Once upon a time
The narratorial treasure trove of the Oligoamorists is teeming with heroes and monsters, idols, mythical figures and chimeras.
But the best stories are written by reality itself – or rather: it is reality that finds its expression in stories, absorbs impulses from them and finally weaves them into an incredibly colourful carpet.
It is 1773 – and a sense of freedom and hope for greater personal autonomy is in the air.
This is evident even in the border regions near the university town of Göttingen, which belong to both the Landgraviate of Hesse-Kassel as well as the Electorate of Brunswick-Lüneburg – an area we would today refer to as “rural South Lower Saxony”. Just a year ago, and thanks to an old friend’s connection – nowadays we’d probably call it “by pulling some strings” – the young 25 year old Gottfried August Bürger, who had only recently been appointed as a judicial clerk, seized the chance to pick up a job in the small village of Gelliehausen. Legal work in the countryside, disputes among landowners, inheritance matters, boundary demarcations, and adjudicating minor offenses aren’t exactly the kind of things that challenge a sharp mind – and even socially speaking, such places are far removed from any kind of sophisticated society…
Despite all these obvious limitations, Gottfried is generally quite satisfied with this development, because his true passion lies in art – specifically, in literature and poetry.
For at this point, Gottfried had already put several years of discord with his family behind him, particularly with his domineering grandfather Jakob Philipp. Initially pressured into studying dreary theology in Halle (Saale), he subsequently devoted himself, as a compromise, to the study of law in Göttingen – a decision, however, that also opened the door for Gottfried to quickly become part of a circle of art-loving, liberal-minded, kindred spirits.
For at that time, the educated world looks to the newly formed colonies beyond the antlantic (what we know today as the United States), where landowning settlers are just beginning to rise up against the British rule of their colonial masters. And the world is looking even more intently toward neighboring France, where tensions are running high among the peasantry and the middle classes – due to excessive oppression through taxation and the heavy-handed rule of the French monarchy.
This kind of oppression is also present in what is still known as the “Holy Roman Empire” – that patchwork of numerous territories and principalities where Gottfried lives: Absolutist rulers haggle with their territories, are locked in conflict with one another, and are currently watching with suspicion the most powerful military figures of the time: Frederick II., King of Prussia, and Maria Theresa, Archduchess of Austria. After all, it is the regional authorities who have complete control over the welfare and misfortune of their inhabitants—from the choice of profession, place of residence, family, and social interactions appropriate to their station, to services and taxes, and even down to their religion.
While peasants and working-class craftsmen have been virtually at the mercy of these conditions for centuries, a new way of thinking is beginning to spread among the increasingly educated middle classes, a phenomenon that has recently come to be known as “Enlightenment”: A reform movement that seeks – by invoking reason as the universal arbiter – to free society from such age-old, rigid, outdated concepts and ideologies, despite resistance from tradition and customary law.
These ideas also spread to young Gottfried and his creative friends—hoping to make the light of the “Enlightenment” accessible even to less educated circles, to elevate the songs and stories of the “common people” by collecting and recording them, and—keyword “patchwork” – finally bringing together, through language and literature, what would be culturally unique concerning a “unified German nation” (which, in its current fragmented state, does not yet even exist).
Grand ideals, therefore – in a young, starry-eyed mind.
In the real world, Gottfried oscillates in this way between work for his circle of intellectuals in Göttingen and the homes of the administrative officials in the countryside who are of a similar social standing to himself. A regular guest in the large family of a neighboring district official (the Leonhart family in Niedeck), he gradually falls in love with the second-eldest daughter of the house, 17-year-old Dorothea, whom everyone affectionately calls “Dorette”. But his gaze also lingers from time to time on her pretty, two-year-younger favourite sister, Augusta, who is affectionately known as “Molly”… Henceforth, Gottfried becomes an increasingly frequent visitor to Niedeck – and in July of the following year, 1774, the time has come for him and Dorette to celebrate their wedding with great rejoicing.
