Since Luther, Germany has produced no greater or better man than Gotthold Ephraim Lessing; these two are Germany's pride and joy.

This is the witness of Heine, and with Goethe in memory, none would pronounce the statement too bold. Luther and Lessing are Germany's representative men; each inaugurates an epoch the very existence of which would not have been possible without him. Nor is this the only point of analogy. Lessing was the Luther of the eighteenth century. Like Luther, Lessing is distinguished by earnestness, ardour, true manliness, fierce hatred of dissimulation, largeness of mind, breadth, and profundity of thought. Like Luther, he stands in history a massive presence whereon the weak may lean. Like Luther, he led the vanguard of reform in every department of human learning into which he penetrated. Like Luther, he was true to every conviction, and did not shrink from its expression. Like Luther, he could have said, "I was born to fight with devils and storms, and hence it is that my writings are so boisterous and stormy." Like Luther, he became the founder of a new religion and of a new German literature. And again, like Luther, his life labours were not for Germany alone, but spread over all Europe; and few of us know how much of our present culture we owe directly or indirectly to Lessing's influence.

In this country he has not been sufficiently known. Up to the present, his name has been familiar to Englishmen only as the author of the 'Laokoon,' 'Nathan the Wise,' and, possibly also, of 'Minna von Barnhelm.' In knowing these, we certainly know the names of some of his masterpieces, but we cannot thence deduce the entire cause of the man's far-spreading influence.

Fully to understand Lessing's influence, and fully to understand the bearing of his works, some slight previous acquaintance with German literature is absolutely requisite. For unless we comprehend the source whence an author's inspirations have sprung, we may often misconceive his views. And Lessing's writings, above all, essentially sprang from the needs of his time. The subject is a large one, and can only be briefly indicated here; but we venture to remark, for those whose interest may be aroused in the subject of this volume, that the fuller their knowledge of the man and the motive force that evoked his works, the keener will be their enjoyment of these works themselves.

In naming Lessing, Goethe, and Schiller, we utter the three greatest names that German literature can boast. And between the three runs a connecting link of endeavour; the efforts of none can be conceived without the efforts of the others; but Lessing was the leader. He was the mental pathfinder who smoothed the way for Goethe's genius, and prepared the popular understanding for Schiller, the poetical interpreter of Kant.

Lessing was born in the early years of the eighteenth century, at a time therefore when Germany may be said practically to have had no literature. For the revival of learning, the interest in letters that arose with the Reformation, and had been fostered by the emancipating spirit of Protestantism, had been blighted and extinguished by the terrible wars that ravaged the country for thirty years, impoverishing the people, destroying the homesteads and farms, and utterly annihilating the mental repose needful to the growth and to the just appreciation of literature. Books were destroyed as relentlessly in those sad times as flourishing cornfields were down-trodden by the iron heel of the invader. It was a fearful period of anarchy and retrogression, under the baneful effects of which Germany still labours. Peace was at last restored in 1648 by the Treaty of Westphalia, but it found the nation broken in spirit and vigour, and where material needs entirely absorb the mental energies of a people the Muses cannot flourish. And not only was the spirit of the people broken by the war, their national feeling seemed totally extinct. The bold fine language wherewith Luther had endowed them was neglected and despised by the better classes, who deemed servile imitation of the foreigner the true and only criterion of good taste. It grew, at last, to be held quite a distinction for a German to be unable to speak his own language correctly, and it seems probable that but for the religious utterances of the hymn-writers, who thus provided the poor oppressed people with ideal consolations, the very essence of the language, in all its purity, might have perished. It is among these hymn-writers that we must seek and shall find the finest, truest, and most national expressions of that time. Shortly before Lessing's birth there had awakened a sense of this national degradation, and some princes and nobles formed themselves into a society to suppress the fashionable Gallicisms and reinstate the people's language. Their efforts met with some little success, but their powers were too limited, and their attempts too artificial and jejune to exert any considerable influence either in the direction of conservation or of reform. It needed something stronger, bolder, to dispel the apathy of a century. Still these associations, known as the two Silesian schools, bore their part in sowing the good seed, and though most of it fell on stony ground, because there was little other ground for it whereon to fall, still some fell on fruitful earth, and brought forth in due season. An excessive interest in French literature was opposed by an equal interest in English literature. The adherents of these two factions formed what was known as the Swiss and Leipzig schools. They waged a fierce paper warfare, that had the good effect of once more attracting popular attention to the claims of letters, as well as showing the people that in French manners, French language, and French literature, the Alpha and Omega of culture need not of necessity be sought. The leader of the Leipzig faction, who stood by the French, was Gottsched, a German professor of high pretensions and small merits, who put his opponents on their mettle by his pedantic and arrogant attacks. He had instituted himself a national dictator of good taste, and for a long time it seemed probable that he and his party would triumph. His ultimate defeat was accomplished by Lessing, whose early boyhood was contemporaneous with the fiercest encounters of these antagonists. It was he who gave the death-blow to their factious disputes, and referred the nation back to itself and its own national glory and power. He found Germany without original literature, and, before his short life was ended, the splendid genius of Goethe shed its light over the land. Who and what was the man who effected so much?

