THE LIFE AND WORKS
or
GOETHE:
WITH
SKETCHES  OF  HIS  AGE  AND  CONTEMPORARIES,
FROM
PUBLISHED AND UNPUBLISHED SOURCES.
BY
G. H. LEVEWES.
AUTHOR OF'THI BIOGRAPHICAL HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY,' ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
Goethe's heart, which few knew, was as great as his intellect,
which all knew.' — JUNG STILLING.
B O ST O N:
TI C KN O R AND F I E LD S.
M DCCC LVI.




C AMB RIDGE:
THURSTON AND TORRY, PRINTERS.




TO
THOMAS CARLYLE,
WHO FIRST TAUGHT ENGLAND TO APPRECIATE GOETHE,
THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED
AS A MEMORIAL
OF GRATITUDE FOR INTELLECTUAL GUIDANCE,
AND OF
ESTEEM FOR RARE AND NOBLE QUALITIES.








P I' E FACE.
THERE was no life of Goethe in existence when
I first began mine, now nearly ten years ago. The
meagre notices by Sciihtz and D6ring were little
more than abridgments of the autobiographical
sketch published under the title of Poetry and Truth
from  my Life. Readers unacquainted with this
Autobiography may perhaps imagine that the existence of such a work, coupled with the absence of
any attempt at a fuller biography, is a proof that,
by Germans at least, no biography was wanted. I
will not pause to show in detail how false such a
conclusion would be, but content myself with the
proof which is carried in the fact that, since my
intended undertaking was made known, two substantial biographies have appeared, one in four
volumes, the-other in two. Herr Viehoff declares
in his preface that he considered the honor of German literature was at stake if an Englishman were
allowed to be the first biographer of the great German; and to prevent such a scandal, he resolved




vi                 PREFACE.
on the devotion of' German diligence and German
fidelity' to the task. The result has been a laborious work in four volumes, containing in all 2,564
pages.*  Yet in spite of this mass of material,
much valuable matter finds no place in his pages:
partly because it has been published since he wrote,
and partly because he had no access to unpublished
material. Indeed, he has confined himself so exclusively to printed matter, that he has not even
visited Weimar, where seven-and-fifty years of
Goethe's life were passed. Thus he writes of
Goethe as he might write of Cicero. A similar
defect is noticeable in Herr Schafer's Biography. t
By more compact treatment, and by the omission
of critical considerations on the various works, Herr
Schafer brings his material within two volumes.
Not only is this work somewhat richer than Viehofl's, it is also preferred by the Germans on account
of its compactness.
It would ill become me to express any opinion
on the merits of these performances; but it would
be still worse to omit the amplest acknowledgment
of the -aid I have derived from them. The first
volume of Viehoff reached me only when I had
already completed my first volume, and made me
* Goethe's Leben: von Heinrich Viehoff, 1847-1853.
t Goethe's Leben: von'J. W. Schifer, 1851.




PREFACE.                vii
regret that I had not earlier been able to take advantage of it; in rewriting this volume, as well as
in writing the second, I have made the freest use
both of his and of Schafer's work. Acknowledgment of assistance is a cardinal point in literary
courtesy too often neglected; and my book is in
spirit, form and matter so widely different from
those of Viehoff and Schafer, containing so much
which they have not, and omitting so much which
they contain, that a reader who should make a
comparison, remembering that the same sources
were open to me as to them, would probably form
no idea of the assistance I have received; I am
therefore the more anxious to acknowledge it.
Nor can I let this opportunity pass without recording my debt to Mrs. Austin's delightful work
Goethe and his Contemporaries, of which Falk's
Reminiscences forms the nucleus. This book was
a loved companion long before I could read German; and, in common with many readers, I felt
very grateful to Mrs. Austin for the mass of details,
and occasional fine remark, with which she gave us
glimpses of that distant world. The book has been
of service to me in more than one chapter of this
biography. The reader is advised to get it at once,
together with Mr. Oxenford's translation of Eckcernann's Conversations; for not only will they charm




Viii               PREFACE.
by their contents, but assist him in forming a conception of Goethe as he was in the decline of life.
Mr. Oxenford has also translated the Wahrheit und
Dichtung.,* so that the English reader may judge
how far the Autobiography renders a biography superfluous. One objection, indeed, will occur at the
outset: Goethe lived to the age of eighty-two, and
his Autobiography only includes the first five or sixand-twenty years. Nor will the Annals (Tag und
Jahres Hefte) supply the deficiency. A more serious
objection, however, rises from the nature of the
work. That work has great charm, but the charm
is scarcely, if at all, the kind which belongs to Autobiography. Its calm artistic delineation of men,
scenes and influences, and the occasional episodes
of winning grace, however we may prize them,
only approximate to Autobiography; left as they
are without the precise detail, and above all without the direct eloquent egotism which constitutes
the value and the interest of such works. Liberal
enough in dissertation, and in record of details
respecting others, he is provokingly reticent about
himself; nay, in one place, he actually apologizes
for speaking of himself; which in an Autobiography is surely misplaced modesty?
* In Bohn's Standard Library, vol. xxxi.




PREFACE.                ix
To the biographer, this Wahrheit und Dichtung- is
almost as much of a stumbling block as a stepping
stone; at least I found it so. In obedience to the
advice of German friends, and to what seemed the
most natural plan, I originally confined myself to
the reproduction and abridgment of it in the first
three Books, merely correcting inaccuracies, and inserting such novelty of detail as had come to hand.
It seemed proper to let him speak for himself
wherever that could be done. But this plan was
more plausible than felicitous; and on rewriting the
first volume - which I did during my last residence
in Germany through the autumn and winter of
1854-5 — I found it indispensable to recast the
whole, and begin again upon a different principle.
Thus the Autobiography came to be treated only
as one of the various sources from which the story
was to be constructed. The main reason for this
was the abiding inaccuracy of tone, which, far more
misleading than the many inaccuracies of fact,
gives to the whole youthful period, as narrated by
him, an aspect so directly contrary to what is given
by contemporary evidence, especially his own letters, that an attempt to reconcile the contradiction
is futile. If any one doubts this, and persists in
his doubts after reading the first volume of this
work, let him take up Goethe's Letters to the




X                 PREFACE.
Countess von Stolberg, or the recently published
letters to Kestner and Charlotte, and compare their
tone, with the tone of the Autobiography, wherein
the old man depicts the youth as the old man saw
him, not as the youth felt and lived. The picture
of youthful follies and youthful passions comes
softened through the distant avenue of years.
The turbulence of a youth of genius is not indeed
quite forgotten, but it is hinted with stately reserve.
Jupiter, serenely throned upon Olympus, forgets
that he was once a rebel with the Titans.
When we come to know the real facts, we see
that the Autobiography does not so much misstate
as understate; we, who can'read between the
lines,' perceive that it errs more from want of
sharpness of relief and precision of detail than from
positive misrepresentation. Controlled by contemporary evidence, it furnishes one great source for
the story of the early years; and I greatly regret
there is not more contemporary evidence to furnish
more details.
For the later period, besides the mass of printed
testimony in shape of Letters, Memoirs, Reminiscences, etc., I have endeavored to get at the truth
by consulting those who lived under the same roof
with him, those who lived in friendly intercourse
with hIin, and those who have made his life and




PREFACE.                Xi
works a special study. I have sought to acquire
and to reproduce a definite image of the living man,
and not simply of the man as he appeared in all
the reticences of print. For this purpose I have
controlled and completed the testimonies of print
by means of papers which have never seen the
light, and papers which, in all probability, never will
see the light - by means of personal corroboration,
and the many slight details which are gathered from
far and wide when one is alive to every scrap of
authentic information and can see its significance;
and thus comparing testimony with testimony,
completing what was learned yesterday by something learned to-day, not unfrequently helped to one
passage by details furnished from half-a-dozen quarters, I have formed the conclusions which appear in
this work. In this difficult, and sometimes delicate
task, I hope it will be apparent that I have been
guided solely by the desire to get at the truth, not
having any cause to serve, any partisanship to
mislead me, or personal connection to trammel my
judgment. It will be seen that I neither deny, nor
attempt to slur over, points which may tell against
him. The man is too great and too good to forfeit
our love, because on some points he may incur our
blame.
Considerable space has been allotted to analyses




X11                PREFACE.
and criticisms of Goethe's works. In the life of a
great Captain, much, space is necessarily occupied
by his campaigns. By these analyses I have tried
to be of service to the student of German literature, as well as to those who do not read German;
and throughout it will be seen that pains have not
been spared to make the reader feel at home in this
foreign land.
The scientific writings have been treated with
what proportionately may seem great length; and
this, partly because science filled a large portion of
Goethe's life, partly because, even in Germany,
there is nothing like a full exposition of his aims
and achievements in this direction. Many readers
will be interested in the subject: and it may be
satisfactory to them to know that one of the most
eminent scientific authorities in Europe has given
his sanction to my exposition.
LONDON, OCTOBER, 1855.




CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
_OOK THE FIRST.
THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.
1749 TO 1765.
CHAPTER I.
PARENTAGE.
Character and extent of Goethe's claims to greatness. -Hereditary
transmission of qualities. - Goethe's ancestry. — Genealogical
tables. - Character of Goethe's father and mother.- Subjection
of the emotions to the reason....                  3
CHAPTER II.
THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.
Birth of Goethe. —Character of the epoch. - Twofold character of
Frankfurt. - Feeling for Italy. -Moderate elevation of Goethe's
social status. - Maternal tuition. - His love for his sister Cornelia. - His love of story-telling. - Grandmother and grandfather
Textor. - Early Compositions in Latin and German. - Character
of Goethe's precocity. - His school life.               17
CHAPTER III.
EARLY EXPERIENCES.
Character not formed by circumstances. - Early religious doubts
awakened by the Lisbon earthquake. - Early symbolical representation of the soul's aspirations to the Deity. —The Seven
Years' War. - Invention of little stories. - Occupation of Frankfart by the French. - The French theatre. - Duel with Derones
— His first play... 29
VOL. I.            b




xiv                      CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
VARIOUS STUDIES.
Departure of the French and resumption of study. - The Polyglott
romance. - Biblical studies. - Influence of Friiulein von Klettenberg.- Early love for Gretchen. - Disappointment. - Fascination
exercised by Goethe.40
CHAPTER V.
THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.
Characteristics of the man to be traced in the moral lineantents of
the child. - Characteristics of Goethe. - His many sidedness. -
His seriousness, formality and rationality. - His impatient susceptibility.                                         46
BOOK THE SECOND.
STUDENT DAYS.
1765 TO 1771.
CHAPTER I.
THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.
Goethe commences his collegiate life at Leipsic. - Wearies of logic
and jurisprudence. - Appearance in society. - Acquaintance with
Frau B/ohme. - Literary society at the table d'hSte of Herr
Schonkopf. - Falls in love with Anna Katharina Schonkopf. —
Description of Goethe in Horn's letters to Moors. — Composition
of' Die Laune des Verliebten.'- Works of Goethe an embodiment of his experiences. — Pranks and extravagances with
Behrisch. - Composition of' The Fellow Sinners'..   53
CHAPTER II.
MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS.
Subjective and objective intellects. -Antagonism between the ideal
and the real. - Objective character of Goethe's genius. - Concrete tendency in his works. -Comparison of Goethe with Shakespeare. - Moral toleration.72




CONTENTS.                        xv
CHAPTER III.
ART STUDIES.
Goethe neglects his collegiate studies. - His love songs. - Joins
Oeser's drawing class.- Trip to Dresden. - Learns engraving. -
Serious illness. - State of religious doubt. - Returns to Frankfurt.......... 78
CHAPTER IV.
RETURN HOME.
G.oethe's reception at home. - Letters to Kiithchen Schonkopf. -
Marriage of Kiithchen with Dr. Kanne.- Unpleasant relations
with his father. — Sudies in alchemy.-Religion more prominently in his thoughts.- Passing affection for Charity MIeixner.......... 84
CHAPTER V.
STRASBURG.
Goethe proceeds to Strasburg university. -Description of his person. - Strasburg cathedral. - General progress. - Disgust at the'Systeme de la Nature.' - Raphael's cartoons. - Ominous pictures exhibited to Marie Antoinette. - Goethe's French verses. -
Mystical metaphysical studies. — Early tendency towards Natureworship. - Giordana Bruno. - Notes on Bayle's criticism. - Remarkable comment on a chapter in- Fabricius. — Improvement in
his demeanor. - Increased circle of friends. - First meeting and
friendship with Stilling. -Friendship with Franz Lerse. - Conquers his irritability and sensitiveness. — Two love poems.Dancing at Strasburg.- Story of Emilia and Lucinda, the dancingmaster's daughters.93
CHAPTER VI.
HERDER AND FREDERIKA.
Goethe's German culture. - Acquaintance with Herder. - Herder's
opinion of Goethe. - His influence. - Strange introduction of
Goethe to the Brion family. - Frederika.  Goethe's letter.Affection of Goethe and Frederika.- Goethe obtains his doctor's
degree. - Frederika's visit to Strasburg. - Effect of Shakespeare
on Germany. - Goethe's oration on Shakespeare. - His tractate
on German architecture. - Parting with Frederika        114




xvi                    CONTENTS.
BOOK THE THIRD.
STURM UND DRANG.
1771 To 1775.
CHAPTER I.
DR. GOETHE'S RETURN.
Goethe's reception by his father.- Commencement of the Storm
and Stress period. —Goethe's reluctance to appear in print. —
His anguish at having renounced Frederika. - Reasons why he
did not marry her. - Antagonism between domesticity and
genius. - Egoism  of genius. - Hard work - Johann Heinrich
Merck. - The Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen. - Goethe's fondness for skating.                                141
CHAPTER II
GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Three versions of'Gotz.' - Goethe's own account of the composition.
Character of Gottfried with the Iron Hand. - Battle for individual liberty in the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries compared.
-' Gotz' a dramatic chronicle, not a drama. - Singularly unShakespearian in construction, in the presentation of character,
and in the language. - The first-born of the romantic school.Its injurious influence on dramatic art. -Its originality denied by
Hegel. -' Gotz' a marvellous work....   153
CHAPTER III.
WETZLAR.
Meagre account of Wetzlar in Goethe's Autobiography. -The
imperial court of justice, a German chancery. -The Teutsche
Haus. - The Round Table and its knights. - Description of
Goethe by Kestner.- His acquaintance with Gotter. - Connection with the Gottingen school. - Moral contest between individuals and government. - Literary and philosophic insurrection
— Goethe falls in love with Charlotte Buff. - Kestner's engagement to Charlotte. - Jerusalem's unhappy passion. - Goethe's
visit to Hopfner. - Melancholy departure from Wetzlar.  169




CONTENTS.                       XVll
CHAPTER IV.
PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.
Goethe interrogates fate whether he should become an artist. —
Maximiliane von Laroche. - Excursion with Merck. - Studies at
Frankfurt. - Re-writing' Gotz von Berlichingen.' - Successful
publication of' Gotz.' - Amusing offer 9f a bookseller. - Unrest
and. extravagancies of the age. -General want of faith. -Letters
to Kestner and Charlotte. - Coquetting with suicide. - Suicide of
Jerusalem.  State of Goethe's mind. - Marriage of Charlotte to
Kestner. - Marriage of Cornelia. - Goethe meditates a drama on
Mahomet. - Marriage of Maximiliane Laroche with Brentano. -
Dangerous intimacy. - Publication of'Gotter, Helden und Wieland.'- First acquaintance with Karl August. - Composition of
Werther......... 190
CHAPTER V.
WERTHER.
Kestner's narrative of Jerusalem's suicide.- Sensation at Wetzlar.
- Character of Werther.- Distinction between Werther and
Goethe. - Wretched English translation of' Werther.'- Simplicity of the structure of the book. — Its prodigious effect. -
Objections of Lessing. -Parody by Nicolai. - Nicolai at Werther's grave. —Enthusiasm of Zimmermann and Kotzebue. -
Indignation of Kestner and Charlotte. - Goethe obtains their
forgiveness. - Kestner's letter to Hennings...   217
CHAPTER VI.
SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.
Goethe's contemporaries. - Idealism the dominant characteristic of
German literature. - Comparison of Greek and Christian Art. -
Legend of Tannhiuser and Legend of Phryne. -Nature deified
by the Greek, and diabolized by the Christian. — Contrast between early Greek and early Christian art. - Realism the dominant characteristic of the Greek mind, and Idealism of the
Christian. - Idealism carried furthest by German art. - German belief in witches and wizards. - Struggle between Idealism
and Realism. - Predominance of Realism in the Romantic epoch.
- Its strong manifestation in the Nibelungen Lied. -Contrast
between national song or Volkspoesie, and poetic art Kuntspoesie.




Xviii                   CONTENTS.
- Poetry made secular by the crusades. - Realistic reaction. -
Continued predominance in Germany of Idealism over Realism.Change produced by the Reformation. -Twofold protest of the
eighteenth century negative against authority, and positive in
favor of Nature. - Klopstock the representative of German Idealism. - Wieland the representative of German Realism. - Lessing
the real revolutionary leader of the German mind. - Herder the
lineal descendant of Lessing.  Goethe the Realist, and Schiller
the Idealist.239
CHAPTER VII.
CLAVIGO.
Marriage lotteries. -Anna Sybilla Miinch. -' Mmoire' of Beaumarchais. - Story of Beaumarchais and Clavijo. - Goethe's composition of' Clavigo.' - Trifling character of the play.   268
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LITERARY LION.
Goethe's acquaintance with Klopstock and Lavater. - Character of
Lavater. - Probable parentage of Goethe's religious opinions. -
Faith and knowledge. -Acquaintance with Basedow, the education reformer. - Wild and genius-like demeanor. - Acquaintance
with Jacobi. - Impressions produced by his wonderfill personality.- Studies Spinoza. - Studies the rhistory and doctrines of
the Moravians. - Conceives an idea of treating epically the history of the' Wandering Jew.' — Projeets a play-on the. fable
of Prometheus. - Comparison of the extant fragment with the
Prometheus of lEschylus..279
CHAPTER IX.
LILI.
Goethe's affection for Anna Elizabeth Schinemann (Lili).- Character of Lili. - Goethe's verses to Lili. —' Erwin und Elmire.' -
Objections to a marriage. - Composition of' Stella.'- Canning's
caricature. - Tour in Switzerland withLhe tyo-Caouna-St&eerg.Separation from Lili. -' Lili's Menagerie.' — Commencement of' Egmont.' - Goethe accepts Karl August's invitation -to Weimar.........   302




CONTENTS.                       xix
BOOK THE FOURTH.
THE  GENIALISCH  PERIOD  IN  WEIMAR.
1775 TO 1779.
CHAPTER I.
WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
Description of Weimar. - The Wartburg. - Banqueting-hall of the
Minnesingers. - Annual Meeting of the Bachs. - The Park. -
Legend of the Serpent of Weimar. - Charming environs. - State
of science. - Absence of comfort and luxury. - Rough and simple
manners. - Prices of things. - Condition of the people. - Exclusiveness of the Court. - Goethe ennobled against his wisYh. - No
real public for art at Weimar. - Necessity in art for the co-operation of the nation with individual genius.            819
CHAPTER II.
THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMAR.
The Dowager Duchess Amalia. -Mdlle. Gdchhausen. -Wieland. -
Einsiedel. - Corona Schroter. - Bertuch. - Muspeus. - Seckendorf. - The Duchess Luise. - Karl August. - Grafin Werther. -
Frau von Stein. - Knebel. - Herder...         340
CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.
Sensation created by Goethe at Weimar. - Laxity of German morals
based on sentimentalism. - Goethe's flirtations. - Skating, devilries and dissipation. - Goethe's close intimacy with Karl August.
Elected to the post of Geheime Legations Rath. -Protest of
the Court silenced by the Duke.- Exaggerated scandal. -   lopstock's letter of remonstrance. - Breach between Klopstock and
Goethe. - Gleim's anecdote of Goethe. - Absurdity of the charge
that Goethe sacrificed his genius to the Court. — Merck's approbation of Goethe's position.351
CHAPTER IV.
THE FRAU VON STEIN.
Charlotte, Baroness Von Stein. - Goethe falls in love with her. -
His letters.369




xx                       CONTENTS.
CHAPTER V.
THE GARTENHAUS.
Dedication of the Garden House to the Frau von Stein.- Transferred by the Duke from Bertuch to Goethe. - The favorite retreat
of Goethe. -Goethe's fondness for fresh air and water. - His ballad of' The Fisherman.' - His appearance in the character of a
water-sprite.                                         375
CHAPTER VI.
PRIVATE THEATRICALS.
Goethe's useful influence with the Duke, and efforts to improve the
people of Weimar. - Popularity of private theatricals. - Open air
performances. - Representation of'Minerva's Birth, Life and
Deeds.' - Goethe's operetta' Die Fischerin.' - Miscellaneous performances. - Representation of the' Iphigenia.' - Goethe's acting. - General amusements and occupations...   381
CHAPTER VII.
MANY-COLORED THREADS.
Goethe's love and ambition. — Letters from sentimental youths. -
Composition of' Triumph der Empfindsamkeit.' - Journey to the
Harz mountains in disguise. - Interview with Plessing, the misanthrope. - Suicide of Friiulein yon Lassberg. — Goethe's increased hatred of Wertherism.  Representation of the' Triumph
der Empfindsamkeit'.                    392
CHAPTER VIII.
THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.
Goethe's manifold employments and studies.- His love of the
people. - His contempt for the Prussian Court. - Frederic the
Great. - Goethe's kindness. - His delicate benevolence to Kraft
- His letters to Kraft. - Strange charge, that Goethe was cold
and heartless.- Menzel's attacks.-Goethe's loveable nature, 405
APPENDIX..                          425




BOOK THE FIRST.
THE CIIILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.
1749 to 1765.
Vom Vater hab' ich die Statur,
Des Lebens ernstes Ffihren;
Von Mitterchen die Frohnatur,
Und Lust zu fabuliren.
Hfitte Gott mich anders gewollt,
So hitt' er mich anders gebaut.
VOL. I.     1








BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
PARENTAGE.
QUINTUS CURTIUS tells us that, in certain seasons, Bactria was darkened by whirlwinds of dust, which completely
covered and concealed the roads. Left thus without their
usual landmarks, the wanderers awaited the rising of the
stars, -' To light them on their dim and perilous way.'
May we not say the same of Literature? From time to
time its pathways are so obscured beneath the rubbish of
the age, that many a footsore pilgrim complains of the
hidden route. In such times let us imitate the Bactrians;
let us cease to look upon the confusions of the day, and
turning our gaze upon the great Immortals who have gone
before, seek guidance from their light. In all ages the
biographies of great men have been fruitful in lessons.
In all ages they have been powerful stimulants to a noble
ambition. In all ages they have been regarded as the
armories wherein are gathered the weapons with which
great battles have been won.




4          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
There may be some among my readers who will dispute Goethc's claim to greatness.  Thley will admit that
he was a great poet, but deny that he was a great man.
In denying it, they will set forth the qualities which constitute their ideal of greatness, and finding him deficient in
some of these qualities, declare his title null. But in
awarding him that title, I do not mean to imply that he
was an ideal man; I do not present him as the exemplar
of all greatness. No man can be such an exemplar. Humanity reveals itself in fragments.  One man is the carrier of one kind of excellence, another of another. Achilles
wins the victory, and I-omer immortalizes it: we bestow
the laurel-crown on both.  In virtue of a genius such as
modern times have only seen equalled once or twice,
Goethe deserves the epithet of great; unless we believe a
great genius can belong to a small mind. Nor is it in
virtue of genius alone that he deserves the name.  Merck
said of him, that what he lived was more beautiful than
what he wrote; and his Life, amid all its weaknesses and
all its errors, presents a picture of a certain grandeur of
soul, which cannot be contemplated unmoved. I shall
mnake no attempt to conceal his faults.  Let them be dealt
with as harshly as severest justice may dictate, they will
not eclipse the central light which shines throughout his
life.  He was great, if only in large-mindedness - a
magnanimity which admitted no trace of envy, of pettiness, of ignoble feeling to stain or to distort his thoughts.
He was great, if only in his lovingness, simplicity, benevolence. He was great, if only in his gigantic activity.
He was great, if only in self-mastery, which subdued rebellious impulses into the direct path prescribed by his will
and reason.' This man, we may say, became morally
great, by being in his owvn age what in somne other ages
many might have been, a genuine nlan. Hlis grand cx



1749.]               PARENTAGE.                      5
cellency was this, that he was genuine.  As his primary
faculty, the foundation of all others, was Intellect, depth
and force of Vision; so his primary virtue was Justice,
was the courage to be just. A giant's strength we admired
in' him; yet strength ennobled into softest mildness. The
greatest of hearts was also the bravest; fearless, unwearied, peacefully invincible.'"
The following pages will, it is hoped, furnish evidence
for such a judgment, and help to dissipate the many misconstructions which darken the glory of the life of Germany's greatest son.
The hereditary transmission of qualities is one among
the many physiological problems still far from a solution;
and the parentage of genius is one of the most difficult
aspects of that problem, although usually treated by writers with a very light hand, especially when their facile
progress is unimpeded by any perplexing weight of knowledge. Definite ignorance rides swiftly over a field, where
indefinite knowledge painfully picks its way. The maternal influence is popularly credited with the preponderance.' All remarkable men have remarkable mothers,'
is a current saying. But this hasty and empirical generalization is no truer than such generalizations usually are.
It is disproved by fact. It is disproved by what is known
of hereditary transmission. It leads also to this fatal conclusion, namely, that if the mother had the preponderating
influence over the organization of the child, the race would
be in perpetual degeneration; just as the white man's
superior organization is gradually lost. when a few white
men intermarry with a preponderating black race. The
whole question of hereditary transmission is at present
beyond the scope of science. We know that form, fea*1            * Carlylc.




6           LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.              [BOOK I.
ture, temperament, idiosyncrasy, acquired habit, diseases,
anomalies of structure, and duration of life, are transmitted to offspring; but the law of transmission is still hidden
from us.-  Certain qualities are transmitted from  parents
to children in so direct a manner as to strike the least observant eye; on the other hand it often happens that the
transmitted quality is masked by the presence of some different quality, and only reappears in the second or third
generation. New combinations also take place. Still we
can say with safety that whenever a child exhibits any
remarkable aptitude we may detect that aptitude in one or
both of his parents or grandparents.
Thus it is that observation detects families illustrious
through several generations; and families also which,
through many generations, transmit idiotcy and imbecility.t That' talent runs in families' we are taught by
examples, such as the' wit of the Sheridans' and the' esprit des Mortemarts.' Nor am I aware of any musical
genius springing from  a family in which  during  two
generations musical aptitude was not remarkable. It is
necessary to include two generations, because, among the
curious phenomena of hereditariness there is the phenomenon of atavism, in which children resemble their ancestors, but do not resemble their progenitors. 1
* The reader curious on this curious subject is referred to the
large work of Dr. Lucas, De l'HeredifE Nalturelle (Paris, 1847-50),
or the work of Girou de Buzareingues, De la Generation (Paris,
1828), in which are recorded the results of numerous experiments
on the breeding of animals.
t Haller: Elementa Physiologic, vol. viii, p. 92. Aristotle seems
to have had a glimpse of the law of transmission; De Partibus
Animalium, i, p. 4, ed. Bekker.
i: See, besides the works already named, Burdach: Physiologie, ii,
p.- 269; and Longet: Traite de Physiol., ii, 133.




1749.]                PARENTAGE.                       7
But popular experience declares that the children of
men of genius are dunces: how is this to be reconciled
with the doctrine of hereditariness? A decisive answer
cannot be given; but we may suggest that there is some
confusion inevitably arising from  the exaggerated  demands made upon the children of a man of genius'; and
fiom our not taking into account the rarity of genius as a
phenomenon, which rarity points to a peculiarity in the
confluence of circumstances not likely to be transmitted.
I am not so certain that these much decried children have
been dunces. If they have seemed insignificant when
compared with their fathers, they would have been estimated quite otherwise had their position been otherwise;
and the man who, bearing an illustrious name, seems unworthy of the burthen, would be lauded by biographers as
a man of considerable merit, had he been the father instead 6f the son of a genius.*
There is consequently a philosophic interest aiding a
natural curiosity in the inquiry into Goethe's ancestry.
That he had inherited his organization and tendencies
from  his forefathers, and could call nothing in himself
original, he has told us in these verses:'Vom Vater hab' ich die Statur,
Des Lebens ernstes Fiihren;
Von Miitterchen die Frohnatur,
Und Lust zu fabuliren.
Urahnherr war der Schdnsten hold,
Das spukt so bin und wieder;
Urahnfrau liebte Schmuck and Gold,
Das zuckt wohl durch die Glieder.
* In our own day, Byron, Coleridge, and Leigh Hunt, were the
fathers of children remarkable even among the remarkable: and
Shelley's son has faculties which would have distinguished any one
bearing a less onerous name.




8            LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.              [BooK I.
Sind nun die Elemente nicht,
Aus dem Complex zu trennen,
Was ist denn an dem ganzen Wicht
Original zu nennen?'"
The first glimpse we get of his ancestry is about the
middle of the seventeenth century. In the Grafschaft of
Mansfeld in Thuringia, the little town of Artern  numbered among its scanty inhabitants a farrier, by name
Hans Christian Goethe. His son, Frederick, being probably of a more meditative turn, selected a more meditative
employment than that of shoeing horses. He became a
tailor. Having passed an apprenticeship, (not precisely
that of Wilhelm  Meister,) he commenced his Wanderings,
in the course of which he reached Frankfurt. Here'he
soon found employment, and being, as we learn, a' ladies'
man,' he soon also found a wife. The master tailor, Sebastian Lutz, gave him his daughter, on his admission to
the citizenship of Frankfurt and to the guild of tailors.
This was in 1687.   Several children were born, and
vanished; in 1700 his wife, too, vanished, to be replaced,
*' From my father I inherit my frame, and the steady guidance
of life; from dear little mother my happy disposition, and love of
story-telling. My ancestor was a " ladies' man," and that haunts me
now and then; my ancestress loved finery and show, which also runs
in the blood. If, then, the elements are not to be separated from
the whole, what can one call original in the descendant?'
This is a very inadequate translation; but believing that to leave
German untranslated is very unfair to those whose want of leisure or
inclination has prevented their acquiring the language, I shall
throughout translate every word cited. At the same time it is very
unfair to the poet, and to the writer quoting the poet, to be forced to
give translations which are after all felt not to represent the force
and spirit of the original. I will do my best to give approximative
translations, which the reader will be good enough to accept as such,
rather than be loft in the dark.




1749.]              PARENTAGE.                     9
five years afterwards, by Frau Cornelia Schellhorn, a
widow, blooming with six-and-thirty summers, and possessing the solid attractions of a good property; she kept
the hotel Zum Weidenhlof, where her new husband laid
down the scissors, and donned the landlord's apron. He
had two sons by her, and died in 1730, aged seventythree.
One of these two sons, the younger, Johann Caspar,
was the father of our poet. Thus we see that Goethe, like
Schiller, sprang from the people. He makes no mention
of the lucky tailor, or of the Thuringian farrier in his
autobiography. This silence may be variously interpreted.
At first, I imagined it was aristocratic prudery on the part
of von Goethey minister and nobleman; but it is never
well to put ungenerous constructions, when others, equally
plausible and more honorable, are ready; and we shall do
well here to follow the advice of a thoughtful and kindly
writer, to'employ our imagination in the service of
charity.' We can easily imagine that Goethe was silent
about the tailor, because, in truth, having never known
him, there was none of that affectionate remembrance
which encircles the objects of early life, to make this grandfather figure in the autobiography beside the grandfather
Textor, who was known and loved. Probably, also, the
tailor was seldom talked of in the parental circle.
Johann Caspar Goethe received a good education, travelled into Italy, became an imperial councillor in Frankfurt, and married, in 1748, Katharina Elizabeth, daughter
of Johann Wolfgang Textor, the chief-magistrate (Schultheiss).
The genealogical tables of kings and conquerors are
thought of interest, and why should not the genealogy of
our poet be equally interesting to us?  In the belief that
it will be so, I here subjoin it.




