Part 24 (2/2)
”Yes, indeed, poetical,” she said, and her large brilliant eyes were dimmed. ”If it is true that tears are the baptism of poets, then I was baptized daily for twelve years, and ought to be an extraordinary poetess.”
”That you are, indeed,” said Goethe, ”who would dispute it? You have given evidence of great poetical talent, and I read your heroic poem upon the Great Frederick with real delight.”
”Do you know what he did?” she asked, bitterly. ”I turned to him, begging for a.s.sistance; for who should a poet turn to, but his G.o.d and his king? Moreover, he had promised it to me personally.”
”You have spoken with him, then, yourself?” asked Goethe.
”Yes, eight years ago; General von Siedlitz procured me an audience. The king was very gracious, and among other things, asked me about my life; and as I explained to him my poverty and want, he most kindly promised to help me.” [Footnote: This interview which Frau Karschin had with the king is found in ”Anecdotes and Traits of Character of Frederick the Great.” vol. ii., p. 72.]
”And did he not fulfil his promise?”
”No, had it been given to the least of the French writers he would have kept it, but to a German poet it was not worth while. What is a native poet to the great German king? A phantom that he knows not, and believes not. As great as he is, the king showed himself very small to me. I sang him as a poetess and he bestowed a pittance upon me as one would to a beggar in tatters by the wayside.”
”Is it really true, upon your supplication--”
”Sent me two thalers! Yes, that is indeed true, and I see by your smile that you know it, and know also that I returned it to him. I had rather die with hunger than take a beggar's penny. But let me relate to you what happened two weeks since. I had borne patiently the affair of the two thalers, and forgotten it. I am more comfortable now; the booksellers pay me for my songs and poems very well, and a number of patrons and friends, at whose head is the Prince of Prussia, give me a small pension, from which I can at least live--though poorly. One of my patrons sent me a strip of land on the Spree not far from the Hercules Bridge, where I would gladly build me a little house, at last to have a sure abiding-place where I could retire--that would be a refuge against all the troubles and sorrows of life. As I thought it over, the old confidence and imperishable love for the great king rose again within me, and as I esteemed him I always hoped for the fulfilment of his promise. I applied to him again, and begged him to do for me what he had granted to so many cobblers and tailors, as the king gives building-money to help those who will build. All the houses of the Gensdarmen-markt are built by royal aid, and sometimes the king designs the facades, as he did for the butcher Kuhn's great house; and sent him a design to ornament the frieze of ninety-nine, sheeps' heads, only ninety-nine, for he said the butcher himself was the one hundredth. The butcher remonstrated, but he was obliged to keep them, if he would have the building-money.”
”Really,” cried Goethe, laughing, ”the king is an ingenious and extraordinary man in every thing, and no one is like him.”
”No one is like him, and no one would have treated me as he did. I addressed to him a poem, begging him with true inspiration and emotion to let a German poetess find favor in his sight--and that he would be for me a Maecenas, if I were not a Horace. My heart bled with sorrow, that I must so beg and pray, and my tears wet the paper upon which I indited my begging, rhyming pet.i.tion. How much money do you think the great king sent me for my house? Think of the smallest sum.”
”If it was small, yet for building-money he would send you at least two hundred thalers.”
The poetess burst into a scornful laugh. ”He sent me three thalers! The great Frederick sent me three thalers to build a house!”
”What did you do? Did you take them?”
”Yes,” she answered, proudly, ”and I will leave them as a legacy to my daughter, as an historical souvenir for succeeding generations, who will relate the benevolence of the German king for the German poetess. I sent the king a receipt--I will read it to you.
”'His majesty commanded, Instead of building-money, To send me three thalers. The order was exactly, Promptly fulfilled. I am indebted for thanks, But for three thalers can No joiner in Berlin My coffin make.
Otherwise to-morrow I would order Such a house without horror Where worms feast, And, feasting, quarrel Over the lean, care-worn Old woman's remains That the king let sigh away.'” [Footnote: See ”Life and Poems of Louisa Karschin,” edited by her daughter.]
”Why do you not laugh?” said Frau Karschin, raising her flas.h.i.+ng eyes to Goethe, who sat looking down earnestly and quietly before her.
”I cannot,” he gently answered. ”Your poem makes me sad; it recalls the keen sorrow of a poet's existence, the oft-repeated struggle between Ideality and Reality. The blessed of the G.o.ds must humble themselves; though they may raise their heads to heaven, their feet must still rest upon earth; and to find their way upon it, and walk humbly therein, they must again lower their inspired heads.”
”Oh, that makes me feel better,” cried Karschin, with tears in her eyes; ”that is balsam for my wounds. You are a great poet, Goethe, I feel it to be so. You are a great man, for your heart is good and filled with pity. How unjustly they call you cold and proud! Only be a little more yielding, and call upon the Berlin poets and writers. You can imagine that the news of your arrival ran like wild-fire through the town.
Nicolai, Rammler, Engel, Mendelssohn, and all the other distinguished gentlemen have stayed at home like badgers in their kennels, watching for you, so as not to miss your visit. At last they became desperate, and scolded furiously over your arrogance and pride in thinking yourself better than they. Why have you not called upon them?”
There was a loud knocking at the door, and the young man with his alb.u.m entered, almost breathless. ”Here I am,” said he, ”I came directly from Professor Rammler here, as I promised you.”
”You saw him, then? Has he written something for you?”
”Yes, I saw him, and he granted my request.”
”And abused me, did he not, with his nose turned up? You must know, Goethe, that Professor Rammler despises my poems, because I am not so learned in Greek and Roman mythology as he is. Now tell me, my young friend, what did he say about me?”
”I promised you, upon my word of honor, to tell you every thing, but I hope you will release me from the promise.” sighed the young man.
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