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing was born on the twenty-second of January, 1729, at Camentz, a small town in Saxony, of which his father was head pastor. For several generations Lessing's ancestors had been distinguished for their learning, and with few exceptions they had all held ecclesiastical preferment. The father of Gotthold Ephraim was a man of no inconsiderable talents and acquirements. His upright principles, breadth of vision and scholarly attainments, made him a venerated example to his son, with whom he maintained through life the most cordial relationship, though the son's yet more enlightened standpoint came to transcend the comprehension of the father. Their first divergence occurred on the choice of a profession. It had been traditional among the Lessings that the eldest son should take orders, and accordingly Gotthold Ephraim was silently assumed to be training for the ministry. He was sent for this end, first to the Grammar-school of his native town, then to a public school at Meissen, and finally to the University of Leipzig. At Meissen he distinguished himself in classical studies, and attempted some original German verses. He outstripped his compeers, and before he had accomplished his curriculum, the rector recommended his removal, inasmuch as he had exhausted the resources of the school. At Leipzig he appeared to turn his back on study. He deserted the class-rooms of the theologians and was the more constant attendant instead at the theatre, at that time the bÊte noire of all who affected respectability, and decried loudly by the clergy as a very hotbed of vice. News of their son's haunts reached the dismayed parents. They urged him to abandon his courses, that could only end in mental and moral destruction. In vain the son represented to them that he had lived in retirement too long, that he now wished to become acquainted with the world and men, and that he held the theatre to be a popular educator. In vain he represented that he did attend the philosophical courses of Professors Kaestner, Ernesti, and Christ. He was a playgoer, and what was still worse, he was a play-writer, for the directress of the Leipzig Theatre, Frau Neuber, a woman, of great taste and intelligence, had put on the stage Lessing's juvenile effort, 'The Young Scholar.' Nay more, he associated with a notorious freethinker, Mylius, and in concert with him had contributed to various journals and periodicals. And meanwhile the magistracy of Camentz was allowing Lessing a stipend on condition of studying theology. It was too much. His son was neglecting the dic cur hic, and to obviate this the father recalled him home by a stratagem, informing him that his mother was dying and desired once more to see her son. The ruse, intended also as a test of Lessing's filial obedience, succeeded in so far as to prove that this was at least unshaken; but his parents urged in vain that he should abandon his evil ways. He once more expressed with great decision his disinclination towards a theological career. But he was also firmly resolved to be no longer a burden to his parents, whose large family was a great drain on their resources. He determined to follow Mylius, who had gone to Berlin in the capacity of editor, convinced that a good brain and steadfast will would force their own way in the world.

Accordingly Lessing settled in Berlin in 1748, a youth of barely twenty years, prepared to fight a hand-to-hand struggle for existence. Frederick the Great at that time ruled in Prussia, and his capital was in ill repute as a hotbed of frivolity and atheism. If anything could be worse in the parents' eyes than their son's attendance at the theatre, it was his presence at Berlin. They urged his return home. He refused respectfully but decidedly. He had found employment that remunerated him. Voss's Gazette had appointed him literary editor, he wrote its critical feuilletons, and here he had the first opportunity of attacking the Swiss and Leipzig factions, and of exposing the absurdities of both schools. He was able to teach himself Spanish and Italian, he translated for the booksellers, he catalogued a library; and while thus earning his livelihood tant bien que mal, he indirectly prosecuted his studies and enlarged his knowledge of literature and life. For at Berlin he was not forced to associate only with books, he also came in contact with intellectual men, his views expanded, his judgment became sure. A volume of minor poems that he published in 1751 excited attention.

