nnd HilK'hnuitl. Stnhr i« 
 
 •U-n (leuUchcn Klftiwikern. Ho miitn- niislcl in hix nccnunt of "Minna" 
 
 tiiins that "Minna" it a genuine by a dciiiio to fiml in it a "rcvolu- 
 
 conu-dy. The name coiicluKion is not tionary " tendency, which exists only 
 
 forth by Guhrnnorli), p. 322,in oppo- in the mind of the critic. 
 iiitionU)I)nnzel.whocliiii'.cB "Minna" ' Lessing. Wiehind, llcinso, Ac, 
 
 in I)iilerot'M " Ic genre sirieux." p. ai.V 
 
 S«'«> nlno IlicMlcrniann (ii. p. 333), who ' Conversations of Goethe, &c, p. 
 
 preiientinn excellent general estimate 541. 
 of the piny. .Su^':;esiivo criticinnis
 
 "MINNA VON BARNHEUir 245 
 
 it produced on us young people when it came out in tliat 
 (lark time. Truly it was a glittering meteor." " It was 
 this protluction," he says in his "Wahrheit und Diclitung," 
 "tliat happily revealed a higher, more important worhl 
 than the literary and domestic, in which poetry had hitherto 
 moved." 
 
 In 1 77 1 Lessing's old friend Koch opened a theatre in 
 IJerlin, giving on the first night " ^liss Sara Sampson." 
 Shortly afterwards " Minna " was produced. " To-morrow," 
 wrote IJamler at the time to a friend, "the famous 
 'Minna' will be for the hrst time presented. Lessing 
 cannot complain that we are ungrateful to his Muse. We 
 have played ']\Iinna' here twenty times in succession" 
 —meaning often — "we have engraved it, and put it 
 in the calendars; we have even painted this 'Minna' 
 upon punch-howls ! Only, it has brought him nothing : 
 that is all he can complain of." After all, not so very 
 slight a cause of complaint ! Such a success would in 
 Trance or England have gone far to make the author inde- 
 pendent fur life. 
 
 A French adaptation, entitled " Les Amans G^nereux," 
 — "adapted" until the ideas of the original were only 
 dimly traceable — was produced in Paris ; and it may be 
 taken as a fair illustration of German subserviency to 
 France that this wretched caricature of a noble work was 
 afterwards listened to with patience by a Berlin audience. 
 Englishmen were at that time profoundly ignorant of 
 Germany, but soon after Lessing's death, a Mr. Johnstone 
 heard of "]\Iiuna" in Brunswick, and set about preparing 
 a version for the Lpndon stage. " I fancy," ^ wrote this 
 gentleman, on February i, 1785, dating from Lower Gros- 
 venor Street, to Eschenburg, one of Lessing's friends, " I 
 shall make as much of Lessing's ' Minna ' as he did by the 
 whole volume that it is in. I wiU send you by the first 
 opportunity the extracts from ]\Ir. Colman's correspon- 
 
 i Zur ErinneruDg an G. E. Lessing, p. 112.
 
 =46 *M//.\'.V./ JVX n.l/^.\7/E/..]/:' 
 
 (lenoe with inc, by wliicli you will see the liij^h estiniation 
 your friend is like to be in here in England. The royal 
 family arc vastly pleased at the idea of having a German 
 play on our stage." Mv. Johnstone's work, under the 
 title of " T]ie Disbanded Ofiicer," was acted in the Ilay- 
 market Theatre, and printed in 1789. Ten years later 
 another English version ajipoared, entitled, "The School of 
 Honour ; or, The Chance of War." ^ 
 
 The imitators who dog the steps of genius did their 
 utmost to ruin the fame of "^linna" by bringing into 
 existence crowds of works in wliieh soldiers complained 
 of their wounded honour. At least one of these, " The 
 Soldiers," by Arresto, held the stage until dismissed into 
 obscurity by the vigorous criticism of lUirne." Even this 
 test "Minna" successfully stood, for at the present hour 
 there are few pieces to which Lessing's countrymen listen 
 with so much pleasure. Its brilliance was that of the 
 morning star, rather than, as Goethe thought, of a meteor; 
 but unfortunately, so far as works of this class are con- 
 cerned, it was a morning star followed in German litera- 
 ture by no dawn. 
 
 ' It lias also been translated, along the original could not find a better 
 
 with "The Freethinker" and ''The edition than that of Dr. Euchheim 
 
 Treasure," bj' J. J. Ilolroyd (1838). (Clarendon I'ress). 
 
 English readers who desire to study - Guhrauer, (i) p. 131.
 
 ( 247 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "LAOKOON." 
 
 "The first person," says Lcssing in the preface to 
 " Laokoon," ^ " who compared poetry with painting, was a 
 man of fine feeling, who perceived that both arts had a 
 similar influence upon him. Both, he felt, present absent 
 things before us as present, appearance as reality ; both 
 create illusion, and the illusion of both pleases. A second 
 person sought to penetrate to the inner nature of this 
 pleasure, and discovered that in both cases it flows from 
 one source. Beauty, the idea of which we first abstract 
 from objects, has general rules which may be applied to 
 various things: to actions and thoughts as well as to 
 forms. A third person, who reflected upon the worth and 
 the distribution of these rules, observed that some pre- 
 vailed more in painting, others more in poetry : that, there- 
 fore, in the latter case poetry may supply painting, in the 
 former painting may supply poetry, with illustrations and 
 examples. The first person was the amateur ; the second 
 the philosopher ; the third the critic." 
 
 In " Laokoon " the role of Lessing is that of the critic. 
 
 At the time he wrote it was almost a commonplace in 
 Germany that poetry and art 2 have the same sphere. The 
 saying of Simonides — "the Greek Voltaire," as Lessing 
 calls him — that " painting is mute poetry, and poetry elo- 
 
 • Sammtlicho Schriften, vi. p. 361. but here, for the sake of clearness, it 
 - There is, of course, a sense in is confined solely to painting and 
 which the term art includes poetry ; sculpture.
 
 24^ "LAOKOOXr 
 
 qucnt paintine," \\'a.s interpreted to mean that whatever 
 the one can do the other may also accomplish, and in this 
 sense was generally accepted. Nothing could be moro 
 repugnant to Lossing's keen analytic intellect. AVc have 
 already repeatedly seen that he loved in every depart- 
 ment of thought sharply to distinguish things that dilTer, 
 assigning to each its ]n-oper place and functions. Thus in 
 " Pope a Metaphysician " he marked off the limits of 
 poetry and philosophy; in his Essay on the Fable he 
 carefully separated the action with which the faljulist 
 deals from that of the epic poet and the dramatist. 
 " Why," he asked in one of the letters to Mendelssohn on 
 the nature of tragedy, " will we needlessly confound the dif- 
 ferent species of poetry, and allow the limits of one to cross 
 those of another ? " It was, therefore, almost inevitable, 
 that so soon as the relations between poetry and art occupied 
 his thoughts, he should endeavour to point out wherein they 
 are unlike ; and the impulse to do so was stimulated by the 
 evil consef|uences arising from the prevalent confusion. 
 The artist and the poet, failing to comprehend the condi- 
 tions of their respective crafts, attempted tasks beyond 
 their power. I^essing designed, by confining them within 
 the bounds drawn by nature herself, to put each on the 
 only path that in his opinion could lead to true results. 
 
 The relations of poetry and art were not discussed for 
 the first time by Lessing ; they had been examined by 
 many previous writers.^ " If," he himself says,- "Apelles 
 and Protagoras, in their lost writings on painting, conllrmed 
 and explained its laws by reference to the already estab- 
 lished laws of poetry, we may feel assured that tliey did 
 so with the moderation and precision with whicli we see 
 Aristotle, Cicero, llijrace, (juintilian apply in their Avorks 
 the theory and practice of painting to elociuence and 
 poetry. It was the privilege of the ancients to do in nothing 
 
 ' For a full niul intcrcntinj;ncconnt 12-22; iiUo lUiimnoi's o.lition of 
 of wiit.-iK wlio liail i.rcccded L<-Ksin;{ "Lnnkoon." p. 9 mid p. 173. 
 iii this licKl, iiec (Julmmcr, (i) i.j.. - «. S. vi. !>. 3O3.
 
 *'LAOKOONr 249 
 
 either too much or too little." In the sixteenth century, 
 at tlie very time when art after its long slumher wm 
 achievin,:^' triumphs ^vorthy to he placed beside those of 
 Greece, Ludovico Dolce, in his " Dialogo della pittura," 
 pointed to Ariosto as a great painter, and spoko of all true 
 poetry ns a kind of painting. The whole problem was one 
 which had occupied the thoughts of some of the most 
 active minds of the eighteenth century before it was 
 touched by Lessing. The Abbe Dubos, in his " Iicflex- 
 ions critiques sur la I'oesie et la Peinture," publislied in 
 17 19, indicated more than one line of thought which we 
 find in " Laokoon." Addison originated the idea that the 
 poets of antiquity may be best explained by reference to 
 ancient art ; and in this he was followed by Hurd in his 
 excellent commentary on Horace, and still more by Spence 
 in " PoljTuetis," a work whose main principles Lessing 
 vigorously attacks. Daniel Webb was the author of 
 various works on art, the character of which may l)e 
 gathered from the fact that he speaks of Titian as a great 
 poet and Shakespeare as a great painter. " Traitc de la 
 Peinture et de la Sculpture," a translation of " "W^orks on 
 Painting," by Jonathan Piichardson, is repeatedly cited by 
 Lessing ; and a work by Count Caylus, entitled " Tableaux 
 tir(is de I'lliade, de I'Odyssee d'Hom^re, et de I'Eneide de 
 Virgile," &c., is the occasion of some of his most suggestive 
 discussions. All these writers went on the assumption 
 that the painter and the poet have essentially the same 
 province ; and this position was also maintained by the 
 German critics Brcitinger, Bodmer, and Hagedorn. Vari- 
 ous other writers, however, to some extent anticipated 
 Lessing. Shaftesbury, in his "Xotion of the Historical 
 Draught or Tablature of the Judgment of Hercules," indi- 
 cates a broad line of distinction between poetry and 
 painting; and this was done with still greater precision 
 by James Harris in his " Dialogue concerning Art," and 
 his "Discourse concerning Music, Painting, and Poetry." 
 " Hams," said Dr. Johnson to Boswell, " is a prig, and a
 
 230 ''LAOk'OOXr 
 
 bad pvig." Perhaps ; but at any rate ho was a prig with 
 a remarkably penetrating critical judgment. An essay by 
 jMendelssohn on " The Sources of the Fine Arts " proves that 
 lie was thoroughly conversant — probably in consequence 
 of intercourse with Lessing — with the main principles 
 afterwards set forth in " Laokoon." Every one of the 
 \vriters now named was well known to Lessing ; and to 
 one of them, Dubos, he owed so much that he has been 
 severely blamed for not openly acknowledging his obliga- 
 tions. In reality, however, he took no idea either from 
 Dubos or any one else to which he did not give fresh 
 value, either by the form in which he expressed it or the 
 reasons with which he supported it. And in the more 
 important discussions on the nature of poetry he stands on 
 completely independent ground. 
 
 AVinckelmann, w^hose great "History of Ancient Art" 
 did not appear until " Laokoon " was nearly finished, had 
 in his earlier writings repeatedly referred to the relations 
 of art and poetry. It appeared to him incontestable that 
 " painting may have as wide limits as poetry, and that 
 it is consequently possible for the painter, as it is for 
 the musician, to follow the poet." On Lessing's central 
 theme, therefore, Winckelmann had little to tell him ; 
 but he was indebted to no other writer so deeply for his 
 conception of the general character of Greek art. 
 
 "Laokoon" is composed of twenty-nine sections or 
 articles, and of these he gives a characteristically unpre- 
 tending account. "They have," he says,^ "arisen acci- 
 dentally, and grown more in consequence of my reading 
 than by the methodical development of general principles. 
 They are, therefore, rather irregular collectanea for a book 
 than a book." They are cast, in accordance with Lessing's 
 usual method, in the form of a number of criticisms of 
 previous writers. lie begins with a passage from Winckel- 
 mann, which gives occasion to tlie speculations of the first 
 six sections; he then passes on to some statements by 
 Spence, tlie author of " Polymetis ; " having disposed of 
 
 ' S. S. vi. p. 36J.
 
 '' LAOKOON." 211 
 
 Spencc, lie takes up tlie opinions of Count Caylus. In 
 the course of liis discussion of tliese ■writers lie gives forth 
 his own principles. Here, therefore, as in all Lessiug's 
 prose writings, we find ourselves in the atmosphere of 
 controversy. We are not allowed to obtain possession 
 of a truth without contending for it ; we must first con- 
 front its opposite, examine that on all sides, attack it, 
 and so reach the point to which the author wishes to con- 
 duct us. 
 
 It would be a complete mistake to suppose, because the 
 materials of the book are fragmentary, that there is no 
 systematic doctrine behind them. It was publislied as 
 " Part First ; " and fortunately we possess not only the 
 original draft of this, but many notes he wrote in prepara- 
 tion for the later parts.i These not only show us that he 
 had a definite plan in his mind, but enable us to deter- 
 mine its broad outlines. " Laokoon" can be read with 
 pleasure without reference to the fragments ; but they are 
 essential to a thorough understanding of what Lessing was 
 driving at, and in the subsequent exposition and criticism 
 the more important of them will be fully taken into 
 account. It will thus be seen that if Lessing, as he long 
 hoped to do, had completed his scheme, we should have 
 had from him a tolerably complete theory : a theory not 
 the less logical, and of all the greater literary value, be- 
 cause of its unsystematic form. 
 
 The articles which make up "Laokoon" are arran<Ted 
 with considerable art. We are plunged at once into the 
 midst of his argument ; then he draws back, alternately 
 approaches and recedes from his goal, taking occasionally 
 a side glance at objects he meets on his way. We see him 
 in the very act of conquering the truths he intends to ex- 
 pound, witness his hesitancy while they are still uncertain, 
 share his pleasure as they burst upon him in their full sig- 
 nificance. Whether, therefore, the doctrines of " Laokoon " 
 are finally accepted or not, it will always be considered a 
 
 ^ These fragments linve been carefully arr.inged in Ilcmpel's edition of 
 Lessing's Woiks.
 
 252 "LAOKOON." 
 
 iloliLrlitful work. If wc except tlie best of Plato's dialogues, 
 it would be diflicult to name any book which ^dves oppor- 
 tunity for so much of the most valuable kind of mental 
 gymnastic. 
 
 Although the Laokoon group gives tlie book its title, 
 it plays a subordinate part in the scheme. In the 
 " Dramaturgie " Lcssing repeatedly insists that the title of 
 a work need not convey an adequate idea of its contents ; 
 it is enough, lie says, if it sufficiently distinguishes it from 
 otlier works. In " Laokoon " he liimself acts on this 
 principle. The group is, it is true, the starting-point of 
 his speculations ; and several of the laws we shall have to 
 examine are laid down in the course of the incpiiry it 
 suggests. But in the greater part of the book — and the 
 more important part — he altogether loses sight of it. 
 
 In style "Laokoon" ranks among the higliest of Less- 
 ing's achievements. The sentences are less brisk and ani- 
 mated than in his purely polemical writings ; but this 
 is amply made up for by increased fulness of meaning 
 Even in the most complicated parts of the discussion he 
 never allows himself to be betrayed into confused state- 
 ment : he is simple, direct, and forcible. Every word is 
 rejected that would tend to obscure his conceptions; and 
 the terms he prefers are as far as possible those in every- 
 day use, although he applies them with a precision un- 
 known and unnecessary in ordinary speech. Here, as 
 elsewhere, Lessing always prefers the most concrete ex- 
 pressions he can select. If his metaphors arc not exactly 
 poetical, they are vivid and illuminating, making plain even 
 to indolent readers ideas of which more abstract writers con- 
 vey only a dim impression. 
 
 The learning of the M-ork is immense. With tlie writers 
 of antiquity especially Lessing reveals a familiarity that 
 could have sprung only from the patient and enthusiastic 
 study of many years. Yet there is nothing like disjilay of 
 scholarship. llis allusions and citations of authorities 
 arise naturally in the course of his argument; ami so richly 
 is his mind furnished, that lie appears to forget that all the
 
 "LAOKOON." 253 
 
 \vnrlil has not passed over as wide a range asliinisolf. As 
 regards the sul)jeets of his investigation, poetry and art, no 
 one can even ghance over liis pages without seeing tliat lie 
 speaks of tlie former with the authority of a profound and 
 aceui'atc student. Homer and Soplioldes are the poets wlio 
 supi)ly Idni witli his most fruitful illustrations; and l;oth 
 he know more intimately than any other scholar of his 
 day. His knowledge of art Avas unfortunately very much 
 less comj)lete ; and his references to it lack tlie fieshness 
 which marks his assertions respecting poetry. At the time 
 of writing he had enjoyed few opportunities of directly 
 studying art, having seen only the collections at Dresden, 
 and several others of minor importance during his journey 
 to Holland ■\;\'itli "Winkler. For the rest, he had to content 
 himself with engravings and the descriptions of art his- 
 torians and critics. It is, indeed, doubtful whether he 
 always availed himself of such opportunities of direct 
 study as he possessed, for after he had left Breslau we find 
 him expressing regret that he had not more diligently exa- 
 mined the art treasures of that town. His knowledge of 
 Laokoon he seems to have derived solely from engravings, 
 and from a plaster cast of tlie head of the central figure. 
 
 II. 
 
 It would he useless to try to follow the exact order in 
 which Lessing sets forth his ideas. We could not thus 
 obtain an impression of his freedom of movement, of the 
 interest with which he invests jjarticular questions that 
 start up in liis path ; and there would necessarily be a good 
 deal of repetition, since his unsystematic method compels 
 him to return over and over again to the same principles. 
 It will be better to attempt to penetrate to the kernel of 
 his doctrine ; to present his ideas, as far as possible, in their 
 internal connection rather than in the relations in which 
 he has, to some extent accidentally, placed, them. 
 
 Nothing could be easier than to note in a haphazard 
 fashion some of the differences which distinguish poetry
 
 254 ''LAOh'OOXr 
 
 from art; but this is not what Lcssing docs. The clifftT- 
 (.'Hces lie murks follow for the most part from a .sin«^'le 
 l»riiiciple ; ami that jiriuciple is, that while sculpture and 
 painting on the one hand, and poetry on the other, agree 
 in being imitating arts, they imitate by dilTerent means. In 
 a passage adopted as the motto of " Laokoon," I'lutarch 
 points out that the formative and rhetorical arts work with 
 diflerent materials; but he simply mentions this as an 
 empirical observation, without deducing anything from it. 
 The idea of making it the basis of an exhaustive incjuiry 
 into the laws to wliich the artist and the poet must submit, 
 may have been suggested to Lessing by Harris, who in his 
 turn was put upon the track by Aristotle. 
 
 ■\\liat are the different means by Mhich poetry and art 
 achieve their objects ? The answer is contained in the 
 sixteenth section. "Art," says Lessing, "uses forms and 
 colours in space ; poetry, articulate sounds in time." ^ The 
 materials or signs of the artist, therefore, are arranged 
 beside one another; those of the poet follow each other. 
 But "signs must have a suitable relation to the thing 
 si'^nified." Hence, " signs which are arranged beside one 
 another can express only tilings which exist, or whose 
 parts exist, beside one another, successive signs only things 
 which follow each other, or whose parts follow each other." 
 "Things which exist beside one anotlier, or whose parts 
 exist beside one another, are called bodies ; consequently 
 bodies with their visible properties are the special subjects 
 of art. Things which succeed each other, or whose parts 
 succeed each other, are called, as a rule, actions ; conse- 
 quently actions are the special subjects of poetry." 2 
 
 It was objected by Ilerder that this definition of the 
 subjects of poetry altogether excludes the lyric ; and the 
 
 ' *' From licnco may be seen how nn<l motion ; paintins mu\ muoic by 
 
 these «rtH [imintiiig, music, an.l mo.lia which uro iiatuml ; i.oetry, for 
 
 j.octry] a;;roc aiul liow th.y (liflL-r. tlic gr-atost part, by a medium which 
 
 Tbcy agree by being all mimetic or is artilicial."— The Worki of JaincS 
 
 imitative. Tluy diircr, aH th«-y imi- y/(irri« (t >xfonl). p. 28. 
 tatc by (UfTerent media: painting by ' .S. S. vi. p. .(39. 
 fi;;uro and culour ; music by Hound
 
 ''LAOKOONr 255 
 
 objection is undoubtedly well fouudecl Tlie lyric gives 
 rhythmic utterance to a single emotion ; and by no inge- 
 nuity could a single emotion be shown to be properly called 
 an action. Moreover, it is not quite accurate to say that 
 " things which succeed each other, or whose parts succeed 
 each other, are called, as a rule, actions." ]\Iere move- 
 ments are not called actions; nor are mere changes of 
 feeling known by that name. 
 