GENEALOGICAL TABLE OF THE GOETHE FAMILY.
FRIEDRICH GEORO GOETHE,
Born Sept. 7, 1657, at Artern, in the county of Mansfeld, where his father was a farrier; from 1687 a citizen and tailor in Frankfurt-on-the Maine
married first, ANNA ELISABETH LUTZ, a tailor's daughter (died 1700); secondly, May 4, 1705, MRs. CORNELIA SCHELLHORN (born Sept. 27, 1668
buried March 28,1754); died as keeper of the inn zum Weidenhof at Frankfurt; buried Feb. 13, 1730.
JOHANN MICHAEL GOETHE, died 1733.      JOHANN CASPAR GOETHE, born July 31, 1710; died 27 May, 1782, as Imperial Counsellor in Frankfurt;
married Aug. 20, 1748, KATHARINA }ELIZABETH TEXTOR. (born Feb. 19, 1731; died Sept. 13, 1808).
JOHANN WOLFGANG von GOETHE, CORNELIE FRIEDRICA CHRISTIANN  HERMANN  JACOB, KATHARINA ELIZABETH, JOHANNA MARIA, GEORG ADOLF,
born Aug. 28, 1749; died March  born Dec. 7, 1750; died June 8, born   Nov.  26, born Sept. 8,1754; died  born  March 28, born June 14,
22, 1832; from  July 13, 1788, 1777, at Emmendingen; married  1752; died  Jan. Jan. 19,1756.               1756; died Aug. 1760; died Feb.
lived with CHIRISTIANE VULPIUS NOV. 1, 1773, JOH. GE. SCHLOSSER  11, 1759.                                 9, 1759.         16, 1761.
(died  June  6, 181ti); married  (born 1739; died 1799, at Frankher, Oct. 19, 1806.             furt).
JULIUS  AUGUST  WALTHER  von  MARIE ANNA LUISE SCTLOSSER, ELISABETH KATHARINA JULIE
GOETIIE, born Dec. 25, 1789, in born Oct. 25, 1774; died Sept. 28, SCIILOSSER, born May 10, 1777,
Weimar; died as Privy Coun- 1811; married 1795, NICOLOVIUs, died July 5, at Emmendingen.
sellor, Oct 2S, 1830, at Rome; at Eutin (died 1839).
married April, 1817, OTTILIE yon
POGWISCH.
I                                                            I
WALTHER WOLFGANG V. GOETHE, WOLFGANa MAX. V. GOETHE, born ALMA V. GOETIIE, born Oct.
born Feb. 1818.                 Sept. 18, 1820.                  1827.




GENEALOGICAL TABLE OF THE TEXTOR FAMILY.
GEORG WEBER,
Citizen of Weickersheim, a small town in the Jaxt district, near Mergentheim.
WOLFGANG WEBER,
Counsellor at Hohenlohe, and Director of the Chancery at Neuenstein; according to the custom of the time, translated his family name, WEBER into Latin,
and called himself TEXTOR.
JOHANN WOLFGANG TEXTOR.
Born at Neuenstein;,until 1690, Vice Court Judge and President-Vicar at the Electoral Court of Justice at Heidelberg; afterwards Consul and First Syndic
at Frankfurt; died there Dec. 27, 1701.
CHIRISTOPH HEINaIcH TEXTOR, Counsellor of Justice and Advocate to the    JOHANN NICOLAUS TEXTOR, Colonel and City Commandant; married
Elector Palatine; died 1716.                              1737, a widow von BARCKEAUSEN, born von KLETTENBERG.
JOHANN WOLFGANG TEXTOR, born Dec. 12, 1693; died Feb. 6, 1771, as
Imperial Counsellor and Magistrate at Frankfurt; married ANNA MARGARETHA LINDHEIMER, daughter of DR CORNELIUS LINDHsIMER, Procurator of
the Imperial Chamber of Justice at Wetzlar, born July 31, 1711; died
April 15, 1783.
KATHARINA ELISABETH,   JOHANNA MARIA, born 1734;   ANNA MARIA, born 1738;  JOHANN JOST, born 1739; died   ANNA CHRISTINA, born
born Feb. 19, 1731; died   married Nov. 11, 1751, the   married Nov. 2, 1756, the   September 19, 1792, as Sheriff in   Oct. 24, 1743.
Sept. 13, 1808; married   druggist MIELBER, in Frank-   clergyman  M. STARK, in   Frankfurt.
Aiu. 20, 1748, the father  furt.                       Frankfurt.
of the Poet, Counsellor
GoETnB.




12         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
Goethe's father was a cold, stern, formal, somewhat
pedantic, but truth-loving, upright-minded man. He hungered for knowledge, and, although in general of a laconic
turn, freely imparted all he learned. In- his domestic
circle his word was law. Not only imperious, but in some
respects capricious, he was nevertheless greatly respected,
if little loved, by wife, children, and friends. He is
characterized by Krause as ein geradliniger Frankfurter
Reichsbiurger-' a straightforward Frankfurt citizen,'
whose habits were as measured as his gait. From him
the poet inherited the well-built frame, the erect carriage,
and the measured movement which in old age became
stiffness, and was construed into diplomacy or haughtiness; from him also came that orderliness and stoicism
which have so much distressed those who cannot conceive
genius otherwise than as vagabond in its habits. The
lust for knowledge, the delight in communicating it, the
almost pedantic attention to details, which are noticeable
in the poet, are all traceable in the father.
The mother was more like what we conceive as the
proper parent for a poet. She is one of the pleasantest
figures in German literature, and one standing out with
greater vividness than almost any other. Her simple,
hearty, joyous, and affectionate nature endeared her to all.
She was the delight of children, the favorite of poets and
princes. To the last retaining her enthusiasm and simplicity, mingled with great shrewdness and knowledge of
character, Frau Aja, as they christened her, was at once
grave and hearty, dignified and simple. She had read
most of the best German and Italian authors, had picked up
considerable desultory information, and had that' mother
wit' which so often seems to render culture superfluous
in women, their rapid intuitions anticipating the tardy
conclusions of experience -a characteristic also of the




1749.]               PAItENTAGE.                   13
poetic mind. Her letters are full of spirit: not always
strictly grammatical; not irreproachable in orthography;
but vigorous with vivacity. After a lengthened interview
with her, an enthusiastic traveller exclaimed,' Now do I
understand how Goethe has become the man he is!' *
Wieland, Merck, Biirger, Madame de Stael, Karl August,
and other great people sought her acquaintance. The
Duchess Amalia corresponded with her as with an intimate
friend; a letter from her was a small jubilee at the Weimar Court. She was married at seventeen, to a man for
whom she had no love, and was only eighteen when the
poet was born.f This, instead of making her prematurely
old, seems to have perpetuated her girlhood.' I and my
Wolfgang,' she said,' have always held fast to each
other, because we were both young together.' To him
she transmitted her love of story-telling, her animal spirits,
her love of everything which bore the stamp of distinctive
individuality, and her love of seeing happy faces around
her.'Order and quiet,' she says in one of her charming
letters to Freiherr von Stein,' are my principal characteristics. Hence I despatch at once whatever I have to
do, the most disagreeable always first, and I gulp down
the devil without looking at him. When all has returned
to its proper state, then I defy any one to surpass me
in good humor.' Her heartiness and tolerance are the
causes, she thinks, why every one likes her.' I am fond
of people, and that every one feels directly - young and
old. I pass without pretension through the world, and
that gratifies men. I never bemoralize any one- always
seek out the good that is in them, and leave what is bad to
him who made mankind, and knows how to round off the
* Ephemeriden der Literatur, quoted in Nicolovius fiber Goethe.
t Lovers of parallels will be glad to be reminded that Napoleon's
mother was only eighteen when the hero of Austerlitz was born.
VOL. I.    2




14         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETIIE.    [Boox i.
angles. In this way I make myself happy and comfortable.' Who does not recognize the son in those accents?
The kindliest of men inherited his loving, happy natire,
from the heartiest of women.
He also inherited from her his dislike of unnecessary
agitation and emotion, and that deliberate avoidance o' all
things capable of disturbing her peace of mind, which, in
him, has been construed as coldness. Her sunny nature
shrank from storms. She stipulated with her servants
that they were not to trouble her with afflicting news,
except upon some positive necessity for the communication. In 1805, when her son was dangerously ill at
Weimar, nb one ventured to speak to her on the subject.
Not until he had completely recovered did she voluntarily
enter on it.'I knew it all,' she remarked,'but said
nothing. Now we can talk about him without my feeling
a stab every time his name is mentioned.'
In this voluntary insulation from disastrous intelligence,
there is something so antagonistic to the notorious craving
for excitement felt by the Teutonic races, something so
unlike the morbid love of intellectual drams - the fierce
alcohol of emotion - with which we intoxicate ourselves,
that it is no wonder if Goethe has on this account been
accused of insensibility. Yet, in truth, a very superficial
knowledge of his nature suffices to show that it was not
from coldness he avoided indulgence in the'luxury of
woe.' It was no want of sympathy, but excess of sensibility. His delicate nerves shrank from the wear and tear
of excitement. That which to coarser natures would have
been a stimulus, to him was a disturbance. It is, doubtless,
the instinct of our emotional nature to seek such stimulants; but his reason was strong enough to keep this
instinct under control. Falk relates that when Goethe
heard he had looked upon Wieland in death,'and thereby




1749.]               PARENTAGE.                    15
procured myself a miserable evening and worse night, he
vehemently reproved me for it. Why, said he, should I
suffer the delightful impression of the features of my friend
to be obliterated by the sight of a disfigured mask? I
carefully avoided seeing Schiller, Herder, or the Duchess
Amalia, in the coffin. I, for my part, desire to retain in
my memory a picture of my departed friends more full
of soul than the mere mask can furnish me.'
This subjection of the instinct of curiosity to the dictates
of reason is not coldness. There is danger indeed of
carrying it too far, and thus coddling the mind. Into this
extreme neither Goethe nor his mother can be said to
have fallen. At any rate, let the reader pronounce what
judgment on it he thinks fit, it is right that he should at
the outset distinctly understand it to be a characteristic of
the poet. The self-mastery it implies forms the keystone
of his character. In him the emotive was subjected to th6
intellectual man. He was' king over himself.' He, as
he tells us, found men eager enough to lord it over others,
while indifferent whether they could rule themselves-'Das wollen alle Herren seyn,
Und keiner ist IIerr von sich!'
He made it his study to subdue into harmonious unity
the rebellious impulses which incessantly threatened the
supremacy of reason. Here, on the threshold of his
career, let attention be called to this cardinal characteristic: his footsteps were not guided by a light tremulous
in every gust, liable to fall to the ground amid the hurrying agitation of vulgar instincts, but a torch grasped by an
iron Will, and lifted high above the currents of those
lower gusts, shedding a continuous steady gleam across
the troubled path. I do not say he never stumbled. At
times the clamorous agitation of rebellious passions misled




16          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
him, for he was very human, often erring; but viewing
his life as it disposes itself into the broad masses necessary
for a characteristic appreciation, I say that in him, more
than in almost any other man of his time, naked vigor of
resolution, moving in alliance with steady clearness of
intellect, produced a self-mastery of the very highest
kind.*
This he owed partly to his father and partly to his
mother. It was from the latter he derived those leading
principles which determined the movement and orbit of
his artistic nature: the joyous, healthy temperament, humor, vivid fancy, susceptibility, and the marvellous insight
which gathered up the scattered and vanishing elements
of experience into new and living combinations.' All I have had to do I have done in kingly fashion,' he said:
I let tongues wag as they pleased. What I saw to be the right
thing that I did.'




1749.]        THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.             17
CHAPTER II.
THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.
JOHANN  WOLFGANG GOETHE was born on the 28th
August, 1749, as the clock sounded the hour of noon, in
the busy town of Frankfurt-on-the-Maine.  The busy
town, as may be supposed, was quite heedless of what
was then passing in the corner of that low, heavy-beamed
room in the Grosse Hirsch Graben, where an infant,
black and almost lifeless, was watched with agonizing
anxiety - an anxiety dissolving into tears of joy, as the
aged grandmother exclaimed to the pale mother:' Rdthin, er lebt! he lives!' But if the town was heedless,
not so were the stars, as astrologers will certify; the stars
knew who was gasping for life beside his trembling
mother, and in solemn convocation they prefigured his
future greatness. Goethe, with a grave smile, notes this
conjunction of the stars; as Condivi, in his Vita di
Michelagnolo, does of his hero, without a smile.
Whatever the stars may have betokened, this August,
1749, was a momentous month to Germany, if only because it gave birth to the man whose influence has been
greater than that of any man, since Luther. A momentous month in very momentous times. It is the middle of
the eighteenth century: a period when the movement
carried out by Luther was passing from religion to politics,
and freedom of thought was translating itself into liberty
9*si




18          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETIIE.    [BooK I.
of act. From theology the movement had communicated
itself to philosophy, morals and politics. The agitation
was still mainly in the higher classes, but it was gradually
descending to the lower. A period of deep unrest, big
with events which would distend the conceptions of all
men, and bewilder some of the wisest. A few random
glances at the' notables' may serve to call up something
like the historical presence of the epoch.
In that month of August, Madame du Chatelet, the
learned and pedantic Uranie of Voltaire, died in childbed,
leaving him without a companion, and without a counseller
to prevent his going to the court of Frederick the Great.
In that year Rousseau was seen in the brilliant circle of
Mad. d'Epinay, discussing with the Encyclopedists, declaiming eloquently on the sacredness of maternity, and
going home to cast his new-born infant into the basket of
the Foundling Hospital. In that year Samuel Johnson
was toiling manfully over his English dictionary; Gibbon
was at Westminster, trying with unsuccessful diligence to
master the Greek and Latin rudiments; Goldsmith was
delighting the Tony Lumpkins of his district, and the' wandering bear-leaders of genteeler sort,' with his
talents, and enjoying that' careless idleness of fireside3
and easy chair,' and that' tavern excitement of the game
of cards, to which he looked back so wistfully from his
first hard London struggles.' * In that year Buffon, whose
scientific greatness Goethe was one of the first to perceive, and whose influence has been so profound, produced
the first volume of his Histoire Naturelle.  In that year
Mirabeau and Alfieri were tyrants in their nurseries, and
Marat was an innocent boy of five, toddling about in the
Val de Travers, untroubled by phantoms of'les aristocrats.'
* Forster's Life and Adventures of Oliver Goldsmith, p. 29.




1749.]         THE PRECOCIOUS CHILI).              19
This was the period in which Goethe was born. Of the
city- Frankfurt — he has given us a loving picture. No
city in Germany seems so well fitted for the birthplace of
this cosmopolitan poet. It was rich in speaking memorials of the past, remnants of old German life, lingering
echoes of the voices which sounded through the middle
ages: memorials, such as the town within a town, the fortress within a fortress, the walled cloisters, the various
symbolical ceremonies still preserved from feudal times,
the Jews' quarter, so picturesque, so filthy, and so strikingly significant. But if Frankfurt was thus representative
of the past, it was equally representative of the present.
The travellers brought there by the Rhine-stream, and by
the great northern roads, made it a representative of
Europe, and an Emporium of Commerce. It was thus a
centre for that distinctively modern idea - Industrialism
- which began, and must complete, the destruction of
Feudalism. This two-fold character Frankfurt retains to
the present day: the storks, perched upon the ancient
gables of the past, look down upon the varied bustle of
Fairs held by modern Commerce in the ancient streets.
The feeling for antiquity, and especially for old German
life, which his native city would thus picturesquely cultivate, was rivalled -by a feeling for Italy and its splendors,
which was cultivated under the paternal roof. His father
had lived in Italy, and had retained an inextinguishable
delight in all its beauties. His walls were hung with architectural drawings and views of Rome; and the poet
was thus familiar from infancy with the Piazza del Popolo,
St. Peter's, the Coliseum, and other centres of grand associations. Typical of his own nature and strivings is this
conjunction of the Classic and the German — the one
lying nearest to him, in homely intimacy, the other lying
outside, as a mere scene he was to contemplate. Goethe




20         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
was more Greek than German, but he never freed himself
from German influence.
Thus much on Time and Place, the two great environments of life. Before quitting such generalities for the
details of biography, it may be well to call attention to
one hitherto unnoticed, viz. the moderate elevation of his
social status. Placed midway between the two perilous
extremes of affluence and want, his whole career received
a modifying impulse from this position. He never knew
adversity. This alone must necessarily have deprived
him of one powerful chord which vibrates through the life
of genius. Adversity, the sternest of teachers, had nothing
to teach him. He never knew the gaunt companionship
of Want, whispering its terrible suggestions.  He never
knew the necessity to conquer for himself breathing-room
in the world: and thus all the feelings of bitterness, opposition, and defiance which accompany and perplex the
struggle of life, were to him almost unknown, and taught
him nothing of the aggressive and practical energy which
these feelings develope in impetuous natures. How much
of his serenity, how much of his dislike to politics may
owe its origin to this?
That he was' the loveliest baby ever seen,' exciting
admiration wherever nurse or mother carried him, and
exhibiting, in swaddling clothes, the most' wonderful
intelligence,' we need no biographer to tell us. Is it not
said of every baby? But that he really was a wonderful
child we have undeniable evidence, and of a kind less
questionable than the statement of mothers and relatives.
Specimens of his precocity will be given presently; mean.
while, from his mother, we will hear an anecdote or two.
At three years old he could seldom be brought to play
with little children, and only on the condition of their
being pretty. One day, in a neighbor's house, Ite suddenlyv




1753.]        THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.               21
began to cry and exclaim,'That black child must go
away! I can't bear him!' And he howled till he was
carried home, where he was slowly pacified; the whole
cause of his grief being the ugliness of the child. A
philosopher of a certain school might devote twenty pages
of symbolical profundity to show how an innate love of
the Beautiful determined this conduct in the child; but
perhaps the reader would prefer silence to such philosophy.
A quick, merry little girl grew up by the boy's side.
Four other children also came, but soon vanished. Cornelia was the only companion who survived, and for her
his affection dated from her cradle. He brought his toys
to her, wanted to feed her and attend on her, and was very
jealous of all who approached her.' When she was taken
from the cradle, over,which he watched, his anger was
scarcely to be quieted. He was altogether much more
easily moved to anger than to tears.' To the last his love
for Cornelia was passionate.
His mother spoiled him somewhat. One Sunday morning, while the family is at church, Master Wolfgang finds
himself in the kitchen, which looks upon the street. Boylike, he begins to fling the crockery into the street, delighted at the smashing music which it makes, and stimulated by the approbation of the brothers Ochsenstein, who
chuckle at him from over the way. The plates and dishes
are flying in this way, as his mother returns: she sees the
mischief with a housewifely horror melting into girlish
sympathy as she hears how heartily the little fellow laughs
at his escapade, and how the neighbors laugh at him.
This genial, indulgent mother employed her faculty for
story-telling to his and her own delight,'Air, fire, earth
and water I represented under the forms of princesses;
and to. all natural phenomena I gave a meaning, in which




22         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK I.
I almost believed more fervently than my little hearers.
As we thought of paths which led from star to star, and
that we should one day inhabit the stars, and thought of
the great spirits we should meet there, I was as eager for
the hours of story-telling as the children themselves; I
was quite curious about the future course of my own improvisation, and any invitation which interrupted these
evenings was disagreeable. There I sat, and there Wolfgang held me with his large black eyes; and when the
fate of one of his favorites was not according to his fancy,
I saw the angry veins swell on his temples, I saw him repress his tears. He often burst in with, " But, mother, the
princess won't marry the nasty tailor, even if he does kill
the -iant."  And when I made a pause for the night,
promising to continue it on the morrow, I was certain that
he would in the meanwhile think it out for himself, and so
he often stimulated my imagination. When I turned the
story according to his plan, and told him that he had found
out the denouement, then was he all fire and flame, and
one could see his little heart beating underneath his dress!
His grandmother3 who made a great pet of him, was the
confidant of all his ideas as to how the story would turn
out, and as she repeated these to me, and I turned the story
according to these hints, there'was a little diplomatic
secrecy between us which we never disclosed. I had the
pleasure of continuing my story to the delight and astonishment of my hearers, and Wolfgang saw with glowing
eyes the fulfilment of his own conceptions, and listened
with enthusiastic applause.' What a charming glimpse
of mother and son!
The grandmother here spoken of lived in the same'
house, and when lessons were finished, away the children
hurried to her room, to play. The dear old lady, proud
as a grandmother,'spoiled' them of course, and gave




1753.]        TIIE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.             23
them many an eatable, which they would get only in her
room. But of all her gifts nothing was comparable to the
puppet-show with which she surprised them on the Christmas eve of 1753, and which Goethe says' created.a new
world in the house.'  The reader of Wilhelm Meister
will remember with what solemn importance the significance of such a puppet-show is treated, and may guess
how it would exercise the boy's imagination.
There was also the grandfather Textor, whose house
the children gladly visited, and whose grave personality
produced an impression on the boy, all the deeper because
a certain mysterious awe surrounded the monosyllabic
dream-interpreting old gentleman. His portrait prespnts
him in a perruque d huit etages, with the heavy golden
chain round his neck, suspending a medal given him by
the Empress Maria Theresa; but Goethe remembered
him more vividly in his dressing gown and slippers moving amid the flowers of his garden, weeding, training,
watering; or seated at the dinner table where on Sundays
he received his guests.
The mother's admirable method of cultivating the inventive activity of the boy, finds its pendant in the father's
method of cultivating his receptive faculties. He speaks
with less approbation than it deserved of his father's idea
of education; probably because late in life he felt keenly
the deficiencies of systematic training. But the principle
upon which the father proceeded was an excellent one,
namely, that of exercising the intellect rather than the
memory. An anecdote was dictated, generally something
from every day life, or, perhaps, a trait from the life of
Frederick the Great; sometimes he selected a topic for
himself. On such subjects he wrote dialogues and moral
reflections in Latin and'German. Many have been preserved; and the reader will find one in the Appendix,




24          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK 1.
which shows what mastery over Latin was achieved in his
eighth year.:"  We can never be quite certain that the
hand of the master is not mingled with that of the child;
but, in the first place, the very method of independence
which the master throughout pursued is contrary to a supposition of his improving the exercises, and in the second
place, the Latin contains too many Germanisms not to
betray inexperience in the writer. Dr. Wisemann, of
Frankfurt, to whom we are indebted for these exercises
and compositions, written during Goethe's sixth, seventh,
and eighth years, thinks there can be no doubt of their
being the unassisted productions of the boy. In one of the
dialogues there is a pun which proves that the dialogue
was written in Latin first and then translated into German.
It is this: the child is making wax figures, his father asks
him why he does not relinquish such trivialities. The
word used is nuces, which, meaning trivialities in a metaphorical sense, is by the boy wilfully interpreted in its
ordinary sense, as nuts —' cera nunc ludo non nucibus'I play with wax, not with nuts. The German word niisse
means nuts simply, and has no metaphorical meaning.
One of these dialoguest is amusingly humorous and
characteristic. Maximilian, a playfellow, asks Wolfgang
why his parents would not have him with other guests at
the feast.' I never trouble myself with seeking out the
causes of what doesn't concern me,' replies Wolfgang.
He proposes to occupy the time, till the master appears,
with Comenius or some other book; but Maximilian rejects all such propositions.' Wolf. Well then, say what you propose.
Max. I hate all seriousness, and leave it to the dull dogs.
* See Appendix A.
t Published by Diring in his Goethe in Frankfurt am IMIain.




1753.]          THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD.                  25
Wolf. You are very long in saying what you want..Max. Look here; we will knock our heads together.
Wolf. Far from it! illy head is not at all fitted for such sport.
_Max. What matter? let's see which is the hardest.
TVolf. Let us leave that game to the goats: with them it's natural.
JMax. We shall by such practice get hard heads.
Wolf. That would be no such honor! I prefer keeping mine soft.
Mlax. How do you mean?
Wolf. I don't want to be pig-headed..Max. There you're right; but I prize toughness in my limbs.
Wolf. If nothing but that, then knock your head boldly against
the wall, as often as you like, you will see the most wonderful
effects P!
Beside this let us place one of his moral reflections.'Horatius and Cicero were indeed Heathens, yet more
sensible than many Christians; for the one says silver is
baser than gold, gold than virtue; and the other says
nothing is so beautiful as virtue. Moreover, many Heathens have surpassed Christians in virtue. Who was truer
in friendship than Damon? more generous than Alexander? more just than Aristides? more abstinent than Diogenes? more patient than Socrates? more humane than
Vespasian? more industrious than Apelles and Demosthenes?'  Platitudes these, doubtless; but they are platitudes which serve many as the ripe maxims of age. They
give us a notion of the boy being somewhat' od-fashioned,
and they show great progress in culture. His progress in
Greek was remarkable, as may be seen from the sample
given elsewhere.:- Italian he learned by listening to his
father while teaching Cornelia. He pretended to be occupied with his own lesson, and caught up all that was said.
French, too, he learned, as the exercises testify; and thus
before he is eight, we find him  writing German, French,
Italian, Latin, and Greek.
* See Appendix B.
VOL. I.       3




26         LIFE AND WORKS,OF (:OETIIE.    [BoOK I.
He was in fact a precocious child.  This will probably
startle many readers, especially if they have adopted the
current notion that precocity is a sign of disease, and that
marvellous children are necessarily evanescent fruits
which never ripen, early blossoms which wither early.
Observatum fere est celerius occidere festinatam maturitatem, says Quintilian, in the mournful passage which
records the loss of his darling son; and many a proud
parent has seen his hopes frustrated by early death, or by
matured mediocrity following the brilliant promise. It
may help to do away with some confusion on this subject,
if we bear in mind that men distinguish themselves by
receptive capacity and by productive capacity: they learn,
and they invent. In men of the highest class these two
qualities are united. Shakespeare and Goethe are not less
remarkable for the variety of their knowledge than for the
potency of their invention. But as we call both the child'clever' who learns his lessons rapidly, and the child'clever' who shows wit, sagacity, and invention, this ambiguity of phrase has led to surprise when the child who
was' so clever' at school, turns out a mediocre man; or,
inversely, when the child who was a' dunce' at school,
turns out a genius in art.
Goethe's precocity was nothing abnormal. It was the
activity of a mind at once greatly receptive and greatly
productive.  Through life he manifested the same eager
desire for knowledge, not in the least alarmed by that
bugbear of' knowledge stifling originality,' which alarms
the ignorance of many questionable geniuses. He knew
that if abundant fuel stifles miserable fires, it makes the
great fire blaze.'Ein Quidam sagt:' Ich bin von keiner Schule;
Kein Meister lebt mit dem ich buhle;




1754.]         THI: PRECOCIOUS CHILD.                27
Auch bin ich weit davon entfernt
Dass ich von Todten was gelernt."
Dass heisst, wenn ich ihn recht verstand:
" Ich bin ein Narr auf eigne Hand! "' *
In the summer of 1754 the old house was entirely
rebuilt, Wolfgang officiating at the ceremony of laying the
foundation, dressed as a little bricklayer. The quick, observant boy found much in this rebuilding of the paternal
house to interest him; he chatted with the workmen,
learning their domestic circumstances, and learning something of the builder's art, which in after years so greatly
occupied him. This event, moreover, led to his being
sent to a friend during the restoration of the upper part of
the house - for the family inhabited the house during its
reconstruction, which was made story by story from the
ground upwards - and the event also led to his being sent
to school.
Viehoff thinks that Germany would have had a quite
other Goethe had the child been kept at a public school
till he went to the university; and quotes Gervinus to
the effect that Goethe's home education prevented his ever
thoroughly appreciating history, and the struggles of the
masses. Not accepting the doctrine that Character is
formed by Circumstance, I cannot accept the notion of
school life affecting the poet to this extent. We have only
to reflect how many men are educated at public schools
An exquisite epigram, which may be rendered thus:
A Quidnunc boasting said:' I follow none;
I owe my wisdom to myself alone;
To neither ancient nor to modern sage
Am I indebted for a single page.'
To place this boasting in its proper light:
The Quidnunc is- a Fool in his own Right!




28         LIFE AND WORKS OF GWOETHE.   [BooK I.
uwithout there imbibing a love of history and sympathy
with the masses, to see that Goethe's peculiarities must
have had some other source than home education. That
source lay in his character.
One thing, however, he did learn at school, and that
was disgust at schools. The boy carefully trained at
home, morally as well as physically, had to mingle with
schoolboys who were what most schoolboys are, -dirty,
rebellious, cruel, low in their tastes and habits. The contrast was very painful to him, and he was glad when the
completion of his father's house once more enabled him
to receive instruction at home.
One school anecdote he relates, well illustrates his
power of self-command. Fighting during school time was
always severely punished. One day the teacher did not
arrive at the appointed time. The boys played together
till the hour was nearly over, and then three of them,
left alone with Wolfgang, resolved to drive him away.
They cut up a broom, and re-appeared with the switches.' I saw their design, but I at once resolved not to resist
them till the clock struck. They began pitilessly lashing my legs. I did not stir, although the pain made the
minutes terribly long. My wrath deepened with my endurance, and on the first stroke of the hour I grasped
one of my assailants by the hair and hurled him to the
ground, pressing my knee on his back; I drew the head
of the second, who attacked me behind, under my arm
and nearly throttled him; with a dexterous twist I threw
the third flat on the ground. They bit, scratched and
kicked. But my soul was swelling with one feeling of
revenge, and I knocked their heads together without
mercy. A shout of murder brought the household round
us. But the scattered switches and my bleeding legs bore
witness to my story.'