But is it mere piquancy or a peculiar quirk of fate? When her father-in-law, Johann Carl, jokingly mentions in his wedding speech that he himself had been married to two sisters in succession and that marriage is thus an institution that serves to uphold family connections, it becomes clear that even on this day of celebration, hidden romantic ties of considerable significance have long been sprouting. For Molly and Gottfried, too, have begun to fall in love with each other – and as amusing as the old gentleman’s speech may be, the consequences thereof seem daunting, even in the light of this bright summer’s day…
And so the inevitable happens: The impassioned Gottfried, who will later be classified by literary historians as “Stürmer und Dränger” (a proponent of”storm and stress”) on account of his literary achievements, continues to date secretly with Molly, mostly in a secluded grotto in a cliff beneath her family home in Niedeck, whilst in the spring of 1775 Dorette is already at home in Wöllmarshausen busy with her first child, Antoinette.
But the social and family dynamics are closely intertwined – and Dorette is neither blind nor stupid – she soon realises that her husband’s “friendly admiration” for her dear sister was quite obviously, right from the start, more than just cordial companionship. As her father, Johann Carl, has meanwhile fallen ill and is dependent on Molly’s care, she finally confronts the two conspirators, leading to a long conversation filled with accusations, confessions, tears and remorse – but ultimately also with forgiveness, understanding and, in the end, an unprecedented mutual agreement. History does not record which of the three it was who ultimately uttered that fateful phrase, which was not written down until over 200 years later in the poem “Triad” by the poet David Crosby, where it serves as the preamble to the first text on modern Polyamory: “Why can’t we go on as three?” ¹
And so the three of them come to a decision together, unbeknownst to the outside world: just before one another and before God, they resolve to live from now on as a “marriage of three” – in which Dorett and Molly are by nature already bound as sisters and each romantically attached to Gottfried.
A little more than a year later (1777), this arrangement, which had initially remained hidden, takes on a much more visible shape as a result of another twist of fate. The father-in-law, Johann Carl, dies after a brief but severe illness – Molly is thus freed from her family obligations and, without further ado, moves in with Dorette and Gottfried at their shared house in Wöllmarshausen – the “ménage à trois” is thus complete!
What ensues is a time of what is likely to be great joy, but also of assured suffering.
First, it is the domestic servants who – because they live in close quarters in the same house – draw their own conclusions and start chatting amongst each other. Yet whilst Gottfried can speak more freely about his personal circumstances in Göttingen, amongst his circle of literary liberal friends, wich half jestingly, half enviously compare him to the patriarchs of the Bible, from Abraham to King David – the public opinion in the provincial, conservatively minded court district of Gleichen, particularly in Niedeck and Wöllmarshausen, soon turns to utter alienation. Especially the young wives feel the full force of this, as it is made bluntly clear to them after only a short time that word has got round “how they are living in shame with Mr Bürger” – people gossip about them behind their backs, or even spit in their direction, with little attempt at discretion; the farmers’ spouses in the market square turn their backs on them when they arrive, or sidestep them in church. Molly, in particular, has to endure the worst humiliations when red-faced farmhands shout “bit-on-the-side!” or even “strumpet!” after her.
When, during the bitter winter of 1777, little Antoinette, barely three years old, dies of a fever, this seems to be yet another manifestation of the malevolent glances from all sides with which the trio now has to cope wherever they go. Living in an age that has yet to discover effective contraceptives or find a medical way to ensure the survival of infants or their mothers, the grieving Dorette is, however, pregnant once again; in the summer of the following year, she gives birth to her daughter Marianne (who will reach the remarkable age of 84 at that time!). Marianne’s birth is a brief, long-awaited ray of hope that can at least restore a touch of happiness at home, whilst outside, too, the dark clouds appear to have receded somewhat, if only for the moment.