 These objections apply only to the definition. Through- 
 out the work the sphere to which Lessing confines poetry is 
 not action but the successive ; and in some of the later frag- 
 ments he distinctly indicates that this is his meaning. His 
 argument is : words, the materials of the poet, succeed each 
 other ; the tilings he imitates must, therefore, also succeed 
 each other. As changes of feeling are included as well as 
 changes in the outward world, the lyric is no more shut 
 out from poetry than the epic or the drama. 
 
 The reasoning by which Lessing proves that art can 
 directly imitate only bodies with their visible properties is 
 obviously conclusive. It has, indeed, been objected that 
 personifications of abstract ideas are not bodies ; but when 
 represented in painting or sculpture they are evidently 
 conceived as bodies. Again, reference has been made to 
 the many works of art in which the figures are supposed 
 to be speaking or singing ; and the question has been asked 
 whether in these cases more than the visible properties of 
 bodies are not revealed. Clearly not, since we hear nothing, 
 but only conclude from what we see that if the scene were 
 real we should hear. 
 
 Directly, then, art represents only bodies. Tlie ques- 
 tion at once arises, what kind of bodies ? Lessing answers 
 without hesitation : beautiful bodies. Adopting Aristotle's 
 definition of beauty — it had been made widely known by 
 English Miiters on art — he says:^ "Physical beauty springs 
 from the harmonious effect of various parts which may be 
 at once overlooked. It requires, therefore, that these parts 
 must lie beside one another ; and as things which lie beside 
 
 * S. S. vi. p. 462.
 
 2s6 ''LAOKOONr 
 
 ouc another are the special suhjeets of art, art and art alone 
 can imitate physical beauty." Elsewhere he thus puts it:l 
 "Ik-rr Winckclinanu seems to have derived this hij^diest 
 law of beauty wholly from ancient works of art. But one 
 may witli equal certainty reach the same conclusion by 
 mere reasoning, for as the formative arts are alone capable 
 of producing the form of beauty, as they need no help from 
 any other art for this purpose, as other arts are incapable 
 in this respect, it is quite indisputable that this beauty is 
 their peculiar and proper end." 
 
 Lessing leaves us in no doubt as to the nature of the 
 beauty of which he speaks. It is beauty of form. Colour 
 he estimated so lightly that he raises the question in one of 
 the fragments whether the discovery of oil-painting was an 
 advantage to art. Expression he does not altogether forbid 
 to the artist ; but it is not to be introduced for its own 
 sake. Its sole purpose is to add to physical beauty : that 
 is, to the harmony and grace of the outlines. " It gives," 
 he says, " more variety to beauty." He will not allow tlie 
 expression of transient feeling, since that disturbs the 
 repose which he considers essential to beauty : the only 
 feeling which must bo permitted to influence the body and 
 features is that which gives them their permanent expres- 
 sion.2 
 
 The beauty of form wliich Lessing considers the sole 
 ultimate end of art 3 is purely ideal; and here he is 
 thoroughly logical. Ideal beauty is the beauty of the 
 real world purified from accidental admixture; it con- 
 centrates in a single focus many scattered rays. It is, 
 therefore, the highest beauty; and if the sole end of 
 art is beauty, it can concern itself only witli the liighest. 
 He does not altogether exclude portraiture, .since a true 
 portrait is " the ideal of an individual ])erson ; " but he 
 gives it only a humble rank in the hierarchy of art, on 
 
 1 S. S. xi. (i), p. iQi. lj»t ho means by it only the iilcaauro 
 
 " S. S. xi. (i), i». 191. which attouds thu cuutumplatiou of 
 
 ' Lcning inciileiituUy refers to iihysical beauty, 
 ylcaiuru aa thu ulliuiutu cud oi uit;
 
 "LAOKOOX:' 257 
 
 the grouutl that likeness is what is chiefly aimed uL.^ 
 Landscape art is thus disposed of : ^ " The highest physical 
 beauty exists only in men, and only in tliem by reason of 
 an ideal. This ideal is more rarely found in wild beasts ; 
 in vegetable and inanimate nature it has no place what- 
 ever. It is this which indicates his rank to the painter of 
 flowers and landscapes. He imitates beauties incapable of 
 an ideal; he labours only with the eye and with the liand, 
 and genius has little or nothing to do with his work." 
 Genre painting and caricature naturally follow landscape. 
 If a scene in history is chosen for the sake of the beautiful 
 forms it yields, he looks upon historical painting as within 
 the artist's scope ; " but," he says, " I prefer even the land- 
 scape painter to that historical painter who, witliout having 
 beauty chiefly in view, paints only gi'oups of persons in 
 order to show his skill in mere expression, and nut in 
 expression which is subordinate to beauty." 
 
 The theory of art which underlies these sweeping judg- 
 ments was essentially that of Winckelmann, who, however 
 is not always perfectly consistent in his definitions ; and it 
 led to that classical or pseudo-classical revival with which 
 we associate the names of Mengs, Cauova, and David. 
 
 In his conception of physical beauty, Lessing, like 
 Winckelmann, lays far too much stress upon the element 
 of repose. It is true that all high art produces a certain 
 impression of calm ; but this may arise merely from the 
 harmony with which the individual elements are combined 
 into a whole. Each of these individual elements may be 
 charged with strong, even vehement, life. To say that the 
 ideal of Greek sculpture is absolute stillness is altogether to 
 misrepresent its spirit. Where shall we find greater vigour 
 of movement than in the metopes representing the battle of 
 the Centaurs and Lapitlue ? And in figures which occupy 
 an attitude of repose — like the Theseus from the eastern 
 pediment of the Parthenon — the repose is that of splendid 
 vitality, of energy which, if aroused, would sweep before it 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 370. 2 S. S. xi. (i), p. 165. 
 
 VOL. I. 1{
 
 2 5.S *'LAOKOONr 
 
 ever)' oLstncle. Tlio calm which Micliacl Anjielo jjivcs tlio 
 liuanv of the Drity as He ulk-i-s the wonl, " Let there ho 
 lij.'lit," is oertiiinly not a cahn that excludes grand action. 
 And with what magnificent life he endows the ea^'(>r femalo 
 iignn- wliich, enclosed hy the left arm of the Almighty, 
 watches with grave yet startled gaze the creation of 
 Adam ! 
 
 But taking physical l)eauty even in its true sense, can 
 we say with Lessing that art ultimately concerns itself 
 with this alone ? His argument certainly cannot be held 
 to prove that it docs. If it were admitted that art alone 
 can render physical beauty, it would not follow that art 
 oiight to be confined to this. It can be shown to render 
 very much more ; and it is no objection that it does so in 
 common with poetry, for it reaches the common end by a 
 special path of its own. 
 
 Lessing was firmly couvinced that he was supported by 
 Greek art. He knew, indeed, that there were representa- 
 tions — those of Furies,^ for instance — in which beauty gave 
 place to passion ; but he escapes from this dilliculty by 
 assuming that a sharp distinction is to be drawn between 
 works created purely for the i)urposes of art and works 
 created under religious inlluenccs. The latter, he main- 
 tarns, ought not to be regarded as art ; only wlicn the 
 artist was perfectly free tu follow the impulses of his own 
 luind was he tiiily an artist. Here Ix'ssing is undoubtedly 
 mistaken. In many of the temples there were, it is tnie, 
 ancient figures whicli, although held in hi^h reverence, no 
 one considered beautiful; but others were suj>plii'd with 
 works on which artists had expended the full energy of 
 their genius. Art has nearly always found in religion her 
 greatest themes, her deepest insjiiration ; and this was 
 especially true of Greek art in its most splendid period. 
 The masterpieces of Pliidias were all intcndfd to minister 
 to the religious sentiment of his countrymen. 
 
 ' TTp !»t f5riitil<»»iieii tliat Furicii were nftf-rwnnlii n<linitn th.-it tlxy Imd 
 ever rcproscutcd iii Greek art, but tLcir I'lace iu iLo ecrvice of rcliijiou.
 
 ''LAOKOOiWr 259 
 
 As an instance of llio way in ^vllic]l Creek artists suL- 
 ordinaled cxiircssion to beauty, J^essin^ mentions tlie 
 picture of the sacrifice of Iplii^'cnia by Tinianthes, iu 
 which tlie bystanders freely revealed their grief, while the 
 face of the father, whose sorrow was deepest of all, was 
 veiled. "Tinianthes knew the limits which tlie (Iraces 
 had set to his art. lie knew that the grief which 
 Agamemnon felt as a fatlior expresses itself through dis- 
 tortions which are at all times ugly. 80 far as beauty and 
 dignity could be associated with expression he went. He 
 would gladly have passed by, he would gladly have 
 softened, the ugly ; but as his composition alhjwed him 
 to do neither, what remained to him but to veil it ? Wliat 
 he might not paint he left to conjecture. In short, this 
 veiling is a sacrifice made by the artist to beauty. It is 
 an example, not how one can drive expression beyond the 
 limits of art, but how one should subject it to the first 
 law of art, the law of beauty." ^ 
 
 It is by no means certain that this is the true ex- 
 planation. The problem is a very old one. Pliny and 
 Quintilian maintain that the dignity of the king required 
 that his face should be concealed : an explanation adopted 
 by Herder. Cicero and Valerius Maximus suggested that 
 the highest degi*ee of pain is incapable of being repre- 
 sented, and this was the theory adopted by Voltaire. A 
 third explanation, and the most natural, is that Tinianthes 
 simply painted what would have taken place iu fact. 
 The Greeks invariably covered their faces in moments 
 of agony ; and in dealing with the same scene Euripides 
 describes Agamemnon exactly as Timanthes afterwards 
 painted him.- 
 
 Expression is very far from having in Greek art the 
 subordinate place that Lessing gives it. "Wlio can suppose 
 that when a Greek entered the temple of Zeus at Olympia 
 lie was impressed only, or even chieily, by the perfect 
 form of the ruler of gods and men ? That, for its own 
 
 ^ S. S. vi. p. 372. 2 See Bliimner, p. 37.
 
 26o *" LAOh'OON.'' 
 
 sako, would fill him witli delight; hut still, it must have 
 been impressive mainly because througli it shone the 
 awful nuijosty, the infinite beneficence, the imperturbable 
 calm of the su]ireme divinity. "What is it that gives to 
 the Venus of IMelns its eternal charm ? Not merely the 
 flowing lines of the superb statue. These are, indeed, 
 of themselves a source of unfailing pleasure ; but their 
 magical elfect is due chiefly to the mingled graciousness, 
 purity, and dignity by wliich they are irradiated. We 
 feel that we are in the presence not merely of a beautiful 
 woman, but of a goddess whose shape is a worthy mani- 
 festation of her divine splendour. 
 
 If we pass from the gi-eat period of ancient to the 
 great period of modern art, we find Lessing's idea still 
 more effectually rebuked. In tlie esteem of the ma-sters of 
 the Italian Itenascence beauty held a not less lofty place 
 than in that of the sculptors of the age of Perikles. But 
 beauty is rarely in tlieir hands an end in itself; it is 
 rather a means of giving utterance to the deep strivings of 
 the inward life. Far more than the Greeks they seek to 
 penetrate to the profoundest recesses of the human spirit, 
 for between them and the ancient world were generations 
 which had pa.ssed through life under the shadow of the 
 Church, with a sense tliat it has awful meanings which 
 the greatest can but dindy guess. The feeling of a lost 
 inheritance had bei'ii awakened in the human heart; the 
 <dory of sorrow had lieen manifested; rude impulses had 
 been softened by a touch of divine pity. Art could not 
 pass by this trcmcnd(jus transformation a.s if it liad not 
 occurred, or as if it were of .slight moment. Hence 
 although in Mantegna, who may be said to have first 
 I)owerfully struck the new key, the Hellenic influcnco 
 predominates, in every one of his sublime or giacious 
 forms we see struggling for utterance asj)irations which 
 wcrc! necessarily unknown at a time when the legend of 
 u divine deliverer hr.d not yet arisen. Leonardo and 
 Michael Angelo perfectly combine the ancient and modern
 
 ''LAOKOONP 261 
 
 conceptions, for their designs have the precision, harmony, 
 and beauty of Greek sculpture, yet are infuriMC<l hy 
 spiritual (qualities. W[\\\ii the jjhysical Leauty of the 
 " Dawn " and " Night " of the latter artist can hardly have 
 been surpassed by tliat of the goddess whose sublime figur.i 
 kept watch over Athens, we seem to read the wIkjIc of 
 human destiny in their faces; and the "Last Supper" of 
 the former, altliough a vision of perfect grace, remotely 
 indicates both the joy and sorrow which have stirred 
 Western society to its depths. 
 
 It cannot, then, be said that outward beauty is the 
 sole or even the highest end of art. Apart from an inward 
 world of strife and peace, rapture and despair, it could 
 give us but momentary pleasure ; it receives a charm that 
 never fades only when it is made the medium of revealing 
 that which is of deeper meaning and more enduring 
 interest than itself. The sculptor or painter who contents 
 himself with imitating beautiful lines is but at the thres- 
 hold of true art. To be genuinely great his mind must be 
 possessed by a great idea : an idea which he will be able 
 to embody in its original strength and purity in propor- 
 tion to the loftiness of his genius and the perfection of 
 his culture. 
 
 The utmost we can say is that physical beauty is an 
 essential condition of the highest artistic achievement. 
 Greatness of soul, sweetness, meek piety, energy, passion : 
 these, in the actual world, are often associated with mean 
 and ungainly forms. But in the ideal world they dwell in 
 shapes rendered fit for them by beauty. We long to see 
 the discord between the outward and the inward broken : 
 to see the two spheres brought into noble harmony. The 
 problem is not solved by feeling being softened down 
 until its expression becomes compatible with phy.?ical 
 beauty. The artist who is strong enough to achieve the 
 greatest triumphs gives feeling as well as beauty its fuU 
 rights ; emotion which cannot be allied to beauty he leaves 
 alone, in conceiving his most splendid works, as outside 
 his raufje.
 
 :62 "LAOA'OOX." 
 
 If physical beauty is not tlic sole onci of the artist, wo 
 shall not only allow that expression has a hi[;h and great 
 place in his scheme, hut portraiture, genre painting, his- 
 torical painting, and landscape painting may be restored 
 to the jiosition from which Lessing removes them. The 
 last, indeed, he M'as not compelled to displace even by his 
 own principles. For while it is true that the human body 
 supplies the artist with more and higher ideals than nature, 
 it is nut true that landscape is incapable of ideal treatment. 
 No one since Turner would say that it is ; and the splendid 
 qualities of Claude might have been expected to make 
 Lessing express himself somewhat more cautiously. All 
 landscape painting of enduring value is ideal. The artist 
 does not reflect on his canvas the exact appearances he 
 observes ; he selects among the multitude those which are 
 adapted to his purpose. And if there are many phenomena 
 in nature which he cannot refine or purify but must only 
 humbly imitate, he at any rate interweaves those he ap- 
 propriates into a general scheme, and brings them under 
 the influence of a dominant sentiment. 
 
 As to portraiture, it is enough if, in accordance with 
 Lessiug's definition, it presents us with " the ideal of an 
 individual person." A portrait, however, which does this 
 does a great deal more. Who does not see in many of the 
 busts of great men which have come down to us from 
 antiquity, magnificent t^'pes of human character ? TVe do 
 not exhaust the meaning of the gracious forms imaged by 
 lieynolds and Gainsborough when we learn the names of 
 the beauties they represent. 
 
 One who walks through the gallery of historical paintings 
 at Versailles will almost feel inclined to agree with Lessing 
 in his opinion of the whole class to which they belong. 
 The historical painter is too often merely a man who 
 tickles national vanity and fosters the most baneful of all 
 tastes : the popular love for war. Yet there are historical 
 jiiiintings — it may be allowed to mention the picture by 
 Lessing's grand-nephew, representing lluss in the presence
 
 ''LAOKOON." 263 
 
 of certain cardinals and bishops at Constance^ — which, 
 althou^^di they give us no figures of ideal beauty, excite the 
 pleasure that arises from the recognition of gTcat human 
 qualities. Such pictures, be our definition of art what it 
 may, bear with them their own justification. 
 
 It is not at all certain that genre painting and caricature 
 held even among the Greeks the low rank Lessing ascribes 
 to them. " Even the Greeks," he says,2 " had their Pauson, 
 their rirteicus.3 They had them, but let them experience 
 stern justice. Pauson, who kept himself even beneath 
 the beauty of common nature, whose low taste liked best 
 to express the faulty and the ugly in the human form, 
 lived in the most despised poverty. And Pineicus, who 
 painted with all the diligence of a Dutch artist barbers' 
 shops, dirty workrooms, donkeys and kitchen vegetables, as 
 if such things had so much charm in nature and were so 
 seldom to be seen, received the nickname of the Bliopo- 
 graph, the filth painter." Bhopographia — wliich has not 
 nearly so strong a meaning as Lessing indicates — seems to 
 have been merely the usual name for the style of painting 
 cultivated by Pineicus ; and it does not necessarily imply 
 that the style was deemed outside the scope of art. 
 Pauson, who was apparently a caricaturist, is, indeed, said 
 to have been poor; but it is going too far to conclude 
 either that he was poor because his art was despised, or 
 that caricatm-e generally was condemned. In a note 
 Lessing alludes to the passage in the " Politics " in which 
 Aristotle says that young persons ought not to be allowed 
 to see his w^orks, since it is desirable that their imagination 
 should not be accustomed to what is ugly. But a philo- 
 sopher may forbid to youth what he does not think un- 
 suited to a more advanced age. 
 
 AVhatever may have been the opinion of the Greeks, it is 
 
 1 This paintiDg is in the Stiidcl - S. S. p. vi. 369. 
 
 Kunst Institut, Frankfurt, where ^ l\\ "Laokoon" the name ia 
 
 tliere are also several fine landscnpes printed Pyreicus ; but this, as Bllini- 
 
 by the same artist. ner has shown, is a mere misprint.
 
 264 ''LAOKOOXr 
 
 a Ruftlcicnt justification both of caricature and genre paint- 
 ing that each a^'C has its own needs. There is no reasctu 
 vhy Teniers and Hogarth sliould not give pleasure to one 
 whose cliief delight is in the Elgin marbles. The idealist 
 and tlie realist do not in anyscnse compete with one another; 
 each, if he is master of his craft, satisiics us, but satisfies 
 us in his own way. 
 
 III. 
 
 We have seen that art, inasmuch as its materials or 
 signs are an-anged beside one another, can directly repre- 
 sent only things which exist or whose parts exist beside 
 one another. It does not, however, follow that it may 
 not indirectly represent the successive as well as the co- 
 existing. Bodies exist not only in space but in time. 
 " They continue to exist, and every moment of their dura- 
 tion they may assume a new appearance, and enter into a 
 new relation. Each of these momentary appearances 
 and relations is the result of one that has gone before and 
 may be the cause of one that comes after, and may, there- 
 fore, be the centre of an action. Consequently painting 
 [art] may imitate actions, but only suggestively, througli 
 bodies." ^ 
 
 Taking the word "action" in its more strict sense as 
 a series of changes directed towards an end, he diN^des 
 actions into two classes : simple and collective. Tlie former 
 are a series of changes in the same body; the latter a 
 series of changes partaken in by dilTerent boilies. A 
 simple action can be seen only if we follow its course in 
 time ; hence it cannot be treated by art. But the bodies 
 taking part in a collective action are distributed in s])ace; 
 and although we can see them only one after the other, 
 still — assuming, of course, that the number is not too 
 great — we see them .so (piickly that we seem to jierceivc 
 tliem as a whole at once. A collective action, therefore, is 
 within the range of art. From the fact that we seem to 
 
 » S. S. vi. p. 439.
 
