October, 5th, 1868. — My guardian and Maud left Tübingen last evening, finally abandoning me, as the former characteristically expressed it, to my own devices. What these devices may be, I think neither of them has a very clear idea; possibly they look upon me as a hare-brained girl, possessing a desperate will of my own, and determined to gratify every whim, great or small. Doubtless it is partly my own fault if I am misunderstood by them, for I have never in reality opened my heart to them and exposed all the irresistible yearnings which have driven me to this step. These yearnings, it must be confessed, are as yet a trifle vague; yet there is one definite cry which my heart gives forth day after day, and that is — knowledge, knowledge, knowledge! It is for knowledge that I have come here, and knowledge I will pursue with all the energy my nature is capable of.
“Whither that knowledge may lead me, I cannot as yet tell. Never mind; at least it will lead somewhere, give me, sooner or later, some definite convictions, such as my soul hungers for.
“This is the first time I have ever begun to keep a diary, and I wonder the thought never occurred to me before. The following pages are not to be filled with pretty sentiments, hysterical wailings, or scraps of verse — I will not say poetry — I write for my own benefit, that I may more clearly gauge my own progress, and not for the amusement of others.
“I am such a poor hand at conversation that it is really only fair I should be permitted to soliloquise a little. Who is there in the world with whom I can talk confidentially? Not a soul. I once thought that Maud would make a true friend, but I have long felt her companionship terribly unsatisfying. I wonder whether I shall make a friend here in Germany? I fear not; I am too timid and retiring, and adapt myself with such difficulty to the usages of society. Here in the silence of my own room I am comfortable; I wish there were no necessity for me to ever leave it. But I must really force myself to become acquainted with people, if only for the sake of learning to speak German.
“Frau Stockmaier, with whom I am living, seems really a very agreeable woman, and, I should imagine, cultivated to a very fair degree. She cannot speak English, but is well acquainted with French, and in the latter language we have hitherto for the most part conversed. But, of course, as she reminds me, that will not do. I must reconcile myself to the first serious plunge into the troubled waters of German conversation, and the sooner the better.
“One thing, however, I do not like in Frau Stockmaier. She really treats me too much as if I were still a child. She asked me my age this morning, and on my telling her that I was seventeen last April, she smiled and expressed a wonder that my guardian should have ventured to leave me here alone. I confess I felt a little piqued, for, if I may trust my glass, my personal appearance is not very childish, and as regards my mind ——. But here I should perhaps whisper to myself a caution against spiritual pride.
“As yet I am far from clear as to the order of studies I shall pursue; but perhaps that is of no immediate consequence. My first task is to become thoroughly acquainted with German, and how long that will take me I dare not think.
“Frau Stockmaier is to be herself my instructress for the present. I think she will not exercise too strict a despotism in intellectual matters, for that would be intolerable. I cannot as yet make out whether she is orthodox and conventional in her beliefs; at any rate, she does not appear to be intolerant, and for that I must be thankful.”
“Oct. 10th. — A delightful walk this morning with Frau Stockmaier, through lovely autumn scenery. How I wish I had taken up my abode here earlier in the summer, and how I shall long, all through the coming winter, for the return of sunny weather.
“After walking through the town, crossing the Neckar, and taking a turn through the beautiful Platanen–Allee, we passed over the bridge and went in the direction of the Oesterberg, passing the house of the poet Uhland. At present I am purposely abstaining from all reading of poetry, but some day I hope to know Uhland; Frau Stockmaier speaks of him with much enthusiasm. We climbed the Oesterberg, passing between vineyards and orchards, and, on reaching the summit, were richly rewarded for our efforts. On the point known as the Wielandsh?he, we stood for fully an hour, enjoying the glorious view. Below us lay the whole valley of the Neckar, the river flowing along it like a green cord, and also the valley of the little river Ammer, on the banks of which are the Botanical Gardens, and, near them, our house. In the distance stretched the Swabian Alps, one could see the Castle of Hohenzollern, making a fine object against a background of clear sky. We returned home tired but delighted with our walk.