But whilst the arrival of Marianne seems to reaffirm the legitimacy of Dorette and Gottfried’s marriage in the eyes of the outside world, the gossipmongers now turn their attention even more fiercely upon Molly, who, after another year of such social pressure, gives in and flees in 1779 to the home of an older sister in Bissendorf near Hanover (Wedemark). Not until more than a year later, after numerous carriage journeys north and even more negotiations, Gottfried and Dorette manage to convince her to return: To escape the evil tongues in Wöllmarshausen and its vicinity, at least for a while, Gottfried has, despite the family’s notoriously tight budget, leased a humble place in the somewhat remote village of Appenrode, to which the family members can now retreat whenever they need a place of refuge. And this arrangement finally seems to be providing the much-needed peace of mind and a return to something resembling normality, for the chronicles have virtually nothing to report for a few harmonious years in the story of our proto-polycule² (which, historically speaking, is usually a good sign). In 1782, it is Molly herself who completes this small, unusual patchwork family with the arrival of their first son, Emil. However, the happiness that has finally taken shape in this way lasts for only two more years, even though everything now seems to be gradually falling into place – it is 1783 and Dorette is expecting her third child, a sibling for Marianne and little Emil.
For, of course, the voices of disapproval have never truly fallen silent; the target that Gottfried Bürger provides with his unconventional household is simply too easy to hit. Thus, a critical remark here and a pointed rebuke there eventually cause Gottfried’s superiors, the presiding officers of the relevant administrative chamber, to launch an investigation against him “due to negligent conduct in office”. In particular the ever-tight finances and high expenditure of their employee have aroused the suspicion of the senior authorities (which is hardly surprising, given the leased estate in Appenrode and regular literary activities in Göttingen, both of which clearly exceed the scope of a dutiful local judicial official…).
But life strikes even harder on another front: Dorette’s birth in July ’84 is fraught with complications and ultimately proves fatal. The mother and her baby (who was to be named Auguste) perish during childbirth as a result of physical exhaustion – a fate commonly experienced at that time – which shatters the barely etablished rainbow with a single blow. Dorette passes away at the age of 28.
Whilst Molly and Gottfried are devastated with grief for their sister and companion, this is of course just more water on the millstones of the gossipmongers. And even though Gottfried is acquitted of the charge of abuse of office shortly afterwards, at this point the survivors are finally fed up with Wöllmarshausen, with Niedeck, with Gleichen, and with all the small-minded villagers, slanderers and petty rumour-mongers.
Gottfried resigns from his increasingly precarious post as civil servant, and the grieving family moves lock, stock and barrel to Göttingen – which, compared to Wöllmarshausen, seems almost cosmopolitan – and which, in any case, has for a long time been the main centre of Gottfried’s literary career. Given the need to provide for his remaining family, he swiftly takes up the position as a private lecturer there later that same year.
Molly and Gottfried are deeply shaken by these recent events – yet, in a way, Göttingen also offers them the chance of a fresh start. The following spring, it becomes clear to the couple that Molly is already with child again – and in July 1785, Molly and Gottfried are officially married in a small, beautifully arranged ceremony, largely organised by Gottfried’s friends in Göttingen. Uplifted, Gottfried is now ready to tackle one of his most important contributions to German literature – the little family is starting to get back on its feet, and Molly, who is soon heavily pregnant, has her hands full getting the household back in order. Her delivery in August, nevertheless, is anything but easy, which reminds Gottfried and the weakened Molly in a terrible way of the fate of poor Dorette. Whilst she is still in confinement, the couple agree to name their daughter, who was brought into the world after agonising labour, “Auguste” as well, in memory of Dorette and her stillborn baby – and so it is done.
But while Auguste, contrary to past experience, is thriving and in perfect health, brave Molly is not recovering from her difficult labour as the doctors would prefer. Christmas and New Year’s celebrations she can only enjoy from her bed, whilst Gottfried and the children scarcely leave her side anymore. In January 1786, she is finally struck down by a severe fever from which she does not recuperate. Molly dies, never having reached her 28th birthday.