 ''LAOKOONr 265 
 
 see tlie bodies as a whole it necessarily follows tliat tlie 
 artist must be more attentive to the whole than to the 
 parts. This rule obviously condemns a vast number of 
 modern pictures. Lessing finds it violated in the " Last 
 Judgment" of Michael Angelo, "To say nothing of all 
 that this picture must lose from the point of view of the 
 sublime through the reduced dimensions, it is not capable 
 of a beautiful arrangement which can at once strike the 
 eye ; and the too numerous figures, however skilful and 
 artistic each is in itself, confuse and weary the eye." ^ 
 
 In representing an action, it is not physically impos- 
 sible for an artist to image it at different stages in its 
 progress ; but this is incompatible with a true artistic 
 result. Take, for instance, the picture in M-hich Titian has 
 painted the whole history of the prodigal son. In com- 
 menting on this, Eichardson had said that the mistake was 
 like tliat of a bad dramatist who represents an action 
 going over many years ; but Lessing insists that the fault 
 is much more serious. For, first, the painter has not the 
 means possessed by the poet of securing the help of our 
 imagination in regard to the outraged unities of time and 
 place. Second, as we overlook everything at once in the 
 painting, all the different places become one place, the 
 different times one time : in the drama some interval 
 elapses before we go from Egypt to Eome, before the 
 hero, who marries in the first act, has grown-up children. 
 Third, the unity of the hero is lost in the work of art. As 
 we look over the picture we see him more than once, which 
 produces a most unnatural impression.2 
 
 The artist, then, is prevented by the limits of his art from 
 presenting an action in its whole course. He is compelled 
 to select a particular moment in its progress. Sir Joshua 
 Eeynolds, writing in 1771, a few years after the appear- 
 ance of the " Laokoon " (of which he certainly never heard), 
 said : " A painter must compensate the natural deficiencies 
 of art. He has but one sentence to utter, but one moment 
 
 1 S. S. xi. {i\ p. 170. 2 S. S. xi. (i), p. 157.
 
 !66 
 
 '■LAOKOOXr 
 
 to exliibit." Seven 3'cars later the same -u-ritcr, -wlio was 
 liardly less (listin<,niishctl 05 an art critic tlian us an artist, 
 pointed out that " what is done by painting nuist be done 
 at one blow : curiosity has received at once all the satis- 
 faction it can ever have." ^ 
 
 There is only one extension which Lessing allows to this 
 principle. The artist may make nse of more than a single 
 moment if the two or three moments he selects may bo 
 thought as one. For instance, he expresses approval — 
 after Jklengs — of the device by which Raphael frequently 
 enables us to perceive by the folds of the drapery the im- 
 mediately preceding position of the limbs. 
 
 If art is confined to a single moment in representing an 
 action, it must choose, says Lessing, " the most fruitful," 
 " the most pregnant " moment. What moment is this ? 
 Lessing replies, " that which allows free play to the imagi- 
 nation." " The more we see the more we must be able to 
 add by thought. The more we add by thought the more 
 must we believe ourselves to see." - Or as he elsewhere 
 puts it, the true moment for the aiiist is the one which 
 renders most intelligible that which goes before and that 
 
 ^ Long before Lessing or Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, Shaftesbuiy had laid down 
 the same law: '"Tis evident, that 
 every Master in Painting, when he 
 has made choice of the detcrniinato 
 Date or Point of Time, acconling to 
 which he wou'd represent his His- 
 tory, is afterwards debar'd the taking 
 advantage from any other Action 
 than tliat which is immediately pre- 
 sent, and helon;;ing to that single 
 Instant he describes. For if he 
 passes the prcsL'nt only for a mo- 
 ment, he may as well pass it for 
 many years. And by this reckoning 
 he may with as good right repeat the 
 same liguro several times over, and 
 in one and the same Picture rejire- 
 sent Hercules in his Cradle, strug- 
 gling with the Serpents ; and the 
 ^;[nlO Hercules of full Age, fighting 
 with the Hydra, with Antcus, and. 
 
 with Ccrherus : which wou'd prove 
 a mere confus'd Heap, or Knot of 
 Pieces, and not a single iiitire Piece, 
 or Tahlature, of the historical kind." 
 — A Nittiun of the llislorical Drauijht 
 or TabhUure, &c., § 7. The same 
 idea occurs in Dubos, "Webb, auJ 
 Harris. 
 
 - " The subjects of poetry, to which 
 the genius of painting is notadajited, 
 are, all actions, whoso wliolo is of so 
 lengthened a duration, that no jioint 
 of time, in any ])urt of that whole, 
 can bo giver, fit for i)aiiitiiig ; neither 
 in its beginning, which will teach 
 what is subseciucnt ; nor in its end, 
 which will teach what is previous ; 
 nor in its midillo, which will declare 
 both tlio previous and the subse- 
 quent."— 27ic Works of James Harris, 
 
 V- 36.
 
 '' LAOKOOXr 2C7 
 
 ■u-Lic]i comes after. Ilcncc lie \s\\\ not allow that it is 
 lawful, ^in imaging strong passion, to take it at its highest 
 point. " Beyond this there is nothing, and to show the 
 eye the uttermost verge is to hind the wings of Fancy, and 
 to compel her, since she cannot go l)eyond the impression 
 on the senses, to occupy herself with weaker images, be- 
 yond which is the visible fulness of expression which she 
 slums as her boundary." ^ 
 
 Hegel goes still farther, maintaining that the true 
 moment is at the very beginning of an action. Limits 
 of this kind are, however, purely arbitrary. To what 
 higher development could the passion of Niobe be driven ? 
 Yet will it be said that a more fruitful, a more pregnant 
 moment could be selected ? The only law which can be 
 safely laid down is that the moment of the artist shall be 
 the one in which the chosen subject yields the noblest and 
 most significant forms it is capable of suggesting. In a 
 single instant, if possible, the experience of a life should 
 be concentrated, the utmost possibilities of beauty trans- 
 formed into reality. Sometimes this moment will be at 
 the beginning, sometimes at the middle, sometimes at the 
 crisis of an action ; sometimes when an action is past, and 
 we are allowed to witness only its results. 
 
 Lessiug insists that art should not only choose the most 
 pregnant moment, but should hold aloof from incidents of a 
 purely transitory nature : that is, incidents which cannot be 
 conceived except as appearing and suddenly disappearing. 
 These are unsuitable for art, he thinks, because it is un- 
 pleasant to be confronted by anything as an enduring 
 phenomenon which we know would in nature instantly 
 come and go, "La Mettrie, who allowed himself to be 
 painted and engraved as a second Demokritus, laughs only 
 the first time you see him. Look at him repeatedly, and 
 the philosopher becomes a fool, his laugh a grin." 2 
 
 But what could be more transitory than the position of 
 many of the horses and horsemen in the Panathenaic pro- 
 
 ^ S. S. vi. p. 375. - S. S. vi. p. 376.
 
 263 ''LAOKOOXr 
 
 cession on tlie Parthenon frieze, or of the youtlis who are 
 hurriedly throwin,!:^ on their robes in order to join their 
 comrades ? Could anything be more evanescent than the 
 attitude of Marsyas— after IMyron— as he starts back in 
 momentary rapture at sii^dit of the flute which Athena has 
 flung on the ground ? It has been assumed in a moment, 
 and in a moment will give way to a fresh posture. The 
 Disk-thrower, after the same sculptor, could not for more 
 tlian an instant occupy the position in which, in marble, he 
 lives from age to age. The " Bathing Soldiers" of Michael 
 Angelo have been startled by a sudden summons into rapid 
 movement; and there is not one of them who will not 
 immediately be in a new attitude. In the noble dramng 
 by IMantegna in which Judith is in the act of dropping the 
 head of Holof ernes into a bag held by a slave, the fingers 
 have but to relax their hold and the action is complete. 
 Evanescent as is the incident in each of these works, not 
 one of them imparts merely a momentary delight ; and the 
 reason is that the passing flash is made the occasion of a 
 gi-and or lovely vision. An evanescent deed wearies us 
 only if the figures engaged in it are in themselves uninter- 
 esting ; give them life and beauty, and they are invested 
 with perennial fascination. Artists of the highest type 
 often associate with a quick movement the profoundest 
 qualities of character. In the work by :Mantegua just 
 alluded to, tragic greatness is stamped on every feature, on 
 every outline of the majestic form, of Judith. Slie is more 
 than the individual deliverer of Israel ; the supreme art of 
 the great master has made her the type of a soul called to 
 a tremendous destiny, and which does not once shrink from 
 the summons. 
 
 This single work, slight as are its materials, would alone 
 cause us to modify a tlieory Lessing states in one of the 
 fragments: that painting is incapable of rendering the 
 sublime. The sublimity of a storm-driven ocean, of tower- 
 ing peaks, of the stars : that is, indeed, beyond the painter's 
 reach. For, as Lessing truly says, one condition of the
 
 "laokoon:' 269 
 
 •physically sublime is grandeur of dimensions; and the 
 utmost art can do in dealing with grand dimensions is to 
 maintain their comparative size. It may thus enable us 
 to realise that if we saw the objects it represents we should 
 think them sublime ; but it does not immediately convey 
 the feeling of the sublime. There is, however, a moral 
 as well as physical sublimity ; and the former, the greater 
 of the two, may be as completely attained by the artist 
 as by the poet. The " Moses " of ^Michael Angelo is not 
 less sublime than the crushing woe of Othello or King 
 Lear ; and his figures of the Deity in the Sistine Chapel 
 have a sublimity that overawes the least thougliful spec- 
 tator. Blake's illustrations of the Book of Job include 
 several pictures that are truly sublime. Indeed, childlike 
 and simple as was the disposition of this great artist, it was 
 in the sublime alone that his genius soared with untram- 
 melled wings. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Whether or not, as Lessing maintains, the poet is com- 
 pelled to confine himself to the successive, it is at any rate 
 obvious that he is not obliged to limit himself to the 
 co-existing. In dealing with actions he may roam freely 
 over them from their first dim beginnings to their last 
 issues. 
 
 As Lessing allows that collective actions, on the ground 
 that the various bodies partaking in them co-exist in 
 space and appear to be seen as a whole at once, may be 
 treated by the artist, so, on the ground that tliey are really, 
 however rapidly, perceived one after the other in time, he 
 permits them to the poet also. Collective actions are the 
 common domain of poetry and art. But the former, since 
 it is obliged to note one element after another, cannot 
 combine them into a whole with the same vividness as the 
 latter. Hence it must seek to make up in the parts for 
 what it loses in the whole. That is, while the artist, in 
 presenting a collective action, must make the perfection of
 
 cTo "LAOfCOON." 
 
 the ^vho^e his chief ohject, the poet must bestow more 
 attention on the perfection of the parts. 
 
 Unlike the artist, tlie poet is not limited to collective 
 actions, lie can follow the course of a single body in time 
 ns well as that of many bodies. The whole realm of 
 chaugc, in short, is ojten to him. 
 
 In vii-tue of this wider sweep Lessing claims for poetry 
 the power he denies to painting, of re})resenting the phy- 
 sically sublime. By the gradual diminution of objects 
 Shakespeare gives us a true feeling of sublimity in his 
 description of the cliff over which Gloucester desires to 
 throw himself. Lessing contrasts witli this the passage 
 in " Paradise Lost " where the Son of God looks down 
 into the abyss of chaos. Here the poet provides us with no 
 standard of comparison ; hence we are not impressed by the 
 awful deep of which he tries to gives us some conception.^ 
 Anotlier instance of the sublime in poetrj' is Homer's 
 treatment of the gods when they war against each other 
 in deciding the fate of Troy. A vast boundary-stone 
 which the hands of many men — the men of old times, 
 stronger even than the Homeric heroes — had put into its 
 position, Athena snatches up and throws at Ares, who 
 falls and covers seven acres. Tiie poet has no difficulty in 
 representing this, for he makes the scene invisible, and 
 leaves the imagination free to conceive the proportions as 
 it ydeases. But how could a painter reproduce it ? All 
 sense of greatness would be lost in the diminished size. 
 That Lessing was right here is indicated by the fact thati 
 Greek artists did not choose divine scenes in which it 
 was necessary to give the gods much more than human 
 dinu'usions. 
 
 Homer sometimes causes his heroes in moments of danger 
 to be delivered by a god or goddess ; as Paris by Aphro- 
 dite, and Hektor by Apollo. In these cases the in-oteet- 
 ing deity usually covers the rescued warrior with a cloud. 
 Lessing supposes that the interposition of the cloud is 
 
 » S. 8. x\. (i), p. 185.
 
 " LAOKOOX." 27 r 
 
 only n ])oetical way of saying tliat the vilhdrawal is 
 efluctcd with extraordinary rapidity. I>ut tliis is very 
 needless rationalising,'. Homer evidently means exactly 
 what his words imply ; and the very simplicity of the 
 device gives it a certain beauty. Few, however, will 
 now dispute that Lessing is justified in asserting that 
 the device is not one of which painting may avail itself. 
 "This is to go beyond the bounds of painting; for the 
 cloud is here a true hieroglyphic, a mere symbolical sign, 
 which does not make the rescued hero invisible, but calls 
 to the spectators : ' You must consider him invisible.' It 
 is not better than the pieces of writing which proceed from 
 the mouths of persons in old Gothic pictures." 1 There is 
 no way in which art in representing an action can render 
 any of those taking part in it invisible to the rest. Poetry 
 alone has scope enough for this. 
 
 Another advantage possessed by poetry because of its 
 greater freedom is that it can give a vivid idea of speed. 
 Count Caylus had advised artists, in representing swift 
 steeds, to X)ut forth their full strength in expressing it. 
 The artist, however, can only express it by revealing its 
 cause : the efforts of the horses. The poet can represent 
 it in many different ways. If the length of the space is 
 known, he can emphasise the shortness of the time in 
 which it is traversed: as when, the wounded Aphrodite 
 entering the chariot of Ares, Iris grasps the reins, and almost 
 at once they arrive at Olympus. Again, an enormous 
 measure of space may be adopted. Virgil makes Mercury, 
 during his flight from Olympus to Carthage, rest upon 
 ]\I(»unt Atlas. An Italian critic had found fault with this, 
 as if Virgil meant that the god was tired. " You must not," 
 replies Lessing, "consider this halting upon Mount Atlas as 
 a symptom that the god is tired. That would be wholly un- 
 becoming. The poet wishes to give you a more vivid idea 
 of the length of the way, and therefore divides it into two 
 parts, and leads you to conclude from the acknowledged 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 431.
 
 272 ''LAOKOON." 
 
 length of tho smaller part what must be the unkuowu 
 loMLitli of llic other." In like manner, Homer caust-s 
 ircnncs, when sent by Zeus to Calypso, to halt upuu 
 3\fount rierus; and in "Jerusalem Delivered," Gabriel 
 on his way to Tortosa rests on LebanorL Ai,'ain, speed 
 may bo guessed from the traces which moving bodies 
 leave upon tlieir path ; as when the marcs of Erichthouius 
 are said by Homer to " run over the ears of corn without 
 bending them," and to " ruu over the billowy fuam of the 
 sea.' 
 
 1 
 
 By means of the greater freedom of movement possessed 
 by poetry, Lessing solves several problems which had 
 puzzled previous writers. Spence, for instance, in his 
 " Pulymetis " had noted passages in Statins and Valerius 
 Flaccus in which Venus is described as enraged, with 
 such terrible features that she might be taken rather 
 for a fury than the goddess of love. He pointed out 
 that no such Venus was to be found in works of art, and 
 explained the fact by assuming that the two poets 
 belonged to a period when Eoman poetry was declining. 
 "Without undertaking the defence of Statins and Valerius 
 Flaccus, Lessing replies that, in regard tu the gods, the 
 l)oet can allow himself liberties impossible to the artist. 
 To the latter the gods are personified abstrada, who can 
 be recogni.sed only if they always retain the .same charac- 
 teristics. "To the sculptor, Venus is nothing but love; 
 he must give her all the modest, bashful beauty, all the 
 sweet charms, which enchant us in beloved j)ersous, and 
 which we transfer to the abstract idea of love. The 
 smallest departure from this ideal prevents us from re- 
 cognising the image. Beauty, but with more majesty 
 than shame, is not a Venus but a Juno. Charms, but 
 more imperious and masculine than sweet charms, give 
 a ^Minerva instead of a Venus. An angry Venu.s, a Venus 
 impelled l)y vengeance and rage, is a real contradiction 
 to the sculptor; for love, as love, is never enraged, never 
 
 1 S. S. xL (i), p. 174.
 
 "LA OK 00 xr -75 
 
 avenges itself."^ lint the poet, who ran make the gods 
 act, can give them a certain individuality. There is no 
 dilHculty in recognising his Venus, simply because she is 
 angry. 
 
 This solution is in substance true, but Lcssing pro])al)Iy 
 puts somewhat too strongly the distinction between the 
 poet and the artist in their relation to mythology. It was 
 hardly in accordance with the character of Artemis to 
 steal a kiss from the sleeping Endymion; yet the incident 
 was freely handled by ancient artists. The type of each 
 god and goddess was so well known that everything 
 which did not absolutely conflict with it was allowed 
 to the sculptor and painter as well as to the poet; and 
 mere anger does not necessarily conflict with love. The 
 poet, however, could go farther. Apparently no Greek 
 artist ever ventured to represent the love adventures of 
 Zeus.2 
 
 Another difficulty suggested by Spence was, that while 
 the Muses are often represented in ancient art, the poets 
 seldom descrilie them with their emblems. But why, 
 asks Lessing, should the poets have so descrilied them ? 
 An allegorical being must in art be pro\dded with an 
 emblem, otherwise it cannot be recognised. In poetry 
 the emblem is unnecessary ; the character of the allegori- 
 cal being is revealed through its actions. " If the artist 
 adorns a figure with emblems, he makes of a mere figure 
 a higher being ; but if the poet makes use of these pic- 
 turesque equipments, he makes of a higher being a doll. 
 As this rule is proved by the custom of the ancients, so 
 the wilful transgression of it is a favourite fault of modern 
 poets. All the beings of their imagination go in masks, 
 and those who are most familiar with these masquerades 
 usually least understand the chief thing : to make their 
 beings act, and through their actions to characterise 
 them." 3 
 
 No form of poetry, if wq except descriptive poetry, 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 412. » See Blumner, p. no. 3 g. g. vi. p. 421 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 274 ''laokoon:* 
 
 stood in liighcr fixvour in Lessing's time than allegory. 
 Tliere "vvas scarce a versifier who did not personify abstract 
 (iualities, and supply them with adornments proper to 
 their dignity. Lessing does not declare himself absolutely 
 opposed to allegorical poetry ; but he clearly enough indi- 
 cates at what point it becomes foolish and tasteless ; and, 
 as a matter of fact, from about this time the general liking 
 for it began to decline. 
 
 Count Caylus expressed regret that artists had, from 
 tlie time of Raphael, taken Ovid instead of Homer for 
 their text-book. "While agreeing that this was unfortu- 
 nate, Lessing maintains that it would be a mistake to 
 leave the beaten path ; because, he says, the public know 
 Ovid but not Homer, and it is always an advantage for 
 an artist to deal with familiar themes. Since Lessing's 
 day the study of Homer has given a considerable impetus 
 to art; but his general principle is not less true. Art 
 has invariably achieved her highest triumplis when her 
 creations have but given form to living conceptions in the 
 minds of the people. The same is to some extent true of 
 poetry ; but, as Lessing points out, her larger range makes 
 her less dependent on the previous knowledge of those to 
 whom she appeals. 
 
 V. 
 
 But Lessing says far more than that poetry is capaTile 
 of dealing with the successive. He maintains that it must 
 confine itself, so far as its direct imitations are concerned, 
 to movement, to change. \i it reveals the co-existing 
 at all, it must do so by means of the successive. " Actions 
 cannot arise of themselves, but must depend upon certain 
 beings. In so far as these beings are bochcs, or may bo 
 regarded as bodies, poetry also describes bodies, but only 
 suggestively, through actions." l 
 
 The ground on whicli Lessing bases tliis law is, as we 
 have seen, that the signs with which poetry works are 
 
 * S. S. vi. p. 439»
 
 ''LAOKOOX." 275 
 
 articulate sounds in time. When he first states the law 
 lie asserts that, as the artist in representing an action is 
 limited to a single moment, so the poet, in representing a 
 body, must confine himself to a single epithet : that which 
 conveys the most vivid impression of the body he is deal- 
 ing witli, from the point of view in which he endeavours 
 to place it before us. Lessing afterwards modifies the 
 rigour of this law, admitting that several descriptive epi- 
 thets may be applied if the ideas they represent arise so 
 quickly that they seem to arise at the same moment. 
 
 His reasoning here is certainly not conclusive. That 
 the co-existing signs of the artist can directly express only 
 the co-existing is self-evident ; but the case of the succes- 
 sive signs of the poet, as Herder truly urged, is not exactly 
 parallel. If the contrast had been between poetry and 
 music the parallel would have been complete, for sounds 
 are the sole materials of the musician, and they cannot be 
 conceived except as following each other. But words are 
 not the sole materials of the poet. Except, indeed, in so 
 far as they are productive of rhytlnn, they are not an end 
 in themselves, but a means: a means of suggesting the 
 ideas with which they are arbitrarily associated. These 
 ideas are the real materials with which the poet works. 
 Tlie question, then, is, can the poet by means of the ideas 
 he awakens present an image of the co-existing ? To say 
 that he can awaken an image of no kind would be to con- 
 tradict daily experience. A botanist would never describe 
 a plant if he could not suggest a picture having some 
 resemblance to it in the minds of those he addresses. In 
 ordinary talk we assume that we can by words give a true 
 impression of the innumerable objects that form the sub- 
 jects of conversation. 
 