The essays he contributed to Voss's Gazette gave him notoriety on account of their independent spirit, their pregnant flashes of originality and truth. This unknown youth ventured alone and unsupported to attack Gottsched's meretricious writings, and so successfully that even the vain dictator trembled, and the rival schools asked each other who was this Daniel that had come to judgment? With pitiless subtlety he exposed the crudity, the inflation of Klopstock's 'Messiah,' which at that time one half the world extolled, the other half abused, while he alone could truly distinguish in what respects the poem fell short of its pretensions to be a national epic, and where its national importance and merit really lay.

For two years Lessing remained at Berlin; busy years, in which he scattered these treatises teeming with discernment and genius. Then at the end of that time he felt himself exhausted, he craved seclusion, in which he could once more live for himself and garner up fresh stores of knowledge. The city and his numerous friends were too distracting. So one day he stole away without previous warning and installed himself in the quiet university town of Wittenberg. At Wittenberg he spent a year of quiet study. The University library was freely opened to him, and he could boast that it did not contain a book he had not held in his hands. Wittenberg: being chiefly a theological university, Lessing's attention was principally attracted to that subject, and he here laid the foundations of the accurate knowledge that was in after years to stand him in great stead. When he had exhausted all that Wittenberg could offer, he one day (1752) reappeared at Berlin as unexpectedly as he had quitted it, and quickly resumed his old relations there, which proved as busy and significant as before. Lessing again maintained himself by authorship, but this time his productions were riper. He published several volumes of his writings. They contained treatises composed at Wittenberg, Rehabilitations (Rettungen) of distinguished men, whom he held the world had maligned, as well as several plays, among which were the 'Jews,' 'The Woman-hater,' 'The Freethinker,' 'The Treasure,' as well as the fragmentary play 'Samuel Henzi,' a novel attempt to treat of modern historical incidents on the stage. A somewhat savage attack, entitled 'Vade mecum,' in which he criticised unsparingly a certain Pastor Lange's rendering of 'Horace,' drew upon Lessing the attention of the learned world, and since he was in the right in his strictures, they regarded him with mingled fear and admiration. His renewed criticisms in Voss's Gazette further maintained his reputation as a redoubtable critic.

These were happy, hopeful years in Lessing's life; he enjoyed his work, and it brought him success. He had, moreover, formed some of the warmest friendships of his life with the bookseller Nicolai and the philosopher Moses Mendelssohn. With the former he discoursed on English literature, with the latter, on Æsthetic and metaphysical themes. Their frequent reunions were sources of mental refreshment and invigoration to all three. What cared Lessing that his resources were meagre, he could live, and his father was growing more reconciled now that men of established repute lauded his son's works. Together with Mendelssohn, Lessing wrote an essay on a theme propounded by the Berlin Academy, 'Pope a Metaphysician!' that did not obtain the prize, as it ridiculed the learned body which had proposed a ridiculous theme, but it attracted notice.

In the year 1755 Lessing wrote 'Miss Sara Sampson,' a play that marks an epoch in his life and in German literature. It was the first German attempt at domestic drama, and was, moreover, written in prose instead of in the fashionable Alexandrines. The play was acted that same year at Frankfurt-on-the-Oder, and Lessing went to superintend in person. Its success was immense, and revived Lessing's love for the stage, which had rather flagged at Berlin from want of a theatre there. He accordingly resolved on this account to remove to Leipzig again, and disappeared from Berlin without announcing his intention to his friends.

At Leipzig he once more lived among the comedians, and carried on a lively correspondence with Mendelssohn on the philosophical theories of the drama in general, with especial reference to Aristotle. A proposal to act as travelling companion to a rich Leipzig merchant interrupted this life. The pair started early in the year 1756, intending a long absence that should include a visit to England. The trip, however, did not extend beyond Holland, as the Seven Years' War broke out. Prussian troops were stationed at Leipzig, and this caused Lessing's companion to desire return. Return they accordingly did, Lessing waiting all the winter for the resumption of their interrupted project. But as the prospects of peace grew more distant, their contract was annulled, much to Lessing's regret, and also to his severe pecuniary loss. He found himself at Leipzig penniless, the theatre closed by the war, and interest in letters deadened from the same cause. He contrived, however, to maintain himself by hack-work for the booksellers; but it was a dismal time, not devoid, however, of some redeeming lights. The poet Von Kleist was then stationed at Leipzig, and with him Lessing formed a friendship that proved one of his warmest and tenderest. On the removal of Kleist to active service, Lessing determined to quit Leipzig, which had grown distasteful to him in its military hubbub. In May 1758 he once more appeared at Berlin, and fell into his former niche. He worked at his 'Fables,' wrote a play on the Greek models, 'Philotas,' began a life of Sophocles, and edited and translated several works of minor importance. But the chief labour of the period was the establishment of a journal dealing with contemporary literature. It was to be written tersely, as was suited to a time of war and general excitement; and to connect it with the war, it was couched in the form of letters purporting to be addressed to an officer in the field, who wished to be kept acquainted with current literature. Kleist was certainly in Lessing's mind when he began. The letters were to be written by Mendelssohn, Nicolai, and Lessing, but nearly all the earlier ones are from Lessing's pen. The papers made a great mark, from their bold strictures and independence. They did not belong to either of the recognised coteries, plainly placing themselves on a footing outside and above them. Though they were issued anonymously, Lessing was now sufficiently known, and it was not long before they were universally attributed to him. Their peculiar merit was that they did not merely condemn the contemporary productions, but showed the way to their improvement. They are throughout written with dialectic brilliancy, vigour, and lively wit, so that they are classics to this day, although their immediate themes are long removed from our interests From these 'Letters Concerning Contemporary Literature' our modern science of criticism may be said to date. After this, works were no longer merely judged by ancient standards, but by their application to the demands of the age in which they were written.