All that remain are the three children, Marianne, Emil and Auguste, as well as Gottfried, to whom everything seems lost. Although he is able to find homes for the children within the extended family (including in Bissendorf in Westphalia, with Dorette and Molly’s sister), he himself falls into a deep creative crisis that sets his progress back by three years. By the time he finally gets around to publishing the “Campaigns and Adventures of Baron Munchausen” in 1789, he is barely his old self at all.
Yet a final spark still glows within him, whilst in France the French Revolution is in full swing following the Third Estate’s proclamation as the National Assembly and, shortly afterwards, the Storming of the Bastille – reminding him of the freedom that means so much to him.
He receives a passionate, poetic reader’s letter from a female admirer in Stuttgart – and, just as impulsively and impetuously as he had been a decade and a half earlier, Gottfried throws himself into a carriage bound for the south. Indeed, he encounters his admirer, Elise Hahn, who is herself a writer – and rashly decides to propose to her – perhaps in the hope of finally finding that long-awaited happiness within the confines of established monogamy after all. Elise says “Yes!”, the couple moves to Göttingen, marries in October 1790 – and by the following August, their son (Agathon) is born – Gottfried tries everything in his power to finally achieve “a normal life” this time.
However, the attempt fails miserably. Elise, who is 22 at the time (and 21 years younger than Gottfried himself), cheats on him on several occasions, including an affair with a local nobleman of far higher social standing than Gottfried. When he finally discovers her having sex with one of his own students in Göttingen, things reach breaking point: a sordid, highly publicised divorce ensues, in which Elise is found at fault in 1792 – but which also provides the final, decisive blow to Gottfried’s already tarnished reputation: For it was none other than one of the very greatest stars in the German literary firmament of the time, Friedrich Schiller – who once in his youth admired Gottfried Bürger and even imitated him in some respects at the start of his career – who, a year earlier, had savaged Gottfried’s literary life’s work in one of the most important publication of the contemporary literary scene in a manner that now seems to be confirmed once again – and for all the world to see. Schiller, of all people – who in his own youth also had his fair share of parallel relationships with the fairer sex – writes there, among other things, in rather disparaging tone, “that only a man of moral integrity can be a good poet”.
Gottfried is annihilated, the accumulated pressure more than he can bear. His voice fails during a lesson – and never returns. He is forced to give up his post as a university lecturer. Impoverished, supported by nothing more than a one-off lump sum from the university, broken, defeated, emaciated – and above all, lonely – he dies two years later, in June 1794, at the age of just 46, succumbing to consumptive tuberculosis.
As for Polyamory, which had brought him so much happiness and so much suffering, it was still 200 years too early.
An afterword and a disclaimer, so to speak:
As the author of this blog, I have focused here primarily on the personal relationships of the German poet Gottfried August Bürger, who lived during the period of our history now referred to as the “Age of Enlightenment”.
Whether the events described above can indeed be characterised as an early example of “Polyamory” is, strictly speaking, a matter I shall leave to the readers of these lines to decide. Personally, I nevertheless consider Dorette, Molly and Gottfried to be incredibly courageous individuals who, at a pivotal moment in European history – one that focused on both national liberation and the pursuit of greater personal freedom – chose to follow a bold, unconventional and non-conformist path.
From today’s perspective, sexual relationships with teenagers (who, under current law, are simply children!) are to be condemned (in most parts of the world, such relationships are now indisputably a criminal offence). At that time, entering into relationships at a young age and getting married early were commonplace, as was the often relatively large age gap between an older husband and his younger wife. All these measures were generally intended to ensure that a young and healthy woman, despite the poor medical conditions at the time, would hopefully be able to endure the risky process of childbirth and thus preserve the family line. Individualistic considerations were always subordinated in the pursuit of this objective. Furthermore, by the end of the 18th century, European women were almost entirely dependent on a male patriarch as the head of the household within the social order.