 Lessing was quite aware of these obvious facts, and in 
 the course of the discussion quietly exchanges his abstract 
 reasoning for a more tangible argument. He grants that 
 by successive epithets an idea of co-existing qualities 
 may be conveyed ; but this idea is not vivid enough for
 
 2 76 '' /..lOA'OO.V." 
 
 poetry. "Tlic poet wishes to be not only intellij^iblc, hi^ 
 representations must nuL be merely clear ami distinct : with 
 this the prose ^\Titer contents himself, lie wishes to make 
 (the ideas he awakens in lis so vivid that in their swift- 
 .ness we shall believe their objects to bo actually i)resent 
 rto the senses, and shall cease in this moment of illusion to 
 be conscious of his words, the means by which he produces 
 his oflects." l V>y direct description of objects, says Lessin^', 
 the poet can never produce illusion to this extent. "We 
 become conscious of a thing in space by fir.st seeing its 
 parts, then their relation to each other, finally the whole. 
 The senses perform these operations so rapidly that wo 
 seem to leap to the linal result at once; but the same 
 rapidity cannot be obtained by means of words. " Assume 
 that the poet leads us in the most beautiful order from one 
 part of his subject to another ; assume that he knows how to 
 make the relation of these parts peifectly clear to us ; how 
 long a time does he not need for this ? What the eye sees 
 at once he enumerates to us very slowly by degrees, and it 
 often happens that when we have reached the last stroke 
 we have forgotten the first. Yet from these strokes we 
 have to construct a whole. To the eye the observed parts 
 remain always present; it can again and again run over 
 them: but tlie ear loses the parts it has heard if they do 
 not remain in the memory. An<l if they remain there, 
 what trouble, what eilbrt it costs us to renew their impres- 
 sions vividly all in the same order, to recall them at once 
 with even moderate swiftness, so as to attain some idea of 
 the whole ! " 2 
 
 Several examples of descriptive poetry are ndihieed : a 
 passage in which llaller represents a natural scene adorned ^ 
 with plants and ilowers, and the well-known verses in 
 which Ariosto attempts to image the charms of Aleina. 
 In both cases Lessing maintains that the reader fails to 
 form a picture from the various elements laboriously 
 brought together, (Jf a minute descrijition of Helen by 
 
 »'S. S. vi. p. 4.;5. 3 ,s. a. vi. p. .M5.
 
 '' LAOKOOX." 277 
 
 Constantine Manasscs he says: "I seem to see some one 
 rolliiiL,' stones up a inountaiu wliicTi are to 1)C made at tlic 
 top into a splendid building, but Avliich all tumble down* 
 of themselves on the other side." ' The descriptions of a' 
 cow and a foal in Yii'girs Eclogues are not more successful ;■ 
 l)ut Lcssing does not condemn them, because he maintains 
 tliat Virgil's object was not to please the imagination but 
 to give information. 
 
 Lessing goes too far in absolutely denying to the; poet 
 the power of vividly describing objects. Everything 
 depends upon the genius of the poet. What is impossible 
 to ITaller, Constantine Manasses, and even Ariosto, may 
 not be beyond the reacli of Keats. A M'ord does not call 
 up merely one sharply drawn image ; tlie oliject for which 
 it stands is associated in our minds with many other 
 objects, and these rise with it as it is summoned into con- 
 sciousness. The poet, therefore, is aided by the imagination 
 of his readers. It is not quite accurate to say tliat we 
 take his ideas one by one and slowly piece them into a 
 whole ; if he is master of his craft we anticipate him, 
 form a Avliole from his first suggestions, and merely correct 
 it by means of his later strokes. 
 
 Tliis, however, is true only when the object described is 
 one of which a general type already exists in the mind. 
 If the poet goes overground altogether unfamiliar to us, 
 the outlines he suggests, for the reasons indicated by 
 Lessing, will inevitably be dim and cold. And even in 
 treating of objects the like of which every one has seen, 
 the greatest poets are not fond of drawing elaborate ])ic- 
 tures. They prefer, by selecting tlie most appropriate 
 rpithets, to stimulate the imaginative faculty to form pic- 
 tures for itself. In striking contrast to their method is 
 ths method of many popular novelists. The ordinary 
 novelist is not content until he has catalogued with due 
 exclamations of admiration every excellence of his heroine: 
 her hair, eyes, teeth, complexion, and general shape. And 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 461. *
 
 278 ''/..lOA'OON." 
 
 he is cfl'usivc in lii.-^ di'scriptions of natural scenes. Yet 
 w]\i) ever sirs •\vlial lie so tediously depicts ? 
 
 AVhile denying that poetry can directly describe l)odies, 
 Lessing asserts that it can indirectly describe them throudi 
 actions : or rather, as he ought to have said, through 
 changes. ][e illustrates this position with minute detail, 
 drawing his examples chiefly from Homer. This is by 
 far the most interesting, and perhaps it is the most per- 
 manently valuable, part of " Laokoon." Lessing penetrates 
 deeply into the spirit of the first and greatest of epic poets ; 
 and it is not too much to say that his expositions starte<l 
 a new era iu the appreciation and criticism both of the 
 Iliad and the Odyssey. 
 
 In direct description Homer rarely goes beyond the use 
 of one or two epithets, the most vivid and characteristic he 
 can select. When he wishes to fix our attention on a par- 
 ticular body, what he does, says Lessing, is this : he makes 
 it the centre of an action. " He knows how, by iiniumer- 
 able artifices, to place this single object in a series of move- 
 ments, in every one of which it appears dilTerently, and for 
 the last of which the painter must wait, in order to show 
 US complete what the poet shows us in the process of com- 
 pletion." ^ "When he presents Hera's chariot, instead of 
 describing it, he makes Hebe put its various parts together. 
 To show us Agamemnon clad he makes the king put on his 
 garments one by one. To give us an idea of Agamemnon's 
 sceptre he tells us its history. " First we see it being 
 wrought by Vulcan ; now it gleams in tlu; hamls of .Iu])iter; 
 now it indicates the dignity of Mercury; now it is the 
 baton of the warlike Telops ; now the ])astoral stall" of the 
 peaceful Atreus, &c."2 The sceptre of Achilles is treated 
 in the same wav. " We see it green uiion the mountains • 
 th(! stoel severs it from the trunk, strijis ofl' its leaves and 
 bark, and fits it to serve as a symbol of tin- (li\ ine dignity 
 of the judges of the ])eopl(\" 3 In the case of these two 
 8cei)tres, Homer wished to indicate by their history the 
 ^ .S. a. vi. !>. 440. 2 S. S. vi. p. 442. ' S S. vi. p. 443.
 
 "LAOKOOXr 279 
 
 different kinds of aiitliority of wliicli they were the out- 
 ward tokens ; but even when lie lias no ulterior aim be- 
 yond the desire to picture an object, he follows the same 
 method. "He wishes to paint the bow of Pandarus: a 
 bow of horn, of such and such length, well polished, and at 
 both ends tijiped with gold. What does he do ? Does he 
 enumerate all these properties one after the other thus 
 dril}' ? ]>y no means ; that would be to sketch such a bow, 
 to write down its qualities, but not to paint it. He begins 
 with the hunt of the wild goat from M'hose horns the bow 
 was made. Pandarus had waylaid it among the rocks and 
 slain it; the horns were of extraordinary size, therefore 
 he destined them for a bow ; they come to the workshop ; 
 the artist joins them, polishes them, tips them. And so, 
 with the poet, we see gradually advance towards com- 
 pletion that which the painter could not treat except as 
 completed." ^ 
 
 The shield of Achilles, to wliicli " more than a hundred 
 splendid verses " are devoted, and which is so completely 
 imaged that Homer has from the most remote times been 
 deemed " a teacher of painting," is not otherwise dealt 
 with. "Homer does not describe the shield as already 
 completed, but as a shield in the process of being made. 
 Here also he has availed himself of the laudable artifice of 
 changing the co-existing in his scheme into a sequence, 
 and thereby maldng instead of the tiresome painting of a 
 body the living picture of an action. We see, not the 
 shield, but the divine master as he creates the shield. 
 With hammer and tongs he steps before his amil; and 
 after he has A\Tought the plates from the ore, the images 
 which he destines for its adornment rise before our eyes 
 from the metal, under his finer blows, one after the other. 
 He does not pass from our sight until all is complete. 
 Now it is complete, and we are amazed at the work, but 
 with the believing amazement of an eye-witness who has 
 seen it a-making." 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 444, 2 S. S. ri. p. 456.
 
 2So "I^'OK'OON." 
 
 "What a contrast to Virt^irs treatment of the shield of 
 ^'Eneas ! The IJoman poet gives us only a glimpse of the 
 god at work \vith his Cychipcs ; then the curtain falls, and 
 Ave are transported gi'adually to the valley in Avhich Venus 
 with the already completed arms meets vEneas. " She 
 ])laces them aj^ainst the trunk of an oak, and after the 
 liero has gazed at them, and admired, and handled, and 
 tried them enough, the description or picture of the shield 
 liegins; and in consequence of the eternal ' Here is,' and 
 ' There is,' ' Xear tliis stands,' and ' Xot far from that 
 one sees,' it becomes so cold and m earisome that all the 
 jwetical adornment a Virgil could give it was necessary 
 to prevent us from finding it intoleral de." ^ 
 
 The multitude of figures on the shield of Achilles is so 
 gi'eat that critics have exhausted their ingenuity in attem])t- 
 ing to explain how they could be brought within the 
 required space. Lessing solves the problem in accordance 
 with his theory of Homer's general method. Homer, he 
 maintains, never intended all the scenes he describes to be 
 reproduced on the shield. In the case of each scene the 
 artist would select a particular moment. Instead of 
 describing these moments, and tlius trenching on gi-ound 
 which does not belong to him, lie goes over all the various 
 actions, leaving the artist to find out for himself the sjiecial 
 stages most suited for his purpose. 
 
 But the resources of the poet, in conveying a general 
 impression of a body, are not at an end when he has made 
 it the centre of an action. He may indirectly i)aint it 
 Ijy describing its effects. It is only by the way we learn that 
 Helen has white arms and beautiful hair, yet the passage 
 in wliich she appears before the council of Trojan elders 
 would alone suffice to give us a viviil conception of her 
 loveliness. "What could jiroduce a more lively idea of 
 boauty than making cold old age confess lliat it is well 
 worth the war mIu'cIi costs so much blood and so many 
 tears?" "What Homer could not describe in its details 
 
 1 s. S. vi. p. 455.
 
 '' LAOKOONr 281 
 
 he makes iis perceive Ly its influence. Poets! paint for 
 us the pleasure, the inclination, the love, the rapture, ^vhich 
 beauty causes, and you have painted heauty itself!" 
 AVlien Sappho confesses that at sight of her heloved she 
 lost sense and judgment, no one can suppose that he ^vas 
 ugly. "Who does not believe himself to see the most 
 beautiful, the most perfect figure, the instant he sym- 
 pathises with the feeling ^\-hich only such a figure can 
 arouse ? " ^ 
 
 ^\\ illustration of this law, one of the most important 
 in the "whole range of critical doctrine, Lessing might have 
 appealed with quite as much success to Shakespeare as to 
 Homer and Sappho. Shakespeare says little or nothing 
 of the outward peculiarities, for instance, of ]\Iiranda and 
 Juliet. But why should he do so when we see them 
 with the eyes of Ferdinand and Ilomeo ? The ardour of 
 these two lovers tells us more of the sweetness and beauty 
 of the women they adore than could be told by volumes of 
 direct description. 
 
 There is still another way in which the jooet can give ns 
 an idea of a beautiful object. He can reveal it to us by 
 means of charm, which Lessing defines as " beauty in 
 motion." 2 True to his principle that art ought not to repre- 
 sent the evanescent — which we have seen to be disproved 
 by many achievements of art — he denies to it the power of 
 rendering charm. A smile on a pictured or sculptured face 
 seems ultimately, he says, a grimace. All the more de- 
 cidedly does he emphasise the power of poetry to present 
 charm. " In poetry it remains what it is : a transitory 
 beauty which we wish to see again and again." 3 The idea 
 may, as Guhrauer maintains, have been suggested by 
 Home (Lord Kames) ; * but Lessing ha& the credit of 
 having first stamped it and made it current coin. By 
 means of it he shows with striking power what is really 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 470. 4 See i,js, "Elements of Criticism." 
 
 - S. S. vi. p. 470' cliap. v., "Motion and Force." 
 
 3 S. S. vi. p. 471.
 
 -S2 *" /..wA'ooJv:* 
 
 ]>oetical in Ariosto's ]iicture of Aloina. " ITor eyes," lin 
 says,^ " j>ro(luco an inijuvssion, not because they are black 
 and fiery, but because tliey 
 
 * Pietosi h riguardar, h mover parch i,' 
 
 glance sweetly around and turn slowly; because Love 
 llutlers around them and discharges from them his whole 
 (juiver. Her mouth enchants us, not because her vermilion 
 lips hide two rows of choice pearls, but because here is 
 formed that lovely smile which of itself opens a paradise 
 upon earth, because from them proceed those gracious 
 words which soften every rude heart. Her bosom charms 
 us less because milk and ivory and ajjples represent its 
 whiteness and excjuisite form, than because we sec it 
 gently undulate, like the waves on the extreme verge of 
 the shore when a playful zephyr toys with the sea: — 
 
 ' Dae pome acerbe, e pur d'avorio fatte, 
 Vengono e van, come onda al jirimo marf^o, 
 Quando piacevole aura il mar combatte.' " ^ 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 471. 
 
 • In oiiposition to LeBsing's doctrine that the poet is incajmblo of directly 
 (IcBcriliiiig }>o<licg, Sir Kobert Philliniore, in the preface to his transhition of 
 " Liiokoon," cjuotcs the following from "The Taming of the .Sinew :" — 
 
 " 2D Servant. 
 l)ost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee Htruight 
 Ailonirt, painted hy a running brook : 
 Anil Cythcrea, nil in sedges hid, 
 "Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 Kveu as the waving sedges jilay with wind. 
 
 I.'ilii). 
 We'll show thee lo as .siie was a maid, 
 Anil iiiiw h)ie was beguiled and surprised, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3D Skkvant. 
 Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, 
 Scratching her legs tliat one shall swear she bleeds. 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
 So workmanly the blood and tears are dniwn." 
 
 Tossing cotild not have wished a more admirable illustration of the law 
 that ]>oetry can reveal objects by representing them in motion.
 
 ''laokoon:* 283 
 
 Count Caylus, in rccommcndin;^ Homer to artists, \\r<u>A 
 that Ijis inninnerahle pictures might all be reproduced hy 
 art. It will now be easily understood wliy Lessing insists 
 that many of the best pictures in Homer, in the form in 
 which lie presents them, are totally unsuited for artistic 
 treatment. IMovement, progress, are so essentially their 
 characteristics that the artist cannot possil)ly render their 
 whole cllect. Suppose that his description of the pestilence 
 were taken as the subject of a picture. " What do we see 
 on the canvas of the painter? Dead bodies, burning 
 funeral piles, dying men occupied with the dead, tlie 
 wrathful God upon a cloud shooting his aiTOWs."^ But 
 Homer? "So far as life is above a picture, so far is the 
 poet here above the painter. Furious, with bow and quivei-, 
 descends Apollo from the battlements of Olympus. I not 
 only see him descend, I hear him. With every step the 
 arrows rattle upon the shoulder of the enraged god: he 
 goes onward like night. Now he seats himself opposite 
 the ships and shoots the first arrow — fearfully sounds the 
 silver bow — at the beasts of burden and the dogs. Then 
 with the more poisoned arrows he attacks men themselves, 
 and everywhere, incessantly, blaze up the wood-piles with 
 corpses. . . . The poet guides us through a whole gallery 
 of pictures to that which the material picture shows us 
 from him." 
 
 On tlie other liand, slight hints may supply the arti.st 
 with splendid themes. Take tlie banquet of the gods 
 while they sit in council. "A golden, oj^en jxxlace, arbi- 
 trary groups of the most beautiful and dignified iigures, gob- 
 lets in their hands, served by Hebe, eternal youth. "What 
 architecture, what masses of light and shade, what con- 
 trasts, what variety of expression ! Where shall I begin, 
 where shall I cease to feed my eye ? If the painter thus 
 charms me, how much more will the poet do so ! I open 
 the book and find myself — deceived. I find four good 
 plain lines, which might serve as the inscription of the 
 1 s. S. vi. p. 433.
 
 cS4 '' LAOKOON." 
 
 picture, in wliicli lies the material for a ]mturo, Lut which 
 form no ]ii(ture in tlicnisclvos." ^ 
 
 If we turn to Millon, wlio stands next to Tlonier, we iind 
 tliat lie " cannot till picture galleries." This fact induced 
 Onint Caylus to pass the coarse judgment tliat "tlieloss 
 of sight was the principal point of likeness hetwecn Milton 
 and Homer:" a gibe which Ixissing nohly answers. "If," 
 lie says,- " while I had my bodily eye, its sphere was neces- 
 sarily that of my inward eye, 1 would, in order to be free 
 from this limitation, consider the loss of the former a gi-eat 
 irain." "While Milton is of so little direct service to the 
 artist, the Evangelists, who narrate facts with diy simplicity, 
 have given us a history of Christ's passion in which there 
 is not a ])assage one can touch Avith the ]inint of a needle 
 by which art has not profited. 
 
 When the most characteristic pictures of the poet are 
 reproduced by the artist they cannot be reproduced 
 exactly in their original form ; they must be adapted to the 
 new world to which they are transferred. Count Caylus 
 advised painters, in representing the scene of Helen before 
 the eldci-s, to take especial pains " to cause the triumph of 
 beauty to be felt in the eager glances and in all the expres- 
 sions of an amazed admiration upon the faces t)f these cold 
 old men." AVhen Zeuxis painted a Helen, writing under- 
 neath the lines descriptive of the feelings of the elders, he 
 did not adojjt this course ; he simi)ly imaged the naked 
 iigure. He wa.s thus true to the spirit of Homer, while 
 any one following the advice of Count Caylus, although 
 following the letter, would utterly misrei)resent the poet. 
 ]n the Iliad the feeling of the old men is only monientar}-; 
 on the canvas it would be made permanent, and the elders 
 would become objects of disgust. "It does not seem to 
 have been to the taste of the ancient artists to ]>aint actions 
 fiom Homer merely because they provided a rich conipo- 
 .•^ilion, advantageous contrasts, artistic ellects of light; nor 
 could it be, so long as art kept within the naiTow limits prc- 
 
 ' .S. S. vi. II. 434. * f*. s. vi. •n'S.
 
 " laokoon:' 285 
 
 Ecnl)C(l Ly its lii.^hcst end. Instead of this tliey noniislicd 
 tliomsulvt'S on tlio spirit of the poet; they iilled their 
 imagination with his most sublime traits; the fire of his 
 enlhusiiisni kindled theirs; they saw and felt as lie did; 
 and so their works became copies of Homer's, not in the 
 relation of a portrait to its originnl, but in the relation of 
 a son to his father; like, but diCfcront."^ 
 
 lu illustration of the fact that Homer aided Greek artists 
 by suggesting to them particular traits, Lessing mentions 
 the anecdote that, when some one asked Phidias whom 
 he had taken as the UKjdel of his Zeus, he replied by 
 quoting the Homeric lines : 
 
 ""11, KOil Kvavi-Qai,v iv' 6(ppvffi Vfv<re Kpoviuv ' 
 'AHfipdciai. 5' dpa x<''-^Tai iirtppwaavro {Lvo-ktos, 
 "Kparbs air' dOavAroio ' p.^yav 5" iXiXi^ff'OXvp.Trov.'' - 
 
 Lessing does not believe that in this case the imagination 
 of the artist was merely stimulated by the sublime picture 
 of the poet. " In my opinion Phidias admitted at the same 
 time that he had first remarked in this passage how much 
 expression lies in the eyebrows ; quanta j^cirs animi is re- 
 vealed in them. Perhaps it also induced him to bestow more 
 attention on the hair, in order to some exient to express 
 what Homer calls ambrosian hair. For it is certain that 
 the ancient artists before Plddias little understand what 
 was eloquent and significant in faces, and Lad especially 
 neglected the hair. M}tou was faulty in both respects, 
 as Pliny observes ; and according to the same authority, 
 I'ythagoras Leontimis was the first who distinguished him- 
 self by producing beautiful hair. "What Pliidias learned from 
 Homer, other artists learned from the works of Phidias."^ 
 
 When Lessing wrote this he was prol)ably thinking of 
 the Otricoli bust of Zeus, with its innneiLse eyebrows and 
 
 ' S. S. vi. p. 475. 
 