The news of Kleist's death affected Lessing severely, and so broke down his energies that he felt the imperative need of a change of scene. He therefore accepted an offer to act as secretary to General Tauentzien, who had been appointed Governor of Breslau. He followed him to that city in 1760, hoping to find renewed energies in a fixed employment that gave him good emolument and left him free time for self-culture.

Lessing remained at this post for nearly five years, until the conclusion of the Seven Years' War, and though his letters of that period are very scanty, and though he gained evil repute at Breslau as a gambler and a tavern haunter, they were really the busiest and most studious years of his life. Here he read Spinoza and the Church Fathers, studied Æsthetics and Winckelmann's newly issued 'History of Art,' wrote his 'Minna von Barnhelm,' and the 'Laokoon.' Their publication did not occur till his return to Berlin after the peace of Hubertsburg, when Lessing threw up his appointment, greatly to the dismay of his family, who had reckoned on it as a permanent resource. But Lessing had had enough of soldiers and military life, he had exhausted all they could teach him, and he craved to resume his studious and independent existence. He did not like it on resumption so well as he had thought he should at a distance. Restlessness seized him. He wanted to travel; to see Italy. His friends desired an appointment for him as royal librarian. He applied for the post, and was kept for some time in uncertainty. He failed, however, owing to Frederick's dislike to German learned men, and it was in vain that Lessing's friends pleaded that he was anything but the typical German pedant, uncouth, unkempt, who was Frederick's bÊte noire. To prove his efficiency for the post, Lessing had published his 'Laokoon.' He published it as a fragment, and, like too many of Lessing's works, it never grew beyond that stage.

But torso as it is, its influence has been far spreading. The science of Æsthetics was in its infancy when Lessing wrote. Pedantic and conventional rules were laid down regarding beauty, and the greatest confusion of ideas existed concerning the provinces and limits of the respective arts. Poetry and painting were treated as arts identical in purpose and scope; indeed each was advised to borrow aid from the resources of the other. Simonides' dictum that "Painting is silent poetry, and poetry eloquent painting," was regarded as an incontrovertible axiom. Winckelmann's lately published 'History of Art' had supported this view of the matter; a point of view that encouraged allegorical painting and didactic poetry. The 'Laokoon' strove to expose the radical error of this idea, as its second title, 'or the boundaries of Poetry and Painting,' proves. The conclusions established by the 'Laokoon' have become to-day the very groundwork of cultured art criticism, and though the somewhat narrow scope of its Æsthetic theory has been extended, the basis remains untouched and unshaken. The book is of as much value now as upon its first appearance. Its luminous distinctions, its suggestive utterances, point the way to exact truth, even where they do not define it. Like the celebrated Torso of the Vatican, it can be made an object of constant study, and every fresh investigation will reveal new beauties, new subtle traits of artistic comprehension hitherto overlooked.

This work, so grand and ultimately fruitful, fell, nevertheless, very flat on its first issue, and only gradually assumed the position that was its due. It had indeed to educate its public, so new were the principles it enunciated. Three years after its publication, Lessing told a friend that hardly any one seemed to know at what goal he had aimed in his 'Laokoon.' Critics arose in plenty, but their criticism was of such a character that Lessing, usually so combative, did not hold them worthy of a reply. Little wonder, therefore, that even the discerning Frederick did not recognise the value of its author, and finally decided against Lessing's appointment as royal librarian.

