What cannot be said of Wieland, of Goethe, of
Schiller, of Jean Paul, may be safely affirmed of this busy and
single-minded man. The parental fear of Popery brought him a seasonable
supply of money from home, which enabled him to clothe himself decently
enough to push his literary fortunes, and put on a bold front with
publishers. Poor enough he often was, but never in so shabby a pass that
he was forced to write behind a screen, like Johnson.
It was during this first stay in Berlin that Lessing was brought into
personal relations with Voltaire. Through an acquaintance with the great
man's secretary, Richier, he was employed as translator in the scandalous
Hirschel lawsuit, so dramatically set forth by Carlyle in his Life of
Frederick, though Lessing's share in it seems to have been unknown to
him. The service could hardly have been other than distasteful to him;
but it must have been with some thrill of the _anche io!_ kind that the
poor youth, just fleshing his maiden pen in criticism, stood face to face
with the famous author, with whose name all Europe rang from side to
side. This was in February, 1751. Young as he was, we fancy those cool
eyes of his making some strange discoveries as to the real nature of that
lean nightmare of Jesuits and dunces.
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