 * "He siiiil : and his black e3'ebiow9 bent ; above his deathless hea<l 
 Th' anilnosiau curls flowed : great lieaven shook." 
 
 — Chapman z T rami al ion. 
 3 S. S. vi. p. 476.
 
 286 ''LAOKOONr 
 
 vast masses of hair. AVe now know, however, that this 
 has at most only a remote connection with the type repre- 
 sented by rhidias. Tlie only true idea of the work is to 
 he obtained from the Klian coins with the head of Zeus, 
 ^vhich contain a genuhie reminiscence of the statue that 
 ]irt)bal)ly realised the very highest possibility of wliich 
 Iniman genius is capable. Here both hair and eyebrows 
 are treated with extreme simplicity ; but they arc not mere 
 ornaments, as earlier artists would have represented them ; 
 they are parts of the living elements wliich produce the 
 total effect. There is nothing improbable in supposing 
 that it was Homer who disclosed to Phidias that the face 
 can receive full justice only when the hair and eyebrows 
 are thus imaged. But the poet was probably of still more 
 service to the artist by suggesting the awful majesty and 
 calm of the father of gods and men. 
 
 Every one is familiar with the impression of dignity con- 
 veyed in the Apollo Belvidere by means of the extreme 
 length of the legs and thighs, which, as Hogarth— in a 
 passage quoted by Lessing — pointed out, are "too large 
 for the upper parts." Without saying that this device also 
 came from Homer, Lessing maintains that Hi^mer was 
 familiar with it. " For when Antenor wishes to compare 
 the figure of Ulysses with the figure of Menelaus, Homer 
 makes him say : 
 
 ' ZTdrrwc p.kv, 31ef Aaoi virdpextv (vpia^ dJ/ioiT, 
 'AfjL(pu 5' ej'o/x^j'W, -yepapurtpos ^fv 'OSvaatvi.' 
 
 'When both stood, iMenelaus towered above with his two 
 shoulders; but when both sat, Ulysses was the more im- 
 ].(j.sing.' As the sitting Ulysses gained dignity which 
 ]\Ienelaus lost, it is ea.sy to mark the relations which in 
 both the upper part of the body had to the feet and legs. 
 In Ulysses the iirojMirtions of the former were of unusual 
 size; in Menelaus, tlie jn-oportions of the latter." ^ 
 
 1 s. .S. vi. p. 478.
 
 ''laokoon:' 287 
 
 VI. 
 
 Towards the eiul of " Laokoon," Lessing raises the ques- 
 tion as to the rehations of art and poetry to u.qliness. He 
 will not allow that poetry any more than art can lawfully 
 describe ugly objects for their own sake. In their action 
 they excite simply displeasure ; and it cannot, Lessing 
 argues, be the end of any art to do this. 
 
 Is the ugly, therefore, altogether forbidden to poetry ? 
 No, he replies, for it can be made an aid in the awaken- 
 ing of sensations which are fully within the poet's range. 
 One of these is the ridiculous. The example cited by 
 Lessing is Thersites. The ugliness of the body of Ther- 
 sites would not in itself be ridiculous, for a deformed body 
 allied to a beautiful mind in no way aflfects our appreciation 
 of the latter ; and if it hinders the activity of such a mind, 
 the feeling excited is not ridicule but sympathy. " The 
 deformed, sickly Pope, must have been far more interesting 
 to his friends than the handsome and healthy "VVycherley." 1 
 Lut in Thersites ugliness is in conformity with his cha- 
 racter; and both present a contrast to the idea he enter- 
 tains of his own importance. Even this, says Lessing, 
 would not suffice to make him a ridiculous figure, for if his 
 " malevolent talkativeness " had been injurious to any one 
 but himself, we should have hated but not laughed at him. 
 Like Aristotle, Lessing insists that harmlessness (ou (f>dap- 
 riKov) is an absolute condition of comic effect. As Ther- 
 sites does no one any injury, the conclusion is that he is 
 intended to excite ridicule ; and his ugliness is regarded as 
 one of the comic elements of his personality. 
 
 If ugliness is associated with a character wliich is not 
 only malevolent, but which produces evil effects, it be- 
 comes an element not of the ridiculous but of the temble. 
 Edmund in "King Lear" is quite as great a villain as 
 liichard III., yet the latter produces a far more frightful 
 impression than the former. The reason is, Lessing thinks, 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 479,
 
 :S3 ''LAOKOOSr 
 
 that wlion Ethnuntl doscribos himself we " licar a devil," 
 but a devil in " the form of an angel of light ;" in liichard 
 we " hoar a devil, and see a devil in a form which the devil 
 alone should have." ' 
 
 Passing from the ugly to the disgusting, Lossing op- 
 poses the theory of Mendelssohn, that we are capable of 
 experiencing this emotion only through the senses of taste, 
 smell, and touch. Lessing maintains that the eye is also 
 capable of being disgusted, mentioning as instances a brand 
 in the face, a hare-lip, a broken nose with projecting nos- 
 trils. Disgust through sight, however, he admits, is less 
 intense ; and the reason he gives is that the eye takes in 
 a number of impressions at ouce, so that the elTect of dis- 
 agreeable objects is modified. Each of the lower senses is 
 capable of but one impression at the same time, so that 
 disgust operates with full power. 
 
 Taking disgust in this wide sense, he produces a numlter 
 of instances to prove that the disgusting may serve not less 
 than the ugly as an ingredient of the ridi(Milous, and still 
 more of the terrible: especially the terrible which arises 
 from extreme hunger. 
 
 It may be doubted whether he is right in his theory of 
 the position occupied by Thersites in the Iliad. It is (piito 
 possible that the character is one capable of being pre- 
 sented in a comic light ; but Homer aiii>artMjtly intends, not 
 that we should laugh at, l)Ut that we should despise and 
 di.slike him. It is thus that he is reganled by the Greek.s. 
 I'robalily ho received an ugly body that theic should bo 
 no kind of ti-mptation for any one to follow him in his 
 opposition to the leaders of the expedition. The ilevice of 
 raising a laugh by means of ]thysical ugliness is not ono 
 that po(.'ts of a high class are fond of using; Imt there can 
 be no (JuubL of its lawfulness within certain litnits. A\'lio 
 can conecive Falstalf in the form of an Adtmis ? And 
 wouM Sancho I'an/.a be quite so ridiculous if his figure 
 were rather less bulky ? 
 
 ' S. S vi. p. 4S3.
 
 '' LAOKOOXr 239 
 
 That uglincss.undcr certain conditions, adds to the terrible 
 may be admitted ; but tlie example by which Lessinf; seeks 
 to prove that it does is not decisive. If llichard III. is a 
 more terrible figure than Edmund, tliat is not because the 
 one is physically the inferior of the other, but because 
 Richard's malignity is more intense than Edmund's, has 
 wilier scope for exercise, and appears to be deliberately 
 cherished for its own sake. l*erhaps we should not be far 
 wrong if we were to say that Eichard is made deformed 
 that his appearance may, through force of contrast, deepen 
 the inipressiveness of the fierce impulses by which he is 
 moved. 
 
 The examples of disgusting objects cited by Lessing may 
 almost bo said to put it beyond doubt that disgusting ol)jccts 
 are never lawful to the poet. Aristophanes sometimes de- 
 scribes the disgusting ; but modern Europeans are in these 
 matters more seiLsitive than the ancient Greeks. The scene 
 in which Beaumont and Fletcher^ try to give extreme 
 hunger a terrible aspect altogether fails of its object, for 
 their vile descriptions fill us with so profound a loathing 
 that there is no room in the mind for any other feeling. 
 
 In asking whether art, like poetry, may make use of the 
 ugly for the purpose of intensifying the ridiculous or the 
 terrible, Lessing says he will not venture to reply with a 
 direct negative. But practically he does so, for he points 
 out that since the artist works by means of signs arranged 
 beside one another, what revolts us in nature revolts us 
 hardly less in sculpture and painting, and that in the end 
 we lose sight of the purpose for which he has introduced it, 
 and feel only its unpleasantness. Since the poet works by 
 successive signs, he is able, for the very reason that pre- 
 vents him from directly depicting beautiful bodies, to 
 depict ugly objects. The final impression of the ugliness 
 in the slow process of piecing the parts into a whole is 
 weakened and softened. 
 
 Lesshig is thoroughly consistent in banishing the ugly 
 
 ^ The Sea Voyngc, act iii. sc. i. 
 VOL. I. T
 
 CQO *'LAOK'OONr 
 
 1 roll! art. I'lit in Titian's " 15ac(liiis and Ariadne" is not 
 llio drunken Silenus in liis right place ? Should -we like 
 to remove the hideous dragon from Diircr's Melancholia ? 
 Is any one displeased by the rags of ^lurillo's beggars ? 
 I>eonardo did not tliink that the Medusa, in ^vllich he 
 included all that was most horrible, w<as> outside the limits 
 of painting ; and ancient artists delighted to make the 
 same subject an occasion of displaying their skill in 
 triumphing over difficulties. It may be allowed that the 
 sculptor can make but slight use of the ugly; but the 
 painter can so soften its eflect by means of colour that it 
 is mere arbitrariness to say he shall never have recourse 
 to it. lie may use it for the same reasons for which it 
 is allowed to the poet: to add to tlie terrible and the 
 ridiculous. Both may also take advantage of it to bring 
 out by contrast the full significance of higher qualities. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The distinctions hitherto noted between art and poetry 
 for the most part spring from the ground that the fonner 
 makes use of co-existing, the latter of successive signs. 
 But signs may be regarded as not only co-existing and 
 successive, but as arbitrary and natural. It was to this 
 di.stinction that Lessing intended to devote himself in the 
 continuation of " Laokoon." 
 
 In a letter to Nicolai, datctl ^Farch 26, 1769, on a 
 review of " Laokoon " by Garve which appeared in tlie 
 " Library," Lessing indicates that it is through the distinc- 
 tion of natural and arbitrary signs that he means to 
 determine the rank of historical and alh'gorical art. Both, 
 lie maintains, make the signs of art " natural signs of 
 arbitrary things," and among arbitrary things lie includes 
 not only costume but a great part of physical expression 
 itself Hence, he concludes, these species of art cannot be 
 80 universally intelligible, nor can they ])roduce so rapid 
 an effect, a.s art which is composed of " natural signs of 
 natural things." The latter, in which beauty alone is reprc-
 
 '' LAOKOOXr 2QI 
 
 scnted, is the highest kind (if art, tlio only trae ait in the 
 strictest sense of tlie term.' Jiut, in the first place, Lessinj^ 
 too hastily assumes that historical painting presents only 
 arbitrary things through natural signs. He hirasell" in;- 
 l)lies that to some extent expression is not arbitrary. It 
 varies in detail among dillurent races and at dillerent 
 times; Itut the great passions of human nature reveal 
 themselvfs by essentially the same movements in all ages 
 and among all peoples. In so far as it is universally 
 intelligible it is in the fullest sense natural ; and if his- 
 torical painting confines itself to such expression, its signs 
 are " natural signs of natural tilings." 
 
 The case is different with allegory. Here natural signs 
 do represent arbitrary things. A female figure with a 
 bridle does not mean simply a female figure with a bridle, 
 but temperance, a quality of the mind which can be thus 
 indirectly suggested. Another figure, blindfolded, with 
 scales, is not intended to be taken for what it seems to 
 be : it is a more or less arbitrary representation of justice. 
 
 Allegory was wholly opposed to tlie spiiit of the Greeks, 
 who loved in art as in philosophy clearness and precision. 
 It was among the Romans that the taste for personify- 
 ing abstract ideas was lii-st strongly developed ; and from 
 them it passed to the early Christians. In the ]\Iiddle 
 Ages allegory was one of the principal means by which 
 artistic instincts were awakened and fostered. It is ob\'i- 
 ously to be condemned when the natural signs produce no 
 impression apart from the arbitrary things with which 
 they are connected ; but if a picture or statue is in itself 
 beautiful or expressive, there is no reason to complain 
 that, after all, it only sets forth abstract qualities. "We 
 do not know what may have been the artistic worth of 
 the "Caliuuny" of Apelles; but the paintmg in which 
 Botticelli, and the drawing in which ^lantegna,- have fol- 
 
 ^ S. S. xii. p. 267. work not less valuable for its thought- 
 
 - For a photogriiph of this magnifi- ful criticism than for its admirable 
 
 cent drawinj;, see Mr. J. C. Carr's selection from the treasures of the 
 
 "Drawings of the Italian Masters," a Print llooni of the British Museum.
 
 292 ''LA OK DON." 
 
 lowocl Liician's description of it, rank among the greatest 
 masterpieces of modern art. Kven tlioso who know notliini^ 
 of" their allci^forical sij^niilicance cannot fail to bo impressed by 
 llie grand beauty of the one, the vehement life of the other. 
 In one of tlie fragments Lcssing declares that poetry is 
 not altogether destitute of natural signs. Interjections, he 
 thinks, may be ranked in this category; and he points to the 
 " Pliiloktetes" of Sophokles as proof that modern poetry 
 miglit Avith advantage make much larger use of them tlian 
 it does. Words formed by onomatopreia are also natural 
 signs ; and from their intelligent use " there aiiscs what 
 we call a musical expression in poetry, of which there are 
 frequent and manifold examples." The vast majority of 
 words are, however, arbitrary ; but Lessing indicates, both 
 in the fragments and in the letter to Xicolai, that the aim of 
 the poet ought to be to give them as nearly as possible the 
 force of natural signs. Among the means by which he 
 can do so are mentioned the position of the words, rhytlim, 
 and metaphors and similes. Such things as these " bring 
 the arl)itrary signs nearer to the natural; but they do not 
 make them natural signs. Consequently, all the species of 
 poetry which only use these means are to be regarded as 
 the lower species of poetry ; and the highest sjiecies of 
 poetry is that which makes the arl)itrary signs altogether 
 natural signs." This highest species of poetry is the dra- 
 matic. Here "words cease to be arbitrary signs, and 
 become natural signs of arbitrary tilings." " That dramatic 
 poetry," he continues, " is the highest — yes, the only — 
 poetry, Aristotle has already said, and he gives tlie epic 
 tlie second place oidy in so far as it for the most part is, 
 or may be, dramatii;. The reason he gives for this is not 
 mine ; but it may l»e reduced to mine, and is assured 
 against all attack only by being reduced tn mine." 
 
 What I^ssing apparently means is, that in the drama 
 words, without being literally natural signs, acquire the 
 full power of natural signs. That is, they do not merely 
 call up ideas and feelings in our miu'ls; we sec, in the
 
 '' LAOKOOXr 29J 
 
 action of the play, the iiiduence of the ideas and feelinj^'s 
 they represent. The drama is, in short, a livinj,' art ; and 
 thus it produces upon us a profounder impression than 
 sculptuie and painting, or than any otlier form of poetry. 
 Although a living art, its effect would not he so intense as 
 that of its rivals if it mirrored human life less truly tlian 
 they. But if Lessing had worked out his system to its 
 last results, he would doubtless have shown that in the 
 drama alone is human life completely min-ored. It is 
 given to no artist but the dramatic poet to take the deepest 
 facts of man's nature, and to miss in their ideal rendering 
 none of their significance. Homer and Phidias justly take 
 tlieir place beside Sophokles; Dante and jMichael Angelo 
 beside Shakespeare. Loth in tlie ancient and modern world, 
 however, it is the dramatist whose vision is grandest : not 
 necessarily because Ins genius is most powerful, but because 
 his art has tlie highest aim and the widest range. 
 
 Having exhausted the distinctions of the various arts, 
 Lessing proposed to examine all their possible combi- 
 nations. Of these he represents " the union of arbitrary 
 successive signs addressed to tlie ear with natural suc- 
 cessive signs addressed to the ear " as " incontestably the 
 most perfect." Such a combination is the union of poetry 
 and music. " Nature herself appears to have intended that 
 they should not only be united, but form one and the same 
 art. There was really a time wlien they formed only one 
 art. I will not deny that their separation was natural, and 
 still less blame the practice of the one without the other ; 
 but I may nevertheless lament that through this separation 
 their union is now scarce thought of, or if it is thought of 
 the one art is made merely an auxiliary to the other, and 
 there is no attempt to produce a common effect by the equal 
 action of the two. This also is to be remembered, that the 
 only existing union is one in which poetry is the auxiliary 
 art — namely, in the ojiera; the union in which music will 
 be the auxiliary art has yet to be created." ^ 
 
 1 S. S. xi. (i), p. 173.
 
 294 *'LAOKOOXr 
 
 The movement associatcil wiili tlic name of PiicliarJ 
 Wagner, uliich lias so deeply stirred cultivated Eurojje, 
 lias no other aim than to make music "the auxiliary art." 
 It is not, therefore., t(jo nnu-h to claim for Lcssint,' that ho 
 remotely indicated one of the most important and char- 
 acteristic resthctic developments of the present century, 
 aUli()UL,'h what ho \vas immediately thinkiii'[^ of Avas tlio 
 combination of music and i)oetry in tlie (Jrcek drama. 
 That he should have written so suggestively on the sub- 
 ject is remarkable,^ for it was a peculiarity of his that 
 after listening to music for some time he felt so strangely 
 irritated that he was compelled to rush for relief into tho 
 fresh air, 
 
 viir. 
 
 It is now time that something should be said of the 
 sculptured group which gives the book its title, and in 
 connection with which several of the laws we have exa- 
 mined are laid down. 
 
 In one of his earlier books Winckelmann had spoken of 
 the expression on the face of Laokoon as an expression of 
 calm courage. " He raises no fearful shriek, as Virgil sings 
 of his Laokoon : the opening of the mouth does not in- 
 dicate this ; it is rather an agonised and suppressed sigh, 
 as Sadolet describes it. The pain of the body and the 
 greatness of the soul are distributed and as it were drawn 
 with etjual strength over the whole strueture of \\w. figure. 
 Laokoon sullers, but he suffiMs lik(! the riiiluktetes of 
 
 ' ITe may, liowevpr, liavo l>eon put fovind tho80 nfTpctioni in their liigh- 
 
 ui«»n the tn\ck l)y HiirriH, wlio (i». 4J) est ciicr;,'y ; niul iniHic, wIh'ii iiluiio, 
 
 «:iyH : "Tlifso two iirtn [miiHic and cnn only ruiso nffoctidiis wliicli mion 
 
 )>octry] can never lie h<» powerful ]iiii,'uiHli uml doi-iy if not inaintaincil 
 
 iiingly HH when they are projierly an.l fed hy the nutritive images of 
 
 united : for poetry, wlien ulono, muHt jioetrv. Yet mui«t it he remembered, 
 
 Ikj ncccHHnrily forced to WIl^te many in tliis union, that poetry ever hnii 
 
 of it* richoHt ideas in the mere raising tho proredenre ; its utility, as well 
 
 of the alTectionn, when, to hiivc been m di„'nity, being by far tho more con- 
 
 I'ropcrly relished, it should have liiderable."
 
 "LAOk'OOX:' 295 
 
 Sopliokles ; liis misery touches us to the soul, luit we wi.sh 
 to 1)C able to bear misery as this <:,Teat man docs." ^ 
 
 Lessing admits that Virgil and the artists comjilctely 
 differ, the former making Laokoon shriek, the latter making 
 him only sigh ; but is this to be explained by the fact that 
 the artist had a larger conception of human dignity than 
 the poet? He will not allow that it is; nor will he 
 grant that the Philoktetes of Sophokles acts differently 
 from the Laokoon of Virgil. Both alike, he maintains, 
 give full expression to their sufferings. The tldrd act 
 of "Philoktetes" is unusually brief; and this, with fine 
 dramatic instinct, Lessing accounts for by supposing that 
 the moans and cries of the sufferer, indicated to the reader 
 only by a series of interjections, occupied a long time in 
 representation. Absolutely to suppress every strong utter- 
 ance of woe was a mark of heroic courage among the 
 Northmen; and in modern times good breeding forbids 
 cries and tears. But the Greeks, says Lessing, did not 
 share this prejudice of barbarous and super-refined ages. 
 Homer often makes his warriors fall with a shriek to the 
 earth ; and the wounded Aphrodite screams, not because 
 she is the tender goddess, but to give to suffering nature 
 its due ; while Ares, feeling the lance of Diomede, ten-ifies 
 both armies by the force of liis exclamations. "\Mien 
 the rival hosts bury their dead, Priam forbids tlie Trojans 
 to weep ; but the Greeks receive no such prohibition from 
 Agamemnon. The higher race can weep and be brave, 
 the lower is brave only by crushing its humanity. The 
 Herakles of Soj)hokles is not more stoical than his Philok- 
 tetes ; and there is no reason to suppose that in his lost 
 jDlay " Laokoon" — " If fate," exclaims Lessing, " had only 
 spared us this 'Laokoon !' " — the hero acted differently. It 
 cannot, then, be true, Lessing concludes, that the artists 
 intended, by the suppression of violent utterances, to ex- 
 press greatness of soul. 
 