In November 1766 Lessing describes himself as standing idly in the market-place waiting for hire. He was discontented with his surroundings, eager to find himself in a wider and more congenial mental atmosphere than that of Berlin, uncertain whither to turn, and hampered by money difficulties, private debts and family demands. At this juncture an invitation from Hamburg reached him, which at the first aspect seemed to open out a future peculiarly suited to Lessing's tastes and idiosyncrasies. An association of rich burghers had conceived the idea of founding a national theatre, which, liberally endowed, and thus removed from the region of pecuniary speculation, could devote itself exclusively to the cultivation of high art, and thus raise the national standard of taste. A dramatic critic and adviser was to belong to the establishment, and this post was offered to Lessing with a salary of 800 thalers. He accepted with alacrity, and repaired to Hamburg in the confidence of having at last found a niche well suited to his capacity. At the worst, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain by this step, and he gladly turned his back on Berlin, now distasteful to him. He hoped to throw himself once more into dramatic labours, and to find himself in contact with the living stage. Only too speedily his hopes were destined to disappointment. He had not been long at Hamburg before, notwithstanding all his power of illusion, he could not disguise from himself the fact that the project that sounded so noble and disinterested really rested on no higher basis than that of miserable stage cabals.

Before issuing the first number of his paper, the 'Hamburger Dramaturgie,' a critical journal, which was to accompany the art of the author and actor throughout the representations, he already knew that the project begun with such high hopes must end in a miserable fiasco. Still he set to work upon his journal undauntedly, determined that it should, as far as it lay in his power, serve the purposes of the drama and instruct the populace as to the full import and aim of this noble art. The paper was a weekly one, the criticisms, therefore, had the merit of being thoroughly thought out and digested, not written like our modern theatrical criticisms under the very glare of the foot-lights. Lessing analysed the plays and their performance; he pointed out not only where, but why actors had erred; his sure perception and accurate knowledge of stage routine made him an invaluable guide to the performers. His criticisms, had they been continued, would have laid the basis of a science of histrionics, but unhappily for the world, the wretched vanity of the artistes, some of whom he had ventured gently to condemn, caused him to desist from this portion of his criticism. He confined himself solely to the play performed. After a while, however, even this did not suffice; bad management, stage cabals, private jealousy, and clerical intrigues, had undermined the slender popularity of the theatre. Before the end of its first year, the house saw itself forced to close its doors, thanks to creditors and to the rival and superior attractions of a company of French comedians. It is true the German troupe returned in the spring to make a final effort, but this also proved a failure; the debts were only increased, and the throng of creditors who besieged the box-office was so great that the public could not have entered if it had tried. In November (1768) the theatre finally closed its doors.

Transeat cum cÆteris erroribus, was Lessing's comment on the event. He was the poorer by another hope, and not only poorer in spirit but in fact. The promised salary had not been paid, the sale of his rich library would not suffice for his debts and needs, and he had moreover hampered himself with a printing-press that only helped yet more to cripple his means. His position was a sorry one. Literary work was once more his only resource. It happened that he had from the first been in arrears with his journal, first advisedly, then from a tendency to procrastination that befell him whenever the first white heat of interest had been expended. He now determined to continue it, employing it as a vehicle for his own opinions under the cover of criticisms of the national theatre, which he still hoped against hope might not be utterly defunct.

The 'Dramaturgy' is the permanent result of this shipwrecked undertaking, itself a fragment--for after a while Lessing wearied of it, and piratical reprints robbed him of the slender profit--but a fragment like the 'Laokoon,' full of suggestive truths and flashes of elucidation. As an entire work it is not as homogeneous in design as the 'Laokoon'; no connected or definite thread of reasoning pervades it, its perusal requires more independent thought from the reader, who must form his own conclusions, they are not worked out before him as in the 'Laokoon.' But in its ultimate results it is no less valuable, and has been no less effective. It freed the German stage from bondage to French pseudo-classicisms by its scornful exposure of the perversions practised by the Gallic authors under the cloak of Aristotelian laws. Lessing showed the divergence between real and absolute, and fanciful and perverted rules. He pointed out how the three unities insisted on by the French had been often violated by them in the spirit if not in the letter. He demonstrated the real meaning of Aristotle; and enabled, by his exact classical knowledge, to place himself on the actual stand-point of the ancients, he exposed the meretricious imitations of the French, that had been too long passed off as genuine. He referred the Germans to Shakespeare as a far truer follower of Sophocles than Voltaire or Corneille, and he illustrated his conclusions by excerpts and digressions remote from the subject presumed to be under treatment, and which had first started this train of thought. Until now the French had prescribed the sole standard of good taste. Lessing wished to destroy this unthinking veneration, and lead his nation back to the true sources of inspiration, and he fought with an iconoclastic zeal against all distortions, and all confusions of Æsthetic boundaries. In a measure, indeed, the 'Dramaturgy' supplements the 'Laokoon', for in the latter work Lessing had distinctly referred to the drama as the highest expression of poetry, and he had placed poetry above the arts of design in its results and capacities. Once more he displays his subtlety in discriminating between the various constituents of the complex feelings produced by art, and his rare faculty of combining Æsthetic sensibility with logical criticism constitutes one of his grand claims to originality. The 'Dramaturgy' must be regarded rather as a collection of [Greek: epea pteroenta], than a systematic book. This remark applies, indeed, to all Lessing's prose writings.