1755.]          EARLY EXPERIENCES.                29
CHAPTER III.
EARLY EXPERIENCES.
IT is profoundly false to say that' Character is formed
by Circumstance,' unless the phrase, with unphilosophic
equivocation, include the whole complexity of Circumstances, from the creation downwards. Character is to
outward Circumstance what the Organism is to the outward world: living in it, but not specially determined by
it. A wondrous variety of'vegetable and animal organisms live and flourish under circumstances which furnish
the means of living, but do not determine the specific forms
of each organism. In the same way various Characters
live under identical Circumstances, excited by them, not
formed by them. Each Character assimilates, from surrounding Circumstance, that which is by it assimilable,
rejecting the rest; just as from the earth and air the plant
draws those elements which will serve it as food, rejecting
the rest. Every Biologist knows that Circumstance has a
modifying influence; but he also knows that these modifications are only possible within certain limits. Abundance of food and peculiar treatment will modify the
ferocity of a wild beast; but it will not make the lion a
lamb.'I have known a cat, living at a mill, from abun.
dance of fish food, take spontaneously to the water; but
the cat was distinctively a cat, and not an otter, although
she had lost her dread of water.
3*




30          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
Instead, therefore, of saying that Man is the creature of
Circumstance, it would be nearer the mark to say that
Man is the architect of Circumstance. It is Character
which builds an existence out of Circumstance. Our
strength is measured by our plastic power. From the
same materials one man builds palaces, another hovels,
one warehouses, another villas; bricks and mortar are
mortar and bricks, until the architect can make them
something else. Thus it is that in the same family, in the
same circumstances, one man rears a stately edifice, while
his brother, vacillating and incompetent, lives forever
amid ruins: the block of granite which was an obstacle
on the pathway of the weak, becomes a stepping-stone on
the pathway of the strong.
If the reader agrees with this conception of the influence
of circumstances, he will see that I was justified in laying
some stress on Goethe's social position, though I controverted Viehoff and Gervinus on the point of school education. T.he continued absence of Want is one of those
permanent and powerful conditions which necessarily
modify a character. The well-fed lion loses his ferocity.
But the temporary and incidental effect of school education, and other circumstances of minor importance, can
never be said to modify a character; they only more or
less facilitate its development.
Goethe furnishes us with a striking illustration of the
degree in which outward circumstances affect character.
He became early the favorite of several eminent painters,
was constantly in their ateliers, playing with them, and
making them explain their works to him.  He was, moreover, a frequent visitor at picture. sales and galleries, till
at last his mind became so familiarized with the subjects
treated by artists, that he could at once tell what historical
or biblical subject was represented in every painting he




1755.]          EARLY EXPERIENCES.                 31
saw. Indeed, his imagination was so stimulated by familiarity with these works, that in his tenth or eleventh year
he wrote a description of twelve possible pictures on the
history of Joseph, and some of his conceptions were
thought worthy of being executed by artists of renown.
It may be further added, in anticipation, that during the
whole of his life he was thrown much with painters and
pictures, and was for many years tormented with the
desire of becoming an artist. If, therefore, Circumstance
had the power of forming Character, we ought to find him
a painter.  What is the fact? The fact is, that he had not
the Character which makes a painter; he had no faculty,
properly speaking, for plastic art, and years of labor, aided
by the instruction and counsel of the best masters, were
powerless to give him even a respectable facility. All,
therefore, that Circumstance did in. this case, was to give
his other faculties the opportunity of exercising themselves
in art; it did not create the special faculty required. Circumstance can create no faculty: it is food, not nutrition;
opportunity, not character.
Other boys, besides Goethe, heard the Lisbon earthquake eagerly discussed; but they had not their religious
doubts awakened by it, as his were awakened in his sixth
year. This catastrophe, which, in 1755, spread consternation over Europe, he has described as having greatly
perturbed him. The narratives he heard of a magnificent
capital suddenly smitten - churches, hou~es, towers, fallen
with a crash- the bursting land vomiting flames and
smoke - and sixty thousand souls perishing in an instant
- shook his faith in the beneficence of Providence.' God,
the creator and preserver of heaven and earth,' he says,'whom the first article of our creed declared to be so wise
and benignant, had not displayed paternal care in thus consigning both the just and the unjust to the same destruction.




32           LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.             [BooK I.
In vain my young mind strove to resist these impressions.
It was impossible; the more so as the wise and religious
themselves could not agree upon the view to be taken of
the event.'
At this very time Voltaire was agitating the same doubts.'Direz-vous, en voyant cet amas de victimes:
Dieu s'est' veng6, leur mort est le prix de leur crimes?
Quel crime, quelle faute ont commis ces enfans
Sur le sein maternel 6crasts et sanglans?
Lisbonne qui n'est plus, eat-elle plus de vices
Que Londres, que Paris, plong6s dans les d6lices?
Lisbonne est abim6e; et l'on danse' Paris.'
We are not, however, to suppose that the child rushed
hastily to such a conclusion. He debated it in his own
mind as he heard it debated around him. Bettina records
that on his coming one day from church, where he had
listened to a sermon on the subject, in which God's goodness was justified, his father asked him what impression
the sermon had made.' Why,' said he,' it may after all
be a much simpler matter than the clergyman thinks;
God knows very well that an immortal soul can receive no
injury from a mortal accident.'
Doubts once raised would of course recur, and the child
began to settle into a serious disbelief in the benignity of
Providence, learning to consider God as the wrathful
Deity depicted by the Hebrews. This was strengthened
by the foolish conduct of those around him, who, on the
occasion of a terrible thunderstorm which shattered the
windows, dragged him and his sister into a dark passage,'where the whole'household, distracted with fear, tried to
conciliate the angry Deity by frightful groans and prayers.>
Many children are thus made sceptics; but in a deeply
reflective mind such thoughts never long abide, at least not
under the influences of modern culture, which teache- us




1755.]          EARLY EXPERIENCES.                   33
that Evil is essentially a narrow finite thing, thrown into
remotest obscurity by any comprehensive view of the Infinite; and that any amount of evil massed together from
every quarter must be held as small compared with the
broad beneficence of Nature.
The doubts which troubled Wolfgang gradually subsided.
In his family circle he was the silent reflective listener to
constant theological debates. The various sects separating
from the established church all seemed to be animated by
the one desire of approaching the Deity, especially through
Christ, more nearly than seemed possible through the ancient forms. It occurred to him that he, also, might make
such an approach, and in a more direct way. Unable to
ascribe a form to the Deity, he' resolved to seek Him in
His works, and in the good old Bible fashion, to build an
altar to Him.' For this purpose he selected some types,
such as ores and other natural productions, and arranged
them in symbolical order on the elevations of a music
stand; on the apex was to be a flame typical of the soul's
aspiration, and for this a pastille did duty. Sunrise was
awaited with impatience. The glittering of the house tops
gave signal; he applied a burning-glass to the pastille, and
thus was the worship consummated by a priest of seven
years old, alone in his bedroom! *
Lest the trait just cited should make us forget that we
are tracing the career of a child, it may be well to recall
the anecdote related by Bettina, who had it from his
mother. It will serve to set us right as to the childishness. One day his mother, seeing him from her window
cross the street with his comrades, was amused with the
* A similar anecdote is related of himself by that strange Romancist, once the idol of his day, and now almost entirely forgotten,
Restif de la Bretonne. See Les Illumines, par Gerard de Nerval.




31          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK I.
gravity of his carriage, and asked laughingly, if he meant
thereby to distinguish himself from his companions. The
little fellow replied,'I begin with this. Later on in life I
shall distinguish myself in far other ways.'
On another occasion, he plagued her with questions as
to whether the stars would perform all they had promised
at his birth.' Why,' said she,' must you have the assistance of the stars, when other people get on very well
without?''I am not to be satisfied with what does for
other people!' said the juvenile Jupiter.
He had just attained his seventh year when the Seven
Years' War broke out. His grandfather espoused the
cause of Austria, his father that of Frederick. This difference of opinion brought with it contentions, and finally
separation between the families. The exploits of the
Prussian army were enthusiastically cited on the one side
and depreciated on the other. It was an all-absorbing
topic, awakening passionate partisanship.  Men looked
with strange feelings on the struggle which the greatest
captain of his age was maintaining against Russia, Austria
and France. The ruler of not more than five millions of
men was fighting unaided against the rulers of more than
a hundred millions; and, in spite of his alleged violation
of honor, it was difficult to hear without enthusiasm of his
brilliant exploits. Courage and genius in desperate circumstances always awaken sympathy; and men paused
not to ask what justification there was for the seizure of
Silesia, nor why the Saxon standards drooped heavily in
the churches of Berlin. The roar of victorious cannon
stunned the judgment; the intrepid general was blindly
worshipped.  The Seven Years' WVar became a German
epos.  Archenholtz wrote its history; and this work,
translated into Latin, was read in schools, in company with
Tacitus and Caesar.




1756.]          EARLY EXPERIENCES.                 35
Here again was a Circumstance from which, as it is
thought, Goethe ought to have received some epic inspiration.  He received from it precisely that which was food
to his character.  He caught the grand enthusiasm, but, as
he says, it was the personality of the hero, rather than the
greatness of his cause, which made him rejoice in every
victory, copy the songs of triumph and the lampoons directed against Austria. He learnt now the effects of party
spirit. At the table of his grandfather he had to endure
galling sarcasms, and vehement declamations showered on
his hero.  He heard Frederick'shamefully slandered.''And as in my sixth year, after the Lisbon earthquake, I
doubted the beneficence of Providence, so now, on account of Frederick, I began to doubt the justice of the
world.'
Over the doorway of the house in which he was born
was a Lyre and a Star, announcing, as every interpreter
will certify, that a Poet was to make that house illustrious.
The poetic faculty early manifested itself.  We have seen
him inventing conclusions for his mother's stories; and as
he grew older he began to invent stories for the amusement of his playfellows, after he had filled his mind with
images -'Lone sitting on the shores of old Romance.'
He had read the. Orbis Pictus, Ovid's Metamorphoses,
Homer's Iliad in prose, Virgil in the original, Telemachus,
Robinson Crusoe, Anson's Voyages, with such books as
Fortunatus, The Wandering Jew, The Four Sons of Aymon, etc. He also read and learned by heart most of the
poets of that day: Canitz, Hagedorn, Drollinger, Gellert,
Haller, &c.- writers then much beloved, now slumbering
upon dusty shelves, unvisited except by an occasional historian, and by spiders of an inquiring mind.




36         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK I.
Not only did he tell stories, he wrote them also, as we
gather from a touching little anecdote preserved by Bettina. The small-pox had carried off his little brother
Jacob. To the surprise of his mother, Wolfgang shed no
tears, believing Jacob to be with God in heaven.'Did
you not love your little brother, then,' asked his mother,'that you do not grieve for his loss?' He ran to his
room, and from under the bed drew a quantity of papers
on which he had written stories and lessons.' All these I
had written that I might teach them to him,' said the child.
He was then nine years old.
Shortly after the death of his brother he was startled by
the sound of the warder's trumpet from the chief tower,
announcing the approach of troops. This was in January
1759, It seemed as if the warder never would cease
blowing his sounding horn. On came the troops in continuous masses, and the rolling tumult of their drums called
all the women to the windows, all the boys in admiring
crowds into the streets. The troops were French. They
seized the guard-house, and in a little while the city was a
camp. To make matters worse, these troops were at war
with Frederick, whom Wolfgang and his father worshipped. They were soon billeted through the town, and
things relapsed into their usual routine, varied by a military occupation. In the Goethe-house an important person was quartered, —Count de Thorane, the King's lieutenant, a man of taste and munificence, who assembled
round him artists and celebrities, and won the affectionate.
admiration of Wolfgang, though he failed to overcome the
hatred of the old councillor.
This occupation of Frankfurt brought with it many advantages to Goethe. It relaxed the severity of paternal
book education, and began another kind of tuition - that
of life and manners. The perpetual'marching through the




1759.]            EARLY EXPERIENCES.                   37
streets, the brilliant parades, the music, the' pomp, pride,
and circumstance' were not without their influence. Moreover, he now gained conversational familiarity with
French,* and acquaintance with the theatre.  The French
nation always carries its' civilization' with it - i. e., a
caf6 and a theatre. In Frankfurt both were immediately
opened, and Goethe was presented with a' free admission' to the theatre, a privilege he used daily, not always
understanding but always enjoying what he saw. In
tragedy the measured rhythm, slow utterance, and abstract
language enabled him to understand the scenes, better than
he understood comedy, wherein the language, besides
moving amid the details of private life, was also more
rapidly spoken. But at the theatre boys are not critical,
and do not need to understand a play to enjoy it.t A
Racine, found upon his father's shelves, was eagerly
studied, and the speeches were declaimed with more or
less appreciation of their meaning.
The theatre, and acquaintance with a chattering little
braggart, named Derones, gave him such familiarity with
the language, that in a month he surprised his parents with
* He says that he had never learned French before; but this is
erroneous, as his exercises prove.
jt Well do I remember, as a child of the same age, my intense
delight at the French theatre, although certainly no three consecutive phrases could have been understood by me. Nay, so great was
this delight, that although we regarded the French custom of opening
theatres on Sunday, with the profoundest sense of its' wickedness,'
the attraction became irresistible: and one Sunday night, at Nantes,
my brother and I stole into the theatre with pricking consciences.
To this day I see the actors gesticulating, and hear the audience cry
bis! bis! redemanding a couplet (in which we joined with a stout
British encore!); and to this day I remember how we laughed at
what we certainly understood only in passing glimpses. Goethe's
ignorance of the language, then, I am sure was no obstacle to his
enjoyment.
VOL. I.    4




38          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boox I.
his facility. This Derones was acquainted with the actors,
and introduced him behind the'scenes.' At ten years of
age to go' behind the scenes' means a great deal. We
shall see hereafter how early he was introduced behind the
scenes of life.  For the present let it be noted that he was
a frequenter of the green-room, and admitted into the
dressing-room, where the actors and actresses dressed and
undressed with philosophic disregard to appearances,
which, from repeated visits, he also learned to regard as
quite natural.
A. grotesque scene took place between these two boys.
Derones excelled as he affirmed in' affairs of honor.' He
had been engaged in several, and had always managed to
disarm his antagonist, and then nobly forgive him. One
day he pretended that Wolfgang had insulted him: satisfaction was peremptorily demanded, and a duel was the
result. Imagine Wolfgang, aged twelve, arrayed in shoes
and silver buckles, fine woollen stockings, dark serge
breeches, green coat, with gold facings, a waistcoat of gold
cloth, cut out of his father's bridegroom-waistcoat, his
hair curled and powdered, his hat under his arm, and
little sword with silk sabretash.  This little mannikin
stands opposite his antagonist with theatrical formality;
swords clash, thrusts come quick upon each other, the
combat grows hot, when the point of Derones' rapier
lodges in the hilt of Wolfgang's: hereupon the French
boy, with great magnanimity, declares that he is satisfied!
The two embrace, and retire to a cafe to refresh themselves with a glass of almond milk.*
Theatrical ambition, which stirs us all, soon prompted
Wolfgang. As a child he had imitated Terence; he was
* To remove incredulity, it may be well to remind the reader that to
this day German youths fight out their quarrels with swords - not
fists.




1759.]          EARLY EXPERIENCES.                39
now to make a more elaborate effort in the style of Piron.
When the play was completed he submitted it to Derones,
who, pointing out several grammatical blunders, promised
to examine it more critically, and talked of giving it his
support with the manager. Wolfgang saw, in his mind's
eye, the name of his play already placarded at the corners
of the streets! Unhappily Derones in his critical capacity
was merciless. He picked the play to pieces, and stunned the poor author with the critical jargon of that day;
proclaimed the absolute integrity of the Three Unities,
abused the English, laughed at the Germans, and maintained the sovereignty of French taste in so confident a
style, that his listener was without a reply.  If silenced,
however, he was not convinced. It set him thinking on
those critical canons. He studied the treatise on the
Unities by Corneille, and the prefaces of Racine. The
result of these studies was profound contempt for that
system; and it is, perhaps, to Derones that we owe something of the daring defiance of all' rule,' which startled
Germany in Gdtz von Berlichingen.




40         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK i.
CHAPTER IV.
VARIOUS STUDIES.
AT length, June 1761, the French quitted Frankfurt;
and studies were seriously resumed. Mathematics, music,
and drawing were commenced under paternal superintendence. For-mathematics Wolfgang had no aptitude;
for music little: he learned to play on the harpsichord,
and, subsequently, on the violoncello, but he never attained ~any proficiency. Drawing continued through life
a pleasant exercise.
Left now to the calm of uninterrupted studies he made
gigantic strides. Even the hours of recreation were filled
with some useful occupation. He added English to his
polyglott store; and to keep up his'several languages,
determined, like the late Ducrow,'to ride six horses at
once.' Thus he invented a Romance, wherein six or
seven brothers and sisters scattered over the world corresponded with each other. The eldest describes in good
German all the incidents of his travels; his sister answers
in womanly style with short sharp sentences, and nothing
but full stops, much as Siegwart was afterwards written.
Another brother studies theology, and therefore writes in
Latin, with postscripts in Greek. A third and a fourth,
clerks at Hamburgh and Marseilles, take English and
French; Italian is given to a musician; while the
youngest, who remains at home, writes in Jew-Geruian.




1762. ]          VARIOUS STUDIES.                 41
This romance led him to a more accurate study of
geography. Having placed his characters in various parts
of the globe, he was not satisfied till he had a distinct
idea of these localities, so that the objects and events
should be consonant with probability. While trying to
master the strange dialect — Jew-German - he was led
to the study of Hebrew. As the original language of the
Old Testament, this seemed to him an indispensable acquisition. His father consented to give him a Hebrew
master; and although he attainedno scholarship in that
difficult language, yet the reading, translating, and committing to memory of various parts of the Bible, brought
out the meaning more vividly before him; as every one
will understand who compares the lasting effect produced
by the laborious school reading of Sallust and Livy, with
the facile reading of Robertson and Hume. The Bible
made a profound impression upon him. To a boy of his
constitutional reflectiveness, the severe study of this book
could not fail to exercise a deep and' permeating influence;
nor, at the same time, in one so accustomed to think for
himself, could it fail to awaken certain doubts.' The
contradiction,' he says,' between the actual or possible,
and tradition, forcibly arrested me. I often posed my
tutors with the sun standing still on Gibeon, and the moon
in the valley of Ajalon; not to mention other incogruities
and impossibilities. All my doubts were now awakened,
as in order to master the Hebrew I studied the literal
version by Schmidt; printed under the text.'
One result of these.Hebrew studies was a biblical poem
on Joseph and his Brethren; which he dictated to a poor
half idiot who lived in his father's house, and who had a
mania for copying or writing under dictation.- Goethe
soon found the process of dictation of great service; and
through life it continued to be his favorite mode of com4'




42          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
position. All his best thoughts and expressions, he says,
came to him while walking; he could do nothing seated.
Connected with his biblical studies, and his Confirmation which took place in 1763, we catch a glimpse of
Friulein von Klettenberg, whose letters aird conversations
subsequently furnished him with the' Confessions of a
Fair Saint' in Wilhelm  Meister.*  Her influence was
avowedly very great, both now and subsequently. It was
not so much the effect of religious discussion, as the
experience it gave him of a deeply religious nature.
She was neither bigot nor prude. Her faith was an inner
light which shed mild radiance around her. Moved by
her influence, he wrote a series of Religious Odes, after
the fashion of that day, and greatly pleased his father by
presenting them copied neatly in a quarto volume. His
father begged that every year he would present him with
such a volume.
A very different sort of female influence has now to be
touched on. His heart began to flutter with the emotions
of love. He was not quite fifteen, when Gretchen, the
sister of one of his disreputable companions, first agitated
his imagination with her charms. The story is told in a
rambling way in the Autobiography, and may here be very
briefly dismissed. He had often turned his poetical talents
to practical purposes, namely, writing wedding and funeral
verses, the produce of which went in joyous feastings.
He was thus almost daily thrown with Gretchen; but she,
though kind, treated him as a child, and never permitted the
* In Varnhagen von Ense's Vermischte Schriften (vol. iii. p. 33),
the reader will find a few significant details respecting this remarkable person and some of her poems. (I cannot pass this reference
to my oldest German friend without a word of acknowledgment for
the unwearying kindness he has ever shown me, and the many ways
in which he has assisted me in this biography.)




1764.]           VARIOUS STUDIES.                 43
slightest familiarity. A merry life they led, in picnics
and pleasure bouts; and the coronation of the Kaiser
Joseph II. (so circumstantially narrated by him), was the
occasion of increased festivity. One night, after the
fatigues of a sight-seeing day, the hours rolled unheeded
over these thoughtless, merry heads, and the stroke of
midnight startled them. To his dismay, Wolfgang found
he had forgotten the door-key with which hitherto he had
been able to evade paternal knowledge of his late hours.
Gretchen proposed they should all remain together, and
pass the night in conversation. This was agreed on.
But, as in all such cases, the effort was vain. Fatigue
weighed down their eyelids; conversation became feebler
and feebler; two strangers already slumbered in corners
of the room; one friend sat in a corner with his betrothed,
her head reposing on his shoulder; another crossing his
arms upon the table, rested his head upon them - and
snored. The noisy room had become silent. Gretchen
and her lover sat by the window talking in undertones.
Fatigue at length conquered her also, and drooping her
head upon his shoulder she too slept. With tender pride
he supported that delicious burden, till, like the rest, he
gave way and slept.
It was'broad day when he awoke. Gretchen was
standing before a mirror arranging her cap. She smiled
on him more amiably than ever she had smiled before;
and pressed his hand tenderly as he departed. But now,
while he seemed drawing nearer to her, the denouement
was at hand. Some of the joyous companions had been
guilty of nefarious practices, such as forgeries of documents. His friend and Gretchen were involved in the
accusation, though falsely. Wolfgang had to undergo a
severe investigation, which, as he was perfectly innocent,
did not much afflict him; but an affliction came out of the




44         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK I.
investigation, for Gretchen in. her deposition concerning
him said,' I will not deny that I have often seen him, and
seen him with pleasure, but I -treated- him as a child, and
my affection for him was merely that of a sister.' His
exasperation may be imagined. A boy aspiring to the
dignity of manhood knows few things more galling than
to be treated as a boy by the girl whom he has honored
with his homage. He suffered greatly at this destruction
of his romance; nightly was his pillow wet with tears;
food became repugnant to him; life had no more an
object.
But pride came to his aid; pride and that volatility of
youth which compensates for extra sensitiveness by extra
facility- in forgetting. He threw himself into study,
especially of philosophy, under guidance of a tutor, a
sort of Wagner to the young Faust. This tutor, who preferred dusty quartos to all the landscapes in the world,
used to banter him  upon being a true German, such as
Tacitus describes, avid of the emotions excited by solitude
and scenery. Laughter weaned him not from the enjoyment. He was enjoying his first sorrow: the luxury of
melancholy, the romance of a forlorn existence, drove
him into solitude.'Like Bellerophon he fed upon his own
heart, away from the haunts of men,
CO dvolrcl xa-rov, 7r(Zrov aQonwtti a2IeElwto,.
He made frequent walking excursions. Those mountains
which from earliest childhood had stood so distant,' haunt.
ing him like a passion,' were now his favorite resorts.
He visited Homburg, Kronburg, K6nigstein, Wiesbaden,
Schwalbach, Biberich, etc. These filled his mind with
lovely images, and became poems.
Severer studies were not neglected. To please his
father he was diligent in application to jurisprudence; to




1764.]            VARIOUS STUDIES.                 45
please himself he was still more diligent in literature:
Morhof's Polyhistor, Gessner's Isagoge, and Bayle's
Dictionary, filled him with a new ambition - to become
an University Professor! Herein, as indeed throughout
his career, we see the strange impressionability of his
nature, which, like the fabled chameleon, takes its color
from every tree it lies under.
The melancholy fit did not last long. A circle of lively
friends, among them Horn, of whom we shall hear more
anon, drew him into gayety again. Their opinion of his
talents appears to have been enormous; their love for him
and interest in all he did, was like that which followed him
through life. No matter what his mood - in the wildest
student-period, in the startling genius-period, and in the
diplomatic-period; whatever offence his manner created
was soon forgotten in the irresistible fascination of his
nature. The secret of that fascination was his own overflowing lovingness, and his genuine interest in every individuality, however opposite to his own.
With these imperfect' glances at his early career we
close this Book, on his departure from home for the University of Leipsic. Before finally quitting this period, we
may take a survey of the characteristics it exhibits, as
some guide in our future inquiries.




46          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boox I.
CHAPTER V.
THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.
As in the soft round lineaments of childhood we trace
features which after years will develope into decisive
forms, so in the moral lineaments of the Child may
be traced the characteristics of the Man. But I have
often thought that an apparent'solution of continuity'
takes place in the transition period, so that the youth is in
many respects unlike what he has been in childhood, and
what he will be in maturity. In youth, when the passions
begin to stir, the character is made to swerve from the
orbit previously traced. Passion, more than Character,
rules the hour. Thus we often see the prudent child turn
out an extravagant youth; but lie crystallizes once more
into prudence, as he hardens into age.
This was certainly the case with Goethe, who, if he had
died young, like Shelley or Keats, would have left a name
among the most genial, not to say enthusiastic, of poets;
but who, living to the age of eighty-two, had fifty years of
crystallization to form a character which perplexes critics.
In his childhood, scanty as the details are which enable us
to reconstruct it, we see the main features of the man.
Let us glance rapidly at them.
And first of his manysidcqness. Seldom has a boy
exhibited such completeness of human faculties. The
multiplied activity of his life is prefigured in the varied




1764.]   TIlE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.         47
tendencies of his childhood. We see him as an orderly,
somewhat formal, inquisitive, reasoning, deliberative child,
a precocious learner, an omnivorous reader, and a vigovous logician who thinks for himself - so independent that
at six years of age he doubts the beneficence of the Creator; at seven, doubts the competence and justice of the
world's jud gment. He is inventive, poetical, proud, loving,
volatile, with a mind open to all influences, swayed by
every gust, and yet, while thus swayed as to the direction
of his activity, master over himself. The most diverse
characters, the most antagonistic opinions interest him.
He is very studious, no bookworm more so: alternately
busy with languages, mythology, antiquities, lawphilosophy, poetry and religion; yet he joins in all festive
scenes, gets familiar with Life in various forms, and stays
out late o'nights. He is also troubled by a melancholy,
dreamy mood, forcing him ever and anon into solitude.
Among the dominant characteristics, however, are
seriousness, formality, rationality. He is by no means
a naughty boy. He gives his parents no tremulous anxiety as to' what will become of him.' He seems very
much master of himself. It is this which in later years
perplexed his judges, who could not reconcile this appearance of self-mastery, this absence of enthusiasm, with
their conceptions of a poet. Assuredly he had enthusiasm,
if ever man had it: at least, if enthusiasm (being' full of
the God') means being filled with a divine idea, and by
its light working steadily. He had little of the other kind
of enthusiasm - the insurrection of the Feelings carrying
away upon their triumphant shoulders the Reason which
has no longer power to guide them; for his intellect did
not derive its main momentum from his feelings; And
hence it is that whereas the quality which first strikes us
in most poets is sensibility, with its caprices, infirmities,




48          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK I.
and generous errors, the first quality which strikes us in
Goethe —the Child and Man, but not the Youth - is
intellect, with its clearness, calmness, and provoking immunity from  error. I say provoking, for we all gladly
overlook the errors of enthusiasm; some, because these
errors appeal to our compassion, and some, because these
errors establish a community of impulse between the
sinner and ourselves, forming, as it were, broken edges
which show us where to look for support —scars which
tell of wounds we have escaped. Whereas, we are pitiless to the successes of reason, the cold prudences which
shame our weakness and ask no alms from our charity.
Why do we all preach Prudence and dislike it? Perhaps,
because we dimly feel that life without its generous errors
might want its lasting enjoyments; and thus the very mistakes which arise from an imprudent, unreflecting career,
are absolved by that instinct which suggests other aims for
existence beyond prudential aims. This is one reason
why the erring lives of Genius command such deathless
sympathy.
Having indicated so much, 1 may now ask those who
are distressed by the calm, self-sustaining superiority of
Goethe in old age, whether, on deeper reflection, they
cannot reconcile it with their conceptions of the poet's
nature? We preach Reason, but we sympathize with
Sensibility. Our dislike of the one arises from its supposed incompatibility with the other. But if a man unites
the mastery of Will and Intellect to the profoundest sensibility of Emotion, shall we not say of him that he has in
living synthesis vindicated both what we preach and what
we love? That Goethe united these will be abundantly
shown in this Biography. In the chapters about to follow
we shall see him wild, restless, aimless, erring, and extravagant enough to satisfy the rmost ardent admirer of the




1763.]   THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN.    49
vagabond period of genius: the Child and the Man are at
times scarcely traceable in the Youth.
One trait must not be passed over, namely, his impatient
susceptibility, which, while it prevented his ever thoroughly mastering the technic of any one subject, lay at the
bottom of his multiplied activity in directions so opposed
to each other. He was excessively impressionable, caught
the impulse from every surrounding influence, and was
thus never constant to one thing, because this susceptibility was connected with an impatience which soon made
him weary. There are men who learn many languages, and
never thoroughly master the grammar of one. Of these
was Goethe. Easily excited to throw his energy in a new
direction, he had not the patience which begins at the
beginning, and rises gradually, slowly into assured mastery. Like an eagle he swooped down upon his prey; he
could not watch for it, with cat-like patience. It is to this
impatience we must attribute the fact of so many works
being left fragments, so many composed by snatches
during long intervals. Prometheus, Mlahomet, Die Natiirliche Tochter, E7penor, Achilleis, NVausikaa, etc., remain
fragments. Faust, Egmont, Tasso, Iphigenia, Meister,
etc., were long years in hand. Whatever could be done
in a few days —while the impulse lasted- was done;
longer works were spread over a series of years.
voL. I.    5








BOOK THE SECOND.
STUDENT DAYS.
1765 to 1771.' In grossen Stadten lernen frfih
Die jiingsten Knaben was;
Denn manche Biicher lesen sie
Und hiren diess und dass;
Vom Lieben und vome Kiissen
Sie brauchen's nicht zu wissen;
Und mancher ist im zwilften Jahr
Fast kliiger als sein Vater war
Da er die Mutter nahm.'' CEser taught me that the Ideal of Beauty is Simplicity and Repose, and thence it follows that no youth can be a Master.'








BOOK THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.
IN the month of October 1765, Goethe, aged sixteen,
arrived in Leipsic, to commence his collegiate life, and to
lay, as he hoped, the solid foundation of a future professorship. He took lodgings in the Feuerkugel, between
the Old and New Markets, and was by the rector of the
University inscribed on the 19th as student'in the
Bavarian nation.' At that period, and until quite recently,
the University was classed according to four'Nations,'
viz., the Meissnisch, the Saxon, the Bavarian, and the
Polish.  Goethe, as a Frankfurter, was placed in the
Bavarian.*
If the reader has any vivid recollection of the Leipsic
chapters in the Autobiography, let me beg him to dismiss
it with all haste from his mind; the calm narrative of his
Excellency J. W. von Goethe very inaccurately represents the actual condition of the raw, wild student, just
escaped from the paternal roof, with money which seems
* Otto Jahn, in the Briefe an Leipziger Freunde, p. 9.
5*




54         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Ii.
unlimited in his purse, with the world before him as an
oyster which his genius is to open. His own letters, and
the letters of his friends, enable us' to read between the
lines' of fhe Autobiography, and to read there a very
different account.
He first presented himself to Hofrath BShme, a genuine
German professor, shut within the narrow circle of his
speciality. To him Literature and the Fine Arts were
trivialities; and when the confiding youth confessed his
secret ambition of studying belles lettres, in lieu of the
jurisprudence commanded by his father, he met with every
discouragement. Yet it was not difficult to persuade this
impressionable student that to rival Otto and Heineccius
was the true ambition of a vigorous mind. He set to
work in earnest, at first, as students usually do on arriving at seats of learning. His attendance at the lectures
on philosophy, history of law, and jurisprudence, was
assiduous enough to have pleased even his father. But
this flush of eagerness quickly subsided. Logic was invincibly repugnant to him. He hungered for realities,
and could not be satisfied with definitions. To see operations of his mind which, from childhood upwards, had
been conducted with perfect ease and unconsciousness,
suddenly pulled to pieces, in order that he might gain
the superfluous knowledge of what they were, and what
they were called, was to him tiresome and frivolous.'I fancied I knew as much about God and the worM as
the professor himself, and logic -seemed in many places
to come to a dead standstill.'  We are here on the
threshold of that experience which has been immortalized
in the scene between Mephistopheles and the Student.
Jurisprudence soon became almost equally tiresome. He
already knew as much law as the professor thought proper
to communicate; and what with the tedium of the lectures,




1765.]        THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.                55
and the counter-attraction of delicious' fritters,' which used
to come' hot from the pan precisely at the hour of lecture,' no wonder if volatile Sixteen soon abated attendance.
Volatile he was, wild, and somewhat rough, both in
appearance and in speech. He had brought with him a
wild, uneasy spirit struggling towards the light. He had
also brought with him the rough manners of Frankfurt,
the strong provincial accent, and provincial colloquialisms,
rendered still more unfit for the Leipsic salon by a mixture
of proverbs and biblical allusions. Nay, even his costume was in unpleasant contrast with that of the society
in which he moved. He had an ample wardrobe, but
unhappily it was doubly provincial; it had been manufactured at home by one of his father's servants, and thus
was not only in the Frankfurt style, but grotesquely made
in that style. To complete his discomfiture, he saw a
favorite low comedian throw an audience into fits of
laughter by coming on the stage dressed precisely in that
costume, which he had hitherto worn as the latest novelty! All who can remember the early humiliations of
being far behind their companions in matters of costume,
will sympathize with this youth. From one of his'letters,
written shortly after his arrival, we may catch a glimpse
of him.'To-day I have heard two lectures: Bohme on
law, and Ernesti on Cicero's Orator. That'll do, eh?
Next week we have collegium, philosophicum et mathematicum. I haven't seen Gottsched yet. He is married
again. She is nineteen and he sixty-five. She is four
feet high, and he seven feet. She is as thin as a herring,
and he as broad as a feathersack. I make a great figure
here! But as yet I am no dandy. I never shall become
one. I need'some skill to be industrious. In society,
concerts, theatre, feastings, promenades, the time flies.
Ha! it goes gloriously. But also expensively. The devil




56         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boo nII.
knows how  my purse feels it. Hold! rescue! stop!
see'st thou that they leave off flying? There go two
louis d'or. Help! there goes another. Heavens! another
couple are gone. Pence are here as farthings are with
you. Nevertheless one can live cheaply here. So I
hope to get off with two hundred thalers —what do I
say? with three hundred. N. B. Not including what has
already gone to the devil.'
Dissatisfied with College, he sought instruction elsewhere. At the table where he dined daily, kept by
Hofrath Ludwig the rector, he met several medical students. He heard little talked of but medicine and botany,
and the names of Haller, Linnmus and Buffon, were
incessantly cited with respect. His ready quickness to
interest himself in all that interested those around him,
threw him at once into these studies, which hereafter he
was to pursue with passionate ardor, but which at present
he only lightly touched. Another source of instruction
awaited him, one which through life he ever gratefully
acknowledged, the society of women.' Willst du genau erfahren was sich ziemt
So frage nur bei edlen Frauen an!' 
So he speaks in Tasso, and here, in Leipsic, he was glad
to learn from Frau B6hme not only some of the requisites
for society, but also some principles of poetic criticism.
This delicate, accomplished woman was able to draw him
into society, to teach him l'ombre and picquet, to correct
some of his provincialisms, and lastly to make him own
that the poets he admired were a deplorable set, and that
his own imitations of them deserved no better fate than
* Wouldst clearly learn what the Becoming is, inquire of nobleminded women.'