 Yet they must have had their reasons for acting ujion a 
 
 1 S. S. vi. p. 364.
 
 295 "L.iOA'OOX." 
 
 ]il:in that woulil not conniioTid itself to a poot. "\^'^mt were 
 tlioy ? The answer is contained in several of tlu' ]»riuoiples 
 we have investigated. In the first place, had Laokoon 
 Leen represented a.s shrieking, tlie features woidd have 
 been unpleasantly distorted. The mere wide opening of 
 the mouth would have produced a disagreeable eflect. 
 Thus the supreme law of beauty would liave been violated. 
 To bring the face into accordance with this law, the expres- 
 sion was softened ; the shriek became a sigh. Second, 
 if tlie artists had caused Laokoon to seem to shriek, they 
 would not have selected the most fruitful moment; for 
 l)eyond a shriek there is nothing. The imagination could 
 not have advanced or gone back without seeing tlie victim 
 in a better, and therefore less interesting, position : that 
 is, either dead, or suffering in a less degree. Third, a .shriek 
 is essentially transitory : hence an expression was chosen 
 which we can conceive as continuing for some time. 
 
 All this, as we have seen, Lcssing considers in no way 
 applicable to the poet. He may represent unpleasant 
 distortions if he has a reason for doing so ; lie lias not to 
 choose a single moment, Init may roam over an entire 
 action, modifying by what goes before or by what comes 
 aft(!r a repulsive impression ; the transitory and the en- 
 during are alike open to him. The (juestion, then, for 
 Virgil was, are there good general reasons for making 
 Laokoon not merely sigh but scream ? Such reasons 
 there were. In the first place, his cries produce a sublime 
 effect uf)on the sense of hearing; in the second, they make 
 ns aware of the full horror of the destiny which lias over- 
 taken him. 
 
 But was Sopliokles equally justified in making Thilok- 
 tetes give unrestrained utterance to his woe ? Since his 
 shrieks were actually heard, his contortions actually seen, 
 was not the dramatist bound to conform here, like the 
 sculptor ami the painter, to the law of beauty? By a 
 masterly analysis of the ]ilay Lcssing shows how com- 
 pletely Sopliokles was justiiied. (i.) The evil from which
 
 ^' LAOKOOSr 2Q7 
 
 riiil(jktctcs suffers is a wound, visible, lion ible : tlierofc.n! 
 much more impressive to spectators tlian a malaily the 
 nature oC wliicli they can only guess— as, for instance, the 
 iinvard fire Mhicli consumed Meleagcr while his mother 
 burned the fatal log. It is, moreover, a divine jninish- 
 ment, so that we are prepared to conceive the agony more 
 intense tlian anything that can come in the ordinary 
 course of nature. (2.) Philoktetes is absolutely solitary. 
 A Eobinson Crusoe, a solitary man in good health, we do 
 not pity, " for we are seldom so delighted with human 
 society that the calm which we enjoy away from it does not 
 seem very i'ascinating to us, especially as every one flatters 
 himself that he could by-and-by learn to do without the 
 help of others." But Pliiloktetes is a solitary man in 
 misery, in the utmost need of aid, a prey to despair. (3.) 
 Although in his fits of agony he loses control of himself, 
 we know that this is merely physical weakness ; by in- 
 numerable touches the dramatist has brought out the 
 moral grandeur of his general character. " His lamenta- 
 lioiis are those of a man; his actions those of a hero." 
 (4.) If the bystanders were moved to the highest degree, 
 they would not be in accordance with nature; for the 
 utterances of bodily anguish stir less pity than some other 
 evils. On the other hand, if they were to appear in- 
 different, they would shock the spectators. Sophokles 
 escapes from this dilemma by giving each of them his 
 own interests, so that we do not expect the cries to arouse 
 such intense feeling as in themselves they would seem to 
 demand. They affect Neoptolemus profoundly enough to 
 awaken the best impulses of his nature ; and more than 
 this we do not ask. 
 
 Thus free play to natural feelings, while supposed to be 
 limited in the case of art, is shown to be as open to the drama 
 as to the epic. It may, however, be said that no act^r would 
 be capable of creating illusion by means of cries and con- 
 tortions. To this Lessing answers : " If I found that our 
 actors could not do it, I should like to know whether it
 
 298 "LAOk'OOXr 
 
 W(»ul(l be also impossilile to a Oaniik ; ami if even he did 
 nut succeed, I ini;,'lit still think of the scenic npparatius 
 and declamation of the ancients as having reached a perfec- 
 tion of Nvhicli at the present day we have no conception."^ 
 The lil)erty here clainied for the dramatic and epic poet 
 is fully justiiied ; but it is impossible to accept the argu- 
 ments with ■which I/jssing opposes the view of Winckel- 
 mann in regard to the sculptured group. We have seen 
 that physical beauty alone is not the highest aim of the 
 artist ; and in this particular case the sculptors have not 
 hesitated to some extent to sacrifice it, for the open moutli 
 is not beautiful, nor is the deeply furrowed brow. Again, 
 the artist is not bound to choose the moment which gives 
 imagination free play in the sense meant by Lessing ; and 
 if he were, it cannot be said that the law has been here 
 observed. The son on Laokoon's left has not yet been 
 fully caught ; but life is in the act of passing from the 
 son on the right, and Laokoon himself is suflering his last 
 agony. The fatal bite he has just received has all but para- 
 lysed hinr ; he groans in horror, and in an instant he will 
 have fallen back on the altar a dead man. How could the 
 artists have selected a later moment ? This also disposes 
 of Lessing's third argument : that the sculptors were prohi- 
 bited by the laws of art from choosing a transitory posi- 
 tion. Shrieks are not necessarily transitory; but, even if 
 they were, the position actually represented is as evanescent 
 as it is possible to conceive. i\Iuch more truly than Lessing 
 does Goethe in an essay on Laokoon — in which, curiously 
 enough, there is no mention of Lessing's work^letennine 
 the nature of the attitude. " Tlioroughly to comprehend 
 the intention of the Laokoon," he says, "let the observer 
 stand before it at a proper distance with closed eyes. Let 
 him open them and immediately iifterwards shut llinn.and 
 lie will s(;e the whole marble in movement; he will fear, in 
 opening his eyes again, to see the whole grouj) changed. 1 
 might call it, as it now stands there, a li.xed lightning flash, 
 1 s. s. vi. p. 388.
 
 '' LAOKOoxr 299 
 
 n wave polrificd at the inoment of its rolling towards tlie 
 shore." 
 
 If, therefore, it were necessary to choose between the 
 cx])lanation of Winckelmann and that of Lessing, tlie 
 former would undoubtedly be the more probable. But the 
 question arises, have the facts to be explained been precisely 
 stated by the two critics ? Does the calm on which they 
 lay so much stress really exist? It may be admitted 
 that the mouth is not opened to utter a shriek— although 
 this has been questioned— but a sigh or groan may give as 
 comjtlete expression to physical agony as a shriek. The 
 left hand does not grasp the serpent with its utmost force ; 
 but that is because Laokoon is no longer capable of more 
 tlian purely mechanical movement. The act of clutching 
 the back of the head with the right hand is that of a man in 
 the extremity of torture;^ and the sculptors have exhausted 
 the resources of their art in tracing both on face and figure 
 the physical mauifestations of intense pain. Laokoon 
 gives no sign either of submitting with self-control to 
 his fate or of violently resisting it ; he has been too sud- 
 denly overwhelmed to do one or the other. Out of the 
 unknown, with awful swiftness, silently and surely has 
 come the stroke of destiny ; he feels it in its full horror ; 
 no power on earth can aid him, and he dies. This is what 
 the artists seek to show us, and they show it without 
 softening a single element in the tragedy. 
 
 The problem with which Lcssing starts docs not, there- 
 fore, exist. The poet makes Laokoon express all his 
 agony ; so do the sculptors. If the latter do not represent 
 him as crying aloud, that is simply because they do not 
 consider cries the most natural utterance of torture which 
 is immediately about to pass into death. 
 
 In the fifth and sixth sections Lessing discusses the 
 much-disputed question whether Virgil made use of the 
 
 1 As the group has been restored, misunderstanding of the original con- 
 the right hand is raised high a>)Ove ception. 
 the head ; but this is undoubtedly a
 
 3CO '' I.AOKOOX:' 
 
 group, or llio artists of tlio poom. Ho dccidi^s in favour 
 of the latter altornativo. He maintains that the legend in 
 its Greek form was that only the sons were slain, and that 
 Creek artists, had tliey worked without any knowledge of 
 A'irgil, would not have departed from the accepted story. 
 Piut w'Q have no certain information as to the (Ireek legend ; 
 and from the fact that So])liokles made it the suhject of a 
 tragedy, it is more probable that Laokncm was also repre- 
 sented as a victim than that he was not. Lessing points 
 out that in both the poem and the grouj) tlie arms are left 
 free. "Nothing gives more expression and life tlii^.n the 
 luovemont of the hamls. Arms firmly bound to tlio body 
 by the coils of the seipent would have spread coldness and 
 death over the whole group." ^ This truth is one f»f high 
 importance to the artist, but we are not bound to conclude 
 tliat the sculptors derived it from the poet or tlic poet from 
 tliem ; it might obviously have been independently dis- 
 covered. It is suggested by Lessing that the idea of 
 binding tlie three sufferei-s in one knot may have been 
 taken from Virgil, for his desciiption implies that they 
 are so boimd. The serpents are of enormous length, and 
 when, Laokoon coming to the help of his sons, they seize 
 liim, it is impossilile, Lessing thinks, tliat they sliould at 
 once have disengaged themselves from their first victims. 
 Here again, however, tlie idea might have been found out 
 by the artists themselves; ami, indeed, if it is indicated ly 
 Virgil at all, it is indicated very dimly. 
 
 Lessing sees that there are very striking dilTerenees be- 
 tween the conception of the sculptors and that of the poet; 
 but he holds that this proves nothing against his theoiy, 
 since, in accordance witli the essential juinciple Un- which 
 be contends, that poetry and art have dillereiit laws, an 
 artist could not possibly take an idea from a jtuet and 
 exactly rejiroduce it. Virgil makes the serpents wind 
 themselves twice rcjund Laokoon's body and neck, while 
 their heads tower high above him. In poetry a noble 
 image; but had it been exactly reproduce(l in scul])ture, 
 
 ' .S. S. vL p. 393-
 
 ''LAOKOON." 301 
 
 the fearful cxprossions of pain in contracted muscles which 
 we now see would have been invisible, and tlie i)yramidiil 
 form would have been rendered impossible. Tlie stretch- 
 ing of the serpents' heads into the air would also have 
 disa,i;reeably violated the laws of proportion. Virgil's 
 Laokoon is in priestly robes, whereas the sculptors pre- 
 sent both him and his sons naked, depriving his forehead 
 even of the priestly lillet. The poet could have no motive 
 for describing them undressed, for in the conception of 
 their suflerings clothes are to the imagination neither an 
 aid nor a hindrance ; and the fdlet is of positive advantage, 
 since it reminds us that not even the priestly dignity 
 availed to ward ofl' the calamity. " But this sul)ordinate 
 idea the artist is obliged to give np, if the chief aim is 
 not to be missed. Had he left to Laokoon even the lillet, 
 he would have greatly weakened the expression. The 
 brow would have been partly concealed, and tlie brow is 
 the seat of expression. Hence, as in regard to screaming 
 he sacrificed expression to beauty, so here he sacrificed the 
 conventional to expression. The conventional generally 
 was held by the ancients to be a matter of very small 
 importance. They felt that the highest vocation of tlieir 
 art compelled them to dispense with it. Beauty is 
 their highest vocation: necessity discovered clothes, and 
 wliat has art to do with necessity ?' I grant that there 
 is also a beauty of drapery ; but what is it compared with 
 tlie beauty of the Imman form? And will he who can 
 attain the greater content himself with the smaller triumph ? 
 I fear very much that the most perfect master in the treat- 
 ment of garments shows by this very skill in w^hat he is 
 wanting."^ This is one of the few passages in which 
 Lessing does justice to the power of expression in art. 
 On the other hand, he undoubtedly underrates tlie possi- 
 bilities of beauty which both the sculptor and the artist 
 may detect in drapery. 
 
 AVhile "Laokoon" was being written, as already mcn- 
 1 s. S. vi. p. 396.
 
 302 *'I.AOA'OOX:' 
 
 lioneJ, "Wiuckelmann's "History of Ancient Art" appeared. 
 Lessing points out a number of mistakes in tlie work ; 
 but he does so with tlio greatest respect. The last words 
 of " Laokoon " arc : " I must refrain from piling up such 
 trifles on a heap. Captiousness it could not, indeed, seem ; 
 but those who know my liigh esteem for Ilerr Wiuckel- 
 mann might consider it krokylegmus" [a useless search 
 for trilles]. "When such a man," he had said in an 
 earlier passage, " carries forward tlie torch of history, 
 speculation may boldly follow." i AVinckelmann ascribed 
 the Laokoon group to the period of Alexander the Great. 
 Dasing himself mainly upon the testimony of Pliny, 
 Lessing defends the position he had taken up in the earlier 
 part of his work. It is now, however, generally admitted 
 that the words of I'liny do not necessarily bear the con- 
 struction he puts upon them. If, in the absence of direct 
 external evidence, we settle the question by reference to 
 the general tendencies exhibited during the progress of 
 Greek art, "VVinckelmann was much nearer the tme con- 
 clusion than Lessing. The work probably belongs to the 
 period of the Diadochfe, when the lihodian school w^as 
 ministering in full activity to a community which was 
 rich and luxurious, but not highly cultivated, and in which 
 a love of effect had displaced the grand simj)licity of an 
 earlier epoch. It does not of course fullow that Virgil, in 
 describing the episode of Laokoon, received hints from the 
 group, for although created long before, it nuxy not have 
 been brought to Eome until after his day. 
 
 There is no single passage in which Lessing sums up 
 his general impression of the work with which he connects 
 his speculations. Unlike Winckelmann, he never bursts 
 into passionate exclamations of wonder and admiration. 
 There is no reason for saying that he did not share 
 "Winckelmann's delight in the contemplation of master- 
 pieces of art; but in writing of them he is always the cool 
 thiulier, who is satisfied if he detects the laws by which 
 » a. s. vi. p. .jf/.j.
 
 '' I.AOKOOXr 303 
 
 the artist effects liis acliicvemcnt. Througliout tlie dis- 
 cussion, however, he implies that tlie group is worthy to 
 be ranked with the works of the best period of Greek 
 art. It was natural that he sliould form this judgment, 
 for in his time the marbles of the Parthenon had not yet 
 revealed the true splendour of Hellenic genius. As a 
 ]iiL,ddy dramatic conception, the group ought to suggest 
 deep problems of character ; but it is precisely here that 
 it lails. The face of the father does, indeed, indicate 
 sorrow for his sons, despairing misery because of his 
 powerlessness to save them ; but this is altogether sub- 
 ordinate to the expression of physical torture. Tlie 
 incident is so imagined that Laokoon cannot experience 
 in a strong degree any other feeling than the agony of 
 a man whom death in a fearful form has unexpectedly 
 overtaken. The group, therefore, produces its whole effect 
 at once; we cannot return to it again and again, and find 
 that it still has new meanings for us. So much suffering, 
 unrelieved by spiritual qualities, is apt at last to exercise 
 upon us a painful and depressing inlluence. 
 
 Yet the poM-er with which the agonies of the three 
 sufferers are rendered would alone suffice to justify tlie 
 interest the work has excited since it was exhumed four 
 centuries ago at liome, near the Baths of Titus: in the 
 presence, among others, of ^Michael Angelo, whom it 
 does not seem to have particularly impressed. Xever 
 has art more completely reproduced the contortions of 
 writhing frames, or more truly caught the expression 
 of sudden terror. The beauty of the individual figures ; 
 the skill with which, by means of the serpents, they 
 are wrought into a single scheme, while no effect of 
 curve or movement is lost ; the harmony of outline pro- 
 duced by the pyramidal structure : these things, although 
 they do not reconcile us to the absence of spiritual 
 interest, and may strike us as somewhat too theatrically 
 displayed, fully account for the fascination the work still
 
 304 ''LAOKOOX." 
 
 exerts. And there is one idea l>y wliich it powerfully 
 impresses, almost overwhelms, the ima;4inntiun : the idea 
 of a w(irld in the grip of a destiny which is immovable, 
 and from wliich there is no escape.^ 
 
 IX. 
 
 At tlie time of the publication of "Laoknon," in 1766, 
 Goethe was a youth of seventeen, tasting the iirst raptures 
 of life as a student in Leipzig. Looking back as an old 
 man on that far-oft' time, he recalled the impression 
 produced upon him and his contemporaries by Lessing's 
 work. " One must be a youth," lie said, " to realise the 
 effect exercised upon us by Lessing's ' Laokoon/ which 
 transported us from the region of miserable observ-ation 
 into the free fields of thought. The so long misunderstood 
 ut pidura j^ocsis was at once set aside; the difference 
 between art and poetry made clear; the peaks of both 
 appeared separated, however near each other might be 
 their bases. The former had to confine itself within the 
 limits of the beautiful, while to poetry, A\hich cannot 
 ignore the meaning of any kind of facts, it was given 
 to pass into wider fields. The former labours for external 
 sense, which is satisfied only by means of the beautiful ; 
 the latter for the imagination, whicli may occupy itself 
 even with the ngly. As by a Hash of lightning, all the 
 consequences of this splendid thought were revealed to 
 us, all pre^■ious criticism was thrown away like a worn-out 
 coat. We considered ourselves delivered from all evil, and 
 thought ourselves justified in looking down with ])ity on 
 the sixteenth century, otherwise so splendid, when in 
 German works of art and poems life was presented under 
 the form of a fool, death in the uniform of a rattling 
 skeleton, and both the necessary and accidental evils of 
 
 1 f'f. lininn, Oeschichto dor Crio- Acstlictik, iii. 2, 401 ; Liibko, Ocs- 
 chisclien KiiriKllcr, i. 474 ; Wtlckcr, cliichto <Ut I'histik (i. p. 222; Enylith 
 Alte Denkmiiler. L ^22 j Viacher, trauslalion, i. p. 2jjj.
 
 '' laokoon:' zo'j 
 
 the world in the picture of the grinning devil." ^ Ilcrdiir, 
 a few years older tliau Goethe, was not less impressed hy 
 " Laokoon." lie " read it thrice," he wrote to a friend, " in 
 one afternoon and on the following night veiy eagerly." 
 In 1769 lie puhlished a criticism of it, opposing its most 
 essential principles, hut fully recognising its striking power. 
 Lessing complained that he was misunderstood, but ad- 
 mitted that his antagonist was worthy of a careful reply. 
 " Whoever the author may be," he wrote, " lie is the only 
 critic for whose sake it is worth while to bring my study 
 to completion." 
 
 Curiously enough, Kant, mIio was five years Lessing's 
 senior, and ultimately became a sort of legislator in aesthetic 
 science, appears never even to have read " Laokoon." Yet 
 he knew Lessing by reputation well, and held him in high 
 esteem. 
 
 Winckelmann, who had been ten years in Lome, and had 
 never heard of Lessing, received intelligence from some ill- 
 informed friends that he had been attacked in " Laokoon." 
 He displayed, before seeing the book, considerable irrita- 
 tion ; but after reading it withdrew, in a letter to a friend, 
 expressions he had used respecting the author, excusing 
 hmiself on the ground that "he had previously read 
 nothing by this learned man." "Lessing," he wrote to 
 another friend, " of whom I had unfortunately seen nothing, 
 writes as one would wish to have written ; and if I had 
 not heard of his journey from you, I should have ap- 
 proached him by letter. He deserves, where one can 
 defend oneself, a dignified answer. As it is honourable 
 to be praised by honourable people, it may also be honour- 
 able to be deemed worthy of their criticism." Unfortunately, 
 Winckelmann, who was of an ii-ritable disposition, and 
 could not tolerate competition in a field which he regarded 
 as peculiarly his own, did not maintain this admirable 
 tone. In a subsequent letter to the friend to whom the 
 latter passage was written, he spoke of " Laokoon " as 
 
 ^ Walii'lieit uuJ Dlclitung, part ii. book 7. 
 VOL. I. U
 
 3o6 "LAOKOOX." 
 