“Already I am becoming very fond of Tübingen. I wish Mr. Gresham had remained long enough to paint views of the beautiful old place from several points which I could point out. I think I shall be tempted to exercise my own slight skill before the rich autumn hues have quite died away from the trees and the hillsides. I should like to sketch the whole town as it creeps in terraces up the mountain to the grey old towered and moated stronghold of Hohentübingen.
“The mountain-scenery around, without being absolutely imposing, is excessively beautiful. Especially the form of the Oesterberg, seen from a distance, is wonderfully graceful.
“And then there is such a delightful air of peace and quietness throughout the whole country, as if these pleasant hills shut out all the troublous noises of the busy world. I like to pass the University in my walks, to dream over its four hundred years of existence; to go back in fancy to the days when Reuchlin and Melanchthon taught within its walls. In the University the air of peace, of which I have spoken, is especially noticeable, for here, side by side, are a Protestant or a Roman Catholic institution, the Stift and the Convict, each nursing its own disciples undisturbed by the neighbourhood of a creed essentially different.
“It strikes me that this state of affairs must very greatly conduce to liberality of thought among the students, at all events among the Protestant students. And yet I cannot forget how Strauss was rewarded for his labours; but I suppose it would be too much to demand toleration for such a spirit as his.
“Frau Stockmaier is very agreeable company on a walk, and yet I cannot shake off my habit of very much preferring to be alone. During the last few days I have been especially thoughtful, finding a constant delight in wandering about alone, especially — and this would, to some, seem childish — in watching the golden leaves fall one by one to the ground. A favourite resort, when I am alone, is the fine ‘Platanen–Allee’ on the other side of the river. The trees run in two noble rows over against the houses of the town, forming, as it were, a natural temple. When I walk alone here an inexpressible longing comes over me to take up some ‘of our dear old English poets and revel in them once more; but I do not permit myself to yield. For the present I must give myself wholly to stern facts; imagination must be laid aside till my mind is more at ease. But if I only could once throw aside this eternal trouble of my thoughts which does not let me rest, how delightful would it be to yield to the impressions of this lovely nature and dream away my life. But that is a dangerous thought.”
“Nov. 30th. — As winter draws on, and there is less and less temptation to wander about the hills, I am able to devote myself to severer study. Already I have made very noticeable progress in my German, and can now understand and make myself understood on every-day matters with very tolerable facility. I have determined that at the beginning of the new year I will commence a theological course, and, perhaps, at the same time, peep a little into philosophy. I begin to associate rather more freely with the friends and acquaintances of Frau Stockmaier, and have already been introduced to several gentlemen who would be willing to act as my tutors. Frau Stockmaier recommends me to choose a certain Dr. Eidenbenz, who is a Stiftsrepetent, that is to say, one who has completed his University curriculum, and is now engaged in directing the studies of undergraduates. Dr. E. is a youngish man, of rather pleasing appearance, and said to be remarkably clever. Though essentially a theologian, he would also be able to direct my philosophical reading, since, I am informed, all the students of the Stift are compelled to study philosophy for two years before commencing their theology. Of course I am, as yet, very ignorant in these matters, but it appears to me, from what I have heard and read of German philosophy, that those two years must be a somewhat dangerous side-path into the high-road of orthodox religion.
“I am prepared to find my tutor rather uncongenial at first, for I hear he is a stout opponent of dear old Strauss. Yet, on that very account he will be very useful to me. I want to see orthodox Christianity vigorously defended, not on the ground of mere sentiment, with which I am but too familiar, but with sterling arguments which will bear criticism of the light of superior knowledge. I trust I am by no means bigoted, though prejudiced I certainly am. Something warns me that the end of my intercourse with Dr. Eidenbenz will be mutual dissatisfaction; but probably he will have more ground for dissatisfaction than myself. At all events, he will serve to conform me in the beliefs I have embraced. And then, if his theology is barren to me, possibly his philosophy may stand me in better stead.