So, as for “how” things actually played out in the Bürgers’ household – whether the people there were truly happy together, or whether it was merely an odd arrangement, or even just the realisation of a “male fantasy” – I cannot, of course, say with absolute certainty. Many reference works describe the marriage between Gottfried and Dorette as “unhappy” – though this is usually attributed solely to the fact “because Molly existed”.
As an oligoamorous person myself, with (only) documentary sources, historical sites, correspondence, biographical details, obituaries and literary texts at my disposal today, I do, however, view these matters through my “own lens” – which has led me to my own individual assessment of the circumstances in those days – and I interpret them differently.
Just a few weeks ago, I was sitting in the so-called “Bürgergrotto” in Niedeck, where Gottfried once used to meet Molly in secret. Attached to it is a board which, full of convoluted phrasing and roundabout descriptions, winds its way around the fact that this place is a reminder of a triangular relationship that ultimately lasted seven (!) years. Now in 2026 (ok, the board may have been around for a few years) I deemed it to be both embarrassing and discriminatory. And that’s why I’ve now posted this Entry on my bLog, which is intended as a tribute to Gottfried – but above all to Dorette and Molly.
During his first creative peak (at the time he met Dorette and Molly), Gottfried August Bürger, as a renowned writer, gave the world the sombre ballad “Lenore“, which was well ahead of its time and reminds me of the later works of Edgar Allan Poe (who was also inspired by it). As a highly educated man, Bürger was fluent in many languages and provided the first German translation for Shakespeare‘s tragedy “Macbeth”, for example. His further poetic and literary works are extensive; if in doubt, please refer to the relevant Wikipedia entry under his name.
However, Bürger is actually best known to most readers for his “recovery” of the German Baron Münchhausen stories, which were first published in England in 1785 by Rudolf Erich Raspe as “Baron Munchausen’s Narrative of his marvellous Travels and Campaigns in Russia”. Bürger translated and expanded the material back into the German language as “Feldzüge und Abenteuer des Freiherrn von Münchhausen”. This material was very close to his heart because it originated from his home region (Bodenwerder in South Lower Saxony). But above all because this initiative fitted in with his overarching intention of uncovering and preserving a “German narrative heritage”, through which he hoped to contribute to a German liberal uprising that, much like in America or France, would lead to increased empowerment, greater personal freedom and an improved sense of equality amongst his fellow citizens [objectives of the Enlightenment and objectives of Sturm und Drang].
¹ When Morning Glory Zell-Ravenheart published her essay “A Bouquet of Lovers” in the 23rd issue of the Green Egg magazine in May 1990 – in which she used the word polyamorous for the first time in the modern era – she prefaced it with the first verses of David Crosby’s poem Triad:
You want to know how it will be
Me and her or you and me
You both sit there with your long hair flowin’
Your eyes are alive, your minds are still growing
Saying to me
“What can we do now that we both love you?”
I love both of you, too
And I don’t really see why can’t we go on as three?
² “Polycule” is a humorous portmanteau of the terms “polyamory” and “molecule”. Because some polyamorous relationship configurations, when sketched out in two dimensions for better illustration, occasionally begin to resemble a molecule with its multiple bonds to various individual atomic components, this word has established itself as a tongue-in-cheek term for multi-partner relationship networks.
In the case of Dorette, Molly and Gottfried, I wrote “proto-Polycule”, meaning “pre-polycule”, because neither the concept nor the term existed in their time.
And this time, my thanks goes to Maria Christina of Austria, who painted the illustration that heads up this Entry. It does not, of course, depict the household of Gottfried, Dorette and Molly with their children, but shows the family of Maria Theresa on the Feast of St Nicholas (1762). I have used it nonetheless to show the way people of that time dressed and lived at home. The painting is now public domain and has been kindly made available by the Schönbrunn Palace Cultural and Management Group.