 "perhaps Leautifully Avrittcn, yet not ■svilliout well-known 
 errors in lan;^niage." " Tiiis man," he added, " has so little 
 knowledj;e that no answer would have a meaning' for him, 
 and it would be easier to set a healthy understanding^ ri^dit 
 than a university wit that wishes to distinguish itself with 
 ]»aradoxes."i I'y an odd chance it fell to Lessing, after 
 AVinekelniann's death, to select from a Lundlc of letters, 
 of which this was one, those he might deem worthy of 
 ]nil»lication. It was characteristic of him that he never 
 thought of withholding a judgment so unfavourable to 
 himself; nor docs it seem to have made the least differ- 
 ence in his feelings towards the illustrious historian of 
 art. On hearing of AVinckelmann's sudden and tragic 
 <leath in 176S, he ^n'ote to Nicolai: "That is, within a 
 short time, the second writer to whom I should gladly 
 have given a couple of years of my life." And it was 
 long a favourite sclieme of his to issue a complete and 
 annotated edition of "NVinckelmann's writings. 
 
 Notwithstanding its iimuense fame, " Laokoon " does m^t 
 seem to have had a very deep influence on German art. 
 It is still, however, a living pcjwer, and may be more influ- 
 ential in the future than in the past. That it contains, if 
 taken in connection with the fragments, many hints by 
 which art might benefit, few will dispute. The idea 
 that the images of j)oetiy cannot be transferred to art in 
 l)recisely their original form is one which, if properly under- 
 stood, would have prevented much ])recious energy from 
 being di.ssii)ated in useless labour. How nuiny wurks that 
 just lack " the one thing needful " wouhl have attained 
 it had artists given heed to the law laid down by Lessing, 
 that in representing an action the painter iiuist think rather 
 of the whole than of the parts! And would not innu- 
 merable anibitioiis attempts have been avoided if painters 
 had remembered his jirinciple that the physically sublime, 
 although within the range of poetry, cannot be reproduced 
 on canvas or iu fresco ? In some respects his teaching 
 
 ' GuLi-aucr, (i) p. loo.
 
 "I.AOK'OOXr 3C7 
 
 nccJs to l)e corrected ami extended ; but this ought not to 
 blind u.s to tho.se of his doctrines which are of enduring 
 validity. 
 
 Jvsthetic discussion has always formed au important part 
 of niuilcru philosophy in Germany. Kant, Schelling, Hegel, 
 Feuerbach, Schopenhauer, have all occupied themselves 
 seriously with theories of art ; and in Vischer's " ^Esthetics" 
 Germany possesses at the present day by far the most com- 
 plete system that has ever yet been given to the world. 
 In the development of opinion on the whole subject, 
 "Laokoon" has played a part of high importance. It 
 summed up and handed on to the new age in their best 
 form the results of previous inquiry ; and it presented for 
 the first time some of the problems that still attract those 
 who are not content merely to enjoy art, but seek to com- 
 prehend its scope and meaning. 
 
 In imaginative literature it acted at once as a summer 
 shower to parched land. Descriptive poetry — unless of the 
 highest quality, the most intolerable of all forms of writing 
 — had been extremely popular. It was immediately utterly 
 discredited. Wieland ceased to elaborate the word-painting 
 in which his earlier works abound; and Goethe, setting 
 out on the right track, continued on it to the end, for 
 although he occasionally does not shrink from direct 
 description, he always keeps it within narrow limits, and 
 finds in life and movement a better means of stimulating 
 the imagination than in a free use of picturesque epitliets. 
 The like may be said of Schiller, who, however, rather 
 inherited the tradition created by " Laokoon " than was 
 impelled by the work itself. Xot less was the service 
 Lessing rendered in turning the national literature in 
 earnest towards tlie drama ; and by his brilliant interpre- 
 tations both of Plomer and Sophokles he gave the youth of 
 Germany the first indication it had ever received as to the 
 superiority of Greek over Latin literature, and the true 
 use to be made of the masterpieces of the ancient world. 
 Thenceforth the classics became to the best minds tho 
 instruments of a free and noble culture.
 
 3o8 "/..lOA'OOX." 
 
 In<lirectly, tliron;4li llio ^reat Gennan writers wlinse 
 activity it has partly coiit rolled, and to ■whom it has sujx- 
 pestcd new ])oints of view, " Laokoon " has, of course, had 
 some influence on the general progress of European thought; 
 but no evidence can be given as to any direct eflect it has 
 produced on foreign theories cither of art or poetry. It 
 hii.s, however, repeatedly been translated both into French 
 and English.l 
 
 A work whose value consists solely in its ideas inevit- 
 ably loses after a time its original freshness. Its results 
 are interwoven with the thought of the age, and men lay it 
 aside for later developments. "\Ve have still many truths 
 to learn from " Laokoon ; " but even if we had completely 
 absorbed its teaching, it would retain its high position. For 
 its worth arises as much from its form as its contents, as 
 much from its method as its doctrine. It is a living pic- 
 ture of a mind engaged in the search for truth : a mind 
 im})aticnt of narrow forms, cutting its way to the centre of 
 the theme with which it occupies itself. Apart altogether, 
 therefore, from the nature of its conclusions, it has an 
 enduring fascination: the fascination of an influence which 
 kindles the imagination, and quickens, purities, and en- 
 larges thought. 
 
 * An English translation liy W. Miss Frothingham (Doston), another 
 
 Ross appeared in 1836, ami aiii)ther l>y .Sir K. Piiillinioro. Do Quincey, 
 
 by K. Ik'csley in 1853. In 1874 two in volume xii. of liis (.'olloctcd Works, 
 
 truiislations were publithed ; oue by paraphrases the first twelve scctiona.
 
 ( 309) 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM BERLIN TO HAMBURG. 
 
 In the siiniiiier of 1766, soon after the appearance of 
 " Laokoon," Lessing accompanied a young nolileniaii, Leo- 
 pold \on Breitenkopf, "\\ ho lived for some time with liini 
 and his brother, to Pyrmont. Here he spent some plea- 
 sant weeks; and on his way Lack to Berlin he visited 
 Gottingen, Mhere he renewed acquaintance with the 
 famous theologian ]\lichaelis, who, it will be remembered, 
 was one of the first to recognise his exceptional power. 
 ]\Iichaelis afterwards issued a well-known translation of 
 the Bible with notes ; and the idea of doing so is said to 
 have been suggested to him by Lessing during this visit. 
 Here also he met his old friend Kastner, who was now 
 a distinguished professor at the Gottingen university; 
 and he entered into friendly relations with the university 
 librarian, Dietze, with whom ne often afterwards corre- 
 sponded. The editor of Michaelis's autobiography, then a 
 student at Gottingen, was introduced by Dietze in the 
 library to Lessing, and long afterwards complained that 
 he was much less "affable and condescending" than two 
 " proud Britons" who happened to pass through Gottingen 
 about the same time. " I may, however," conscientiously 
 added the writer, " be mistaken ; I never again saw the 
 man, nor spoke to him, and the first sight, the first inter- 
 view, may sometimes mislead." 
 
 During the whole period of his residence in Breslau 
 Lessing had neither written to nor heard from CJleim. 
 Before starting for Pyrmont he sent him a copy of
 
 3IO FROM BERLIX TO HAMBURG. 
 
 "Laokoon" — "lliis mixture <>f pedimtry and f.mcios" — 
 and intimated liis intention of stoppin!^ fur ii day or two at 
 llalberstadt. Gleim was delij^dded, and received liim with 
 enthusiasm ; and from tliis time forward tlieir intimacy con- 
 tinned, the good (ih'im following witli interest and pride 
 liis friend's career, " Only now," wrote Lessing on October 
 31, some months after his return to Berlin,^ "I send you 
 the money which I borrowed from you. It was no more 
 than six pistoles ? Truly I ought to be ashamed that I can 
 in sucli matters be so utterly inconsiderate. But the books 
 which I have from you I still need. Indeed, I needed one 
 or tAvo others which I saw with you, but — as if you your- 
 self did not need your books ! If it was only a matter of 
 pistoles ! " To whi(di Oleim responded : " My l)Ooks I need 
 so little that I can spare a gi-eat many besides those you 
 have. Is it not enough that I have books for a Lessin<^ ? 
 Ask as many as you like, they are all at your service." 
 
 It was in a spiiit far from cheerful that Lessing once 
 more entered the Prussian capital. Although past thii-ty- 
 seven, he was still without an assured source of income, 
 nor did there seem much chance of an improvement in 
 his circumstances. " I stood idle in the market-place," he 
 wrote of this time some years afterwards ; - " nobody would 
 hire me : doubtless because nobody knew wliat use to 
 make of me." Besides, he had conceived an intense dis- 
 like of Ik'rlin. This was partly to be accounted for liy the 
 disappointment of his hopes respecting the royal library, 
 but it was still more due to other circumstances. Freilerick, 
 notwitlistanding the loyalty of wliidi his ]»onple had given 
 him so many proofs, had not relaxed his despotic methods of 
 government ; and the free instincts of Lessing were offended 
 by the marks of ]iolitical slavery witli wliich he was every- 
 where confronted. He also resenteil tlie excessive vanity 
 of the Prussians, whicli had been greatly intensified by the 
 Seven Years' "War ; and tln^ prevalent tone res])ecting tlic 
 greatest subjects of Iniman thought was l>v no means to 
 ' Siinimtliche Sthriften, xii p. 208. ' S. S. vii. p. 415.
 
 FROM r.KRl.IN TO HAMBURG. 311 
 
 Ids taste. It was now more than ever considered a sign of 
 intellect and good breeding to sneer at the orthodox faith, 
 yet most of those who indulged in this easy kind of argu- 
 ment Lessing looked upon as the most illogical of thinkers. 
 
 A few months seem to have passed very unhappily. 
 "I have been ill," he told Gleim in the letter above 
 quoted ; " I have had to undertake repeated journeys ; and 
 I have been much occupied and worried." Three or four 
 (lays after writing this, he mms surprised and delighted by 
 a proposal whicli seemed likely to deliver him from all his 
 troubles. 
 
 LiJwen, a man of letters in Hamburg, had prefixed to a 
 volume of plays an essay on the German stage. He drew 
 a very unflattering picture of its condition, and main- 
 tained that improvement was impossible so long as the 
 public had to depend upon wandering troupes, formed by 
 more or less ignorant actors. What was necessary was 
 the establishment of permanent theatres, supported by 
 the State, in which the actors should be strictly under 
 control, and paid like other public officials for their ser- 
 vices. In such theatres alone would it be possible to 
 secure the representation of good plays of a thoroughly 
 national character. 
 
 Twenty years before, Schlegel had expressed similar 
 opinions in regard to the Danish stage; but his words 
 had been without result in Germany. On this occasion 
 the seed fell on better ground. A State institution, indeed, 
 could not be obtained ; but a permanent theatre, conducted 
 without reference to the interests of a particular actor, did 
 not seem beyond reach. Twelve Hamburg citizens, headed 
 by an intelligent merchant named Seyler, formed them- 
 selves into a company, and hired a theatre which had 
 been built by Ackermann, a well-known actor. The latter 
 had gathered around him an excellent body of players, but 
 as he had fallen into difficulties he was very glad to come 
 to an agreement, and quite content to enter as an ordinary 
 actor into the service of the new company. A committee
 
 312 FROM BEFLIN TO HAMDURG. 
 
 iif three members was apjtointed to look after tlie financial 
 alVairs, and linvcn ^vil.s nuule general director. Karly in 
 the winter of 1766 the latter issued a paper C()ntainin;j; a 
 full account of tlic enterprise; and nothing could have 
 Koundcil better. Tiie actors were to be well j)aid, generous 
 jirovision being made for old age; a high moral tone was 
 to be maintained among them; the selected plays were 
 to be as far as possible the genuine product of (German 
 genius ; and in a theatrical academy, conducted by the 
 director, young candidates were to be carefully prepared 
 for the stage. The modest Lowen did not forget to add 
 ihat the director — it was not at the time known that he 
 himself Ik-M this position — was "a man of blameless 
 morals, and well-known insiglit into the secrets of art." 
 
 The latter stroke does not prepossess us in his favour; 
 and, indeed, there is evidence that his enthusiasm in the 
 whole matter was not altogether disinterested. Yet one 
 thing he did, for the sake of which posterity has taken 
 the most generous view of his services : lie M-as the means 
 of bringing Lessing to Hamliurg. In his essay he had 
 called the author of "Miss Sara Sampson" — "Minna von 
 ]iarnhelm" had not then been published — the best living 
 dramatist; and it now occurred to him that if so distin- 
 guished a writer could be brought to associate himself 
 with the enterprise its success would be almost certain. 
 He accordingly sent a copy of his paper de.scriliing the 
 prospects of the tlieatre to Nicolai, and beggeil him to 
 lind out whether Lessing woidd cai-e to have anything to 
 do with the scheme. 
 
 With the general aims of tlie company Lessing could 
 not but heartily sympatiiise. He had not given uj) his 
 youthful ideas as to the great place the theatre ought to 
 liold in national life, and it was a subject of incessant 
 and Ijitter regret to him that his country was, in regard 
 to dramatic achievement, so far behind France and Eng- 
 land. He was, therefore, highly gralilied by tlie new 
 plan, returned a favourable answer to Lowen, and in
 
 FROM BERLIN 10 HAMBURG. 313 
 
 December started for llainlniif:, in order to enter into 
 direct nef,'otiations. " .So niucli I can tell yon," he wrote 
 to his brotlier Karl a wet-k or two after his arrival,i " that 
 the affair about which mainly I am licre ^'oes on very well, 
 and that it depends ujion myself to end it under the most 
 advantageous conditions. But you know me: that with 
 me the high-sounding advantage is not always the chief; 
 and there are some dangers about which I must be re- 
 assured before I finally decide." " Let the decision respect- 
 ing Hamburg be what it may," he added, " I shall not remain 
 in IV'rlin past Easter," 
 
 The managers were anxious that he should undertake to 
 write a series of plays for them ; but he absolutely refused 
 to bind himself in regard to work which in his case de- 
 jiended so much upon passing moods. He was, however, 
 willing to serve as general adviser and as critic ; and it was 
 at last arranged that he should undertake these functions. 
 How far his duties as adviser were to extend is not known ; 
 but as critic he was to write a review of each perform- 
 ance, to be published by the company. The salary agi-eed 
 upon was eight hundred thalers a year. 
 
 Another Hamburg literary man. Bode, having married 
 a rich wife, resolved about this time to apply some of the 
 wealth thus acquired in the establishment of a prmting 
 business. It flashed upon Lessing that, approached in this 
 way, literature might become rather more profitable than 
 lie had hitherto found it ; and the result of the notion was 
 that after some discussion he became Bode's partner. All 
 the printing connected with the theatre was to be done by 
 tliem; and Lessing, who, notwithstanding his clear intel- 
 lectual vision, was always apt to form sanguine antici- 
 ]iations of any new scheme, did not doubt that by the 
 publication of his own writings and those of his friends it 
 woidd be easy to achieve success. 
 
 He was now in as high spuits as he had formerly been 
 depressed. " I know not," he wrote to Gleim from Berlin, 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 209.
 
 31 1 FROM BERLIX TO HAMBURG. 
 
 oil the 1st Fcltrunrv, 1767,^ " wliorc to luMjin, I liavo 
 so mucli to tell you. Yes, I have been in Hamburg; 
 and in nine or ten weeks I think of going there again — 
 jirobably to remain there for years. I hope it will not be 
 hard fi)r me to forget l>erlin. ^ly friends there will always 
 be dear to me, always be my friends ; but everything else, 
 
 fi'om the greatest to the least but I remember that you 
 
 do not like to hear any one express his dislike of this (pieen 
 of cities. ' What had I to do in the accursed galley ? ' Do 
 not ask me what I am going to Hamburg for. Properly 
 speaking, for nothing. If they simply take nothing from 
 me, they will give me exactly as much as they have given 
 me here. But I need hide nothing from you. I have 
 come to a sort of arrangement with the new theatre there 
 and its cntreprc7icurs, which promises me for some years a 
 quiet and pleasant life. As I came to terms with them, 
 Juvenal's words occurred to me : 
 
 'Quod lion ilant procercs, dabit Hislrio.' 
 
 I will lluTG complete and put upon the stage my dramatic 
 works, whicli have for a long time waited for the last touch. 
 Such circumstances were necessary to kindle again in me 
 the almost extinct love of the theatre. I had begun to 
 lose myself in other studies, which would soon have un- 
 fitted me for any kind of work of genius. My ' Laokoon ' 
 is now again only a secondary employment. It seems to 
 me I shall continue that early enough for the great ma.ss 
 of our readers. The few who now read me undei"stand as 
 much of the matter as T, and more." 
 
 As a projiaration for his new mode of liH", ho lost no 
 time in is.suing an edition of liis comedies, in two volumes, 
 ill whidi "Minna V(m ]5aniln'lm" was for the Mrst time 
 jiuldisluMl. Just before the proposal from Haml»uig came, 
 Ik; had begun a new comedy under curious circumstances. 
 In a j)arty at which hv. was present one evening, the con- 
 versation turned upon the material best suited f<ir comedy. 
 * y. S. xii. J). 210.
 
 FROM BEKI.IX TO HAMBURG. 3' 5 
 
 In his lively, paradoxical way, Lcssin^' maintained tliat any 
 subject ^vould do cither for comedy or tragedy, since 
 matter was of far less importance than form. "The 
 material would be poor only if the poet was so." The 
 company were surprised ; and I'ander, who ought to have 
 known better than to take him strictly at his word, asked 
 whether he would prove his theory ])y action. "Why 
 not ? " asked Lessing, who, although lie had not expressed 
 liis real opinion, knew there was truth in what he had 
 said. "AVcll," replied Ilamler, "make a comedy in wliicli 
 the effects of a sleeping cup will be the catastroplie, and 
 name it accordingly." Lessing, not to be daunted, pro- 
 mised ; and next morning he actually set to M'ork. The 
 undertaking was interrupted by the negotiations respecting 
 Hamburg ; but having settled there, he resumed it, and a 
 considerable part of what he wrote lie caused to be printed. 
 As he ultimately lost a page of his manuscript, he would 
 not trouble himself to recall its contents, and thus the work 
 remained a fragment. This was, on the whole, fortunate, 
 for although the dialogue has all the sharpness and clear- 
 ness to whicli Lcssing's readers are accustomed, it is easy 
 to see tliat the jilay could not have attained higher rank 
 than that of a tolerably good farce ; and a farce standing 
 between "]Minna von Barnhelm" and "Emilia Galotti" 
 would not have been a pleasant spectacle. 
 
 Lessing had a considerable burden of debt ; liis removal 
 from Berlin to Hamburg would necessarily involve him in 
 new expenses, and it was desirable that he should invest 
 as large a cajjital as possible in the business he and Bode 
 were about to start together. The only plan of raising 
 money which suggested itself was that of selling ofl' the 
 library he had collected with so much pains, and which 
 consisted of about 6000 volumes. This cost him many a 
 pang ; and it was especially provoking that the sale .should 
 take place in a town in wdiich, as he said to Gleim, " books 
 were of no importance." The library was gradually dis- 
 posed of, and although he had calculated on receiving only
 
 3i6 FROM BERLIX TO HAMBURG. 
 
 six hundred tlialcrs, tlie ainuunt reuli.sed m'ils not moro 
 than a third of thai snni. 
 