1765.]           THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.                57
the flames. He had got rid of his absurd wardrobe at one
fell swoop, without a murmur at the expense. He now
had also to cast away the poetic wardrobe brought from
home with so much pride. He saw that it was poetic
frippery —saw that his own poems were lifeless; accordingly, a holocaust was made of all his writings, prose
and verse, and the kitchen fire wafted them into space.
But society became vapid to him at last. He was not
at his ease. Cards never amused him, and poetical discussion became painful.'I have not written a long
while,' he writes to his friend Riese.'Forgive me. Ask
not after the cause! It was not occupation, at all events.
You live contented in Marburg; 1 live so here. Solitary,
solitary, quite solitary. Dear Riese, this solitude has
awakened a certain sadness in my soul:It is my only pleasure,
Away from all the world,
To lie beside the streamlet,
And think of those I love.
But contented as I am, I still feel the want of old companions. I sigh for my friends and my maiden, and when
I feel that my sighs are vain, -
Then fills my heart with sorrow, -
My eye is dim;
The stream which softly passed me,
Roars now in storm.
No bird sings in the bushes,
The zephyr which refreshed me
Now storms from the north,
And whirls off the blossoms.
With tremor I fly from the spot, -
I fly, and seek in deserted streets
Sad solitude.
Yet how happy I am, quite happy! Horn has drawn me




58           LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.              [Boox II.
from low spirits by his arrival. He wonders why I am so
changed.
He seeks to find the explanation,
Smiling thinks o'er it, looks me in the face;
But how can he find out my cause of grief?
I know it not myself.
But I must tell you something of myself:
Quite other wishes rise within me now,
Dear friend, from those you have been wont to hear.
You know how seriously I wooed the Muse;
With what a hate I scorned those whom the Law
And not the Muses beckoned. And you know
How fondly I (alas! most falsely)' hoped
The Muses loved me,- gave me gift of song!
My Lyre sounded many a lofty song,
But not the Muses, nor Apollo sent them.
True, it is my pride made me believe
The Gods descended to me, and no Master
Produced more perfect works than mine!
No sooner came I here, than from my eyes
Fell off the scales, as I first learned to prize
Fame, and the mighty efforts fame required.
Then seemed to me my own ambitious flight
But as the agitation of a worm,
Who in the dust beholds the eagle soar,
And strives to reach him; strains every nerve,
Yet only agitates the dust he lies in.
Sudden the wind doth rise, and whirls the dust
In clouds, the worm is also raised with it:
Then the poor worm believes he has the wings
Of eagles, raising him too in the air!
But in another moment lulls the wind,
The cloud of dust drops gently on the ground,
And with the dust the worm, who crawls once more!
Don't be angry with my galimathias. Good bye. Horn
will finish this letter.'




1765]         THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.               59
Not only is this letter curious in its revelations of his
state of mind, but the verses into which it spontaneously
flows, and which I have translated with more jealous fidelity to the meaning than to poetical reproduction, show
how among his friends he was even then regarded as a
future poet. The confession uttered in the final verses,
clearly owes its origin to Frau Bdhme's criticisms; but
it is not every young poet who can be so easily discouraged. Even his discouragement could not last long.
Schlosser, afterwards his brother-in-law, came to Leipsic,
and by his preaching and example once more roused the
productive activity which showed itself in German, French,
English and Italian attempts.
Schlosser, who was ten years his senior, not only awakened emulation by his own superior knowledge and facility, but further aided him by introducing him to a set of
literary friends, where poetic discussions formed the staple
of conversation. This circle met at the house of one
Sch6nkopf, a Weinhindler and Hauswirth, living in the
Bruhl, No. 79. To translate these words into English
equivalents would only mislead the reader. Sch6nkopf
kept neither an hotel, nor a public house, but what in
Germany is a substitute for both. He sold wine, and kept
a table d'hote; occasionally also let bedrooms to travellers. His wife, a lively, cultivated woman, belonging to a
noble family in Frankfurt, drew Frankfurt visitors to the
house; and with her Goethe soon became on terms of
intimacy, which would seem surprising to the English
reader who only heard of her as an innkeeper's wife.
He became'one of the family,' and fell in love with the
daughter. I must further beg the reader to understand
that in Germany, to this day, there is a wide difference
between the dining customs and our own. The English
student, clerk or bachelor, who dines at an eating house,




60         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BoOK II.
chop house, or hotel, goes there simply to get his dinner,
and perhaps look at the Times. Of the other diners he
knows nothing, cares little. It is rare that a word is interchanged between him and his neighbor. Quite otherwise in Germany. There the same society is generally
to be found at the same table. The table d'h6te is composed of a circle of habitues, varied by occasional visitors,
who in time become, perhaps, members of the circle.
Even with strangers conversation is freely interchanged;
and in a little while friendships are formed over these
dinner tables, according as natural tastes and likings assimilate, which, extending beyond the mere hour of dinner,
are carried into the current of life. Germans do not rise so
hastily from the table as we; for time with them is not so
precious; life is not so crowded; time can be found for
quiet after-dinner talk. The cigars and coffee, which
appear before the cloth is removed, keep the company
together; and in that state of suffused comfort which
quiet digestion creates, they hear without anger the opinions of antagonists. In such a society must we imagine
Goethe in the Sch6nkopf establishment, among students
and men of letters, all eager in advancing their own
opinions, and combating the'false taste' which was not
their own.
To complete this picture, and to separate it still more
from our English customs, you must imagine host and
hostess dining at the table, while their charming daughter,
who had cooked or helped to cook the dinner, brought
them the wine. This daughter was the Anna Katharina,
by intimates called Kathchen, and by Goethe, in the Autobiography, designated as Annchen and Annette. Her
portrait, still extant, is very pleasing. She was then nineteen, lively, and loving; how could she be insensible to




1766.]         THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.               61
the love of this glorious youth, in all the fervor of genius,
and with all the attractions of beauty? They saw each
other daily, not only at dinner, but in the evenings, when
he accompanied the piano of her brother by a feeble per.
formance on the flute. They also got up private theatricals, in which Goethe and Kathchen played the lovers.
Minna von Barnhelm, then a novelty, was among the pieces
performed. That these performances were of a strictly
amateur order, may be gathered from the fact that in one
of them the part of a nightingale, which is important, was
represented by a handkerchief, rolled up into such ornithological resemblance as art could reach.
Two letters, quite recently discovered, have fallen into
my hands; they give us a curious glimpse of him at this
time, such as one may look for in vain in his own account
of himself, or in the accounts of any other writer. They
are from his friend Horn, whose arrival he mentioned in
the letter previously quoted, and who was one of his daily
companions in Frankfurt. The first is dated 12th of
August, 1766, and is addressed to one Moors, a Frankfurt
companion.' To speak of our Goethe! He is still the same proud,
fantastic personage as when I came hither. If you only
saw him you would either be mad with anger, or you
would burst with laughter. I cannot at all understand
how a man can so quickly transform himself. His manners and his whole bearing, at present, are as different
as possible from his former behavior. Over and above
his pride, he is a dandy; and all his clothes, handsome as they are, are in so odd a taste, that they make
him conspicuous among all the students. But this is
indifferent to him; one may remonstrate with him for his
folly as much as one likes -
VOL. I.        6




62         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK II.
Man mag Amphion seyn und Feld und Wald bezwingen,
Nur keinen Goethe nicht kann man zur Klugheit bringen.*
All his' thought and effort is only to please himself and
his lady-love. In every circle he makes himself more
ridiculous than agreeable. Merely because the lady admires it, he has put on tricks and gestures that one cannot
possibly refrain from laughing at. He has adopted a walk
which is quite insufferable. If you only saw it!' I marche h pas comptes,
Comme un Recteur suivi des quatre Facult6s.'
His society is every day more intolerable to me, and
he, too, tries to avoid me whenever he can. I am too
plain a man for him to walk across the street with me.
What would the' king of Holland' say if he saw him  in
this guise? Do write again to him soon and tell him
your opinion; else he and his lady-love will remain as
silly as ever. Heaven only preserve me, as long as I am
here, from any sweetheart, for the women here are the
very devil.  Goethe is not the first who has made a fool
of himself to please his Dulcinea. I only wish you could
see her just for once; she is the most absurd creature in
the world. Her mine coquette avec un air-hautain is all
with which she has bewitched Goethe. Dear friend! How
glad should I be if Goethe were still what he was in
Frankfurt! Good friends as we were formerly, we can
now scarcely endure each other for a quarter of an hour.
Yet with time I still hope to convert him, though it is a
hard matter to make a coxcomb wise. But I will venture
everything for the sake of it.
* One may be Amphion and coerce the trees and rocks, but not
bring Goethe to his senses.




1766.]         THE LEIPSIO STUDENT.                63
Ach! fruchtete dies mein Bemiihn!
Ach! konnt' ich meinen Zweck erreichen 
Ich wollt' nicht Luther, nicht Calvin,
Noch einem der Bekehrer weichen.*
I cannot write to him again what I have here told you. I
shall be delighted if you will do so. I care neither for his
anger nor for that of his lady-love. For, after all, he is
not easily offended with me; even when we have quarrelled he sends for me the next day. So much of him;
more another time. Live and forget not thy' HORN.'
Moors followed Horn's advice, and expressed to Goethe,
apparently in very plain terms, his astonishment and dissatisfaction at the disadvantageous change. In October
of the same year, he received from Horn the following
explanation:' But dear Moors! How glad you will be to learn that
we have lost no friend in our Goethe, as we falsely supposed. He had so travestied himself as to deceive not
only me but a great many others, and we should never
have discovered the real truth of the matter, if your letter
had not threatened him with the loss of a friend. I must
tell you the whole story as he himself told it to me, for he
has commissioned me to do so in order to save him the
trouble. He is in love, it is true - he has confessed it to
me, and will confess it to you; but his love, though its
circumstances are sad, is not culpable, as I formerly supposed. He loves. But not that young lady whom I suspected him of loving. He loves a girl beneath him in
rank, but a girl whom - I think I do not say too much -
you would love yourself if you saw her. I am no lover,
~Ah, if my attempt succeed, I should not envy Luther, Calvin, nor
any other Converter.




64         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.
so I shall write entirely without passion. Imagine to
yourself a woman well-grown, though not very tall; a
round, agreeable, though not extraordinarily beautiful face;
open, gentle, engaging manners; a very pretty understanding, without having had any great education. He loves
her very tenderly, with the perfect, honest intentions of a
virtuous man, though he knows that she can never be his.
Whether she loves him in return I know not. You know,
dear Moors, that is a point about which one cannot well
ask; but this much I can say to you, that they seem to be
born for each other. Now observe his cunning! That
no one may suspect him of such an attachment, he undertakes to persuade the world of precisely the opposite, and
hitherto he has been extraordinarily successful. He makes
a great parade, and seems to be paying court to a certain
young lady of whom I have told you before. He can see
his beloved and converse with her at certain times without
giving occasion for the slightest suspicion, and I often
accompany him to her. If Goethe were not my friend I
should fall in love with her myself. Meanwhile he is
supposed to be in love with the Friulein -    (but what
do you care about her name?) and people are fond of
teasing him about her. Perhaps she herself believes that
he loves her, but the good lady deceives herself. Since
that time he has admitted me to closer confidence, has
made me acquainted with his affairs, and shown me that
his expenditure is not so great as might be supposed.
He is more of a philosopher and moralist than ever; and
innocent as his love is, he nevertheless disapproves it.
We often dispute about this, but let him take what side he
will, he is sure to win; for you know what weight he can
give to only apparent reasons. I pity him and his good
heart, which really must be in a very melancholy condition, since he loves the most virtuous and perfect of girls




1766.]          THE LEIPSIC STUDENTI               65
without hope. But if we suppose that she loves him in
return, how miserable nmust he be on that very account!
I need not explain that to you, who so well know the
human heart. He has told me that he will write you one
or two things'about it himself. There' is no necessity for
me to recommend silence to you on this subject; for
you yourself see how necessary it is.....'
Imagine this somewhat fantastic youth assured that his
passion is returned, and then imagine him indulging in
the boyish caprice of tormenting his beloved. There is
nothing more cruel than youth; and youthful lovers, once
assured of victory, are singularly prone to indulge in the
most frivolous pretexts for' ingeniously tormenting.' Man
loves to conquer, likes not to feel secure, Goethe says, in
the piece where he dramatized this early experience:'Erringen will der Mensch; er will nicht sicher seyn.'
Had Kiithchen coquetted with him, keeping him in the
exquisite pain of suspense, she would have been happier;
but as he said in his little poem Der Wahre Genuss,'she
is perfect and her only fault is - that she loves me':
Sie ist volkommen, und sie fehlet
Darin allein dass sie mich liebt.
He teased her with trifles and idle suspicions; was jealous
without cause, convinced without reason; plagued her
with fantastic quarrels, till at last her endurance was
exhausted, and her love was washed away in tears. No
sooner was he aware of this than he repented, and tried
to recover the jewel which like a prodigal he had cast
away. In vain. He was in despair, and tried in dissipation to forget his grief. A better issue was poetry.
Several of his lyrics bore the burden of this experience:
and one entire play, or pastoral, is devoted to a poetical
representation of these lovers' quarrels: this is Die Laune
6*




66           LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.
des Verliebten, which is very curious as the earliest extant
work of the great poet, and as the earliest specimen of his
tendency to turn experience into song. In the opera of
Erwin und Elmire he subsequently treated a similar subject in a very different manner. The first effort is the more
curious of the two. The style of composition is an imitation of those pastoral dramas, which, originated by Tasso
and Guarini in the soft and almost luscious Aminta and
Pastor Fido, had by the French been made popular all
over Europe.
Two happy and two unhappy lovers are somewhat artificially contrasted; the two latter representing Kathchen
and the poet. Action there is none; the piece is made up
of talk about love, some felicitous verses of the true stamp
and ring, and an occasional glimpse of insight into the
complexities of passion. Eridon, the jealous lover, torments his mistress in a style at once capricious and
natural; with admirable truth she deplores his jealousy
and excuses it:
Zwar oft betrfibt er mich, doch rfihrt ihn auch mein Schmerz.
Wirft er mir etwas vor, ffingt er mich an zu plagen,
So darf ich nur ein Wort, ein gutes Wort nur sagen,
Gleich ist er umgekehrt, die wilde Zanksucht flieht,
Er weint sogar mit mir, wenn er mich weinen sieht.*
It is admirably said that the very absence of any cause for
grief prompts him to create a grief:
Da er kein Blend hat, will er sich Blend machen.
Amine is also touched with a delicate pencil. Her lov*'Tis true he vexes me, and yet my sorrow pains him.
Yet let him but reproach - begin to tease me,
Then need I but a word, a single kind word utter,
Away flies all his anger in a moment,
And he will weep with me, because he sees me weep.




1766.]           THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.                 67
ingness, forgivingness, and endurance are from the life.
Here is a couplet breathing the very tenderness of love:
Der Liebe leichtes Band machst du zum schweren Joch.
Du quiilst mich als Tyrann; und ich? ich lieb dich noch! *
One more line and I have done: Egle is persuading Eridon that Amine's love of dancing is no trespass on her
love for him; since, after having enjoyed her dance, her
first thought is to seek him:
Und durch das Suchen selbst wirst du ihr immer liebetr. t
In such touches as these lurks the future poet; still
more so in the very choice of the subject. Here, as ever,
he does not cheat himself with pouring feigned sorrows
into feigning verse: he embalms his own experience.
He does not trouble himself with drawing characters and
events from the shelves of the library: his soul is the
fountain of his inspiration. His own life was uniformly
the text from which he preached. He sang what he had
felt, and because he had felt it; not because others had
sung before him. He was the echo of no man's joys and
sorrows, he was the lyrist of his own. This is the reason
why his poems have an endless charm: they are as indestructible as passion itself. They reach our hearts
because they issue from his. Every bullet hits the mark,
according to the huntsman's superstition, if it have first
been dipped in the marksman's blood.
He has told us, emphatically, that all his works are but
fragments of the grand confession of his life. Of him
we may say what Horace so well says of Lucilius, that he
trusted his secrets to books as to faithful friends:
* The fairy link of Love thou mak'st a galling yoke.
Thou treat'st me as a slave; and I? I love thee still!
t And in the very search her heart grows fonder of thee.




68           LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.' Ille velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim
Credebat libris; neque, si male cesserat, unquam
Decurrens alio, neque si bene: quo fit, ut omnia
Fotiva pateat veluti descripta tabella
Vita senis.' *
How clearly he saw the nullity of every other precedure is
shown in various passages of his letters and conversations.
Riemer has preserved one worth selecting:' There will
soon be a poetry without poetry, a real 7rorail, where the
subject matter is iv 7roL, ec, in the making: a manufactured
poetry.'t He dates from Leipsic the origin of his own
practice, which he says was a tendency he never could
deviate from all his life:' namely, the tendency to transform into an image, a poem, everything which delighted
or troubled me, or otherwise occupied me, and to come
to some distinct understanding with myself upon it, to set
my inward being at rest.' The reason he gives for this
tendency is very questionable. He attributes it to the
isolation in which he lived with respect to matters of taste
forcing him to look within for poetical subjects. But had
not the tendency of his genius lain in that direction, no
such circumstances could have directed it.
Young, curious, and excitable as he was, nothing is
more natural than that he should somewhat shock the'fair respectabilities' by his pranks and extravagances.
His constant companion was Behrisch, a wayward, sarcastic devil-may-care, who, however, had some shrewd
good sense, as a buttress for all his follies. Behrisch in* Sermon., lib. ii. 1.
+ Briefe von und an Goethe. Herausgeg. von Riemer. 1846. What
follows is untranslateable, from the play on words:'Die Dichter
heissen dann so, wie schon Moritz spasste, a spissando, densando,
vom Dichtmachen, weil sie Alles zusammendriingen, und kommen
mir vor wie eiue Art Wurstmacher, die in den Darm des Hexameters
oder Trimeters ihre Wort- und Sylbenfiille stopfen.'




1766.]         THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.              69
troduced him to some damsels who'were better than their
reputation,' and took him into scenes more useful to the
future poet than advantageous to the repute of the young
student. He also laughed him out of all respect for gods,
goddesses, and other mythological inanities which still
pressed their heavy dulness on his verse; would not let
him commit the imprudence of rushing into print,,but
calmed the author's longing by beautifully copying his
verses into a volume, adorning them with vignettes.
Behrisch was, so to speak, the precursor of Merck; his
influence not so great, but somewhat of the same kind.
The friends were displeased to see young Goethe falling
thus away from'good society' into such a disreputable
course; but just as Lessing before him had neglected the'elegant' Leipsic world for actors and. authors of more
wit than money, and preferred Mylius, with his shoes
down at heel, to all that the best drest society could offer;
so did young Goethe neglect salon and lecture-hall for the
many-colored scene of life in less elegant circles. Be
comforted, O reader! The poet will receive no injury
from these sources; he is gaining experience, and expe.
rience even of the worst sides of human nature will be
sublimated into noble uses, as carrion by the wise farmer
is turned into excellent manure. In this great Drama of
Life every Theatre has its Green-room; and unless the
poet know how it is' behind the scenes' he will never
understand how actors speak and move.
Goethe had often been' behind the scenes,' lock.ig at
the skeleton which stands in almost every house. His
adventure with Gretchen, and, its consequences, early
opened his eyes to the strange gulfs which lie under -the
crust of society.'Religion, morals, law, rank, habits,' he
says,'rule over the surface of social life. Streets of
magnificent houses are kept clean; every one outwardly




70         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II.
conducts himself with propriety; but the disorder within
is often only the more desolate; and a polished exterior
covers many a wall which totters, and falls with a crash
during the night, all the more terrible because it falls
during a calm. How many families had I not more or
less distinctly known in which bankruptcy, divorce, seduction, murder, and robbery had wrought destruction! —
Young as I was, I had often, in such cases, lent my succor;
for as my frankness awakened confidence and my discretion was known, and as my activity did not shun any
sacrifice — indeed rather preferred the most perilous occasions- I had frequently to mediate, console, and try to
avert the storm; in the course of which I could not help
learning many sad and humiliating facts.'
It was natural that such sad experience should at first
lead him to view the whole social fabric with contempt.
To relieve himself of this' perilous stuff' he -being then
greatly captivated with Moliere's works, —sketched the
plans of several dramas, but their plots were so uniformly
unpleasant, and the catastrophes so tragic, that he did
not work out these plans.'The Fellow Sinners' (Die
Mitschdldigen), is the sole piece which was completed,
and it now occupies a place among his writings. Few, in
England at least, ever read it; yet it is worth a rapid
glance, and is especially remarkable as the work of a
youth not yet eighteen. It is lively, and strong with
effective situations and two happily sketched characters,Soller, the scampish husband, and his father-in-law, the
inquisitive landlord. The plot is briefly this: S6ller's
wife- before she became his wife - loved a certain Alcest; and her husband's conduct is not such as to make
her forget her former lover,, who; at the opening of the
play, is residing ire her father's hotel. Alcest prevails
upon her to grant him an interview in his own room, while




1766.]         THE LEIPSIC STUDENT.               71
her husband, Sller, is at the masquerade.  Unluckily
S6ller has determined to rob Alcest that very night. He
enters the room by stealth - opens the escritoire - takes
the money - is alarmed by a noise - hides himself in an
alcove, and then sees his father-in-law, the landlord, enter
the room! The old man, unable to resist a burning curiosity to know the contents of a letter which Alcest has received that day, has come to read it in secret. But he in
turn is alarmed by the appearance of his daugher, and
letting the candle fall he escapes. S6ller is now the exasperated witness of an interview between Alcest and his
wife: a situation which, like the whole of the play, is a
mixture of the ludicrous and the painful - very dramatic
and very unpleasant.
On the following day the robbery is discovered. Sophie
thinks the robber is her father; he returns her the compliment - nay, more, stimulated by his eager curiosity, he
consents to inform Alcest of his suspicion in return for the
permission to read the contents of the mysterious letter.
A father sacrificing his daughter to gratify a paltry curiosity is too gross; it is the only trait of juvenility in the
piece —a piece otherwise prematurely old. Enraged at
such an accusation, Sophie retorts the charge upon her
father, and some unamiable altercations result.  The
piece winds up by the self-betrayal of S6ller, who, intimating to Alcest that he was present during a certain nocturnal interview, shields himself from punishment. The
moral is -' Forget and forgive among fellow sinners.'




72         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK 1I.
CHAPTER II.
MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS.
THE two dramatic works noticed towards the close of
the last chapter, may be said to begin the real poetic
career of their author, because in them he drew from his
actual experience. They will furnish us with a text for
some remarks on his peculiar characteristics, the distinct
recognition of which will facilitate the comprehension of
his life and writings. We make a digression, but the
reader will find that in thus swerving from the direct path
of narrative, we are only tacking to fill our sails with
wind.
Frederick Schlegel (and after him Coleridge) aptly, indicated a distinction, when he said that every man was born
either a Platonist or an Aristotelian. This distinction is
often expressed in the terms subjective and objective intellects. The tendency of the objective intellect is to view
things directly, positively —as what they are; the tendency of the subjective intellect is to view things ideally -
as what they signify to the mind. It need scarcely be
added that no mind is exclusively objective or exclusively
subjective, but every mind has a dominant tendency in
one or the other of these directions. One man argues
from Nature upwards, starting from reality, and never
long losing sight of it, even in the adventurous flights of
hypothesis and speculation; another arguesfrom the Idea




1766.]       MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS.              73
downwards, starting from some ideal conception, some d
priori standing-point, whence reality may be reached as a
sort of visible illustration, a symbol of the deeper and
higher ideal existence. Plato is an avowed and explicit
preacher of this latter mode of philosophizing; Aristotle
is less explicitly, but decisively, of the former mode.
The Real and Ideal are thus contrasted as the termini
of two opposite lines of thought. In Philosophy, in Morals
and in Art, we see a constant antagonism between these
two principles. Thus in Morals the Platonists are those
who seek the highest morality out of human nature, instead
of in the healthy development of all our tendencies, and
their due co-ordination; they hope, in the suppression of
integral faculties, to attain some superhuman standard.
They call that Ideal which no Reality can reach, but for
which we should strive. They superpose ab extra, instead of trying to develope ab intra. They draw fromi
their own minds, or from the dogmas handed to them by
tradition, an arbitrary mould, into which they attempt to
fuse the organic activity of Nature.
If this school had not in its favor the imperious instinct
of Progress, and aspiration after a Better, it would not
hold its ground. But it satisfies that craving, and thus
deludes many minds into acquiescence. The poetical and
enthusiastic disposition most readily acquiesces: preferring
to overlook what man is, in its delight of contemplating
what the poet makes him. To such a mind all conceptions of Man must have a halo round them, — half mist,
half sunshine; the hero must be a Demigod, in whom no
valet de chambre can find a failing; the villain must be a
Demon, for whom no charity can find an excuse.
Not to extend this to a dissertation, let me at once say
that Goethe belonged to the objective class.'Everywhere
in Goethe,' said Franz Horn,'you are on firm land ox
VOL. I.    7




74         LIE  AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   L[BOK lI.
island; nowhere the infinite sea.' A better characterization was never written in one sentence. In every page of
his works may be read a strong feeling for the real, the
concrete, the living; and a repugnance as strong fur the
vague, the abstract, or the supersensuous. His constant
striving was to study Nature, so as to see her directly, and
not through the mists of fancy, or through the distortions
of prejudice, - to look at mel, and into them, - to apprehend things as they were. In his conception of the universe he could not separate God from it, placing Him
above it, beyond it, as the philosophers did who represented God whirling the universe round His finger,'seeing it go.' Such a conception revolted him. He animated the universe with God; he animated fact with
divine life; he saw in Reality the incarnation of the Ideal;
fhe saw in Morality the high and harmonious action of all
human tendencies; he saw in Art the highest representation of Life.
Our psychology is in so chaotic a condition, that I dare
not employ its language in this attempt to characterize
Goethe's tendencies, lest it mislead. In lieu thereof a few
descriptive sentences must suffice:- If we look through
the works with critical attention, we shall observe the concrete tendency determining - first, his choice of subjects;
secondly, his handling of characters; and, thirdly, his
style. We shall see the operation of that law of his mind,
which made the creative impulses move only in alliance with
emotions he himself had experienced. His Imagination
was not, like that of many others, incessantly at work in
the combination and recombination of images, which could
be accepted for their own sake, apart from the warrant of
prelimrinary confrontation with fact. It demanded the
confrontation.; it moved with ease only on the secure
ground of Reality. An illustration from science may




1766.]       MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS.              75
make this distinction palpable. In science there are men
whose active imaginations carry them into hypothesis and
speculation, all the more easily because they do not bring
hypothesis to the stern confrontation with fact. The mere
delight in combining ideas suffices them: provided the
deductions are logical, they seem almost indifferent to
their truth. There are poets of this order; indeed most
poets are of this order. Goethe was of a quite opposite
tendency. In him, as in the man of positive science, an
imperious desire for reality controlled the errant facility
of imagination.
Hence we see why he was led to portray Men and
Women, instead of Demigods and'Angels: no Posas and
Theklas, but Egmonts and Clarchens. Hence also his
portraitures carry this moral with them, in them, but have
no' moral' superposed —no accompanying verdict as
from some outstanding judge. Further, - and this is a
point to be insisted on, — his style, both in poetry and
prose, is subject to the same law. It is vivid with images,
but it has scarcely any'imagery.' Most poets describe
objects by metaphors or comparisons; Goethe seldom tells
you what an object is like, he tells you what it is. Shakespeare is very unlike Goethe in this respect. The prodigal
luxuriance of his imagery often entangles, in its overgrowth, the movement of his verse. It is true, he also is
eminently concrete: he sees the real object vividly, and
he makes us see it vividly; but he scarcely ever paints it
save in the colors of metaphor and simile. Shakespeare's
imagery bubbles up like a perpetual spring: to say that it
repeatedly overflows, is only to say that his mind was
lured by its own sirens away from the direct path. He
did not master his Pegasus at all times, but let the wild
careering creature take its winged way. Goethe, on the
contrary, always -masters his. Perhaps because his steed




76         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II.
had less of restive life in its veins. Not only does he,master it, and ride with calmer, more assured grace; he
seems so bent on reaching the goal that he scarcely thinks
of anything else. To quit metaphor, he may be said to
use with the utmost sparingness all the aids of imagery,
and to create images of the objects, rather than images of
what the objects are like.
Shakespeare, like Goethe, was a decided realist. He,
too, was content to let his pictures of life carry their own
moral with them. He uttered no' moral verdict;' he
was no Chorus preaching on the text of what he pictured.
Hence we cannot gather from his works what his opinions
were. But there is this difference between him and
Goethe, that his intense sympathy with the energetic pas.
sions and fierce volitions of our race made him delight in
heroic characters, in men of robuster frames and more
impassioned lives. Goethe, with an infusion of the best
blood of Schiller, would have made a Shakespeare; but,
such as Nature made him he was, - not Shakespeare.
Turning from these abstract considerations to the two
earliest works which form the text, we observe how the
youth is determined in the choice of his subject by the
realistic tendency. Instead of ranging through the enchanted gardens of Armida - instead of throwing himself
back into the distant Past, and escaping from the trammels
of a modern subject which the confrontation of reality
always makes more difficult, this boy fashions into verse
his own experience, his own observation. He looks into
his own heart, - he peers into the byways of civilization,
walking with curious observation through squalid streets
and dark fearful alleys. Singular, moreover, is the absence of any fierce indignation, any cry of pain at the
sight of so much corruption underlying the surface of so



