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On the 2nd of May Koerner wrote at length of his own life, character and aspirations. The letter reveals a noble nature conscious of an exceptional indebtedness to fortune and eager to pay the debt by solid work for mankind, but lacking the ability to decide and execute.
Her fate must have been all the more terrible on that account; but no news of either of them ever came back to us, and my father would never take any measures to bring Koerner to justice. It was several months before he recovered from the shock sufficiently to take up business again; and then the American Civil War came and completed his ruin. He died, a poor and broken-down man, a year later.
Carlyle seldom wrote with more force, or with more justice. Only, to be complete, his paper should have ended with a warning. He has done more than any other writer to perpetuate in England the memories of the great thinkers and actors Fichte, Richter, Arndt, Koerner, Stein, Goethe, who taught their countrymen how to endure defeat and retrieve adversity.
But it is his patriotic poems, his "Lyre and Sword," which have invested the name of Koerner with the halo of fame and rendered his memory sacred to his countrymen. His patriotic song, "Where is the German's fatherland," is a universal favorite. Arndt is not less celebrated for his historical and scientific works than for his poems.
'Charlotte' he wrote to Koerner, 'is a grand, exceptional, womanly soul, a real study for me and worthy to occupy a greater mind than mine. With each forward step in our intercourse I discover in her new manifestations that surprise and delight me like beautiful spots in a broad landscape. For several months he played this unwholesome role of cicisbeo to Charlotte von Kalb.
But when the time came to launch his enterprise the hopeful editor found himself left very much in the lurch. 'Lord help me, or I perish' he wrote ruefully to Koerner, on December 29; 'Goethe does not wish to print his 'Elegies' in the first number, Herder also prefers to wait, Fichte is busy with his lectures, Garve is sick, Engel lazy and the others do not answer.
Julius is Schiller; Raphael is Koerner, who actually contributed one of the later letters. We learn that Julius was passing through a spiritual crisis. He was happy but he had not reflected. The little world of his rapturous emotions sufficed him.
And just as Carlos throws himself into the arms of Posa and thinks to find his all in friendship, so Schiller hoped ineffable things from Koerner. Nowhere else in literature has the eighteenth-century cult of friendship found such fervid, and in the main such noble, expression as in 'Don Carlos'.
Once she said, "Mr. Koerner is a very noble gentleman; you must not dislike him." This had the effect of making me hate him all the more. One day I noticed an unusual commotion in the house, and Juliet came down-stairs attired in a lovely white dress, with a long veil, and fragrant flowers in her hair. She got into a carriage with my father and stepmother, and drove away.
She and her husband departed on their wedding-trip that afternoon; it was to take them as far as Germany, for Koerner said that he wished to visit his father and mother, who were still alive, before settling down permanently in Liverpool. Whether they really did so was never discovered. But, about a fortnight later, a dreadful fact came to light.
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