 Nothing wiLs more characteristic of Voltaire than tlic 
 business-like energy with wliich he attended to liis private 
 affairs. In tliis re.si)ect, as in so many others, Lessing pre- 
 sented an absohite contrast to his great contemporary. In 
 regard to such matters he was what Englislimen call 
 thoroughly \inpractical ; and one result was that dishonest 
 servants constantly took advantage of his careless good 
 nature. A man who waited upon him in Breslau profited 
 so well in his employment that he was able to set up a 
 coffee-house. " lie has ap})lied the money to good purpose," 
 was Lessing's sole comment on learning this fact. When 
 lie left Breslau he sent on a servant with books and other 
 things to Berlin. This humorous fellow forthwith donned 
 his master's clothes, gave himself out as his brother, and 
 received from the landlord the civilities and attentions due 
 to his supposed position. Lessiug contented himself with 
 dismissing the man, and after his first indignation was 
 jiast, enjoyed a hearty laugh at the rascal's eccentricity. 
 About the time of his leaving Berlin he had still more 
 serious trouble of a like kind. An officer of his acquaint- 
 ance had made a soldier a " Freiwiichter " on condition that 
 he should act as Lessing's servimt. Everything went on 
 well for a time, but at last Lessing began to miss money, 
 and was surprised one day to find that the marks in his 
 account-book indicating the paynicut of his servant's wages 
 liad been carefully removed. A\'lnii he had gone to Ham- 
 burg the servant came to Karl Lessing and demanded his 
 wages, pretending that he had never heeii paid. The nuitter 
 came before the military authorities, and only avIumi the 
 soldier w;ls tcjM he would be lloggc(l if Lessing asserted on 
 oath that the money had been jiaid, did lit; willi(h"aw his 
 claim. In this case Lessing was really angry, for the man 
 had touched him at his ten<lerest ])oint, having made fre(! not 
 finly with money but with Itooks. Among the volumes he 
 sold as waste paper was a eojiy of the lirst edition of the
 
 FROM BERLIX TO HAMBURG. 317 
 
 "ITeldciilincli," a Ijook \v]ii<li its owner valued liiglily and 
 had ricldy annotated. 
 
 Curiously enough, just as he had decided to go to Ilani- 
 liurg, he was informed that if he chose he might be made 
 I'rofessor of Archieology at Cassel, and keeper of a cabi- 
 net of antiquities and coins. This ollice liad, however, no 
 attractions for him in comparison with the position to 
 which he now looked forward, in which he hoped to find 
 scope for his best energies, and to do noble service to his 
 country. His determination was not, therefore, for an 
 instant shaken. 
 
 Early in April, 1767 he left Berlin; and it so happened 
 that he was obliged to go without saying farewell to his 
 brother. "Everything," he wrote,"^ "that brothers have to 
 say to each other at parting, goes ^^'ithout saying between 
 us two." 
 
 He never again entered Berlin except as an occasional 
 visitor, and his repugnance to it became stronger the longer 
 he lived ; yet his name is now indissolubly associated 
 with it. Indeed, in its somewhat dreary annals there is no 
 more brilliant record than the fact that the most inde- 
 pendent and fascinating of the literary heroes of Germany 
 spent in it many of his liest years. When a man of very 
 difierent temper, Heinrich Heine, full of youthful ardour, 
 but already sarcastic, self-conscious, and not easily im- 
 pressed, went to Berlin, the name of Lessing threw a certain 
 halo even for him over its streets. " I am awestruck," he 
 once exclaimed in the Unter den Linden,^ " when I think 
 that Lessing may have stood here." 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 212. 
 
 3 Stroduuuuu'a '" H. Heine's Leben undTVerkc," i. p. 128.
 
 (3>8) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HAMBURG. 
 
 The new Hamburg theatre — the " National Theatre " it was 
 called — was opened on the 22d df April, 1767 ; and on the 
 same day appeared an announcement by Lcssini,' settin;^ 
 forth the objects of the undertaking. In calm and digniiied 
 language he pleaded that it should have a fair trial, and 
 reminded the public of the immense difliculties wliich 
 would have to be overcome. " The stages are many 
 tlirough which a theatre in the process of being created has 
 to pass on its way to perfection, but a degenerate theatre 
 is of course still farther removed from this point, and I 
 very much fear that the German theatre is more the latter 
 than the former. Consequently everything cannot be at- 
 tained at once. But what we do not see growing we find 
 after a time full grown. The slowest person who does 
 not let his aim out of his sight goes more ra])idly than he 
 who wanders about without an aim." lie e.vjjresses no fear 
 of the freest criticism. "Only," he continues, "let not 
 every little criticaster hold himself for the jjublic, and let 
 tliose whose expectations are di.sappointed consider wliat 
 tlieir e.vpectations were. Not every amateur is a connois- 
 seur ; not every person who feels the beauties of one piece, 
 the right play of one actor, is aide on that account to esti- 
 mate the worth of all others. A man has no taste who lias 
 only a one-sided taste; but he is often all the more a 
 l)arti.san. True taste is universal; it apjireciates beauties 
 of every kind, but expects hoin none more i)leasure and 
 delight than it can give according to its nature."* 
 
 ^ Siimnitliclic Scliriftcn, vii. |>. 4.
 
 IIAMIIURG. SFQ 
 
 'Hie jirospccts of the enlxirpriso seemed very luilliant, 
 for the troupe included several of the Lest actors Germany 
 had produced. Lowen Avas thorougldy in earnest; and 
 Avhat might not he hoped from the co-operation of sucli 
 a man as Lessing? Xevertheless, there were not wanting 
 critics who prophesied speedy failure, and unfortunately 
 their forebodings proved only too correct. Exactly a month 
 after the opening night Lessing wrote to his brother: "There 
 are a good many things connected Avith our tlieatre (tliis 
 in confidence!) wliich do not please me. There is discord 
 among the conductors, and no one knows who is cof»k, who 
 Avaiter," The liindrances without were still more serious. 
 The history of tlie undertaking was an illustration of a 
 fact which has often since received like illustration in 
 England : that it is impossible for a theatre which goes 
 beyond the pulilic taste to succeed in a commercial sense. 
 A cultivated community will support managers who aim 
 at great things ; an untrained society ignores or jeers at 
 efforts which, it is unable to comprehend. The neAv National 
 Theatre was to appeal solely to the higher faculties ; hence 
 even the ballet was excluded as unworthy of the stage. 
 Tlic good people of Hamburg responded by shrugging 
 their slioulders. Consequently in a few months the com- 
 pany exhausted its capital ; it incurred heavy debts, 
 and made frantic attempts by lowering the original ideal 
 to please the mob. Eut in vain dancers and gymnasts 
 were engaged : the whole scheme was discredited, and in 
 the winter of 1767 the troupe went to Hanover to make a 
 fresh experiment. In the following spring it returned to 
 Hamburg, but was no more successful tlian before. ]\Iany 
 performances that were announced could not be held; 
 creditors called loudly for papneiit ; and violent jealousies 
 broke out among the actors. Even Lowen ^^a\'^ up his 
 post in disgust and sought his fortunes elsewhere. Lessing 
 held on as long as the theatre lasted ; but he soon saw that 
 he was doomed to disappointment. On the 25 th of Novem- 
 ber, 1768, the last performance was given, and the company 
 broke up.
 
 3=0 I/AMnCRG. 
 
 "What an ninialtlo itloa," wrote Lcssing bitterly Imt 
 truly ill the concluding article of his " Dramaturgic," 1 
 " to create for the Germans a national theatre, while we 
 Germans are still not a nation! I do not speak of the 
 political constitution, but solely of the moral character. 
 One might almost say, the moral character of the German!! 
 is — the resolve to have none of their own. "VVe are still 
 the sworn imitators of everything foreign, especially the 
 humble admirei"S of the never enough admired French. 
 ]^verything from beyond the Khinc is beautiful, charming, 
 most lovely, divine ; we should rather disown sight and 
 hearing than think otherwise ; we will make ourselves take 
 coarseness for naturalness, insolence for gi-ace, grimace for 
 expression, a tingling of rhymes for poetry, howling for 
 music, rather than in the smallest degi'ce doubt the supe- 
 riority which this amiable people, this first people in the 
 world, as it is accustomed very modestly to call itself, in 
 everything that is good, and beautiful, and sublime, and 
 becoming, has received for its share from just Destiny." 
 
 After all, however, the failure was not so complete as it 
 seemed at the moment. The enterprise was the first step 
 towards a really national theatre, and it was the occa- 
 sion of a splendid contrilration to the intellectual culture 
 of Germany : the " Hamburgische Dramaturgic." It was 
 originally intended that the criticisms of which this work 
 is composed shouhl appear twice a week : on Tuesdays 
 and Fridays. It would have been hard for Lessing under 
 any circumstances to be thus regular, and the difliculty 
 was made all the gi'cater by the fact that after a time 
 pirated editions of the various numbers were issuuil both 
 in Hamburg and Leipzig. Ix.ssing protested vigorously 
 in the public prints against this roguery, and repeatedly 
 pointed out that if his readers would not buy the original 
 edition the work would have to be given up. His protests, 
 however, were of no avail. After August, 1767, there was 
 a pause in the publication, but during the absence of the 
 
 ' S. S. vii. p. 419.
 
 HAMBURG. 321 
 
 troupe it \\'as resumed until April of the following year. 
 No more wiis hear J of the journal until Easter, 1 7G9, when 
 all the numbers Lessing had completed were given to the 
 world in two volumes. These included articles on the 
 pieces presented during the first fifty-two nights. He 
 often thought of carrying on the work until it sliould 
 contain a complete record of the doings of the theatre ; 
 but other duties came in the way, and the design was 
 given up. 
 
 The disappointments connected with the theatre were by 
 no means Lessing's only troubles in Hamburg. In 1 768 
 he became involved in his famous dispute with Klotz ; and 
 in the meantime his association with Bode in the printing 
 business had led to very different results from tliose to 
 which he had looked forward. With much ingenuity he 
 had devised a scheme by which everybody concerned was 
 to malvc large profits and run no risks. Nicolai irritated 
 Lessing by laughing at his fine plan ; but the event proved 
 that tlie experienced man of business knew best. Tlie 
 firm fell into difficulties ; Lessing was compelled to borrow 
 money; and in the end the partnership was dissolved, 
 leaving hea\'y debts behind it as its sole memorial. 
 
 The letters belonging to this time, whicli nearly all give 
 the impression of being thrown off in haste, as if tlie writer 
 was discharging a somewhat irksome duty, bear marks of 
 an anxious and troubled mind. " If it were possible to 
 describe to you," he wi-ote to his father on December 21, 
 I 'jG'j} " in what confusion, cares, and labours I have been 
 involved, how unhappy I have almost always been, how 
 exhausted I have often found myself in body and mind, I 
 know you would not only forgive my silence hitherto, but 
 consider it the sole proof of filial respect and love which I 
 have been at this time in a position to give you. "Wlien 
 I WTite, it is impossible for me to MTite otherwise than as I 
 think and feel at the time. You would have had the most 
 unpleasant letter to read, and I should have been stiU more 
 
 ^ S. S. xii. p. 222. 
 VOL. I. T
 
 322 HAMBURG. 
 
 discontented witii my circumstances if 1 had lioen oblij^od 
 to ivaliso liow imich distress they liad caused my parents. 
 It was best, tlierefore, to let you know notliing about 
 them: •which could oidy be done by not wriliiii^ to you." 
 Witli fine tact he says notliin;^' about liis tlieatrieal duties, 
 allhough explaining; fully his relation to Bode. And lie is 
 not so occupied by his own anxieties that he cannot heartily 
 congratulate his father on the approachinp; celeljration of 
 his jubilee, lieforc closing; tlie letter lie promises to send 
 without fail, so soon as the Elbe is navigable again, " a 
 email sujiply of sugar and wine." 
 
 The dillieulties of the old pastor had increased witli 
 his years ; and in answer to this letter lie apparently 
 A\Tote urgently asking help. Lessing longed to be able to 
 deliver him ; but he could do very little. " (Jod knows," 
 he wrote March 20, 1768,^ "that I could not sooner 
 answer your last. I sink under work and cares, and of 
 the latter not tlie least is that I must know my parents 
 to be in utter perplexity, and yet not be in a position 
 to aid them so quickly as I wish. I hope my father 
 knows me, and that he Mill not believe that I am putting 
 him off with mere excuses. It goes to my soul, dearest 
 father, that I cannot possibly give you the desired help by 
 Easter, liut by midsunnner I Avill devise means, come 
 how it may." 
 
 " My heart bleeds when I think (»f our parents," lie 
 ■\\Tote to his brother in July of the following year.^ " But 
 God is my witness that I am not to blame if I do not 
 altogether relieve them. At this moment I am poorer 
 than any member of our whole family. For tlie poorest 
 at lea.st owes nothing; but while I want wliat is most 
 needful I am often over ears in debt." 
 
 Consitlerable ol)stacles had to be overcome lu^fore 
 "Minna von Barnhelm" could be presented on the Ham- 
 burg stage, for the city authorities required that, as tlie 
 X»lay contained references to existing political circum- 
 
 ' S. S.xii. p. 230. ^ S. H. xii. \^. 275.
 
 IIAMIiURG. 323 
 
 stances in Prussia, the sanction of the Piiissian Minister 
 should he ohtaincd; and this oflicial was in no hurry to 
 grant it. The cool reception of the work, when at last 
 permission was given, did not tend to make life seem more 
 tolerable. Lessing received with gi-eat calmness and some 
 incredulity the intelligence of the unparalleled success in 
 Berlin. " I thank you," he wrote to his brother (April 26, 
 1 768 ^), " for your news as to the representation of ' Minna.' 
 The j)rincipal cause of its being so often played may well 
 be that Dobbelin possesses few or no other pieces. At 
 least a person who has just come from Berlin assures me 
 that the theatre was repeatedly very empty. For my part, 
 I have no desire on that account to be again in Berlin, 
 and very much wish that you also were out of it. I 
 should like to have you with me again ; but I am at pre- 
 sent neither so lodged, nor in such circumstances, as to 
 render this possible. Thank God the time will soon come 
 again when I shall be unable to call a penny in the world 
 my own except what I shall first Avin. I am unfortunate 
 if it must happen by means of writing ! Take my 
 brotherly advice, and give up the idea of living by writ- 
 ing. Neither do I much approve the idea of going with 
 young peoi)le to the university. What can in the end 
 come of that ? Try to become a secretary or to join a 
 college. It is the only way not to starve sooner or later. 
 For me it is too late to take another path. I do not, how- 
 ever, advise you to give up altogether anything to wliich 
 pleasure and genius may impel you." 
 
 At Easter, in 176S, in the midst of his perplexities, Less- 
 ing visited Leipzig, where he met Nicolai and had plea- 
 sant intercourse with some of his old friends. The youth- 
 ful Goethe, full of glorious life, was expanding under a 
 thousand different influences, and already touching with a 
 master's hand the lyre whose strains were soon to awaken 
 the attention of all Europe. He never had another oppor- 
 tunity of seeing Lessing, and always regretted that he had 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 232.
 
 3=4 HAMBURG. 
 
 allowed this one to slip. " Lessing came," ho afterwanls 
 exi)laine(l in "AVahrheit und Dichtuiig," "at a time wlien 
 wc had I know nt)t what in our lieads : it pleased us never 
 to approacli liim, even to avoid the places where he came, 
 probably because we tliought ourselves too good to stand 
 at a distance, and could make no claim to enter into closer 
 relations with him. This momentary silliness, which is 
 not very rare in the case of a presumptuous and fanciful 
 youth, brought its own punishment in tlio end, for I never 
 saw this distinguished man, whom I in the highest degree 
 value." 
 
 In the course of the same year, as it became obvious 
 that the theatre was to be an utter failure, and that even by 
 trade he could not hope to win his bread, Lessing appears 
 to have felt temporarily embittered against his country. 
 He even began a translation of " Laokoon " into French, 
 explaining in the preface that German was not a language 
 iitted for such discussions. His old idea of visiting Italy 
 returned to him ; and for some time he was firmly resolved 
 to set off in the spring of 1769, probably never to come 
 back. " What I mean to do in Eome," he wrote to 
 Nicolai (September 28, 1768 1), "I shall write to you 
 from Rome. At present I can say only this, tliat I 
 have at least as mucli to seek and to expect in liome as 
 in any place in Germany. Here I cannot live for 800 
 tlialers a year; but in Eome I can do so for 300 thalers. 
 I can take almost as mucli with me as will keep me for a 
 year ; if that is all — well, that would be all here too, and 
 I am very sure that it is pleasanter and more edifying 
 to starve and beg in Rome than in Germany." " I am still 
 resolved," he told his brother a month later, " to undertake 
 my journey. But you are curious as to the day wlien I 
 shall start. If I go by water — by the first spring wind. 
 You wish to know whether I shall go solely on my own 
 account, or in association with others ? To you I may say- 
 solely on my own account. But let people say what they 
 
 1 .S. S. xii. p. 241.
 
 HAMBURG. 325 
 
 Avill, Avhcthcr tliey know rightly or not. It is mero 
 curiosity, and anything Lut interest in my affairs." 
 
 " You have been ill, dearest friend," runs a letter to 
 Piaraler, November 6, 1768.^ " But how can one be well 
 in Berlin ? Everything one sees there must drive gall 
 into one's blood. Come quickly to Hamburg ; we will 
 take ship, and rove a couple of thousand miles over the 
 world. I give you my word we shall come back healthier 
 than we set out — or not at all, which comes to the same 
 thing. I do not imagine that I shall be longer happy in 
 liome than I have yet been in any place in the world. If 
 then the ' Collegium de propaganda fide ' has to send some 
 one to a place where not even a Jesuit will go, I will go 
 there. If we see each other again after twenty years, 
 what shall I not have to tell you ! Remind me then of 
 our theatre here. If I have not by that time forgotten 
 the wretched affair, I will tell you its history minutely. 
 You shall hear ever}i:hing that cannot be written in the 
 ' Dramaturgic.' And if we then have no stage, I shall 
 be able to show from experience the surest way of never 
 having one. Transcat cum cccteris erroribus." 
 
 When people heard that Lessing intended to go to 
 Home, the first thought usually was that he was about to 
 Ibllow the example of Winckelmann. Nothing irritated 
 him more than the notion that he was imitating any one 
 whatever. Always moved by strong impulses of his own, 
 and acting upon them whether or not they were those of 
 other people, it seemed unaccountable to him that he 
 should be supposed capable of meekly following in the 
 steps even of so distinguished a man. "Do you know 
 what annoys me ? " he wrote to his friend Ebert in Bruns- 
 wick.2 " That every one to whom I say, ' I am going to 
 Home,' immediately thinks of Winckelmann. What have 
 Winckelmann, and the place which Winckelmann made 
 for himself in Italy, to do with my journey ? Nobody 
 can value the man higher than I ; yet I should be as 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 251. 2 S. S. xii. p. 245.
 
 326 HAMBURG. 
 
 little pleased to bo "Wiuckt'lmami as I ofleu am to be 
 Lcssing ! " 
 
 His independent spirit Mould not allow liim to tliink 
 even of taking letters of recommendation with liinL 
 Kicolai had written to him of various such letters wliieh 
 a friund of "Wiuckclmann's was willing to place at his 
 service, but this was his reply : i " I wish no acquaintances 
 in riomc excei)t those I shall myself make in an acci- 
 dental way. If AVinckelmauu had not been so especial a 
 friend and client of Albani, I believe his 'Monumeuti' 
 would have borne a very dillerent character. Much rub- 
 bish has found a place there solely because it is in the 
 Villa Albani : things which from the standpoint of art are 
 of no value, and from that of scliolarship not much except 
 what Winckelmann forcibly drives into tliem. I can see 
 what I wish to see, and live as I think of doinir, without 
 cardinals." 
 
 For many months he continued in the lirm determination 
 to carry out this scheme; but there were very dihereut 
 experiences in store for him. 
 
 Before passing on to the " Dramaturgic " it will be apprO' 
 priate to quote some sentences in wldch Lessing alludes to 
 certain comedies by his brother. After passing a very 
 unfavourable judgment, he adds: 2 "I beg you not to take 
 ill my plain speaking. If you do not hear the dry truth 
 from me, who will say it to you ? I have often already 
 told you by word of mouth wherein I think you fail. You 
 have too little philosoiihy, and work too frivolously. To 
 make the spectators laugh so that they will not at the same 
 time laugh at us, we nuist work long and earnestly in the 
 study. A dramatist nmst never write what comes first 
 into his head. Your language alone would show your haste. 
 On every page there are grannnatieal mistakes, and scarce 
 a single speech is correct, imlividual, and new. I nmst, 
 inileed, console you by saying that your lirst j^eces are 
 quite as good as my first pieces, and if you devote, as I 
 
 , ' S. y. xii. p. 257. " S. S. xii. p. 274.
 
 HAMBURG. 327 
 
 lifivc done, to every new j)iecc from four to six years, you 
 may easily do somctliing better than I have done or shall 
 do. But if you continue to write x)ieee after piece ; if you 
 do not in the interval exercise yourself in other work in 
 order to arrange your thoughts and to create for your ex- 
 pression clearness and precision: I say decidedly that 
 you will do nothing special in this department, and your 
 Inindrcdth piece will not be a hairsbreadth better than 
 your first." 
 
 " Study more diligently," he had written in a previous 
 letter,^ "learn to express yourself well and justly, and 
 cultivate your own character : without that I do not believe 
 that any one can become a good dramatic writer." 
 
 1 S. S. xii. p. 249. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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