1766.]        MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS.              77
ciety. In youth the loss of illusions is generally followed
by a cynical misanthropy, or a vehement protest. But
Goethe is neither cynical nor indignant. He seems to
accept the fact as a thing to be admitted, and quietly
striven against, with a view to its amelioration. He seems
to think with the younger Pliny, that indulgence is a part
of justice, and would cite with approval the favorite maxim
of the austere yet humane Thraseas, qui vitia odit homines odit, - he who hates vice hates mankind.` For in
the Mitschuldigen he presents us with a set of people
whose consolation is to exclaim' Rogues all!'- and in
after years he wrote of this piece, that it was dictated,
though unconsciously, by'far-sighted tolerance in the
appreciation of moral actions, as expressed in the eminently Christian sentence, " Let him who is without sin
among you cast the first stone."'
How great is the. anticipation of moral development
implied in those words! how little Christians have in
practice taken that profound saying to their hearts! and
yet how deeply the universal heart affirms the truth of the
saying which universal practice denies! Who does not
say Amen to the words, - and who is not ready to cast
the first stone upon any and every offender? Nay, so
ready are we to cast stones, that Goethe will not escape
for having shown so much' moral laxity' (that is one of
the adroit phrases with which men whisper away good
names); so much' indifference' under the mask of tolerance; so great a power of representing life, with so utter
an absence of any moral verdict on the scenes presented.
* Pliny, lib. viii. 22. Years after the text was written, Sch11
published Goethe's note book kept at Strasburg, wherein may be
read this very aphorism transcribed. It was just the sort of passage
to captivate him.
7*




78         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK iI.
CHAPTER III.
ART STUDIES.
FRAU B6HME died. In her he lost a monitress and
friend, who had kept some check on his waywardness, and
drawn him into society. The Professor had long since.
cooled towards him, after giving up all hopes of making
him another Heineccius. It was pitiful: another ornament
to jurisprudence irrecoverably lost! A youth with such
remarkable dispositions, who would.not be assiduous in
attendance at lecture, and whose amusement during lecture was to sketch caricatures of various law dignitaries
in his note book I! Indeed, the collegiate aspect of this
Leipsic residence is not one promising to professors; but
we - instructed by the result - know how much better
he was employed, than if he had filled a hundred volumes
of note books by diligent attendance at lecture. He
studied much- in his desultory manner; he studied Moliere and Corneille; he began to translate Le Menteur.
The theatre was a, perpetual attraction; and even the
uneasy, unsatisfied condition of his affections, was instructing him in directions whither no professor could lead him.
But greater than all was the influence of Shakespeare,
whom he first learned a little of through Dodd's Beauties
of Shakespeare, a work not much prized in England,
where the plays form part of our traditional education,
but which must have been a revelation to the Germans,




1766.]             ART STUDIES.                   79
something analogous to what Charles Lamb's Specimens
of the Old English Drama was to us. The marvellous
strength and beauty of language, the bold and natural
imagery of these Beauties, startled the young poets of
that day, like the huge fossil remains of some antediluvian
fauna; and to gratify the curiosity thus awakened, there
came Wieland's prose translation of several plays, which
Goethe studied with enthusiasm.
There are no materials to fill up the lacuna- of his narrative here, so that I am forced to leave much indistinct.
For instance, he has told us that Kathchen and he were no
longer lovers; but we find him writing to her in a friendly
and even lover-like tone from Frankfurt, and we know
that friendly intercourse still subsisted between them. Of
this, however, not a word occurs in the Autobiography.
Nor are we accurately informed how he made the acquaintance of the Breitkopf family. Breitkopf was a
bookseller in Leipsic, in whose house Literature and Music were highly prized. Bernhard, the eldest son, was an
excellent performer, and composed music to Goethe's
songs, which were published in 1769, under this title: Neue
Lieder in Melodieen gesetzt von Bernhard Theodor Breitkopf. The poet is not named. This Liederbuch contains
twenty songs, the majority of which were subsequently
reprinted in the poet's works. They are love songs, and
contain a love-philosophy more -like whatis to be found in
Catullus, Horace, and Wieland, than what one would
expect from a boy, did we not remember how the braggadocio of youth delights in expressing roue' sentiments, as
if to give itself airs of profound experience. This youth
sings with gusto of inconstancy:
Da fihl ich die Freuden der Wechselden Lust.
He gaily declares that if one mistress leaves you another




80         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.          [BooE il.
will love you, and the second is sweeter to kiss than the
first:
Es kiisst sich so sfisse der Busen der Zweiten,
Als kaum sich der Busen der Ersten gekiisst.
Another acquaintance, and one more directly influential,
was that of Oeser, the director of the Drawing Academy.
He had been the friend and teacher of Winckelmann, and
his name stood high among connoisseurs. Goethe, who at
home had learned a little drawing, joined Oeser's class,
where, among other fellow-students, was the Hardenberg
who afterwards made such a noise in the Prussian political
world. He joined the class, and did his best to acquire
by labor the skill which only a talent can acquire. That
he made little progress in drawing, we learn from his
subsequent confession, no less than from  his failure, but
tuition had this effect at least, - it taught him to use his
eyes. In a future chapterx  I shall have occasion to enter
more fully on this subject. Enough if for the present a
sentence or two from his letters tells us the enthusiasm
Oeser inspired.'What do I not owe to you,' he writes to
him,' for having pointed out to me th'e way of the True
and the Beautiful!' and concludes by saying,'the undersigned is your work!' Writing to a friend of Oeser's, he
says that Oeser stands beside Shakespeare and Wieland
in the influence exercised over him.'His -instruction will
influence my whole life. He it was who taught me that
the Ideal of Beauty is Simplicity and Repose, and thence
it follows that no youth can be a master.'
Instruction in the theory of Art he gained from Oeser,
from Winckelmann, and from the incomparable little book
which Lessing at this period carelessly flung upon the
* See Book V. ch. v.




1766.]             ART STUDIES.                   81
world —the Laokoon. Its effect upon Goethe can only
be appreciated by those who early in life have met with
this work, and risen from it with minds widened, strengthened and inspired. It opened a pathway amid confusion,
throwing light upon many of the obscurest problems
which torment the artist. It awakened in Goethe an
intense yearning to see the works of ancient masters;
and these beckoned from Dresden. To Dresden he went.
But here, in spite of Oeser, Winckelmann, and Lessing,
in spite of grand phrases about Art, the invincible tendency of his nature asserted itself, and instead of falling
into raptures with the great Italian pictures, he confesses
that he took their merits upon trust, and was really
charmed by none but the landscape and Dutch painters,
whose subjects appealed directly to his experience. He
did not feel the greatness of Italian Art; and what he did
not feel he would not feign.
It is worth noticing that this trip to Dresden was taken
in absolute secrecy. As, many years later, he stole away
to Italy without letting his friends even suspect his project,
so now he left Leipsic for Dresden without a word of
intimation. Probably the same motive actuated him in
both instances. He went to see, to enjoy, to learn, and
did not want to be disturbed by personal influence- by
other people's opinions.
On his return he was active enough with drawing. He
made the acquaintance of an engraver named Stock,* and
with his usual propensity to try his hand at whatever his
friends were doing, he forthwith began to learn engraving.
In the Morgenblatt for 1828 there is a detailed account
* This Stock had two amiable daughters, one of whom married
(1785) Korner, the correspondent of Schiller, and father of the
poet.




82         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox II.
of two of his engravings, both representing landscapes
with small cascades shut in by rocks and grottoes; at the
foot of each are these words: peint par A. Theile, grave
par Goethe. One plate is dedicated d Monsieur Goethe,
Conseillier actuel de S. M. Impe'riale, par son fils tries
obeissant..In the room which they show to strangers in
his house at Frankfurt, there is also a specimen of his
engraving —very amateurish; but Madame von Goethe
showed me one in her possession which really has merit.
Melancholy, wayward, and capricious as he was at this
time, he allowed Lessing to pass through Leipsic without
making any attempt to see the man he so much admired:
a caprice he afterwards repented, for the opportunity
never recurred. Something of his hypochondria was due
to mental, but more to physical causes. Dissipation, bad
diet (especially the beer and coffee), and absurd endeavors
to carry out Rousseau's preaching about returning to a
state of nature, had seriously affected his health.  The
crisis came at last. One summer night (1768) he was
seized with violent htemorrhage. He had only strength
enough to call to his aid the fellow-student who slept in
the next room. Medical assistance promptly came. He
was saved; but his convalescence was embittered by the
discovery of a tumor on his neck, which lasted some time.
His recovery was slow, but it seemed as if it relieved him
from all the peccant humors which had made him hypochondriacal, leaving behind an inward lightness and joyousness
to which he had long been a stranger. One thing greatly
touched him - the sympathy expressed for him by several
eminent men; a sympathy he felt to be quite undeserved,
for there was not one among them whom he had not vexed
or affronted by his caprices, extravagances, morbid opposition, and stubborn persistence.
One of these friends, Langer, not only made an ex



1768.1              ART STUDIES.                  83
change of books with him, giving a set of Classic authors
for a set of German, but also, in devout yet not dogmatic
conversation, led his young friend to regard the Bible in
another light than that of a merely human composition.' I loved the Bible and valued it, for it was the only book
to which I owed my moral culture. Its events, dogmas
and symbols were deeply impressed on my mind.' He
therefore felt little sympathy with the Deists who were at
this time agitating Europe; and although his tendency
was strongly in favor of the Rationalists against the Mystics, he was afraid lest the poetical spirit should be swept
away along with the prophetical. In one word, he was in
a state of religious doubt —'destitute of faith, yet terrified at scepticism.'
This unrest and this bodily weakness he carried with
him, September 1768, from Leipsic to Frankfurt, whither
we will follow him.




84          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK II.
CHAPTER IV.
RETURN HOME.
HE returned home a boy in years, in experience a man.
Broken in health, unhappy in mind, with no strong impulses in any one direction, uncertain of himself and of
his aims, he felt, as he approached his native city, much
like a repentant prodigal, who has no vision of the fatted
calf awaiting him. His father, unable to perceive the real
progress he had made, was very much alive to the slender
prospect of his becoming a distinguished jurist. The fathers
of poets are seldom gratified with the progress visible in
their sons. Only your perfectly stupid young gentlemen
uniformly delight their parents: they tread the beaten
path, whereon are placed milestones marking every distance; and the parents, seeing how far their sons have
trudged, are freed from all misgivings. Of that silent
progress which consists less in travelling on the broad
hi'ghway, than in development of the limbs which will
make a sturdy traveller, parents cannot judge.
Mother and sister, however, touched by the worn face,
and, woman-like, more interested in the man than in what
he has achieved, received him with an affection which
compensated for the father's coldness. There is quite a
pathetic glimpse given of this domestic interior in the
Autobiography, where he alludes to his father's impatience




1768.]              RETURN HOME.                   85
at his illness, and anxiety for his speedy recovery.* And
we gladly escape from this picture to the Letters written
from Frankfurt to his old love Kathchen Schbnkoptf. f
It appears that he left Leipsic without saying adieu. He
thus refers to it:' Apropos, you will forgive me that I did not take leave
of you. I was in the neighborhood, I was even below at
the door; I saw the lamp burning and went to the steps,
but I had not the courage to mount. For the last time -
how should I have come down again?'Thus I now do what I ought to have done then: I
thank you for all the love and friendship which you have
constantly shown me, and which I shall never forget. I
need not beg you to remember me, —a thousand occa.
sions will arise which must remind you of a man who for
two years and a half was part of your family, who indeed
often gave you cause for displeasure, but still was always
a good- lad, and whom it is to be hoped you will often
miss; at least I often miss you.'
The tumor on his neck became alarming: the more so
as the surgeons, uncertain about its nature, were wavering
in their treatment. Frequent cauterization, and constant
confinement to his room, were the worst parts of the cure.
He read, drew and etched to. wile away the time; and
by the end of the year was pronounced recovered. This
letter to Kithchen announces the recovery.' My best, anxious friend, -'You will doubtless have heard from Horn, on the new
* Dickens has, in a masterly manner, given us the same sort of
feeling in Dombey, who cannot conceal his impatience at little Paul's
illness, not because the child is ill, but because the illness interferes
with his plans.
t Printed in Goethe's Briefe An seine Leipsiger Freunde. Herausgegeben von Otto Jahn.
VOL. I.   8




86         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK nu.
year, the news of my recovery; and I hasten to confirm
it. Yes, dear friend, it is over, and in future you
must take it quietly, even if you hear —he is laid up
again! You know that my constitution often makes a
slip, and in eight days gets on its legs again; this time it
was bad, and seemed yet worse than it was, and was attended with terrible pains. Misfortune is also a good. I
have learned much in illness which I could have learned
nowhere else in life. It is over, and I am quite brisk
again, though for three whole weeks I have not left my
room, and scarcely any one has visited me but my doctor,
who, thank God! is an amiable man! An odd thing it is
in us men: when I was in lively society I was out of
spirits, now I am forsaken by all the world; I am cheerful;
for even throughout my illness my cheerfulness has comforted my family, who were not in a condition to comfort
themselves, to say nothing of me. The new year's song
which you have also received, I composed during an attack of great foolery, and had it printed for the sake of
amusement. Besides this I draw a great deal, write tales,
and am contented with myself. God give me, this new
year, what is good for me; may He do the same for all
of us, and if we pray for nothing more than this, we may
certainly hope that He will give it us. If I can only get
along till April, I shall easily reconcile myself to my condition. Then I hope things will be better; in particular
my health may make progress daily, because it is now
known precisely what is the matter with me. My lungs
are as sound as possible, but there is something wrong at
the stomach. And, in confidence, I have had hopes given
me of a pleasant, enjoyable mode of life, so that my mind
is quite cheerful and at rest. As soon as I am better again
I shall go away into foreign countries, and it must depend
only on you and another person how soon I shall see




1-769.]           RETURN HOME.                   87
Leipsic again; in the meantime I think of going to France
to see what French life is, and learn the French language.
So you can imagine what a charming man I shall be when
I return to you. It often occurs to me, that it would be a
laughable affair, if, in spite of all my projects, I were to
die before Easter. In that case I would order a gravestone for myself in Leipsic churchyard, that at least every
year on St. John's day you might visit the figure of St.
John and my grave. What do you think?'
To celebrate his recovery, Rath Moritz gave a great
party, at which all the Frankfurt friends assembled. In a
little while, however, another illness came to lay the poet
low; and, worse than all, there came the news from Leipsic that Kathchen was engaged to a Dr. Kanne, whom
Goethe had introduced to her. This forever decided his
restlessness about her. Here is a letter from him.' My dear, my beloved friend, -'A dream last night has reminded me that I owe you
an answer. Not that I had entirely forgotten it, — not
that I never think of you: no, my dear friend, every
day says something of you and of my faults. But it is
strange, and-it is an experience which perhaps you also
know, the remembrance of the absent, though not extinguished by time, is veiled. The distractions of our life,
acquaintance with new objects, in short every change in our
circumstances, do to our hearts what smoke and dirt do to
a picture, —they make the delicate touches quite undiscernable, and in such a way that one does not know how
it comes to pass. A thousand things remind me of you;
I see your image a thousand times, but as faintly, and
often -with as little emotion, as if I thought of some one
quite strange to me; it often recurs to me that I owe you
an answer, without my feeling the slightest impulse to
write to you. Now, when I read your kind letter, which




88         LIFE ANI WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox xI.
is already some months old, and see your friendship and
your solicitude for one so unworthy, I am shocked at
myself, and for the first time feel what a change has
taken place in my heart, that I can be without joy at
that which formerly would have lifted me up to heaven.
Forgive me this!  Can one blame an unfortunate man
because he is unable to rejoice? My wretchedness has
made me dead to the good which still remains to me.
My body is restored, but my mind is still uncured. I am
in dull, inactive repose; that is not happiness. And in
this quietude my imagination is so stagnant, that I can no
longer picture to myself what was once dearest to me. It
is only in a dream that my heart often appears to me as it
is,- only a dream is capable of recalling to me the sweet
images, of so recalling them, as to reanimate my feelings;
I have already told you that you are indebted to a dream
for this letter. I saw you, I was with you; how it was, is
too strange for me to relate to you. In one word, you
were married. Is that true? I took up your kind letter,
and it agrees with the time; if it is true, 0 may that be
the beginning of your happiness!' When I think of this disinterestedly, how does it rejoice me to know that you, my best friend, you, before
every other who envied you and fancied herself better
than you, are in the arms of a worthy husband; to know
that you are happy, and freed from every annoyance to
which a single state, and especially your single state, was
exposed! I thank my dream that it has vividly depicted
your happiness to me, and the happiness of your husband,
and his reward for having made you happy. Obtain me his
friendship in virtue of your being my friend, for you must
have all things in common, even including friends. If I
may believe my dream we shall see each other again, but
I hope not so very quickly, and for my part I shall try to




1769.]             RETURN HOME.                   89
defer its fulfilment; -if, indeed, a man can undertake
anything in opposition to destiny. Formerly I wrote to
you somewhat enigmatically about what was to become of
me. Now I may say more plainly that I am about to
change my place of residence, and move farther from you.
Nothing will any more remind me of Leipsic, except, perhaps, a restless dream; no friend who comes from thence;
no letter. And yet I perceive that this will be no help to me.
Patience, time, and distance will do that which nothing
else can do; they will annihilate every unpleasant impression, and give us back our friendship, with contentment, with life, so that after a series of years we may see
each other again with altogether different eyes, but with
the same heart. Within a quarter of a year you shall
have another letter from me, which will tell you of my destination and the time of my departure, and which can once
more say to superfluity what I have already said a thousand times. I entreat you not to answer me any more; if
you have anything more to say to me, let me know it
through a friend. This is a melancholy entreaty, my
best! you, the only one of all her sex, whom I cannot
call friend, for that is an insignificant title compared with
what I feel. I wish not to see your writing again, just as
I wish not to hear your voice; it is painful enough for me
that my dreams are so busy. You shall have one more
letter; that promise I will sacredly keep, and so pay a
part of my debts; the rest you must forgive me.'
To round off this story, the following extract may be
given from the last letter which has been preserved of
those he wrote to her. It is dated Frankfurt, January,
1770.' That I live peacefully is all that I can say to you of
myself, and vigorously and healthily and industriously,
for I have no woman in my head. Horn and I are still




90         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boor iI.
good friends, but, so it happens in the world, he has his
thoughts and ways, and I have my thoughts and ways, and
so a week passes and we scarcely see each other once.
But, everything considered, I am at last tired of Frankfurt,
and at the end of'March I shall leave it. I must not yet
go to you, I perceive; for if I came at Easter you could
not be married. And Kathchen Sch6nkopf I will not see
again, if I am not to see her otherwise than so. At the
end of March, therefore, I go to Strasburg; if you care to
know that, as I believe you do. Will you write to me to
Strasburg also?  You will play me no trick.  For,
Kathchen Schonkopf, now I know perfectly that a letter
from you is as dear to me as from any hand in the world.
You were always a sweet girl, and will be a sweet woman.
And I, I shall remain Goethe. You know what that
means. If I name my name, I name my whole self, and
you know that so long as I have known you I have lived
only as part of you.'
Sic transit! So fall away the young blossoms of love
which have not the force to ripen into fruit.'The most
loveable heart,' he writes to Kathchen, with a certain bitter
hpmor,' is that which loves the most readily; but that
which easily loves also easily forgets.' It was his case;
he could not live without some one to love, but his mobile
nature soon dried the tears wrung from him by her loss.
Turning once more to his domestic condition, we find
him in cold, unpleasant relations with his father, who had
almost excited the hatred of his other child, Cornelia, by
the stern, pedantic, pedagogic way in which he treated
her. The old man continued to busy himself with the
writing of his travels in Italy, and with instructing his
daughter. She who was of a restless, excitable, almost
morbid disposition, secretly rebelled against his tyranny,
and made her brother the confidant of all her griefs. The




1769.]             RETURN HOME.                   91
poor mother had a terrible time of it, trying to pacify the
children, and to stand between them and their father.
Very noticeable is one detail recorded by him. He
had fallen ill again: this time with a stomach disorder,
which: no therapeutic treatment in the power of Frankfurt
medicine seemed to mitigate. The family physician was
one of those duped dupers who still stood to the great
promises of Alchemy. It was whispered that he had in
his possession a marvellous panacea, which was only to
be employed in times of greatest need, and of which, indeed, no one dared openly speak. Frau Aja, trembling for
her son, besought him to employ this mysterious salt. He
consented. The patient recovered, and belief in the physician's skill became more complete. Not only was the
poet thus restored once more to health, he was also thereby
led to the study of Alchemy, and, as he narrates, employed himself in researches after the' virgin earth.' In
the little study of that house in the Hirsch-graben, he collected his glasses and retorts, and following the directions
of authorities, sought for a time to penetrate the mystery
which then seemed penetrable. Through these pursuits
he was induced to read not only Theophrastus, Paracelsus,
Van Helmont, and other alchemists, but also the more
serviceable Chemical Compendium of Boerhaave, whose'Aphorisms' greatly delighted him. These studies were
preparations for Faust.
Renewed intercourse with Friulein von Klettenberg,
together with much theological and philosophical reading,
brought Religion into prominence in his thoughts. He has
given a sketch of the sort of Neoplatonic Christianity into
which his thoughts moulded themselves; but as this sketch
was written so very many years after the.period to which
it relates, one cannot well accept its authenticity. For
biographic -purposes it is enough to indicate that beside




92-        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK IL.
these Alchemic studies, Religion rose also into serious
importance. Poetry seemed quite to have deserted him,
although he still occasionally touched up his two plays.
In a letter he humorously exposes the worthlessness of
the Bardenpoesie then in fashion among versifiers, who
tried to be patriotic and Tyrtaan by huddling together
golden helmets, flashing swords, the tramp of horses, and;
when the verse went lame for want of a syllable, supplying
an Oh! or Ha!' Make me feel,' he says,' what I have
not yet felt,- make me think what I have not yet thought,
then I will praise you. But shrieks and noise will never
supply the place of pathos.'
The trace of a slight love affair, during this summer of
1769, has been discovered by Viehoff. Charity lMexner,
of Worms, is not mentioned in the Autobiography, it is
true; but neither is Oeser's daughter Frederika, for whom
he had a very lively friendship, whi}ch -probably her satirical tendency kept from warming into love. Charity
was the daughter of a merchant, and Viehoff has seen
two letters to her which leave no doubt of the warmth of
Goethe's feelings for the young poetess. But that heart,
which'so readily loves and so easily forgets,' wandered
from Charity, as it wandered from others; and she buried
his inconstancy in a' cbpy of verses' and a rich husband.
Paoli, the Corsican Patriot, passed through Frankfurt at
this time, and Goethe saw him in the house of Bethmann,
the rich merchant; but, with this exception, Frankfurt
presented nothing beyond deadly prose to him, and he
was impatient to escape from it. His health was sufficiently restored for his father to hope that now Jurisprudence could be studied with some success; and Strasburg
was the university selected for that purpose.




1770.]              STRASBURG.                   93
CHAPTER V.
STRASBURG.
HE reached Strasburg on the 2d April, 1770. He was
now turned twenty, and a more magnificent youth never
perhaps entered the Strasburg gates. Long before he was
celebrated, he was likened to an Apollo: when he entered
a restaurant the people laid down their knives and forks to
stare at him. Pictures and busts give a very feeble indication of that which was most striking in his appearance;
they only give the cut of feature, not the play of feature;
nor are they very accurate even in mere form. The features were large and liberally cut, as in the fine sweeping
lines of Greek Art. The brow lofty and massive, from
beneath which shone large lustrous brown eyes of marvellous beauty, their pupils being of almost unexampled size;
the slightly aquiline nose was large and finely cut; the
mouth full, with a short arched lip, very expressive; the
chin and jaw boldly proportioned, and the head resting on
a fine muscular neck: - details which are, after all, but
the inventory of his appearance, and give no clear image
of it.
In stature he was rather above the middle size; but al.
though not really tall, he had the aspect of a tall man, and
is usually so described, because his presence was very im



94          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [1300 ii.
posing.* His frame was strong, muscular, yet sensitive.
Dante says this contrast is in the nature of things, for-' Quanta la cosa e piu perfetta,
Pia senta'1 bene, e cosi la doglienza.'
Excelling in all active sports, he was almost a barometer
in sensitiveness to atmospheric influences.
Such, externally, was the youth who descended at the
hotel zum Geist, in Strasburg, this 2d April, and who,
ridding himself of the dust and ennui of a long imprisonment in the Diligence, sallied forth to gaze at the famous
Cathedral, which made a wonderful impression on him as
he came up to it through the narrow streets. The Strasburg Cathedral not inaptly serves as the symbol of his
early German tendencies; and its glorious tower is always connected, in my mind, with the brief but ardent
endeavors of his Hellenic nature to throw itself into the old
German world. German his spirit was not, but we shall
see him, under the shadow of this tower, for a moment
inspired with true German enthusiasm.
His lodgings secured- No. 80, on the south side of the
Fish-market - he delivered his letters of introduction, and
arranged to dine at a table d'hote kept by two maiden
ladies, named Lauth, in the Krimergasse, No. 13. The
guests here were about ten in number, mostly medical.
Their president was Dr. Saltzmann, a clean old bachelor
of fifty, scrupulous in his stockings, immaculate as to his
shoes and buckles, with hat under his arm and scarcely
ever on his head- a neat, dapper, old gentleman, well
instructed, and greatly liked by the poet, to whom he gave
excellent advice, and for whom he found a valuable repe* Rauch, the sculptor, who- made the well-known statuette of
Goethe, explained this to me as owing to his large bust and erect
carriage.




1770.]                STRASBURG.                       95
tent.* In spite of the services of this excellent repetenf,
jurisprudence wearied him considerably, according to his
account; at first, however, he seems to have taken to it
with some pleasure, as we learn by a letter, in which he
tells Fraulein von Klettenberg a different story:-' Jurisprudence begins to please me very much. Thus it is with
all things as with Merseburg beer; the first time we shudder at it, and having drunk it for a week, we cannot do
without it.' The study of jurisprudence at any rate. did
not absorb him. Sch6ll has published a notebook kept
during this period, which reveals an astonishing activity
in desultory research. t When we remember that the
society at his table d'hote was principally of medical students, we are prepared to find him eagerly throwing himself into the study of anatomy and chemistry. He attendedLobstein's lectures on Anatomy, Ehrmann's clinical lectures, with those of his son on midwifery, and Spielman's
on chemistry.  Electricity occupied him, Franklin's great
discovery having brought that subject into prominence.
No less than nine works on electricity are set down in the
notebook to be, studied.  We also see from this notebook
that chromatic subjects began to attract him - the future
antagonist of Newton was preluding in the science. A1chemy still fascinated him; and he wrote to Fraulein von
Klettenberg, assuring her that these mystical studies were
t The medical student will best understand what a repetent is, if I
translate it a grinder; the university student, if I translate it a
coach. The repetent prepares students by an examination, and also
by repeating and explaining in private what the professor has taught
in the lecture hall.
* Briefe und Aufsatze von Goethe. Herausgegeben von Adolf
Schoill. In this, as in his other valuable work, Sch6ll is not content
simply to reprint papers entrusted to hjn, but enriches them by his
own careful, accurate editing.




96         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOx II.
his secret mistresses.  With such a direction of his
thoughts, and the influence of this pure, pious woman still
operating upon him, we can imagine the disgust which followed his study of the Systeme de la Nature, then making
so great a noise in the world. This dead and dull exposition of an atheism as superficial as it was dull, must have
been everyway revolting to him: irritating to his piety,
and unsatisfying to his reason. Voltaire's wit and Rous.
seau's sarcasms he could copy into his notebook, especially
when they pointed in the direction of tolerance, as in the
extract from Voltaire ending thus:'Tres sots enfans de Dieu, cherissez vous en freres,
Et ne vous mordez plus pour d'absurdes chimeres;'
or this sentence from Rousseau:' Le peche original explique tout, except6 son principe, et c'est ce principe qu'il
s'agit d'expliquer.' But he who could read Bayle, Voltaire, and Rousseau with delight, turned from the Systeme
de la Nature with disgust; especially at a time when we
find him taking the sacrament, and trying to keep up an
acquaintance with the pious families to which Fraulein
von Klettenberg had introduced him. I say trying, because even his goodwill could not long withstand their
dulness and narrowness; he was forced to give them up,
and confessed so much to his friend.
Shortly after his arrival in Strasburg, namely in May
1770, an event occurred which agitated the town, and gave
him an opportunity of seeing, for the first time, Raphael's
cartoons. Marie Antoinette, the dauphiness of France
elect, was to pass through on her way to Paris. On a
small island on the Rhine a building was erected for her
reception; and this was adorned with tapestries worked
after the cartoons. These tapestries roused his enthusiasm; but he was shocked to find that they were placed




1770.]              STRASBURG.                    97
in the side chambers, while the chief salon was hung with
tapestries worked after pictures by modern French artists.
That Raphael should thus be thrown into a subordinate
position was less exasperating to him than the subjects
chosen from the modern artists.' These pictures were
the history of Jason, Medea, and Creusa - consequently,
a story of a most wretched marriage. To the left of the
throne was seen the bride struggling against a horrible
death, surrounded by persons full of sympathetic grief; to
the right stood the father, horror-struck at the murdered
babes at his feet; whilst the fury, in her dragon car, drove
through the air.'
All the ideas which. he had learned from Oeser were
outraged by this selection. He did not quarrel so much'
with the arrangement which placed Christ and the Apostles in side chambers, since he had thereby been enabled
to enjoy the sight of them.'But a blunder like that of
the grand saloon put me altogether out of my self-possession, and with loud and vehement cries I called to my
comrades to witness the insult against feeling and taste.
" What!" I exclaimed, regardless of bystanders, " can
they so thoughtlessly place before the eyes of a young
queen, on her first setting foot in her dominions, the-representation of the most horrible marriage perhaps that ever
was consummated! Is there among the architects and
decorators no one man who understands that pictures!
represent something -that they work upon the mind and
feelings - that they produce impressions and excite fore,
bodings? It is as if they had sent a ghastly spectre to meet
this lovely, and as we hear most joyous, lady at the very
frontiers! "' To him, indeed, pictures meant something;
they were realities to him, because he had the true artistic
nature. But to the French architects, as to the Strasburg
officials, pictures were pictures, — ornaments betokening
VOL. I.     9




98         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BoOK I.
more or less luxury and taste, flattering the eye, but never
touching the soul.
Goethe was right; and omen-lovers may now see in
that picture the dark foreshadowing of her destiny. But
no one then could have foreseen that her future career
would be less triumphant than her journey from Vienna to
Paris. That smiling, happy, lovely princess of fifteen,
whose grace and beauty extort expressions of admiration
from every beholder, as she wends her way along roads
lined with the jubilant peasantry leaving their fields to
gaze upon her, through streets strewn with nosegays,
through triumphal arches, and rows of maidens garlanded,
awaiting her arrival to offer her spring-flowers as symbols
- can her joy be for a moment dashed by a pictured sorrow? Can omens have a dark significance tq her?'I still vividly remember,' says Goethe,' the beauteous
and lofty mien, as charming as it was dignified, of the
young princess. Plainly visible in her carriage, she
seemed to be jesting with her female attendants respecting the throng which poured forth to meet her train.'
Scarcely had the news of her happy arrival in the capital
reached them, than it was followed by the dreadful intelligence of the accident which had disturbed the festivities
of her marriage. Goethe's thoughts naturally recurred to
the ominous pictures: a nature less superstitious would
not have been entirely unmoved by such a coincidence.'The excitement over, the Strasburgers fell into their
accustomed tranquillity. The mighty stream of courtly
magnificence had now flowed by, and left me no other
longing than that for the tapestries of Raphael, which I
could have contemplated and worshipped every hour.
Luckily my earnest desires succeeded in interesting several persons of consequence, so that the tapestries were
pot taken down till the'very last moment.'