“In addition to my German, I have commenced to study Greek for a few hours each day; also to read a little Latin occasionally. I wish my poor father had lived long enough to give me the solid grounding in Greek that he did in Latin. I found the grammar horribly difficult, but it must be acquired. First of all I wish to be able to read the New Testament in the original; then, when I have got through my period of doubt and see my life float once more into calm waters, I know well what glorious regions a knowledge of Greek will open to me. If a mere translation could inspire such a sonnet as that of Keats, what must Homer in the original be!”
“Feb. 1st, 1869. — For a month I have been working with Dr. Eidenbenz, and with what result? I think I may already safely say that my prophecy has fulfilled itself. In a word, the doctor is an unmitigated sophist. At first he followed my request, and adhered strictly to a critical examination of the origins of Christianity, and in his treatment of the subject there was little to find fault with. His knowledge seemed deep and extensive, and some of the information he gave me proved extremely interesting. But by the end of the second week I noticed a decided change for the worse; he began to be polemical, and polemical to an alarming degree. Oh, how learned he has already made me in modern sects and schisms. And to maintain his position he has recourse to sophisms which a healthy-minded child could at once see through, though I grant he seems to be sincerely their dupe. It is evident that he will never turn my mind back from the course into which Strauss irresistibly propelled it. I have, however, no intention of ceasing these lessons as yet. It is only fair to hear him to the end.”
“March 1st. — To-day ends my second month with Dr. Eidenbenz, and, to tell the truth, I am heartily tired of him. As I foresaw, I am merely strengthened in my rationalism; no argument I have heard advanced has sufficed to shake it. For several hours after he had left me yesterday, I sat reflecting earnestly upon these matters, endeavouring to ask myself, with all the solemnity of which I am capable, whether I am a really conscientious disbeliever, or one merely from caprice, affectation, or any other unworthy impulse. I convinced myself that no such impulse has power over me; I disbelieve because my reason bids me do so. It may be my mind follows a hereditary tendency on this, for, looking back in memory to those last years of my father’s life, I now feel convinced that he, too, had yielded to the force of doubt; a suggestion which explains much in his conduct to me which I was never able to understand.
“In truth, I have fed to repletion on comparative estimates of Petrine and Pauline Christianity, and the like, and I have resolved to cease these theological studies, for my object is gained. But the philosophical readings I shall still persist in, for I find them vastly more interesting. True, the question now and then arose in my mind: ‘Of what avail will all these metaphysical systems be in helping me to lead a happier and a better life, or in enabling me to make the lives of others happier and better?’ But I suppose such doubts are really too profane. Dr. Eidenbenz is an enthusiastic metaphysician, and it puzzles me sadly to explain the coexistence of this enthusiasm with that mania for religious dogmas. The other morning I actually ventured to ask him to justify himself, and he replied with the curious statement that this philosophy was a mere matter of abstract speculation, a highly-amusing mental employment which could not in the least interfere with his more serious views of life. I could have made a rather startling reply, but wisely held my peace.
“A letter from Maud today. It seems to me sadly empty and unsatisfying. Why does she never send me her serious thoughts? Perhaps she would ask me the same question.”
“April 18th. — The last few days have witnessed a most curious, and rather alarming event here, which Frau Stockmaier tells me is by no means uncommon in the springtime. The whole valley of the Neckar is flooded. All the beautiful walks which I had again begun to visit with delightful anticipations of spring sunshine, are deep under water, which rises even to the boughs of the linden and plane trees. This morning I ascended the Schlossberg, from whence the view was very extraordinary. All the lovely stretch of green meadows on the south side of the Neckar up to the foot of the hills, was converted into a vast rolling sea. I thought irresistibly of Dr. Eidenbenz and of the Deluge.
