"Yes, a stranger," said Goethe, smiling, and approaching, as the happy possessor of the album withdrew--"a stranger would not leave Berlin without visiting the German poetess.""And without verses in your album; is it not so? I have become the fashion, and if I could only live by immortalizing myself in your albums, I should be free from care. Now I have divined it--you wish an autograph?""No! only a good word, and a friendly shake of the hand, for Ipossess a poem and a letter which the good Frau Karschin sent me at Weimar some six months since, written by herself.""Is it Goethe?" she cried, clasping her hands in astonishment. "The poet Johann Wolfgang Goethe, the renowned author of the work which--""Cost you many tears," broke in Goethe, laughing. "I beg you spare me these phrases, which follow me upon my journey as the Furies Orestes. I know that 'Werther' has become the favorite of the reading public; he has opened all the tear-ducts and made all lovers of moonlight as soft as a swaddling-cloth. I could punish myself for having written 'Werther.'"Frau Karschin laughed aloud. "That is glorious! You please me! You are a famous poet and a genius, for only geniuses can revise and ridicule themselves. Welcome, Germany's greatest poet, welcome to the attic of the poetess! There is the good word which you would have, and here is the hand. Did you think it worth while to visit poor Karschin? I am rejoiced at it, for I see that they accused you unjustly of arrogance and pride!""Do they accuse me of it?" asked Goethe, smiling. "Can the Berlin poets and authors never forgive me that I live at a court, and am honored with the favor of a prince?""They would willingly forgive you if they had the power to push you one side, and take your place. They are angry with you, because they envy you and are not accustomed to be esteemed. Our prince and ruler, as great a hero and king as he otherwise is, cares little for German poetry, and for all he would care, the Berlin authors might starve, one and all; he would trouble himself no more about them than the flies dancing in the sunlight.""The great king is still the same, then? He will never know anything of German literature?""No! he declares that it is the language of barbarians and bear-catchers; scolds about us, and despises us, and yet knows as little of us as the man in the moon. He adores his Voltaire. Old Fritz knows the French poet by heart, but Lessing he knows nothing of. He abuses 'Goetz von Berlichingen,' and 'Werther's Sorrows.'""Oh! I know it all--I know the king's adjutant-general, von Siedlitz. I often dine with him, and read aloud my poems to him, when he relates to me what the king says to enrage me. You must know when I am angry I speak in verse. I accustomed myself to it during my unhappy marriage with the tailor Karsch. When he scolded, Ianswered in verse, and tried to turn my thoughts to other things, and to make the most difficult rhymes. As he was always scolding and quarrelling, I always spoke in rhyme.""And in this way you led a very poetical marriage?" smiled Goethe.
"Yes, indeed, poetical," she said, and her large brilliant eyes were dimmed. "If it is true that tears are the baptism of poets, then Iwas 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 assistance; for who should a poet turn to, but his God 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. Ihad 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 Iesteemed him I always hoped for the fulfilment of his promise. Iapplied 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'