1770.]                STRASBURG.                        99
The halt, the lame, and the blind had been sedulously
kept out of the dauphiness's way, lest their appearance
should mar the joyousness of her reception.  Many were
the witticisms hazarded on this subject-; and Goethe
composed a little poem in French, contrasting the advent
of our Saviour, who came into this world almost especially
on account of the sick and deformed, with the advent of
the young princess, which made the unfortunate wretches
disappear. His friends were delighted with this poem;
but a Frenchman having pitilessly criticized some of the
expressions and the versification, it was destroyed.'I
never remember to have again written French verses.'
An alleged copy of these verses, supposed to be destroyed, has been published by Pfeiffer,` and may be inserted here:
Lorsque le fils de Dieu descendit sur la terre,
Pour benir les mortels combles de misere,
On vit de tons cot6s se presser sur ses pas
Des boiteux, des perclus gisants sur leurs grabats.
Dais lorsque des Francais l'auguste reine avance,
Qu'elle pose le pied sur la terre de la France,
La police attentive a soin de decreter,
Qu'a son royal regard ne doit se pr6senter
Ni bossu, ni goutteux, ni pauvre apoplectique,
Ni perclus, ni bancal, ni meme rachitique.
Comme Ia de chez soi Strasbourg fait les honneurs!
O siecle! 0 temps! O mocurs!
The want of authenticity which discredits Pfeiffer's book,
of course discredits these verses. Internal evidence is
fallacious; for although the faults of language noticeable
in them are of the kind alluded to by Goethe, yet they
* Goethe's Frederika, von Freimund Pfeiffer. The book is a clever
mystification, which has taken in even sharp sighted and well instructed writers; but it is now acknowledged not to be genuine.




100        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOm II.
may have been made expressly to suit his description.
Pfeiffer, and after him Viehoff, notice combles de misere
as false in idiom and false in rhythm, wondering how the
proper phrase accables de misere could have been overlooked. But it seems one of those errors which would be
made expressly; and still more suspicious is the'des
perclus gisants sur leur grabats qui se pressent sur ses pas'
- which is not the style Goethe would fall into in any
language.  On the other hand the shocking vulgarity
of
Comme ca de chez soi Strasbourg fait les honneurs!
has a certain stamp of authenticity on it. It is the French
he might have picked up from the soldiers with whom he
conversed so freely in Frankfurt.
The re-established quiet left him time for studies again.
In a letter of this date, he intimates that he is' so improved
in knowledge of Greek as almost to read Homer without a
translation. I am a week older; that you know says a
great deal with me, not because I do much, but many
things.' Among these many things, we must note his
ardent search through mystical metaphysical writings for
the pabulum on which his insatiable appetite could feed.
Strange revelations in this direction are afforded by his
Note-book. On one page there is a passage from Thomas
A. Kempis, followed by a list of mystical works to be read;
on another page, sarcastic sentences from Rousseau and
Voltaire; on a third, a reference to Tauler. The book
contains an analysis of the Phcedon of Moses Mendelssohn
contrasted with that of Plato; and a defence of Giordano
Bruno against the criticism of Bayle.
Apropos of Bruno, one may remark the early tendency
of Goethe's mind towards Nature-worship.  Tacitus, in



1770.]                STRASBURG.                     101
deed, noticed this tendency as national.A The scene in
Frankfurt, where the boy-priest erected his Pantheistic
altar, will help to explain the interest he must have felt in
the glimpse Bayle gave him of the great Pantheist of the
sixteenth century - the brilliant and luckless Bruno, who
after teachinthe heres ofp C,Qp    nicuatndOxford, after combating Arisotleotand.gaining- the friendship
of Sir Philip Sidney, was publicly burnton the. 17th February, 1600, in the presence of the Roman crowd, expiating thus the crime of teaching that the earth moved, -
the Church declaring it to be stable. A twofold interest
attached itself to the name of Bruno. He was a martyr of
Philosophy, and his works were rare; every one abused
him, few had read him. He was hated almost as much
as Spinoza, and scarcely any one knew the writings thus
reviled. The rarity of Bruno's works made them objects
of bibliopolic luxury; some were among the black swans
of literature. The Spaccio had been sold for thirty pounds
in England, and three hundred florins in Holland. Hamann, whom Herder and Goethe ardently admired,
searched Italy and Germany for the De la Causa and Del
Infinito in vain. Forbidden fruit is tempting; but when
the fruit is rare, as well as forbidden, the attraction is
irresistible. t Pantheism, which captivates poetical minds,
* De Moribus, ix. sub fine. What Tacitus there represents as a
more exalted creed than anthropomorphism, was really a lower form
of religious conception —the Fetichism, which in primitive races
precedes Polytheism.
t Since then the works have been made accessible through the
cheap and excellent edition collected by A. Wagner: Opere di Giordano Bruno Nolano. 2 vols. Leipsic: 1830. But I do not observe
that, now they are accessible, many persons interest themselves
enough in Bruno to read them; yet they are better worth study than
hundreds of metaphysical works eagerly read.
9*




102        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.            [Boox II.
has a poetical grandeur in the form given to it by Bruno
which would have allured Goethe had his tendencies not
already lain in that direction. To preach that doctrine
Bruno became a homeless wanderer, and his wanderings
ended in martyrdom. Nothing could shake his faith; as
he loftily says,' con questa filosofia l'anima mi s'aggrandisce e mi si magnifica l'intelletto.'
Goethe's notes on Bayle's criticism may be given here,
as illustrating his metaphysical opinions and his mastery
of French composition. We can be certain of the authenticity of the French: with inaccuracies and inelegancies,
it is fluent and expressive, and gives one the idea of
greater conversational command of the language than he
reports of himself.' Je ne suis pas.du sentiment de M. Bayle a l'egard de
Jor. Brunus, et je ne trouve ni d'impiete ni d'absurdite
dans les passages qu'il cite, quoique d'ailleurs je ne pretende pas d'excuser cet homme paradoxe. "L'uno, l'in.
finito, lo ente e quello ch' e in tutto, e per tutto anzi e
l'istezzo ubique. E che cosse la infinita dimenzione per
non essere magnitudine coincide coll' individuo, come la
infinita moltitudine, per non esser numero coincide coll'
unita."' Giord. Brun. Epist. Ded. del Tratt. de la Causa
Principio et Uno.'-' Ce passage meriteroit une explication et une recherche
plus philosophiques que le disc. de M. Bayle. Ii est plus
facile de prononcer un passage obscur et contraire a nos
*' The One, the Infinite, the Being, and that which is in all things
is everywhere the same. Thus infinite extension not being magnitude coincides with the individual, as infinite multitude because it
is not number coincides with unity.' The words in italics are given
as in Goethe —carelessly copied for l'istesso and cosi. Opere i. p.
211, ed. Wagner.




1770.]               STRASBURG.                    103
notions que de le dechiffrer, et que de suivre les idees
d'un grand homme. I1 est de meme du passage oui il
plaisante sur une idee de Brunus, que je n'applaudis pas
entierement, si peu que les precedentes, mais que je crois
du moins profondes et peut-etre f6condes pour un observateur judicieux. Notez, je vous prie, de B. une absurdite:
il dit que ce n'est point l'etre qui fait qu'il y a beaucoup de
choses, mais que cette multitude consiste dans ce qui paroit sur la superficie de la substance.'
In the same Note-book there is a remarkable comment
on a chapter in Fabricius (Bibliog. Antiq.), which Goethe
has written in Latin, and Which may be thus rendered:'To discuss God apart from  Nature is both difficult and
perilous; it is as if we separated the soul from the body.
We know the soul only through the medium of the body,
and God only through Nature. Hence the absurdity, as
it appears to me, of accusing those of absurdity who philosophically have united God with the world. For everything which exists, necessarily pertains to the essence of
God, because God is the -one Being whose existence includes all things. Nor does the Holy Scripture contradict
this, although we differently interpret its dogmas each
according to his views. All antiquity thought in the same
way; an unanimity which to me has great significance.
To me the judgment of so many men speaks highly for
the rationality of the doctrine of emanation; though I am
of no sect, and grieve much that Spinoza should have
coupled this pure doctrine with his detestable errors.' "
~ I subjoin the original, as the reader may not be displeased to see
a specimen of Goethe's Latin composition: Separatim de Deo, et
natura rerum disserere difficile et pericolosum est, eodem modo
quam si de corpore et anima sejunctim cogitamus. Animam nonnisi mediante corpore, Deum nonnisi perspecta natura cognoscimus;
hine absurdum mihi videtur, eos absurditatis accusare, qui ratio



104          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.
This reference to Spinoza, whom he subsequently reverenced as one of his best teachers, is easily explicable
when we reflect that he fhen knew no more of Spinoza
than could be gathered from Bayle.
Time was not all consumed by these studies, multifarious as they were. Lively Strasburg had its amusements, and Goethe joined his friend Salzmann in many a
pleasant party. The various pleasure grounds and public
gardens were always crowded with promenaders, and
there the mixture of the old national costume with modern
fashions gave charming variety t6 the scene, and made
the pretty women still more piquante.
Salzmann introduced him to several families, and thus
more than by all his advice helped to soften down the
exuberant expression of animal spirits which made the
young poet a terror to' proprieties;' for by inducing him
to frequent society, it forced him to learn that demeanor
which society imperatively demands. In Wilhelm Meister great stress is laid upon the culture necessary to fit a
man of genius for society; and one of the great motives
advanced for the pursuance of a theatrical career is the
facility it affords a man of gaining address.
An excitable, impetuous youth, ambitious of shining in
society, yet painfully conscious of the unsuitableness of
cinatione maxime philosophica Deum cum mundo conjunxere. Qusa
enim sunt omnia ad essentiam Dei pertinere necesse est, cum Deus
sit unicum existens et omnia comprehendat. Nec Sacer Codex nostrea sententiae refragatur, cujus tamen dicta ab unoquoque in sententiarm suam torqueri patientur ferimus. Omnis antiquitatis ejusdem
fuit sententiae, cui consensui quam multum tribuo. Testimonio enim
mihi est virorum tantorum sententia'rectwe rationi quam convenientissimum faisse systema emanativum, licet nulli subscribere velim
sectae, valdeque doleam Spinozismum, teterrimis. errofibus ex eodem
fonte manantibus, doctrinhe huic purissimae iniquissimum fratrem
natum esse.




1770.]               STRASBURG.                  105
his previous training for the attainment of that quietness
deemed so necessary, would require to attend to every
trifle which might affect his deportment. Thus, although
he had magnificent hair, he allowed the hairdresser to tie
it up in a bag and affix a false queue. This obliged him
to remain propped up powdered, from an early hour of
the morning, and also to keep from overheating himself
and from violent gestures, lest he should betray the false
ornament.'This restraint contributed much towards
making me for a time more gentle and polite in my bearing; and I got accustomed to shoes and stockings, and to
carrying my hat under my arm; I did not, however,
neglect wearing fine under-stockings as a protection
against the Rhine gnats.' To these qualifications as a
cavalier, he added those of an excellent swordsman and
rider. With his fellow-students he had abundant exercise
in the use of the rapier; and prompted, I presume, by his
restless desire to do all that his friends did, he began to
learn the violoncello!
His circle of friends widened; and even that of his
fellow-boarders in the Krimergasse increased. Among
the latter, two deserved special mention - Jung Stilling
and Franz Lerse. Stilling has preserved an account of
their first meeting.* About twenty were assembled at
dinner, when a young man entered the room in high
spirits, whose large clear eyes, splendid brow, and beautifully proportioned figure, irresistibly drew the attention of
Herrn Troost and Stilling. The former remarked,' That
must be an extraordinary man' Stilling assented; but
feared lest they might be somewhat annoyed by him, he
looked such a wild rollicking fellow. Meanwhile they
learned that this student, whose unconstrained freedom
* H. Stilling's Wanderschaft, p. 168.




106       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.
and aplomb made them  draw under their shells, was
named Herr Goethe. Dinner proceeded. Goethe, who
sat opposite Stilling, had completely the lead in conversation, without once seeking it. At length one of the company began quizzing the wig of poor Stilling; and the fun
was relished by all except Troost, Salzmann, and one who,
indignantly reproving them for making game of so inoffensive a person, silenced the ridicule immediately; this
was none other than the large-eyed student whose appearance had excited Stilling's uneasiness.  The friendship
thus begun, was continued by the sympathy and tender
affectionateness Goethe always displayed towards the
simple, earnest, and unfriended thinker, whose deep religious convictions, and trusting child-like nature, singularly interested him. Goethe was never tired of listening
to the story of his life. Instinctively he sought on all
sides to penetrate the mysteries of humanity, and, by
probing every man's experience to make it his own.
Here was a poor charcoal-burner, who from tailoring had
passed to keeping a school; that failing, he had resumed his
needle; and having joined a religious sect, had, in silent
communion with his own soul, gained for himself a sort of
culture which raised him above the ordinary height of
men:-what was there in his life or opinions to captivate
the riotous, sceptical, prosperous student? There was
earnestness - there was genuineness. Goethe was eminently qualified to become the friend of one who held
opposite convictions to his own, for his tolerance was
large and genuine, and he respected every real conviction.
Sympathizing with Stilling, listening to him, and dexterously avoiding any interference with his religious faith,
he was not only enabled to be his friend, but also to learn
quietly and surely the inner nature of such men.
Franz Lerse attracted him by different qualities: up



1770.]              STRASBURG.                   107
right manliness, scrupulous orderliness, dry humor, and
a talent for reconciling antagonists.  As a memorial of
their friendship, his name is given to the gallant fellow
who knows how to subordinate himself with dignity in
Gitz von Berlichingen.
Generally speaking Goethe is so liberal in information
about his friends and contemporaries, and so sparing of
precise indications of his own condition, that we are left
in the dark respecting much that would be welcome.
There is one thing mentioned by him which is very significant: although his health was sufficiently established
for ordinary purposes, he still suffered from great irritability. Loud sounds were disagreeable to him; diseased
objects aroused loathing and horror. And he was especially troubled with giddiness, which came over him whenever he looked down from a height. All these infirmities
he resolved to conquer, and that somewhat violeitly. In
the evening when they beat the tattoo, he went close to
the drums, though the powerful rolling and beating of so
many seemed enough to make his heart burst in his bosom.
Alone he ascended the highest pinnacle of the cathedral,
and sat in what is called the neck, under the crown, for a
quarter of an hour before venturing to step out again into
the open air. Standing on a platform, scarcely an ell
square, he saw before him a boundless prospect, the church
and everything upon which he stood being concealed by
the ornaments. He felt exactly as if carried up in a balloon. These painful sensations he repeated until they
became quite indifferent; he subsequently derived great
advantage from this conquest, in mountainous excursions,and geological studies. Anatomy was also of double value,
as it taught him to tolerate the most repulsive sights while
satisfying his thirst for knowledge. He succeeded so
well that no hideous sight could disturb his self-possession.




108        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOE It.
He also sought to steel himself against the terrors of
imagination. The awful and shuddering impressions of
darkness in churchyards, solitary places, churches and
chapels by night, he contrived to render indifferent - so
much so, that when a desire came over him to recall in
such scenes the pleasing shudder of youth, he could
scarcely succeed even by the strangest and most terrific.images.
Two love poems, written during this year — Stirbt der
Fuchs so gilt der Balg, and Blinde IKuh - put us on the
scent of flirtations. He is silent respecting Dorilis and
Theresa in his autobiography; and in ordinary cases a
biographer would accept that silence, without drawing any
conclusion from the poems. No one hereafter will think
of identifying the Claribels, Isabels, and Madelines, with
young ladies whom our poets met in society, and who led
captive their inconstant hearts. With Goethe it is otherwise. All his poems grow out of occasions: they are
flowers of which circumstance is the earth. Utterances of
real feelings to real beings, they are unlike all coquettings
with imaginary beauties. His poems are evidences.*
Unhappily, the barefact is all we can discover.
One love affair, however, was not so easily effaced.
From childhood his strange didactic father had instructed
him and his sister in dancing, a task which, as we picture
to ourselves the cold, formal, rigorous old Frankfurter,
seems rather ludicrous. He was perfectly unconscious of
any incongruity. With the utmost gravity he drilled them
into a minuet, playing to them on the flageolet. Since
then Goethe's dancing had been neglected, and when he
* I find Viehoff insisting on a similar clue: he supposes Dorilis and
Theresa (probably one and the same person) to be real persons, and
that Goethe knew them through Salzmann.




1770.]              STRASBURG.                  109
stood up to a minuet once at Leipsic, he got through it so
awkwardly as to draw upon himself the suspicion of having
done so to prevent being invited again.
A handsome youth unable to dance was an anomaly in
Strasburg. Not a Sunday evening passed without the
pleasure gardens being crowded with gay dancers; galas
frequently enlivened the week; and the merry Alsatians,
then as now, never meet but they must commence spinning round in the waltz. It is a pleasant sight. The girls
are whirling round and round in the arms of their lovers;
the old people are seated at small tables under the branching shade of fragrant boughs, pipes hanging luxuriously
from the placid mouths of the men, while before them stand
chopins of Strasburg beer - detestable to all but Alsatian
palates; and children are playing about the benches.
Into these gardens, amidst these waltzers, Goethe constantly went- yet could not waltz! In private society
the case was still worse. He resolved at length to learn.
A friend recommended him to a dancing-master of repute, who soon pronounced himself gratified with his
progress.
This master, a dry, precise, but amiable Frenchman,
had two daughters, who assisted him at his lessons, acting
both as partners and correctors. Two pretty girls, both
under twenty, charming with French vivacity and coquetry, could not fail to interest the young poet; nor
could the graceful, handsome youth fail to create an
impression on two girls whose lives were somewhat lonesome. Symptoms of this interest very soon showed themselves. The misfortune was that the state of their feelings
made what dramatists call'a situation.' Goethe's heart
inclined towards Emilia, who loved another; while that
of Lucinda, the elder sister, was bestowed upon him.
Emilia was afraid to trust herself too much with him,
VOL. 1.          10




110        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BoI0K II.
but Lucinda was always at hand, ready to waltz with him,
to protract his lesson, or to show him little attentions.
There were not many pupils, so that he often remained
after his lesson to chat away the time, or to read aloud
to them a romance: dangerous moments!
He saw how things stood, yet puzzled himself about
the reserve of the younger sister. The cause of it came
out at last. One evening, after the dance was over,
Lucinda detained him in the dancing-room, telling him
that her sister was in the sitting-room with a fortune-teller,
who was disclosing the condition of a lover to whom the
girl's heart was given.' Mine,' said Lucinda,' is free,
and 1 must get used to its being slighted.'
He tried to parry this thrust by divers little compliments; and, indiscreetly enough, advised her to try her
own fate with the fortune-teller, offering to do the same
himself. Lucinda did not like that tampering with fate,
declaring that the disclosures of the oracle were too true
to-be made a matter of sport. Probably this piqued him
into a little more earnestness than he had shown, for ultimately he persuaded her to go into the sitting-room with
him. They found Emilia much pleased with the information that she had received from the pythoness, who was
highly flattered at the new resort to her shrine. A handsome reward was promised her if she should disclose the
truth. With the customary ceremonial she began to tell
the fortune of the elder sister. She hesitated.' Oh, I
see,' said Emilia,' that you have something unpleasant to
tell.' Lucinda turned pale, but said,'Speak out; it will
not cost me my life.' The fortune-teller heaved a deep
sigh, and proceeded with her disclosures. Lucinda, she
said, was in love; but her love was not returned; another
person standing in the way. And she went on with more
in the same style. It is not difficult to imagine that the




1770.]              STRASBURG.                   111
sybil should readily enough interpret the little drama which
was then acting by the youth and two girls before her eyes.
Lucinda showed evidence of distress; and the old woman
endeavored to give a better turn to the affair by throwing
out hopes of letters and money.' Letters,' said Lucinda,' I do not expect; and money I do not want. If I love as
you say, I have a right to be loved in return.' The
fortune-teller shuffled the cards again; but that only made
matters worse; the girl now appeared in the oracular
vision in greater trouble, her lover at a greater distance.
A third shuffle of the cards was still worse; Lucinda
burst into a passionate flood of tears, and rushed from the
room.'Follow her,' said Emilia,'and comfort her.'
But he hesitated, not seeing what comfort he could well
give, as he could not assure her of some return for her
affection.'Let us go together,' he replied. Emilia
doubted whether her presence would do good; but she
consented. Lucinda had locked herself in; and paying
the old woman for the work, Goethe left the house.
He had scarcely-courage to revisit the sisters; but on
the third day Emilia sent for him, and he received his
lesson as usual. Lucinda, however, was absent; and
when he asked for her, Emilia told him that she was in
bed, declaring that'she should die. She had thrown out
great reproaches against him for his ungrateful behavior.' And yet I do not know,' said he,'that I am guilty of
having expressed any sort of affection for her. I know
somebody who can bear me witness of that.' Emilia
smiled.' I comprehend,' she said;' but if we are not
careful we shall all find ourselves in a disastrous position.
Forgive me if I say that you must not go on with your
lessons. My father says that he is ashamed to take your
money any longer, unless you mean to pursue the art of
dancing; since you know already what is needed by a




112        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II.
young man in the world.'' Do you tell me to avoid the
house, Emilia?' he asked.'Yes,' she said;' but not on
my own account. When you had gone the other day, I
had the cards cut for you; and the same answer was
given thrice. You were surrounded by friends, and all
sorts ofgood fortune; but the ladies kept aloof from you:
my poor sister stood furthest of all. One other constantly
came near to you; but never close; for a third person, a
man, always came between. I will confess that I thought
I was myself this second lady; and now you will understand my advice. I have promised myself to another,
and until now I loved him more than any one. Yet your
presence might become more dangerous to me than it has
been; and then what a position would be yours between
two sisters, one of whom you would have made miserable
by your affection, and the other by your coldness.' She
held out her hand and bade him farewell; she then led
him to the door; and in token that it was to be their last
meeting she threw herself upon his bosom and kissed him
tenderly. Just as he had put his arms round her, a side
door flew open, and her sister rushed in' in a night dress,'
crying,' You shall not be the only one to take leave of
him' Emilia released him. Lucinda took him in her
arms, pressed her black locks against his cheeks; remained thus for some time, and then drawing back looked
him earnestly in the face. He took her hand, and tried
to muster some kind expressions to soothe her; but she
turned away, walked passionately up and down the room,
and then threw herself in great agitation into a corner of
the sofa. Emilia went up to her, but was violently repulsed and a scene ensued, which had in it, says the
principal performer, nothing really theatrical, although it
could only be represented on the stage by an actor of
sensibility. Lucinda poured forth reproaches against her




1770.]              STRASBURG.                  113
sister.'This,' said she,' is not the first heart beating for
me that you have wheedled away. Was it not so with
the one now betrothed to you, while I looked on and bore
it? I, only, know the tears it cost me; and now you
would rob me of this one. How many would you manage
to keep at once? I am frank and easy-tempered, and all
think they understand me at once, and may slight me.
You are secret and quiet, and make people wonder at
what may be concealed behind: there is nothing there
but a cold, selfish heart, sacrificing everything to itself.'
Emilia seated herself by her sister, and remained silent
while Lucinda, growing more excited, began to betray
matters not quite proper for him to hear. Emilia made a
sign to him to withdraw. But Lucinda caught the sound,
sprang towards him, and then remained lost in thought.' I know that I have lost you,' she said:' I claim you no
more; - but neither shall you have him.' So saying, she
grasped him wildly by the head with her hands thrust
among his hair, pressed her face to his and kissed him
repeatedly on the mouth.' Now fear my curse! Woe
upon woe, for ever and ever, to her who for the first time
after me kisses these lips! Dare to sport with him now!
Heaven hears my curse! And you, begone, begone
while you may!'
He hurried from the house never to return. Is not this
narrative like a scene in a novel? The excited little
French woman - the bewildered poet - the old fortuneteller, and the dry old dancing master, faintly sketched,
in the background, are the sort of figures a novelist would
delight in.
10'




114        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II.
CHAPTER VI.
HERDER AND FREDERIKA.
ONE thing very noticeable in this Strasburg period is
the thoroughly German culture it gave him. In those
days culture was mostly classical and French. Classical
studies had never exercised much influence over him, and
indeed throughout his career he approached antiquity
more through Art than through the Greek and Roman
writers. To the French, on the other. hand, he owed a
great deal, both of direction and material. A revival of
the old German nationality was, however, actively agitated
at this epoch. Klopstock, Lessing, Herder, Shakespeare
and Ossian were the rivals opposed to France. A feeling
of national pride gave its momentum to this change in
taste. Gothic art began to be considered the true art of
modern times.
At the table d'hote our friends, all German, not only
banished the French language, but made a point of being
in every way unlike the French. French literature was
ridiculed, as affected, insincere, unnatural. The truth,
homely strength, and simplicity of the German character
were set against this literature of courtiers. Goethe had
been-dabbling in mediseval studies, had been awe-struck
by the cathedral, had been inspired by Shakespeare, and
had seen Lessing's iconoclastic wit scattering the pretensions of French poetry. Moreover he had read the




1770.]        HERDER AND  flEDERIKA.            115
biography of Gdtz von Berlichingen, and the picture of
that Titan in an age of anarchy had so impressed itself
upon him, that the conception of a dramatic reproduction
of it had grown up in his mind. Faust also lay there as
a germ. The legend of that wonder-worker especially
attracted him.' Like him, too, I had swept the circle of
science, and had early learned its vanity; like him I had
trodden various paths, always returning unsatisfied.' The
studies of alchemy, medicine, jurisprudence, philosophy and
theology, which had so long engaged him, must have made
him feel quite a personal interest in the old Faust legend;
but to have carried this legend about with him implies also
a strong medieval tendency.
In such a mood the acquaintance with Herder was of
great importance. Herder was five years his senior, and
had already created a name for himself. He came to
Strasburg with an eye-disease, which obliged him to remain there the whole winter, during the cure. Goethe,
charmed with this new vigorous intellect, attended on him
during the operation, and sat with him morning and evening during his convalescence, listening to the wisdom
which fell from those lips, as a pupil listens to a muchloved master. Great was the contrast between the two
men, yet the difference did not separate them. Herder
was decided, clear, pedagogic; knowing his own aims,
and fond of communicating his ideas. Goethe was seeptical and inquiring. Herder rude, sarcastic and bitter;
Goethe amiable and infinitely tolerant. The bitterness
which repelled so many friends from Herder, could not
repel Goethe; it was a peculiarity of his to be at all times
able to learn from antagonistic natures; meeting them on
the common ground of sympathy, he avoided those subjects on which inevitably they must clash. It is somewhat
curious, that although Herder took a great liking to his




116         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK 11.
young friend, and was grateful for his kind attentions, he
seems to have had no suspicion of his genius. The only
fragment we have of that period, which gives us a hint of
his opinion, is in a letter to his bride, dated Feb. 1772:' Goethe is really a good fellow, only somewhat light and
sparrow-like,? for which I incessantly reproach him.  He
was almost the only one who visited me during my illness
in Strasburg whom I saw with pleasure; and I believe I
influenced him in more ways than one to his advantage.'
His own colossal conceit may have stood between Goethe
and himself; or he may have been too conscious of his
young friend's defects to think much pf his genius.  Herder loved only the abstract and idea  in men and things,
and was forever criticizing and complaining of the individual, because it did not realize his ideal standard. What
Gervinus says of Herder's relation to Lessing, namely,
that he loved him when he considered him as a whole,
but could never cease plaguing him about details, holds
good also of his relation to Goethe through life. Goethe
had little of that love of mankind in the abstract, which to
Herder, and so many others, seems the substitute for individual love, —which animates philanthropists who are
sincere in their philanthropy, even when they are bad husbands, bad fathers, bad brothers, and bad friends. He had
instead of this the most overflowing love for individualmen.  His concrete and affectionate nature was more attracted to men than to abstractions. Those who do not
* J.ur etwas leicht und Spatzenmassig: I translate the phrase,
leaving the reader to interpret it, for twenty Germans have given
twenty different meanings to the word' sparrow-like,' some referring
to the chattering of sparrows, others to the boldness of sparrows,
others to the curiosity of sparrows, and others to the libertine character of sparrows. Whether Herder meant gay, volatile, forward,
careless, or amorous, I cannot decide.




1770.]        HERDER AND FREDERIKA.             117
recognize this, may declaim against him for his' indifference' to political matters, to history, to many of the great
questions which affect Humanity; but those who do
recognize it will pass another judgment.
Herder's influence was manifold, but mainly in the
direction of poetry. He taught him to look at the Bible,
as a magnificent illustration of the truth that Poetry is the
product of a national spirit, not the privilege of a cultivated few. From the Poetry of the Hebrew people he
led him to other illustrations of National Song; and here
Homer and Ossian -were placed highest. It was at this
time that Ossian made the tour of Europe, and everywhere
-met believers. Goethe was so delighted with the wild
northern singer, that he translated the song of' Selma,'
and afterwards incorporated it in Werther. Besides Shakespeare and Ossian, he also learned, through Herder, to
appreciate the Vicar of Wakefield; and the exquisite picture there painted, he was now to see living before him in
the parsonage of Frederika's father.'Upon the broad and lofty gallery of the Strasburg
Cathedral, he and his companions often met to salute the
setting sun with brimming goblets of Rhine wine. The
calm wide landscape stretched itself for miles before
them, and they pointed out the several spots which memory endeared to each. One spot, above all others, has
interest for us: it is Sesenheim, the home of Frederika.
Of all the women who enjoyed the distinction of Goethe's
love, none seem to me so fascinating as Frederika. Her
idyllic presence is familiar to every lover of German literature, through the charming episode of the Autobiography, over which the poet lingered with peculiar delight.
The secretary is now living to whom this part of the Autobiography was dictated, and he remembers vividly how
much affected Goethe seemed to be as these scenes revis.