“The doctor has remained here during the Easter vacation, and we have been busy for some weeks investigating the fearful and wonderful theories of Messrs. Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel, and I protest I am sick to death of them all. It is a habit of mine to listen very patiently for a long time to my tutor’s expositions, and then suddenly to astound him by some startling question. I know he regards me as a veritable daughter of the Philistines; but I follow the bent of my nature, and better to do that than to play the hypocrite. For the life of me, I cannot help interrupting him now and then, and exclaiming: ‘What is the use of it?’ In reply to which he merely smiles contemptuously, pitying my lack of appreciation. But I am not so sure that a contemptuous smile is a satisfactory answer to my question. If he asserts that such philosophising is of use, inasmuch as it sharpens the human intellect, keeps active speculation alive, and strengthens habits of independent thought, then I will grant that he is right. But surely the same results might be obtained by exercise upon very much more satisfactory topics. What is it to me whether I am or I am not, whether the internal world really exists, or is a mere creation of my fancy? Such speculations do not and cannot influence my practical life, which is the most serious consideration to me. I may be a young, unlearned, inexperienced girl, but still there is that within me that says that such questions as these are unanswerable, that to endeavour to ascertain the ultimate foundation of our knowledge of existing things, is, as men now are, an impossible task. And, such being the case, I confess I am rapidly losing all interest in metaphysics. Possibly if I were reading with a man who really held one of these theories, and could press it on me with all the energy of true conviction, I might see it in a different light; but Dr. Eidenbenz does not pretend to hold one of them.
“I was rather surprised last night to find Frau Stockmaier reading a German translation of Darwin’s ‘Origin of Species.’ I have never read the book, though I heard father speak of it occasionally. I am sure it must be immensely interesting. A hunger for it seemed to seize me as I looked over the pages. I almost think natural science would be a study admirably adapted to my taste.”
“May 2. — I have read the ‘Origin of Species’ in German, and it has created an enthusiasm in me such as perhaps no other book, except the ‘Leben Jesu,’ ever did. How delightful it is to receive fresh, strong support when one is at war with one’s own mind. Here is a theory which recompenses me a thousand fold for my loss of the old Biblical superstitions. What immense labour, what a wonderful intellect does it represent! Yes, yes, this is real, solid food, no insubstantial cloud-shape or chimera. Here is a theory built up on solid facts, facts one can grasp, handle, examine with the eye or the microscope. Oh, how dear hard, plain facts have become to me since I have been wandering in the dreamlands of philosophy. I wonder whether Dr. Eidenbenz has read Darwin. I must ask him.
“Beautiful spring weather is once more breathing upon the face of the land, making field and land lovely past description. I begin to look forward eagerly to long summer walks in the woods, lonely walks, when I can indulge to the uttermost in that self-communing which I delight in. With the impulse of a great delight, born, perhaps, of the season, I have cast aside, for a while — perhaps for ever — both theology and philosophy, and returned to poetry and romance. Long, long have I panted for them, ‘as the hart panteth for the water brooks.’ I have begun to read Goethe and Schiller both at once. Uhland, too, I have at length peeped into, and with much delight. Frau Stockmaier loves Uhland, and often warms eloquent to me with regard to him. What I know of his life and personal character pleases me much. A great poet is a fine subject for thought, but surely a great poet who also takes a noble part in the practical life of the world is fit for the admiration of the gods. Henceforth I shall always pass his house with a fresh interest. This morning I made a pilgrimage to his grave in the cemetery.
“I made a new acquaintance last night, a certain Dr. Gmelin, Frau Stockmaier’s brother-in-law, who has been living as privatgelehrter in Stuttgart, but is now come to settle in Tübingen. It is probable he will have rooms in our house, and I sincerely hope so, for even at the first aspect I conceived a strong liking for him. He may be some forty years old, and has a wonderfully intellectual countenance, marked, moreover, with a rare benevolence. Frau Stockmaier smiles when she speaks of him; he seems a favourite of hers. She tells me he has never filled any professorship, though several have, from time to time, been offered him. He has very independent ideas on many subjects, and would never consent to hamper his free development by submission to official responsibilities and restraints. I admire him for his consistency.”
“May 10. — I have definitely cea............