The 'Dramaturgy' was not the only work that occupied Lessing at Hamburg. A certain Professor Klotz had been for some time past attacking Lessing's writings, and had done this in a spirit of arrogant superiority that roused his ire. A remark that Lessing had been guilty of "an unpardonable fault," in an archaeological matter, wherein Klotz himself was plainly in error, brought matters to a crisis, and drew down on Klotz a series of 'Letters treating of Antiquarian Subjects,' that utterly demolished both the man and his conclusions. A private feud gave occasion to this publication, but, like all that Lessing wrote, it is full of matter of permanent worth. Cameos and engraved gems form the ground-work of the controversy that was waged fast and furiously for some months, until at last Lessing silenced his adversary. The archaeological studies that it necessitated had awakened afresh Lessing's artistic interests and provoked the charming little essay, 'How the Ancients represented Death,' that starting as a polemic against Klotz, ended in becoming a finished and exquisite whole.

About this time (1772) Lessing received encouragement from Vienna to settle in the Austrian dominions, but as the offers concerned the theatre he declined compliance, still feeling sore from his late experiences. The old desire to visit Italy was once more uppermost, his restless activity had exhausted the slender intellectual resources of Hamburg. But he was once more hampered by money difficulties. He vacillated for a while between remaining and leaving, and finally accepted an appointment at the Brunswick Court as librarian of the WolfenbÜttel Library, with the proviso that this appointment should not permanently interfere with his projected Italian journey. His salary was to be 600 thalers, with an official residence; his duties were undefined. The Duke, who recognised Lessing's eminence, wished to attach him to his Court, and desired that Lessing should use the library for his personal convenience rather than as its custodian. The post promised well, though Lessing entered on it with reluctance; his love of freedom causing him at any time to shrink from any definite appointment. He loved, as he himself expressed it, to be like the sparrow on the housetops, but considerations hitherto unknown contributed to induce him to seek a settled post and establish his affairs on a more permanent basis than heretofore. The wish to marry had become awakened in him at the mature age of forty; he had made the acquaintance in Hamburg of a Madame Koenig, a widow, the first woman who had seriously roused his interest. Business complications of her late husband's and the charge of a family made union impossible for some little time, but Lessing had not been long at WolfenbÜttel before a formal engagement was entered upon whose ultimate fulfilment it was confidently expected would not be too long deferred. It was deferred, however, for the space of six years--years that were the weariest and saddest in Lessing's life, and mark the only time when his healthful optimism, his sanguine cheerfulness broke into complaint and yielded to depression of mind. Physical causes were at work as well as mental. WolfenbÜttel was an old deserted capital, devoid of society, and Lessing, who loved to mingle with his fellow-creatures, saw himself banished from any intelligent human intercourse, unless he undertook the somewhat expensive journey to Brunswick. At Hamburg he had lived in an active and intellectual circle; here he found himself thrown back upon himself and books. His heart and thoughts were with Madame Koenig, her business affairs went badly; their rare meetings only further strengthened his desire to claim as his own this the only woman who understood him and felt with him. The promised leave of absence, too, for Italy, was constantly deferred under futile pretexts, and thus depressed, dispirited, Lessing could not feel within himself the capability of original production. At the same time he did not feel it right or wise to neglect the resources placed within his reach by the excellent library of which he was custodian; he ransacked its manuscript treasures, and published some of them. He also in a brief period of renewed happiness and mental vigour, that followed a visit to Hamburg and a meeting with Madame Koenig, wrote his famous tragedy 'Emilia Galotti.'

