GERMAN LITERATURE AND THE KING.
The Minister Herzberg had, in the mean time, an interview with the king, informing him of the concluded purchase of the Schmettau villa, and of the emotion and gratitude of the crown prince at his royal munificence.
"That affair is arranged, then," said Frederick. "If Fate wills that the prince should not return from this campaign, then this certain person and the two poor worms are provided for, who are destined to wander through the world nameless and fatherless.""Let us hope that fate will not deal so harshly with the prince, or bring such sorrow upon your majesty.""My dear sir, Fate is a hard-hearted creature, the tears of mankind are of no more importance to her than the raindrops falling from the roof. She strides with gigantic power over men, crushing them all in dust--the great as well as the little--the king as well as the beggar. For my part I yield to Fate without a murmur. Politicians and warriors are mere puppets in the hands of Providence. We act without knowing why, for we are unknowingly the tools of an invisible hand. Often the result of our actions is the reverse of our hopes! Let all things take their course, as it best pleases God, and let us not think to master Fate. [Footnote: The king's words.--"Posthumous Works," vol. x., p. 256.] That is my creed, Herzberg, and if I do not return from this infamous campaign, you will know that I have yielded to Fate without murmuring. You understand my wishes in all things; the current affairs of government should go on regularly. If any thing extraordinary occurs, let me be informed at once. Is there any news, Herzberg?""Nothing worth recounting, sire, except that the young Duke of Weimar is in town.""I know it; he has announced himself. I cannot speak with him. Ihave asked my brother Henry to arrange the conditions under which he will allow us to enlist men for my army in his duchy. I hope he will be reasonable, and not prevent it. That is no news that the Duke of Weimar has arrived!""Not only the duke has arrived, but he has brought his dear friend with him whom the people in Saxe-Weimar say makes the good and bad weather.""Who is the weather-maker?"
"Your majesty, this weather-maker is the author of 'The Sorrows of Young Werther,' Johann Wolfgang Goethe, who for four years has aroused the hearts and excited the imaginations of all Germany. If Iam not deceived, a great future opens for this poet, and he will be a star of the first magnitude in the sky of German literature. Ibelieve it would be well worth the trouble for your majesty to see him.""Do not trouble me with your German literature, and your stars of the first magnitude! We must acknowledge our poverty with humility;belles-lettres have never achieved success upon our soil. Moreover, this star of the first magnitude--this Herr Goethe--I remember him well; I wish to know nothing of him. He has quite turned the heads of all the love-sick fools with his 'Sorrows of Young Werther.' You cannot count that a merit. The youth of Germany were sufficiently enamoured, without the love-whining romances of Herr Goethe to pour oil on the fire.""Pardon me, sire, that I should presume to differ from you; but this book which your majesty condemns has not only produced a furor in Germany, but throughout Europe--throughout the world even. That which public opinion sustains in such a marked manner cannot be wholly unworthy. 'Vox populi, vox dei,' is a true maxim in all ages.""It is not true!" cried the king. "The old Roman maxim is not applicable to our effeminate, degraded people. Nowadays, whoever flatters the people and glorifies their weaknesses, is a good fellow, and he is extolled to the skies. Public opinion calls him a genius and a Messiah. Away with your nonsense! The 'Werther' of Herr Goethe has wrought no good; it has made the healthy sick, and has not restored invalids to health. Since its appearance a mad love-fever has seized all the young people, and silly sentimentalities and flirtations have become the fashion. These modern Werthers behave as if love were a tarantula, with the bite of which they must become mad, to be considered model young men. They groan and sigh, take moonlight walks, but they have no courage in their souls, and will never make good soldiers. This is the fault of Herr Werther, and his abominable lamentations.