118        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [Boom II.
ited memory. He dictated walking up and down the room,
with his hands behind him; but at this episode he often
stopped in his walk, and paused in the dictation; then
after a long silence, followed by a deep sigh, he continued
the narrative in a lower tone.
Weyland, a fellow-boarder, had often spoken of a clergyman who, with his wife and two amiable daughters,
lived near Drusenheim, a village about sixteen miles from
Strasburg. Early in October, 1770, Weyland proposed
to his friend, to accompany him on a visit to the worthy
pastor. It was agreed between them that Weyland should
introduce him under the guise of a shabby theological
student. His love of incognito often prompted him to
such disguises. In the present instance he borrowed some
old clothes, and combed his hair in such a way that when
Weyland saw him he burst out into a fit of laughter.
They set forth in high glee. At Drusenheim they stopped,
Weyland to make himself spruce, Goethe to rehearse his
part. Riding across the meadows to Sesenheim, they left
their horses at the inn, and walked leisurely towards the
parsonage, - an old, and somewhat dilapidated farmhouse, but very picturesque, and very still. They found
Herr Brion at home, and were welcomed by him in a
friendly manner. The rest of the family were in the
fields. Weyland went after them, leaving Goethe to discuss parish interests with the pastor, who soon grew confidential. Presently the wife appeared; and she was
followed by the eldest daughter bouncing into the room,
inquiring after Frederika, and hurrying away again to seek
her.
Refreshments were brought, and old acquaintances were
talked over with Weyland, - Goethe listening. Then the
daughter returned, uneasy at not having found Frederika.
This little domestic fuss about Frederika prepared the




1770.]      HERDER AND FREDERIKA.              119
poet for her appearance. At length she came in. Both
girls wore the national costume, with its short, white, full
skirt and furbelow, not concealing the neatest of ankles, a
tight boddice and black taffeta apron. Frederika's straw
hat hung on her arm; and the beautiful braids of her fair
hair drooped on a delicate white neck. Merry blue eyes,
and a piquant little nez retrousse, completed her attractions. In gazing on this bright young creature, then only
sixteen, Goethe felt ashamed of his disguise. It hurt his
amour-propre to appear thus before her like a bookish
student, shorn of all personal advantages. Meanwhile
conversation rattled on between Weyland and the family.
Endless was the list of uncles, aunts, nieces, cousins, gossips and guests they had something to say about, leaving
him completely excluded from the conversation. Frederika seeing this, seated herself by him, and with charming
frankness began tc'talk to him. Music was lying on the
harpsichord; she asked him if he played, and on his modestly-qualified affirmative begged him to'favor them.'
Her father, however, suggested that she ought to begin, by
a song. She sat down to the harpsichord, which was
somewhat out of tune, and, in a provincial style, performed several pieces - not of a kind, one may imagine,
to enchant our musical generation, but such as then were
thought enchanting. After this she began to sing. The
song was tender and melancholy, but she was apparently
not in the mood, for acknowledging her failure she rose
and said,' If I sing badly it is not the fault of my harpsichord nor of my teacher: let us go into the open air, and
then you shall hear my Alsatian and Swiss songs.' Into
the air they went, and soon her merry voice carolled
forth:




120        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boox II.'I come from a forest as dark as the night,
And believe me, I love thee, my only delight.
Ei ja, ei ja, ei, ei, ei, ei, ja, ja, ja!''
He was already a captive!
His tendency to see Pictures and Poetry in the actual
scenes of life, here made him see realized the Wakefield
family. If Herr Brion did not actually represent Mr.
Primrose, yet he might stand for him; the elder daughter
for Olivia, the younger for Sophia; and when at supper
a youth came into the room, Goethe involuntarily exclaimed,'What, Moses too!' A  very merry supper
they had, so merry that Weyland, fearing lest wine and
Frederika should make his friend betray himself, proposed
a walk in the moonlight. Weyland offered his arm to
Salome, the elder daughter, by Goethe always named
Olivia. Frederika took Goethe's arm. Youth and moonlight, - need one say more? Already he began to scrutinize her tone in speaking of cousins and neighbors,
jealous lest it should betray an affection. But her blithe
spirit was as yet untroubled, and he listened in delicious
silence to her unembarrassed loquacity.
On refiring for the night the friends had much to talk
over. WVeyland assured him the incognito had not been
betrayed; on the contrary, the family had inquired after
the young Goethe, of whose joviality and eccentricities
they had often heard. And now came the: tremulous
question: was Frederika engaged? No. That was a
relief! Had she ever been in love? No. Still better!
Thus chatting, they sat till deep in the night, as friends
chat on such occasions, with hearts too full and brains too
heated for repose. At dawn Goethe was awake, terribly'
* The entire song is to be found in the Scsenheirner Liederbuch
and in Viehoff: Goethe Erlautert, vol. i. p. 110.




1770.]       HERDER AND FREDERIKA.              121
impatient to see Frederika with the dew of morning on
her cheek. While dressing he looked at his costume in
horror, and tried in vain to remedy it. His hair could be
managed; but when his arms were thrust into the threadbare coat, the sleeves of which were ludicrously short, he
looked pitiable; Weyland, peeping at him from under the
coverlet, giggled. In his despair he resolved to ride back
to Strasburg, and return in his own costume. On the way
another plan suggested itself. He exchanged clothes with
the son of the landlord at the Drusenheim Inn, a youth of
his own size; corked his eyebrows, imitated the son's gait
and speech, and returned to the parsonage the bearer of
a cake. This second disguise also succeeded, so long as
he kept at a distance; but Frederika running up to him
and saying,' George, what do you here?' he was forced
to reveal himself.' Not George, but one who asks forgiveness.''You shocking creature!' she exclaimed,'how
you frightened me!' The jest was soon explained and
forgiven, not only by Frederika, but by the family, who
laughed heartily at it.
Gayly passed the day; the two youngsters hourly falling
deeper and deeper in love. Passion does not chronicle by
time: moments are hours, hours years, when two hearts
are rushing into one. It matters little, therefore, that the
Autobiography speaks of only two days passed in this
happy circle, whereas a letter of his says distinctly he
was there' some days - einigen Tagen' (less than three
cannot be understood by einige).  He was there long
enough to fall in love, and to captivate the whole family
by his gayety, obligingness and poetic gifts. He had
given them'a taste of his quality' as a romancist, by
telling the story of The New Melusina (subsequently published in the Wanderjahre), which he promised to write
down for them. He had also interested himself in the
VOL. I.     11




122       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boo: uI.
pastor's plans for the rebuilding of the parsonage, and had
taken away the sketches with him to Strasburg.
The pain of separation was lightened by the promise of
speedy reunion. He returned to Strasburg with new life
in his heart. He had not long before written to a friend
that for the first time he knew what it was to be happy
without his heart being engaged. Pleasant people and
manifold studies left him no time forfeeling.' Enough,
my present life is like a sledge-journey, splendid and
sounding, but with just as little for the heart as it has much
for eyes and ears.' Another tone runs through his letters
now, to judge from the only one which has been recovered.*
It is addressed to Frederika, dated the 15th October.'Dear new friend,-'I dare to call you so; for if I can trust the language of
eyes, then did mine in the first glance read the hope of
this new friendship in yours - and for our hearts I will
answer. You, good and gentle as I know you, will you
not show some favor to one who loves you so?'Dear, dear friend, -'That I have something to say to you there can be no
question; but it is quite another matter whether I exactly
know wherefore I now write, and what I may write. Thus
much I am conscious of by a certain inward unrest: that
I would gladly be by your side, and a scrap of paper is as
true a consolation and as winged a steed for me here in
noisy Strasburg, as it can be to you in your quiet, if you
truly feel the separation from your friend.' The circumstances of our journey home you can easily
imagine, if you marked my pain at parting, and how I
longed to remain behind. Weyland's thoughts went for* Schll's Briefe und Aufsatze, p. 51. The letters in Pfeiffer's
book are manifest forgeries.




1771.]       HERDER AND FREDERIKA.              123
wards, mine backwards; so you can understand how our
conversation was neither interesting nor copious.' At the end of the Wanzenau we thought to shorten our
route, and found ourselves in the midst of a morass. Night
came on; and we only needed the storm which threatened
to overtake us, to have had every reason for being fully
convinced of the love and constancy of our princesses.*' Meanwhile, the scroll which I held constantly in my
hand - fearful of losing it - was a talisman, which
charmed away all the perils of the journey. And now?
- oh, I dare not utter it - either you can guess it, or you
will not believe it!'At last we arrived, and our first thought, which had
been our joy on the road, was the project soon to see you
again.'How delicious- a sensation is the hope of seeing again
those we love! And we, when our coddled heart is a little
sorrowful, at once bring it medicine and say: Dear little'
heart, be quiet, you will not long be away from her you
love; be quiet, dear little heart! Meanwhile we give it a
chimaera to play with, and then is it good and still as a
child to whom the mother gives a doll instead of the apple
which it must not eat.'Enough,- we are not here, and so you see you were
wrong. You would not believe that the noisy gayety of
Strasburg would be disagreeable to me after the sweet
country pleasures enjoyed with you.  Never, Mamsell,
did Strasburg seem so empty to me as now. I hope, indeed, it will be better when the remembrance of those
charming hours is a little dimmed - when I no longer feel
so vividly how good, how amiable my friend is. Yet
* An allusion doubtless intelligible to the person addressed, but I
can make nothing of it.




124       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.
ought I to forget that, or to wish it? No; I will rather
retain a little sorrow and write to you frequently.'And now many, many thanks and many sincere remembrances to your dear parents. To your dear sister
many hundred.... what I would so willingly give you
again!'
A few days after his return, Herder underwent the
operation previously alluded to. Goethe was constantly
with him; but as he carefully concealed all his mystical
studies and poetic plans, fearing to have them ridiculed,
so one may suppose he concealed also the new passion
which deliciously tormented him. In silence he occupied
himself with Frederika, and carefully sketched plans for
the new parsonage. He sent her books, and received
from her a letter, which, of course, seemed priceldss.
In November he was again at Sesenheim. Night had
already set in when he arrived; his impatience would not
suffer him to wait till morning, the more so as the landlord assured him the young ladies had only just gone
home, where' they expected some one.' He felt jealous
of this expected friend; and he hastened to the parsonage.
Great was his surprise to find them not surprised; greater
still to hear Frederika whisper,' Did I not say so? Here
he is!' Her loving heart had prophesied hiscoming, and
had named the very day.
The next day was Sunday, and many guests were expected. Early in the morning Frederika proposed a walk
with him, leaving her mother and sister to look after
domestic preparations. Who shall describe that walk,
wherein the youthful pair abandoned themselves without
coquetry or concealment to what George Sand beautifully
calls tous les riens immenses d'un amour naissant? They
talked over the expected pleasures of the day, and
arranged how to be always together. 8 She taught him




1771.]      HERDER AND FREDERIKA.               125
several games; he taught her others; and underneath
these innocent arrangements Love serenely smiled. The
church bell called them from their walk. To church they
went, and listened - not very attentively - to the worthy
pastor.  Another kind of devotion made their hearts
devout. He meditated on her charming qualities, and as
his glance rested on her ruddy lips, he recalled the last
time woman's lips had been pressed to his own; recalled
the curse which the excited French girl had uttered, a
curse which hitherto had acted like a spell. This superstition not a little troubled him in games of forfeits, where
kisses always form a large proportion; and his presence
of mind was often tried in the attempts to evade such
dreaded osculation; the more so as many of the guests,
suspecting the tender relation between him and Frederika,
sportively took every occasion to make them kiss. She,
with natural instinct, aided him in his evasions. The time
came, however, when carried away by the excitement of
the dance and games, he felt the burning pressure of her
lips crush the superstition in a' kiss, a long, long kiss of
youth and beauty gathered into one.'
He returned to Strasburg, if not a formally betrothed,
yet an accepted lover. As such the family and friends
seem to have regarded him. Probably no betrothal took
place, on account of his youth, and the necessity of obtaining his father's consent.. His muse, lately silent, now
found voice again, and several of the poems Frederika
inspired are to be read in his published works. The whole
have been reprinted in the Sesenheimer Liederbuch; and
in Viehoff's Goethe Erlaiitert.
He had been sent to Strasburg, to gain a doctor's degree.
His Dissertation had been commenced just before this
Sesenheim episode. But Shakespeare, Ossian, Faust,
Gotz, and, above all, Frederika, scattered his plans, and
*' ~~11*




126        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK 11.
he followed the advice of friends to choose, instead of a
Dissertation, a number of Theses, upon which to hold a
disputation. His father would not hear of such a thing,
but demanded a regular Dissertation. He chose, therefore,
this theme,' That it is the duty of every law-maker to
establish a certain religious worship binding upon clergy
and laity.' A theme he supported by historical and philosophical arguments.  The Dissertation was written in
Latin, and sent to his father, who received it with pleasure. But the dean of the faculty would not receive it
-either because its contents were paradoxical, or because it was not sufficiently erudite. In lieu thereof he
was permitted to choose Theses for disputation. In the
appendix these Theses will be found printed for the curious
reader.;- The Disputation was held on the 6th of August,
1771, his opponent being Franz Lerse, who pressed him
hard. A jovial schmaus, a real students' banquet, crowned
this promotion of Dr. Goethe.t
He could find no time for visits to Sesenheim during
this active preparation for his doctorate; but he was not
entirely separated from Frederika: her mother had come
with both daughters to Strasburg on a visit to a rich relative. He had been for some time acquainted with this
family, and had many opportunities of meeting his
beloved. The girls, who came in their Alsatian costume,
found their cousins End friends dressed like French.
women; a contrast which greatly vexed Olivia, who felt' like a maid-servant,' among these fashionable friends.
Her restless manners evidently made Goethe somewhat
* See Appendix C.
t There is some obscurity on this point. From a letter to Salzmann, it seems he only got a licentiate degree at this time. The
doctorate he certainly had; but when his diploma was prepared is
not known.




1771.]       HERDER AND FREDERIKA.               127
ashamed of her. Frederika, on the other hand, though
equally out of her element in this society, was more selfpossessed, and perfectly contented so long as he was by
her side. There is in the Autobiography a significant
phrase: this visit of the family is called a' peculiar test
of his love.' And test it was, as every one must see who
considers the relations in which the lovers stood. He was
the son of an important Frankfurt citizen, and held almost
the position of a nobleman in relation to the poor pastor's
daughter. Indeed, the social disparity was so great, that
many explain his not marrying Frederika on the ground
of such a match being impossible,-' his father,' it is
said,'would not have listened to such a thing.for a
moment.' Love in no wise troubles itself about station,
never asks' what will the world say?' but there is a quite
different solicitude felt by Love when approaching Marriage. In the first eagerness of passion, a prince may
blindly pursue a peasant; but when his love is gratified
by return, when reflection reasserts its duties, then the
prince will' curiously consider' what will be the estimation of his mistress. Men are very sensitive to the opinion
of others on their mistresses and wives; and Goethe's
love must indeed have been put to the test, at seeing
Frederika and her sister thus in glaring contrast with the
society in which he moved. She was a wood nymph in
the groves of Sesenheim; but in the Strasburg salon the
wood nymph seemed a peasant. Who is there that has
not experienced a similiar destruction of illusion, in seeing
an admired person lose almost all charm by a change of
environment?
Frederika laid her sweet commands on him one evening, and'bade him entertain the company by reading
Hamlet aloud. lie did so, to the great enjoyment of all,
especially Frederika,' who from  time to time sighed




128        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BoO II.
deeply, and a passing color tinged her cheeks."  Was
she thinking of poor Ophelia —placing herself in that
forlorn position?'For Hamlet and the trifling of his favor,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood!'
She may have had some presentiment of her fate. The
applause, however, which her lover gained was proudly
accepted by her,' and in her graceful manner she did
not deny herself the little pride of having shone through
him.'
It is quite certain that his passion gave him vague uneasiness.' How happy is he,' he writes,' whose heart is
light and free! Courage urges us to confront difficulties
and dangers, and only by great labor are great joys obtained. That, perhaps, is the worst I have to allege
against love. They say it gives courage: never! The
heart that loves is weak. When it beats wildly in the
bosom and tears fill our eyes, and we sit in an inconceivable rapture as they flow - then, oh! then, we are so weak
that flower-chains binds us, not because they have the
strength of any magic, but because we tremble lest we
break them.'
The mention of Hamlet leads us naturally into the
society where- -he-sotugh_oblivion when Frederika quitted
Strasburg. Her departure, he confesses, was a relief to
him. She herself felt on leaving that the end of their
romance was approaching. He plunged into gayety to
drown tormenting thoughts. At this time he was much
with Lenz, who had come recently to Strasburg, and with
him and some other' Shakespeare bigots,' who held to the
severest orthodoxy in Shakespeare as a first article of their
creed, and who not only maintained the Shakespeare
clowns to be incomparable; but strove to imitate them in




1771,]       HERDER AND FREDERIKA.              129
their language; many an extravagant jest, and many an
earnest discussion served to vary the hours. It is not
easy for us to imagine the effect which the revelation of
such a mind as Shakespeare's must have produced on the
young Germans. The colossal strength, the profundity of
thought, the originality and audacity of language, the
beauty, pathos, sublimity, wit, and wild overflowing
humor, the free movement of life and the accuracy of
observation as well as depth of insight into the mysteries
of passion and character, were qualities which no false
criticism, and, above all, no national taste, prevented
Germans from appreciating. It was very different in
France. There an establisjhed form of art, with which
national pride was identified, and an established set of
Critical Rules, upon which Taste securely rested, necessarily made Shakespeare appear like a Cyclops of Genuis
-a monster, though of superhuman proportions. Frenchmen could not help being'shocked' at many things in
Shakespeare; yet even those who were most outraged were
also most amazed at the' pearls' to be found upon the'dung-hill.' In Germany the pearls alone were seen.
French taste had been pitilessly ridiculed by Lessing.
The French Tragedy had. been contrasted with Shakespeare, and pronounced unworthy of comparison. To the
Germans, therefore, Shakespeare was a standard borne by
all who combated against France, and his greatness was
recognized with something of wilful preference. The
state of German literature also rendered his influence the
more prodigious. Had Shakespeare been first revealed to
us when Mr. Hayley was the great laureat of the age, we
should have felt something of the eagerness with'which
thea young and ardent minds of Germany received this
greatest poet of all ages.
I am fortunately enabled, thanks to Otto Jahn, to give




130        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II.
here a very interesting illlustration of the enthusiasm with
which these young men studied Shakespeare; and among
the new materials this Biography contains, perhaps nothing will be so welcome in England. It is an oration
prepared by Goethe for one of the meetings of the Shakespeare-circle before mentioned. To hear the youth of,one-and-twenty thus eloquent on his great teacher, lets us
intimately into the secret of his mental condition.
ORATION ON SHAKESPEARE.'In my opinion the noblest of our sentiments is the hope
of continuing to live, even when destiny seems to have
carried us back into the common lot of non-existence.
This life, gentlemen, is much too short for our souls; the
proof is, that every man, the lowest as well as the highest,
the most incapable as well as the most meritorious, will be
tired of anything sooner than of life, and that no one
reaches the goal towards which he set out; for however
long a man may be prosperous in his career, still at last,
and often when in sight of the hoped-for object, he falls
into a grave, which God knows who dug for him, and is
reckoned as nothing. Reckoned as nothing? I? who
am everything to myself, since I know things only through
myself! So cries every one who is truly conscious of
himself; and makes great strides through this life - a
preparation for the unending course above. Each, it is
true, according to his measure. If one sets out with the
sturdiest walking pace, the other wears seven-leagued
boots and outstrips him; two steps of the latter are equal
to a day's journey of the former. Be it as. it may with
him of the seven-leagued boots, this diligent traveller remains our friend and our companion, while we are amazed




1771.]       HERDER AND FREDERIKA.              131
at the gigantic steps of the other and admire them, follow
his footsteps and measure them with our own.'Let us up and be going, gentlemen! To watch a'
solitary march like this enlarges and animates our souls
more than to stare at the thousand footsteps of a royal procession. To-day we honor the memory of the greatest
traveller on this journey of life, and thereby we are doing
an honor to ourselves. When we know how to appreciate
a merit we have the germ of it within ourselves. Do not'
expect that I should say much or methodically; mental
calmness is no garment for a festival; and as yet I have
thought-little upon Shakespeare; to have glimpses and, in
exalted- passages, to feel, is the utmost I have been able to
obtain. The first page of his that I read made me his for
life; and when I had finished a single play, I stood like
one born blind, on whom a miraculous hand bestows sight
in a moment. I saw, I felt, in the most vivid manner,
that my existence was infinitely expanded, everything was
now unknown to me, and the unwonted light pained my
eyes. By little and little I learned to see, and, thanks to
my receptive genius, I continue vividly to feel what I have
won. I did not hesitate for a moment about renouncing
the classical drama. The unity of place seemed to meirksome as a prison, the unities of action and of time.
burthensome fetters to our imagination; I sprang into the
open air, and felt for the first time that I had hands and
feet. And now that I see how much injury the men of
rule did me in their dungeon, and how many free souls
still crouch there, my heart would burst if I did not declare;
war against them, and did not seek daily to batter dowa
their towers.' The Greek drama, which the French took as their
model, was both in its inward and outward character such,
that it would be easier for a marquis to imitate Alcibiades




132        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK II.
than for Corneille to follow Sophocles. At first an intermezzo of divine worship, then a mode of political celebration, the tragedy presented to the people great isolated
actions of their fathers with the pure simplicity of perfection; it stirred thorough and great emotions in souls
because it was itself thorough and great. And in what
souls? Greek souls! I cannot explain to myself what
that expresses, but I feel it, and appeal for the sake of
brevity to Homer and Sophocles and Theocritus; they
have taught me to feel it.'Now hereupon I immediately ask: Frenchman, what
wilt thou do with the Greek armor? it is too strong and
too heavy for thee.' Hence, also, French tragedies are parodies of themselves. How regularly everything goes forward, and how
they are as like each other as shoes, and tiresome withal,
especially in'the fourth act, — all this, gentlemen, you
know from experience, and I say nothing about it.
T'Who it was that first thought of bringing great political
actions on the stage I know not; this is a subject which
affords an opportunity to the amateur for a critical treatise.
I doubt whether the honor of the invention belongs to
Shakespeare; it is enough that he brought this species of
drama to the pitch which still remains the highest, for few
eyes can reach it, and thus it is scarcely to be hoped that
any one will see beyond it or ascend above it. Shakespeare, my friend! if thou wert yet amongst us, I could
live nowhere but with thee; how gladly would I play the
subordinate character of a Pylades, if thou wert Orestes;
yes, rather than be a venerated high-priest in the temple
of Delphos.'I will break off, gentlemen, and write more to-morrow,
for. I am in a strain which, perhaps, is not so edifying to
you as it is heartfelt by me.




1771.]        HERDER AND FREDERIKA.             133' Shakespeare's dramas are a beautiful casket of rarities,
in which the history of the world passes before our eyes
on the invisible thread of time.  His plots, to speak
according to the ordinary style, are no plots, for his plays
all turn upon the hidden point (which no philosopher has
yet seen and defined), in which the peculiarity of our
ego, the pretended freedom of our will, clashes with the
necessary course of the whole. But our corrupt taste so
beclouds our eyes, that we almost need a new creation to
extricate us from this darkness.' All French writers, and Germans infected with French
taste, even Wieland, have in this matter, as in several
others, done themselves little credit. Voltaire, who from
the first made a profession of villifying everything majestic, has here also shewn himself a genuine Thersites. If I
were Ulysses, his back should writhe under my sceptre.
Most of these critics object especially to Shakespeare's
characters. And I cry, nature, nature! nothing so natural
as Shakespeare's men.' There I have them all by the neck. Give me air that
I may speak! He rivalled Prometheus, and formed his
men feature by feature, only of collossal size; therein lies
the reason that we do not recognize our brethren; and
then he animated them with the breath of his mind; he
speaks in all of them, and we perceive their relationship.'And how shall our age form a judgment as to what is
natural? Whence can we be supposed to know nature,
we who, from youth upwards2 feel everything within us,
and see everything in others, laced up and decorated? I
am often ashamed before Shakespeare, for it often happens
that at the first glance I think to myself that I should have
done that differently; but soon I perceive that I am a poor
sinner, that nature prophecies through Shakespeare, and
voL. I.    12




134        LIFE AND WORKS OF QOETHE.   [Bosx n.
that my men are soap-bubbles blown from romantic
fancies.' And now to conclude, - though I have not yet begun.
What noble philosophers have said of the world, applies
also to Shakespeare; — namely, that what we call evil is
only the other side, and belongs as necessarily to its existence and to the Whole, as the torrid zone must burn and
Lapland freeze, in order that there may be a temperate
region. He leads us through the whole world, but we,
enervated, inexperienced men, cry at every strange grasshopper that meets us: He will devour us!' Up, gentlemen! sound the alarm to all noble souls who
are in the elysium of so-called good taste, where drowsy
in tedious twilight they are half alive, half not alive, with
passions in their hearts and no marrow in their bones; and
because they are not tired enough to sleep, and yet are
too idle to be active, loiter and yawn away their shadowy
life between myrtle and laurel bushes.'
In these accents we hear the voice of the youth who.wrote G6tz with the Iron Hand. If the reader turn to the
Autobiography and see there what is said of Shakespeare,
he wvill be able to appreciate what I meant in saying that
the tone of the Autobiography is unlike the reality. The
tone of this speech is that of the famous Sturm und Drang
(storm and stress) period, which in after life became so
very objectionable to him. How differently Schiller was
affected by Shakespeare may be read in the following confession: -' When at an early age I first grew acquainted
with this poet, I was indignant at his coldness - indignant
with the insensibility which allowed him to jest and sport
amidst the highest pathos. Led by my knowledge of more
modern poets to seek the poet in his works; to meet and
sympathize with his heart; to reflect with him oven his




1771.]       HERDEB AND. FREDERIKA.            135
object; it was insufferable to me that this poet gave me
nothing of himself. Many years had he my reverence -
certainly my earnest study, before I could comprehend his
individuality. I was not yet fit to comprehend nature at
first hand.'
The enthusiasm for Shakespeare naturally incited Goethe
to dramatic composition, and, besides G6tz and Faust
before-mentioned, we find in his Note-book the commencement of a drama on Julius Cesar.
Three forms rise up from out the many influences of
Strasburg into distinct and memorable importance: Frederika; Herder; the Cathedral. An exquisite woman, a
noble thinker, and a splendid monument, were his guides
into the regions of Passion, Poetry, and Art. Herder's
influence was permanent; that of the Cathedral was soon
lost in others. Yet at first it was great enough to make
him write the little tractate on German architecture D. M..Erwini d Steinbach; the enthusiasm of which was so incomprehensible to hirh in after years, that he was with difficulty persuaded to reprint the tractate among his works.
Do we not see here - as in so many other traits- how
different the youth is from the child and man? How
thoroughly he had mastered the principles upon which the
Strasburg Cathedral was' raised may be seen in one simple
anecdote. He was considering the cathedral in company
with friends, when some one remarked' what a pity it was
not finished, and that there was only one tower.' Upon
which Goethe answered, that' it was no less disagreeahble
to him to see that very tower itself unfinished; that the
four volutes leave off much too abruptly; that it was evident there should have been four light spires upon them,
with a higher one in the centre where the clumsy cross
now stands.' Some one, turning round to him, asked him
who told him that?' The tower itself,' he answered;' I




136       LIFEf AND WORKS OF GOETHt          B [oox II.
have studied it so long, so attentively, and with so much
love, that it has at last confessed to me its open secret.'
Whereupon his questioner informed him that the tower
had spoken truly, and offered to show him the original
sketches, which still existed among the archives.
And now he was to leave Strasbui'g- to leave Frederika. Much as her presence had troubled him of late, in
her absence he only thought of her fascinations. He had
not ceased to love her, though he already felt she never
would be his. He went to say adieu.'Those were
painful days, of which I remember nothing. When I held
out my hand to her from my horse, the tears were in her
eyes, and I felt sad at heart. As I rode along the footpath
to Drusenheim a strange phantasy took hold of me. I saw
in my mind's eye my own figure riding towards me, attired in a dress I had never worn- pike gray with silver
lace. I shook off this phantasy, but eight years afterwards
I found myself on the very road, going to visit Frederika,
and that too in the very dress which I had seen myself in,
in this phantasm, although my wearing it was quite accidental.' The reader will probably be somewhat sceptical
respecting the dress, and will suppose that this prophetic
detail was transferred from the fact-to the vision by the
imagination of later years.%
And so farewell Frederika, bright and exquisite vision
of a poet's youth! We love you, pity you, and think
how differently we should have treated you!  We make
pilgrimages to Sesenheim as to Vaucluse, and write legibly
our names in the Visitor's Album, to testify so much.
And we read, not without emotion, narratives such as that
* The correspondence with the Frau Yon Stein contains a letter
written by him a day or two after this visit, but, singularly enough,
no mention of this coincidence.




1771.]       HERDER AND FREDERIKA.              137
of the worthy philologist Nike, who in 1822 made the
first pilgrimage,? thinking, as he went, of this enchanting
Frederika (and somewhat also of a private Frederika of
his own), examined every rood of the ground, dined meditatively at the inn (with a passing reflection that the bill
was larger than he anticipated), took coffee with the pastor's successor; and, with a sentiment touching in a snuffy
philologist, bore away a sprig of the jessamine which in.days gone by had been tended by the white hands of Frederika, and placed it in his pocket-book as an imperishable
souvenir.
* Die Wahlfahrt nach Sesenheim..
12*








BOOK THE THIRD.
STORM  UND DRANG.
1771 to 1775.'Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille,
Sich ein Charakter in der Strom der Welt.''Trunken miissen wir alle seyn:
Jugend ist Trunkenheit ohne Wein.''They say best men are moulded out of faults,
And, for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad.' - Shakespeare.








BOOK THE THIRD.
CHAPTER I.
DR. GOETHE'S RETURN.
ON the 25th, or 28th, of August 1771, he quitted Strasburg. His way led through Mannheim; and there he was
first thrilled at the beauty of ancient masterpieces, some
of which he saw in plaster cast. Whatever might be his
predilection for Gothic Art, he could not view these casts
without feeling himself in presence of an Art in its way
also divine; and his previous study of Lessing lent a peculiar interest to the Laokoon group, now before his eyes,
Passing on to Mainz he fell in with a young wandering
harpist, and what must he do but invite the ragged minstrel
to Frankfurt, promising him a public in the Fair, and
a lodging in his father's house. It was lucky that he
thought of acquainting his mother with this invitation.
Alarmed at its imprudence she secured a lodging in the
town, and so the boy wanted neither shelter nor patronage.
Rath Goethe was not a little proud of the young Doctor.
He was also not a little disturbed by the young Dcctor's
manners; and often shook his ancient respectable head at
the opinions which exploded like bombshells in the midst




142       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox IIl.
of conventions. Doctoral gravity was but slightly attended
to by this young hero of the Sturm und Drang. The
period known as the Storm and Stress period was then
about to astonish Germany, and to startle all conventions,
by works such as Gerstenberg's Ugolino, Goethe's Gotz
von Berlichingen, Klinger's Sturm und Drang. (from
whence the name), and Schiller's Robbers. The wisdom
and extravagance of that age united in one stream. The
masterly criticisms of Lessing, the enthusiasm for Shake.
speare, the mania for Ossian and the northern mythology,
the revival of ballad literature, and parodies of Rousseau,
all worked in one rebellious current against established
authority. There was one universal shout for'nature.'
With the young, nature seemed to be a compound of
volcanoes and moonlight; her force was explosion, her
beauty sentiment.- To be insurgent and sentimental,
explosive and lachrymose, were the trup signs of genius.
Everything established was humdrum. Genius, abhorrent of humdrum, would neither spell correctly, nor write
correctly, nor demean itself correctly. It would be German- lawless, rude, and fnatural. Lawless it was, and
rude it was, but whether it was natural, according to the
nature of any reputable type, may be: oubted.
It is not easy, in the pages of the Autobiography, to
detect in Goethe an early leader of thei Sturm und Drang;
but it is easy enough to detect him  as such in other
sources. Here is a glimpse, caught in a letter from
Mayer of Lindau (one of the Strasburg set) to Saltzmann,
worth chapters of the-autobiography on such a point.' 0
Corydon, Corydon qup te dementia cepit! According to
the chain in which our ideas are linked together, Corydon
and dementia put me in mind of the extravagant-Goethe.
He is still at Frankfurt, is he not?'
That such a youth, whose wildness made friends nick.