This drama is an illustration of the principles enunciated by Lessing in his 'Dramaturgy;' its condensation is a protest against the verbosity of the French, its form an approach to Shakespeare; while its tendency is a stricture on the abuses practised at petty Courts. The latter was a bold innovation, considering that at the time Lessing wrote and produced this play he was himself the servant of a Court, enlightened and liberal it is true, but libertine and despotic; and that parallels could not fail to be drawn by the malevolent between Brunswick and Guastalla. The story is a modernised version of that of Virginia, but the catastrophe is not equally harmonious, because not so absolutely necessitated by the conditions of modern society as by those of the ancient world. Still the play is in many respects inimitable; the manner in which the story is developed and unravelled renders it a model to young dramatists; nothing superfluous, nothing obscure, no needless retrogressions, no violent transitions. Lessing's contemporaries were not slow to recognise that he had presented them with a master-piece. He himself after its completion had sunk back into his former mood of irritated depression, and he would not even be present at the first representation. This mood was in great part physical, but was also the result of circumstances. He was anxious and uneasy. The hereditary prince had held out hopes to him, but their fulfilment was too long deferred; Madame Koenig's affairs grew more and more involved, the solitude of WolfenbÜttel more and more arid.

At last his restless spirit could brook this position no longer. Heedless of Madame Koenig's warning prayers not to bring matters to an abrupt crisis, to have patience with the Court whose financial position at the time was truly a sorry one, Lessing one day broke away from WolfenbÜttel and appeared at Berlin, whence he applied for an extended leave of absence to Vienna, where Madame Koenig's business had lately required her presence. He reassures her that he has not burnt his ships behind him, and this was true, but he wished to ascertain for himself how matters stood with her, and also if there was, any opening for him in that capital. He arrived at Vienna in March 1775, and found Madame Koenig's affairs so far advanced towards settlement as to justify him in entertaining hopes of a speedy union.

But the evil fortune that seemed to run like a fatal thread through Lessing's life whenever he found himself near the fulfilment of an ardent desire again asserted itself. He had not been ten days in Vienna before one of the younger princes of the house of Brunswick arrived there also on his way to Italy. He wished to have Lessing as his travelling companion. Thus a long cherished desire was to be realised at the moment when a far stronger one had usurped its place. Lessing debated for some time what he should do, but on consideration with Madame Koenig, it was decided to be unwise to offend the prince whose earnest wish for Lessing's companionship was supported by the Empress Maria Theresa, and moreover the projected journey was only to extend over eight weeks; consequently the parting and delay would be brief, while the ultimate consequences of having obliged the ducal house at personal inconvenience might be incalculable. The journey extended to nine months, and was a period of misery to Lessing. He never received a line from Madame Koenig all this time, her letters having all miscarried, thanks to the officious zeal of her Vienna acquaintances, and he tortured himself with fears lest she were ill or dead. Neither did he write to her, nor keep a diary, beyond the very briefest records of some discoveries in libraries. Not a word about the art, the scenery of the land he had so craved to see. He perceived quickly enough that it could offer all, and more than he had anticipated, but, added to his private anxieties, this travelling in the suite of a prince was not propitious to the proper enjoyment of Italy. Receptions, formal dinners, deputations, at all of which Lessing had to be present, engrossed the precious time that should have been devoted to more intellectual pursuits.

Transeat cum cÆteris erroribus, Lessing might again have written when he returned to Germany in December. He hastened to Vienna to learn news of his beloved, and there a whole packet of her letters were put into his hands--those letters the want of which had preyed upon his heart. He was now more fully determined than ever to bring matters to a crisis; if the Brunswick Court would not improve his position he would seek employment elsewhere; at the very worst he could not fare worse than he was at present faring. His resolution triumphed, his salary was raised, his position improved, and on the 8th of October, 1776, he was at last united to the woman of his choice.

Then followed a very heyday of happiness to Lessing; he was at last content, at peace; his wife understood him and felt with him; she was his stay, his pride, his joy. But once more the evil fate was at work, and could not permit of ease to this poor victim she pursued so relentlessly. Early in January (1778) Lessing saw his wife and baby boy laid in the grave. The brief sunshine which had illumined his path had vanished for ever.

