• 141. Caroline to Amalie Reichard in Gotha: Gotha, late February 1794 [*]
[Gotha, late February 1794]
|321| A chance occurrence yesterday provides me with the first occasion to break a period of silence that, as brief as our acquaintance has been, is nonetheless extremely unnatural for us. [1]
Madam Gotter thought herself unable to receive you because I was with her at the time. Although my stay here may well last only a short time, such occurrences might still repeat themselves too frequently for them not to cause my friends embarrassment. Hence please allow me to explain particularly my own feelings in this matter.
When I came here, my intention was merely to see several people once more from whom I must later part forever. I did not intend to visit any of my acquaintances, including you. That required that I remain mindful of the discretion I owe others and of the indulgent consideration I owe myself. I could not have anticipated, at least not from certain individuals, and certainly not at all from you, that people would so apprehensively |322| avoid me and would even take care not to mention so much as my name to persons with whom they earlier did indeed speak about me and who make no secret of their sympathetic interest in my fate.
For you of all people must be able to imagine the chain of events that, without my being culpable of anything except a strong sense of sympathy and some temporary mistakes, brought such an unspeakably harsh series of misfortunes down upon me — You of all people must realize how groundless are the accusations through which my character, during a time of general bitterness, has been distorted among and by people who never even knew me, indeed who perhaps never even saw me — And you cannot but sense how improbable it is that in such a short period of time I could have been so utterly and completely transformed as to have no right, amid the crush of such myriad sufferings, to claim some measure of honest sympathy. —
In a letter he wrote me a few weeks before his death, the man for whom both of us once felt profoundly sorry said: “I can well imagine how unkind people will be toward you; I experienced it differently with regard to my own person, and yet not really differently at all. Among most of those who are so quick to judge and condemn, the impossibility of erring is merely a consequence of their own egoism. The fact that resultant misfortune can make transgressions worthy of considerate treatment, indeed, that it must reconcile us with those who may transgress even if we might well have been dissatisfied with them — is something of which such people have no concept.” [2]
I believed that Amalie’s heart would guide her to the kind of fair-minded judgment of which he speaks and of which he, too, would doubtless have thought her capable — But the position she seems to have imposed upon herself has almost convinced me differently.
Various considerations prevent any further contact |323| between us — If this is all you want to let me know, then I wonder you do not consider it superfluous to say so. If you feel constrained to demonstrate disapproval toward me for your own sake, even that consideration is superfluous if the public is not really in a position to become acquainted with your disposition in any case.
But if it is supposed to constitute punishment intended for me — then let me assure you that no one reproaches herself more harshly than do I myself where I consider myself worthy of such — but also that neither the opinion nor the behavior of any other person toward me can shake the convictions shaping my own, steady opinion concerning the past.
Hence let me ask you as openly and as frankly as I might ask anyone were I to consult only my own feelings: Is it your intention as well to contribute gratuitously toward making my position even more difficult than it already is? Or do you not rather want to follow the voice that assuredly always prohibits you from doing so when you have reason to believe someone is genuinely unfortunate or unhappy? Or can Amalie’s gentler, more humane disposition forget how horribly I have already paid for every conceivable rash act, or rather how I became the victim of a chain of events I could not control?
I will not seek you out, nor ask that you yourself do so in your own turn — I simply do not see why we should so studiously avoid every possibility of meeting that it ultimately creates burdens for a third party. I am not shy of seeing any person face to face whom I feel has a heart. If, however, you nonetheless do feel you must avoid me, then I would at least like to hear it from you explicitly enough that I in my own turn might be in a position to act accordingly. [3]
C. B.
Notes
[*] A remarkably eloquent self-defense of Caroline’s character, albeit not the last she would find it necessary to provide both in letters and in person (Goettinger Taschen Calender für das Jahr 1793; Inhaltsverzeichnis deutscher Almanache, Theodor Springmann Stiftung):
[1] Amalie Reichard had visited Georg and Therese Forster in Mainz during the summer of 1792 (see Caroline’s letter to Friedrich Ludwig Wilhelm Meyer on 29 July 1792 [letter 113]), though Caroline had also met her in Göttingen in 1791 (see her letter to Meyer on 6 December 1791 [letter 111]). See also Caroline’s description of her dream about Amalie in her letter to Luise Gotter earlier in 1794 (letter 138). Back.
[2] This excerpt and that cited in Caroline’s letter to Friedrich Ludwig Wilhelm Meyer on 20 February 1794 (letter 140) now constitute Forster’s (fragmentary) letter to Caroline from Paris in December 1792 (letter 136.5). Back.
[3] Although no response from Amalie Reichard to this letter seems to be extant, concerning a possible reponse see Caroline’s letter to Friedrich Ludwig Wilhelm Meyer on 16 March 1794 (letter 143).
That said, rumors concerning Caroline and anyone associated with the Mainz Republic militated against ordinary citizens, even acquaintances, associating too closely with her. See esp. the 1793 satirical play The Mainz Clubbists in Königstein, in which Caroline plays a part. Caroline was similarly alleged to have been not only the mistress of the French general Adam Philippe de Custine, but also the love interest of imperially proscribed Georg Forster after Therese Forster’s departure from Mainz. Caroline’s imprisonment in the fortress Königstein was similarly well known. Caroline was fortunate indeed that her relationship with the French officer Jean-Baptiste Dubois de Crancé never became known outside an extremely tight circle of acquaintances, not to speak of the resulting pregnancy.
Considering what is known about Caroline’s time in Mainz, her self-defense in this letter is both bold and reservedly sincere: reserved insofar as she is admittedly excusing herself for less than Amalie can really have known about her. At the same time, Amalie’s social reservations over against this adventuress (indeed, allegedly sexually promiscuous adventuress) is understandable given bourgeois sensibility at the time.
These considerations throw into sharp relief, of course, those among Caroline’s earlier acquaintances who genuinely did still accept her based on her character. Back.
Translation © 2011 Doug Stott