The letters written by him at the time are more pathetic in their stoic brevity than folios of lamentations. There were no further hopes of happiness for him on earth; he must just resign himself and work on at his appointed labour until he too should be laid to rest. He turned with an ardour that was almost furious to encounter the assailants of his last literary publication. Since his appointment as WolfenbÜttel librarian Lessing had from time to time published some of its manuscript treasures, and among these he had inserted portions of a work that had been intrusted to him, and which he deemed ought not to be withheld from the light of day. These were the famous WolfenbÜttel Fragments issued anonymously by Lessing, but really the work of a deceased Hamburger, Professor Reimarus. Their publication drew down upon Lessing a fury of rancorous abuse, and involved him in a vortex of controversy that lasted till his death. The chief and most vehement of his opponents was Pastor J. M. Goeze, whose insulting polemic reached him by the bedside of his dying wife. Its malignant and unjustified attacks roused Lessing's energy. He assailed Goeze with all the strength of his grief, for which he was thankful to find a safety-valve in controversy. The work of Reimarus had advocated rationalism; Lessing had distinctly placed himself in position of editor, and pronounced that he did not of necessity subscribe to the opinions therein enunciated, but he found in their reasoning much food for thought, and with his almost romantic passion for truth he deemed that such matter should not be withheld from the world. Goeze chose to consider that Lessing was sailing under false colours, that the fragments were his own composition, and that he was undermining the national faith. Lessing replied to Goeze's insults by a series of fourteen letters, entitled 'Anti-Goeze,' which actually silenced his opponent, who had never been known before to allow an adversary the last word. They are written in a serio-comic tone, and for sparkling wit, trenchant sarcasm, and dramatic dialectics surpass anything ever penned by Lessing. No less admirable is his accurate theological knowledge and his large-minded comprehension of the purposes of religion.

The same noble spirit pervades his 'Nathan the Wise,' which he wrote about this time as a relief to his controversial discussions, and as another protest against the narrow-minded assumptions of the professional theologians. Lessing had ever contended that the stage might prove as useful a pulpit as the church, and in 'Nathan' he strove to preach the universal brotherhood of mankind; its hero is a Jew of ideal and pure morality. The whole purpose of the drama was a stricture on class prejudices and an enunciation of the innate truth that underlies all forms of creeds. The play is too well known even in this country to require much comment; it is a noble monument of toleration and large-mindedness, and the fact that he could produce it under the load of a crushing sorrow speaks volumes for the true earnest religious faith that dwelt in Lessing's nature. At the time its pure tendencies were not understood. Lessing had progressed beyond the comprehension of his age, and the inevitable consequences ensued,--misconstruction and mental loneliness. He began to be regarded with suspicion as a dangerous innovator; even old friends held aloof in doubt. Meanwhile his only comfort remained in his home, in the step-children, whom his wife had brought thither. His step-daughter was his tender and attentive companion, for since his wife's death Lessing's health had declined, and he required care. Though no trace of impaired vigour appears in his writings of the period, which indeed are animated by an exhilarating vitality, yet too evident traces of impaired vigour appeared in himself. He grew languid, an excessive inclination to sleep overpowered him; he suffered from attacks of vertigo. Yet as long as he could hold a pen he should write, he told his brother,--write in the cause of what he firmly held to be the truth.

A small pamphlet, consisting of a hundred propositions, entitled 'The Education of the Human Race,' was his next production, a work pregnant with thought that opens out wide vistas of knowledge and progress to mankind. Lessing indeed was the first man of his century to formulate the modern doctrine of progress; he preached a true millennium of toleration, love, and knowledge; he distinctly proclaimed his faith in the immortality of the soul. 'The Education of the Human Race' is a splendid disavowal of his enemies' calumnious assertions. It was a glorious swan-song, wherewith he lulled himself into eternal peace.

On one of his official visits to Brunswick, Lessing was overtaken by a paralytic stroke. On the 15th of February, 1781, he passed away. He died as he lived, nobly, in a reverent assurance that he had fought a good fight on earth in the cause of truth and enlightenment, progress and humanity.

Time, the true criterion of human fame, has not only left his glory undiminished, but has augmented it, as popular intelligence has gradually arisen to the comprehension of its many-sided significance. It will be long before we have outgrown Lessing, if indeed that time can ever come. And even if some things in his writings may seem narrow or antiquated to our vision, we may readily pass them over to arrive at matters eternally true, exalted, sublime. Truth was the main purpose of all he wrote, and truth is for all ages and all time. Lessing was one of the truly great ones of this earth, and petty cavillers should lay to heart the words of another wise man, the author of 'The Imitation:'

"All perfection in this world has some imperfection coupled with it, and none of our investigations are without some obscurity."

Helen Zimmern.