1771.]         DR. QOETHE'S RETURN.              143
name him  the'bear' and the'wolf,' could have been
wholly pleasing to the steady, formal father, is not to be
expected. Yet the worthy sire was not a little proud of
his attainments.  The verses, essays, notes and drawings
which had accumulated during the residence in Strasburg
were very gratifying to him. He began to arrange them
with scrupulous neatness, hoping to see them shortly published. But the poet had a virtue, perhaps of all virtues
the rarest in youthful writers, - a reluctance to appear in
print. Seeing, as we daily see, the feverish alacrity with
which men accede to that extremely imaginary request,'request of friends,' and dauntlessly rush into print, —
seeing the obstinacy with which they cling to all they
have written, and insist on what they have written being
printed - Goethe's reluctance demands an explanation.
And, if I may interpret according to my own experience,
the explanation is, that his delight in composition was
rather the pure delight of intellectual activity than a
delight in the result: not in the work, but in the working.
Thus, no sooner had he finished a poem than his interest
in it began to fade; and he passed on to another. Thus
it was that he left so many works fragments, his interest
having been exhausted before the whole was completed.
He had a small- circle of literary friends to whom he
communicated his productions, and this was publication
enough for him. We shall see him hereafter, in Weimar,
writing solely for a circle of friends, and troubling himself
scarcely at all about a public. It was necessary for him
to occupy himself with some work which should absorb
him, as Gbtz did at this time, for sly in work could he
forget the anguish and remorse which followed his renunciation of Frederika. If at Strasburg he had felt that an
end was approaching to this sweet romance, at Frankfurt,
among family connections, and with new prospects widen



144      LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.          [Boox Ix.
ing before him, he felt it still more. He wrote to her.
Unhappily that letter is not preserved. It would have
made clear much that is now conjectural.'Frederika's
answer,' he says,' to the letter in which I had bidden her
adieu, tore my heart. I now, for the first time, became
aware of her bereavement, and saw no possibility of
alleviating it. She was ever in my thoughts; I felt that
she was wanting to me; and, worst of all, I could not
forgive myself! Gretchen had been taken from  me;
Annchen had left mne; but now, for the first time, I was
guilty; I had wounded, to its very depths, one of the most
beautiful and tender of hearts. And that period of gloomy
repentance, bereft of the love which had so invigorated
me, was agonizing, insupportable. But man will live;
and hence I took a sincere interest in others, seeking to
disentangle their embarrassments, and to unite those about
to part, that they might not feel what I felt. Hence I got
the name of the " Confidant," and also, on account of my
wanderings, I was named the " Wanderer." Under the
broad open sky, on the heights or in the valleys, in the
fields and through the woods, my mind regained some of
its calmness. I almost lived on the road, wandering between the mountains and the plains. Often I went, alone or
in company, right through my native city as though I were
a stranger in it, dining at one of the great inns in the High
Street, andl after dinner pursuing my way. I turned more
than ever to the open world and to Nature; there alone I
found comfort. During my walks I sang to myself strange
hymns and dithyrambs. One of these, the Wanderer's
Sturmlied, still remains. I remember singing it aloud in
an impassioned style amid a terrific storm. The burden
of this poem is that a man of genius must walk resolutely
through the storms of life, relying solely on himself;' a




1771.]         DR. GOETHE'S RETURN.              145
burden which seems to give expression to what he then felt
respecting his relation to Frederika.
Although we have no exact knowledge of the circum.
stances, from the height of which to judge his conduct,
the question must be put, Why did he not marry Frederika?
It is a question often raised, and as often sophistically
answered. He is by one party angrily condemned, and
disingenuously absolved by another. But he himself
acknowledged his fault. He himself never put forth any
excuse. He does not hint at disparity of station, he does
not say there were objections from his parents. He makes
no excuse, but confesses the wrong, and blames himself
without sophistication. Yet the excuses he would not
suggest, partisans have been eager to suggest for him.
They have sought far and wide in the gutters of scandal
for materials of defence. One gets up a story about
Frederika being seduced by a Catholic priest; whence it
is argued that Goethe could not be expected to marry
one so frail; whence also it follows, by way of counterblast, that it was his desertion which caused her fall.*
The basis of fact on which this lie is reared (there is
usually some basis even for the wildest lies), is that
Frederika brought up the orphan child of her sister
Salome.
Pfeiffer, forgetting that before Goethe knew Merck he
had already felt the misgivings which were to issue in a
rupture, says that Merck was the cause of the separation;
and that he then, as subsequently in the case of Charlotte,
interfered to prevent the folly of his friend. Pfeiffer
believes Merck played the part assigned to Carlos in
Clavigo, who exclaims: -'Marry! what, marry just at
* Strangely enough, although Goethe read the MS. in which Nike
repeats this story, he takes no notice of it.
VOL. I.    13




146        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
the time when life opens to you! To coop yourself at
home before you have gone over half your wanderings or accomplished half your conquests! That you
love the girl is natural; that you promised her marriage
was the act of a fool; but to keep your promise would
be the act of a madman.' Hereupon Pfeiffer coolly remarks,'There is more truth than levity in these words.
It is at any rate by no means evident to me that infidelity
to his genius would not have been a greater crime than
infidelity to his mistress.' A comfortable code for genius
lax in its morals, but a code which only'moral laxity on
the one hand, or literary cant on the other, can pretend to
uphold.
Let me try, without sophistication, to state the real case
fairly.. I will not suppose the reader a dupe of the cant
about' falsehood to genius'; but will ask him in all
seriousness whether Goethe was not perfectly right to
draw back from an engagement which he felt his love
was not strong enough properly to fulfil? It seems to
me that he acted a more moral part in relinquishing her,
than if he had swamped this lesser in a greater wrong,
and escaped the wrong of breach of faith by that still
greater breach -of faith - a reluctant, because unloving,
marriage. The thoughtlessness of youth, and headlong
impetus of passion, frequently throw people into rash
engagements, and in these cases the formal morality of
the world, more careful of externals than of truth, declares
it to be nobler for such rash engagements to be kept, even
when the rashness is felt by the engaged, than that a man's
honor should be stained by a withdrawal. The letter
thus takes precedence of the spirit. To — satisfy this prejudice a life is sacrificed. A miserable marriage rescues
the honor; and' no one throws the burden of that misery
upon the prejudice. I am not forgetting the necessity of




1771.]        DR. GOETHE'S RETURN.              147
being stringent against the common thoughtlessness of
youth in forming such relations; but I say that this
thoughtlessness, once having occurred, reprobate it as
you will, the pain which a separation may bring had
better be endured, than evaded by an unholy marriage,
which cannot come to good.
So far I think Goethe right. Frederika herself must
have felt so too, for never did a word of blame escape
her; and we shall see how affectionately she welcomed
him, when they met after the lapse of years. This, however, does not absolve him from the blame of having
thoughtlessly incurred the responsibility of her affection.
That blame he must bear. The reader will apportion it
according as he estimates the excuses of temperament,
and the common thoughtlessness of us all in such matters.
I do not think his love for Frederika was only a passing
fancy, such as so often moves the feelings of youth without
ever deepening into serious thought of marriage. It wrs
a passion, and she was worthy of it. But a passion deep
enough to make marriage desirable, it was not; and there
were. many reasons why it should not be. One of these
reasons has already been suggested. (p. 127.) Another is
suggested in the Wanderer's Sturmlied, and the passage
from Clavigo, just quoted. He had been charmed by the
idyllic grace of this girl; intimacy only strengthened his
perception of her good qualities; but intimacy also helped
to cool his poetic passion, and made him dimly feel it
impossible to blend his many-sided existence with hers.
Marriage was a phantom from which he shrunk. Eros,
with folded wings and broken bow, was to him an image
of fear. The choice lay between a quiet domestic life,
and the career which ambition opened. His decision
could not long be doubtful.
Without accepting the vague, wild talk about genius




148         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox III.
and its'mission,' which runs through the literature of
gentlemen and ladies who seem to have a merely' bowing
acquaintance' with genius, one needs only to read the
biographies of great men, to perceive that domestic duties
seldom have power to shape the career of genius. There
is a latent antagonism between domesticity and genius,
which sometimes rises into terrible warfare. The affections, even in the affectionate, are powerless against the
tyranny of Ideas. /Vhat is called the egoism of genius is
but another name for tyranny of Ideas.' It is this tyranny
which lights the stake, which towers into inquisitions,
decimates families, embitters nations, makes the kindest
natures cruel, the softest pitiless. Thus, Howard could
neglect his only child, leaving him in a mad-house, while
his' mission' carried thoughtful benevolence into the
prisons of distant lands. Bernard Palissy could see his
wife and children perishing, while, with the obstinacy of
genius, he pursued his passionate efforts, tearing up the
very boards of his cottage to feed the furnace for his
experiments.* And was there not a painter who stabbed
his brother that he might truly paint the agonies and
throes of death? This tyranny coerces greater men.
Genius hurries along its relentless path, with something of
the fierce beneficence of Nature, working the greatest
benefits with instruments of pain.
Genius has an orbit of its own; if it moved through
the orbit of commonplace lives it would not be genius, but
commonplace. Its orbit is not necessarily eccentric,
although it must often appear so, because its sweep is
wide. Sometimes it disregards domestic duties and Minor
* See Dixon's Life of Horvard, and Morley's Life of Bernard
Palissy, for abundant evidence of this tyranny. Balzac has wrought
the idea into a masterpiece in La Recherche de l'.bsolu.




1771.]         DR. GOETHE'S RETURN.              149
Morals in obeying the law of its own movement. Hence
Genius and Morality are not always synonymous; neither
are they antagonistic. Genius is good and great, and, in
its greatness and its goodness, seeks the eternal principles
of order, - seeks to make life harmonious; but the slenderest acquaintance with Biography tells us that genius is
not always found respecting minor morals, and that the
Biographies of men of genius are very unlike' moral
tales.' Nor — to bring this reflection to bear upon the
question from which we started — are the conjugal chapters in such Biographies by any means the pleasantest to
read: Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Byron, are not easily
to be surpassed as poets, but as husbands it would require
a race of Griseldas to accept them with any favor.
I believe, then, that the Egoism of Genius, which
dreaded marriage as the frustration of a career, had much
to do with Goethe's renunciation of Frederika; not consciously, perhaps, but powerfully. Whether the alarm
was justifiable is another question, and is not to be disposed of with an easy phrase. It is mere assumption to
say'marriage would have crippled his genius.' Had he
loved her enough to share a life with her, his experience
of woman might have been less extensive, but it would
assuredly have gained an element it wanted. It would
have been deepened. He had experienced, and he could
paint, (no one better) the exquisite devotion of woman to
man; but he had scarcely ever felt the peculiar tenderness of man for woman, when that tenderness takes the
form of vigilant protecting fondness. He knew little, and
that not until late in life, of the subtle interweaving of
habit with affection, which makes life saturated with love,
and love itself become dignified through the serious aims
of life. He knew little of the exquisite companionship of
two souls striving in emulous spirit of loving rivalry to
138




150        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHIE.   [BooK IlI.
become better, to become wiser, teaching each other to
soar. He knew little of this; and the kiss, Frederika! he
feared to press upon thy loving lips - the life of sympathy
he refused to share with thee -are wanting to the greatness of his works.
In such a mood as that which followed the rupture with
Frederika, it is not wonderful if Frankfurt and the practice
of law were odious to him. Nothing but hard work could
do him good: and he worked hard. We find him working at Gdtz von Berlichingen, which has become a passion. Gothic Art, a kindred subject, occupies him, and
from thence, by an easy transition, he passes to the Bible,
to study it anew. The results of this study are seen in
two little tractates published in 1773, one called Brief des
Pastor's zu *** an den neuen Pastor zu **; the other,
Zwo wichtige bisher unerdrtete biblische Fragen, zum
erstenmal griindlich beantwortet von einern Landgeistlichen in Schwaben. The influence of Fraulein von Klettenberg is here traceable in the religious sentiment and
reverence for the Bible; while his own affectionate nature
speaks in the tolerance preached. In the two biblical.
questions, one goes to prove that it was not the ten commandments which stood on the tables of Moses, but ten
laws of the Israelitish-Jehovah covenant. The second
is an answer, by no means clear, to the question:-' What is it to speak with tongues?' which he explains as
a'speech of the Spirit, more than pantomime, and yet
inarticulate.'
Among the friends to whom he communicated his plans
and ideas, two must be named: Schlosser, whom we have
seen at Leipsic, and Merck, whose influence was very beneficial. The portrait sketched of this remarkable man in
the Autobiography gives a very incorrect idea to those
who cannot control what is there said by other direct evi



1771.]         DR. GOETHE'S RETURN.              151
dence; especially calculated to mislead is the nickname' Mephistopheles Merck,' for whatever tendency to sarcasm
Merck may have indulged in, it is quite clear that his
admiration was generous and warm, his influence over
Goethe being uniformly one of friendly incitement, or of
friendly warning.
Johann Heinrich Merck was born in Darmstadt, 1741.
The son of an apothecary, he raised himself to the companionship of princes. He was at this time Kriegsrathl in
Darmstadt, and in correspondence with most of the nota.
bilities of the day; among them Herder, who had the
highest opinion of his abilities, and the most jealous anxiety to retain his friendship, fearing lest the new friendship with Goethe should step between them; as, indeed,
eventually it did. Merck, whose significance in the history of German literature is considerable, and whose correspondence shows him to have critically influenced men
greatly his superiors in production, was one of the most
zealous propagators of English literature. He began by
translating Hutcheson On Beauty, Addison's Cato, and
Shaw's Travels in' the Levant. The Shakespeare neophytes found him prepared to share their enthusiasm; and
when, in 1772, he persuaded Schlosser to undertake the
editing of the Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen, and to
make it the Moniteur. of the Sturm und Drang party, his
own contributions were numerous and valuable.* His
official duties do not seem to have pressed very heavily
upon him, for he makes frequent excursions, and seems to
have stayed some time at Frankfurt. The friendship between him and Goethe was warm. He saw more deeply
than Herder into this singular genius, and on many critical
* See for further information the excellent work of Adolf Stahr:
Johann Heinrich.Merck. Elin Denckmal.




152        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK III.
occasions we find him always manifesting a clear insight,
and a real regard.
The Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen was a point of reunion, bringing Goethe into relation with many persons of
ability. It also afforded him an opportunity of exercising
himself in criticism. Thirty-five of the articles he wrote
for this journal have been collected into his works, where
the curious student will seek them. Thus engaged, the
time flew swiftly. He had recommenced horse and sword
exercise, and Klopstock having made skating illustrious, it
soon became the amusement of our friends. Goethe was
never tired; all day long and deep into the night he was
to be seen wheeling along; and as the full moon rose
above the clouds over the wide nocturnal fields of ice, and
the night wind rushed at his face, and the echo of his
movements came with ghostly sound upon his ear, he
seemed to be in Ossian's world.
It has before been hinted that Sturm und Drang, as it
manifested itself in the mind and bearing of the young
doctor, was but very moderately agreeable to the old Rath
Goethe; and whatever sympathy we may feel with the
poet, yet, as we are all parents, or hope to be, let us not
permit our sympathy to become injustice; let us admit
that the old Rath had considerable cause for parental
uneasiness, and let us follow the son to Wetzlar without
flinging any hard words at his father.




1771.]        GoTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.              153
CHAPTER II.
GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
ALTHOUGH G6tz was not published until the spring of
1773, it was written in the winter of 1771, or, to speak
more accurately, the first of the three versions into which
the work was shaped, was written at this time. We must
bear in mind that there are three versions: the first is
entitled the Geschichte Gottfriedens von Berlichingen mit
der eisernen Hand, dramatisirt,* which was not published until very many years afterwards. The second is
entitled Gitz von Berlichingen, Schauspiel,t and is the
form in which the work was originally published. The
third is an adaptation of this second piece, with a view to
stage representation, which adaptation was made with
Schiller during the efforts -to create a national stage at
Weimar.t
The first form is the one I most admire, and the one
which, biographically, has most interest. While he is on
his way to Wetzlar we will open his portfolio, and take
out this manuscript for closer scrutiny, instead of waiting
till he publishes the second version. From a letter to
Salzmann we learn that it was written in November, 1771.'My whole genius is given to an undertaking which
* Werke, vol. xxxiv, of the edition of 1840.
t JVerke, vol. ix.          t Werke, vol. xxxv.




154        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
makes me forget Shakespeare, Homer, everything; I am
dramatizing the history of the noblest of Germans, to
rescue the memory of a brave man; and the labor it costs
me kills time here, which is at present so necessary for
me.' He gives the following account of its composition,
in the Autobiography':'An unceasing interest in Shakespeare's works had so expanded my mind, that the narrow compass of the stage and the short time allotted to a
representation, seemed to me insufficient for the development of an important idea. The life of G6tz von Berlichingen, written by himself, suggested the historic mode
of treatment; and my imagination took so wide a sweep,
that my dramatic construction also went beyond all theatrical limits in seeking more and more to approach life. I
had, as I proceeded, talked the matter over with my sister,
who was interested heart and soul in such subjects; and I
so often renewed this conversation, without taking any
step towards beginning the work, that at last she impatiently and urgently entreated me not to be always talking,
but, once for all, to set down upon paper that which must
be so distinct before my mind. Moved by this impulse, I
began one morning to write, without having made any
previous sketch or plan. I wrote the first scenes, and in
the evening they were read aloud to Cornelia.  She
greatly applauded them, but doubted whether I should go
on so; nay, she even expressed a decided unbelief in my
perseverence. This only incited me the more; I wrote
on the next day, and also on the third. Hope increased
with the daily communications, and step by step everything gained more life as I mastered the conception.
Thus I kept on, without interruption, looking neither backwards nor forwards, neither to the right nor to the left;
and in about six weeks I had the pleasure of seeing the
manuscript stitched.'




1771.]        GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.              155
Gottfried von Berlichingen, surnamed of the Iron Hand,
was a distinguished predatory Burgrave of the 16th century;  one of the last remains of a turbulent, lawless
race of feudal barons, whose personal prowess often lends
the lustre of romance to acts of brigandage. Gottfried
with the Iron Hand was a worthy type of the class. His
loyalty was as unshakeable as his courage. Whatever
his revered emperor thought fit to do, he thought right to
be done. Below the emperor he acknowledged no lord.
With his fellow barons he waged continual war. Against
the Bishop of Bamberg, especially, he was frequently in
arms; no sooner was a peace arranged with him, than
the Bishop of Mainz was attacked. War was his element..
With something of Robinr Hood chivalry, he was always
found on the side of the weak and persecuted; unless
when the Kaiser called for his arm, or unless when
tempted by a little private pillage on his own account.
To his strong arm the persecuted looked for protection.
A tailor owes two hundred florins, and cannot pay them;
he goes to Gotz with a piteous tale; instantly the Iroir
Hand clutches the two first Cologne merchants travelling
that way, and makes them pay the two hundred florins.
It was a tempting subject for a poet of the eighteenth century, this bold chivalrous robber, struggling single-handed
against the advancing -power of civilization, this lawless
chieftain making a hopeless stand against the Law, and
striving to perpetuate the feudal spirit.  Peculiarly interesting to the poet of that age was the consecration of
individual greatness in Gotz. Here was a man not great
by Privilege but by Nature; his superiority given him by
* Scott by an oversight makes him flourish in the fifteenth century. He was born in 1482, and thus reached man's estate with the
opening of the sixteenth century.




156        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK III.
no Tradition, by no Court Favor, but by favor only of his
own strong arm and indomitable spirit. And was not the
struggle of the whole eighteenth century a struggle for the
recognition of individual worth, of Rights against Privileges, of Liberty against Tradition? Such also was the
struggle of the sixteenth century. The Reformation was
to Religion what the Revolution was to Politics: a stand
against the Tyranny of Tradition - a battle for the rights
of individual liberty of thought and action, against the,
absolute prescriptions of privileged classes.
In the Chronicle of Getz von Berlichingen his deeds
are recorded by himself with unaffected dignity. There
Goethe found materials, such as Shakespeare found in
Holingshed and Saxo-Grammaticus; and used them in the
same free spirit. He has dramatized the Chronicle —
made it live and move before us; but he has dramatized
a Chronicle, not written a drama. This distinction is
drawn for a reason which will presently appear.
Viehoff has pointed out the use which has been made of
the Chronicle, and the various elements which have been
added from the poet's own invention. The English reader
cannot be expected to feel the same interest in such details as the German reader does; it is enough, therefore,
to refer the curious to the passage,* and only cite the
characters invented by Goethe; these are Adelheid, the
glorious, voluptuous, fascinating demon; Elizabeth, the
noble wife, in whom Goethe's mother saw herself; Maria,
a reminiscence of Frederika; Georg, Franz Lerse, WVeislingen, and the Gypsies. The death of Gotz is also new.
Gotz was a dramatic Chronicle, not a drama. It should
never have been called a drama, but left in its original
shape with its original title. This rvould have prevented
* Geothe's Leben, vol. ii. pp. 77- 79.




1771.]       GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.              157
much confusion; especially with reference to Shakespeare, and his form of dramatic composition.  While no
one can mistake the influence of Shakespeare in-this work,
there is great laxity of language in calling it Shakespearian; a laxity unanimous enough, but not therefore
the more admissible. (Critics are judges who rely on
precedents with the rigor of judges on the bench. They
pronounce according to precedent. That indeed is their
office. ) No sooner has an original work made its appearance, than one of these two courses is invariably pursued:
it is rejected by the critics because it does not range itself
under any acknowledged class, and thus is branded because it is not an imitation; or it is quietly classified
under some acknowledged head. The latter was the case
with Gdtz von Berlichingen. Because it set the' unities'
at defiance, and placed the People beside the Nobles on
the scene; because instead of declamations, as in French
tragedy, the persons spoke dramatically to the purpose;
because, in short, it did not range under the acknowledged;
type of French tragedy, it was supposed to range uhder
the Shakespearian type - the only accepted antagonist to
the French!
Is it like Othello? Is it like Macbeth? Is it like Richard III., Henry IV., King John, Julius Cmsar, or any one
unquestioned play by Shakespeare? Unless the words'Shakespearian style' are meaningless, in thus designating
Gotz) people must mean that it resembles Shakespeare's
plays in the structure and organization of plot, in the delineation of character, and in the tone of dialogue; yet
a cursory review of the play will convince any one that
in all these respects it is singularly unlike Shakespeare's
plays.
In construction it differs from  Shakespeare, first, as
intended to represent an epoch rather than a passion;
VOL. I.     14




158        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
secondly, as taking the licenses of narrative art, instead of
keeping the stage always in view, and submitting to the
stern necessities of theatrical representation; thirdly, as
wanting in that central unity round which all the persons
and events are grouped, so as to form a work of art. It is
a succession of scenes; a story of episodes.
(Qt was a peculiarity in Goethe's mind to attach itself to
Character and Picture, and to remain indifferent to Action
or Event. 1' In a story he cared nothing for the Circumstance; all he asked was a delineation of human nature
to satisfy his intellect, and a skilful picture of objects to
satisfy his artistic sense. kHuman nature had more of a
psychological than of a passionate attraction for him; the
very passions themselves being interesting to him as
problems rather than as emotions_\ Herein lay the cause
of the singular absence in him both of historic feeling and
of dramati power. _ In history he turned aside from the
march of events; their very grandeur was distasteful to
him, because that gra/ndeur dwarfed the human actor, in
whom alone his interest was placed.
In the presentation of character the work is no less unShakespearian. Our national bigotry, indeed, assumes that
every masterly portraiture of character is Shakespearian;
an assumption which can hardly. maintain itself in the
presence of Sophocles, Racine and Goe/the. Each poet
has a manner of his own, and Shakespeare's manner is
-assuredly not visible in Gotz von Berlichingen. The characters move before us with singular distinctness in their
external characteristics, but they do not, as in Shakespeare, involuntarily betray the inmost secret of their being.
We know them by their language and their acts; we do
not know their thoughts, their self-sophistications, their
involved and perplexed motives, partially obscured even
to themselves, and seen by us in the cross lights which




1771'.]        G6TZ VON BERLICHINGEN.               159
break athwart their passionate utterances. To take a
decisive example: Weislingen is at once ambitious and
irresolute, well-meaning but weak.`  The voice of friendship awakens remorse in him, and forces him to accept
the proffered hand of Gotz. He swears never again to
enter the bishop's palace. But, easily seduced by noble
thoughts, he is afterwards seduced as easily by vanity:
tempted he falls, turns once more against his noble friend,
and dies betrayed and poisoned by the wife to whom he
has sacrificed all - dies unpitied by others, despicable to
himself.i This vacillation is truthful, but not truthfully
presented.i We who only see the conduct cannot explain
it.'We stand before an enigma, as in real life; not before
a character such as Art enables us to see, and see through)
It is not the business of Art to present enigmas; and
Shakespeare, in his strongest, happiest moods, contrives
to let us see into the wavering depths of the souls, while
we follow the actions of his characters. Contrast Weislingen with such vacillating characters as Richard II.,
King John, or Hamlet. The difference is not of degree,
but of kind.
Nor is the language Shakespearian. It is powerful,
picturesque, clear, dramatic; but it is not pregnant with
thought, obscured in utterance, and heavy with that frequent superfcetation of ideas, which is a characteristic and
often a fault in Shakespeare. It has not his redundancy
and prodigal imagery. Indeed it is very singular, and as
the production of a boy trebly so, in the absence of all
rhetorical amplification, and of. all delight in imagery for
its own sake.
" In his vacillation, Goethe meant to stigmatize his own weakness
with regard to Frederika as he tells us in the Wahrheit und
Dichtung 




160         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox III.
We must cease to judge of it by any standard. It is a
dramatic poem which created a revolution by teaching
that " for each nation the true classical spirit must be
found in the genius of its own Romance: he who would
really imitate Homer, must, in the Chronicles of his native
land, find out the Heroic Age.' k'It was the first-born of
the Romantic School, or rather of the tendency from.
which that school issued; and its influence has been widespread. It gave the impulse and direction to Scott's historical genius, which has altered our conceptions of the
past, and given new life to history. It made the Middle
Ages a subject of eager and almost universal interest. It
decided the fate of French tragedy in German literature.
But its influence on dramatic art has been, I think, more
injurious than beneficial, and mainly because the distinction between a dramatized chronicle and a drama has been
lost sight of.'This injurious influence is traceable in the excessive
importance it has given to local color, and the intermingling of the historic with the dramatic element.. Any one
at all acquainted with the productions of the Romantic
School in Germany or France will understand this.
Goethe's object not being to write a drama, but to dramatize a picture of the Middle Ages, local color was of primary importance'; and because he made it so attractive,
others have imitated him in departments where it is needless. Nay, critics are so persuaded of its importance,
that they strain every phrase to show us that Shakespeare
was also a great painter of times; forgetting that local
* Bulwer, in the Life of Schiller, prefixed to his Translation of
Schiller's Poems and Ballads; a work which has not received the
acknowledgment it deserves. Bulwer pays here the penalty of versatility. The admiration of a public is soon fatigued even by works
in one direction, but in many directions it will not follow at all!




1771.]       GoTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.            161
coloring is an appeal to a critical-and learned audience,
not an appeal to the heart and imagination. It is history,
not drama. "Macbeth, in a bag-wig, with a small sword at
his side, made audiences tremble at the appalling ruin of
a crime-entangled soul. The corrected costume would
not make that tragedy more appalling, had we not now
grown so critical that we demand historical'accuracy,'
where, in the true dramatic age, they only demanded passion. The merest glance at our own dramatic literature
will suffice to show the preponderating (and misplaced)
influence of History, in the treatment, no less than in the
subjects chosen.
Gdtz, as a picture of the times, is an animated and successful work; but the eighteenth century is on more than
one occasion rudely thrust into the sixteenth; and on this
ground Hegel very arbitrarily denies its originality.' An
original work appears as the creation of one mind, which,
admitting of no external influence, fuses the whole work
in one mould, as the events therein exhibited were fused.
If it contains scenes and motives which do not naturally evolve themselves from the original materials, but
are brought together from far and wide, then the internal
unity becomes necessarily destroyed, and these scenes
betray the author's subjectivity. For example, Goethe's
Gotz has been greatly lauded for originality, nor can we
deny that he has therein boldly trampled under foot all
the rules and theories which were then accepted: but the
execution is notwithstanding not thoroughly original.'One
may detect in it the poverty of youth. Several traits, and
even scenes, instead of being evolved from the real subject, are taken from the current topics of the day. The
scene, for example, between G6tz. and Brother Martin,
which is an allusion to Luther, contains notions gathered
from the controversies of Goethe's own day, when —
14*




162        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
especially in Germany -people were pitying the monks
because they drank no wine, and because they had passed
the vows of chastity and obedience. Martin, on the other
hand, is enthusiastic in his admiration of G6tz, and his
knightly career:  " When you return back laden with
spoils, and say, such a one I struck from his horse ere he
could discharge his piece; such another I overthrew,
horse and man; and then, returning to your castle, you
find your wife."... Here Martin wipes his eye and
pledges the wife of G6tz. Not so- not with such
thoughts did Luther begin, but with quite another religious
conviction!''In  a similar style,' Hegel continues,'Basedow's
pedagogy is introduced. Children, it was said, learn
much that is foolish and unintelligible to them; and the
real method was to make them learn objects, not names.
Karl thus speaks to his father just as he would have spoken
in Goethe's time from  parrot-memory: "Jaxt-hausen
is a village and castle upon the Jaxt, which has been the
property and heritage for two hundred years of the Lords
of Berlichingen."  "Do you know the Lord of Berlichingen? " asks Gotz; the child stares at him, and, from
pure -erudition, knows not his own father. Gdtz declares
that he knew every pass, pathway, and ford about the
place, before he knew the name of village, castle or
river.' *
Considered with reference to the age in which it was
produced, Gdtz von Berlichingen is a marvellous work:
a work of daring power, of vigor, of originality; a work
to form an epoch in the annals of letters. Those who
now read it as the work of the great Goethe may be somewhat disappointed; but at the time of its appearance no
* Hegel's Vorlesungen fiber die.ZEsthetik, i. p. 382.




1771.]        GoTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.               163
"magnificent monster" had startled the pedantries and
proprieties of the schools; -' a piece,' said the critic in
the Teutsche Mercur of the day,' wherein the three unities
are shamefully outraged, and which is neither a tragedy
nor a comedy, and is, notwithstanding, the most beautiful,
the most captivating monstrosity.'
The breathless rapidity of movement renders a first
reading too hurried for proper enjoyment; but on recurring to the briefly indicated scenes, we are amazed at
their fulness of life. How marvellous, for example, is
that opening scene of the fifth act (removed from the
second version), where Adelheid is in the gypsies' tent.
Amid the falling snow shines the lurid gleam of the gypsy
fire, around which move dusky figures; and this magnificent creature, shuddering as she finds herself in the
company of an old crone, who tells her fortune, while a
wild-eyed boy gazes ardently on her and alarms her with
his terrible admiration; the whole scene lives, yet the
touches which call it into life are briefer than in any other
work I can remember. How powerful also is the scene
of the Secret Tribunal! Adelheid has poisoned her husband~ and the Vehm-Gericht assembles to hear her accused.-" This scene follows:
A NARROW VAULT DIMLY LIGHTED.
(The Judges of the Secret Tribunal seated, mufled in
black cloaks, silent.)
The Eldest. Judges of the Secret Tribunal, sworn by
cord and sword to be pitiless in justice —in secret to
* It is worth noting, that in thus bringing the Vehm-Gericht into
his work, he made an historical blunder. That tribunal was expressly forbidden jurisdiction over prests, women, and Jews; over
the rest of the world its power was absolute. See Johannes Scherr:
Geschichte Deutscher Cultur und Sitte, p. 191.




164       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
judge, in secret to avenge, like God! If your hands and
hearts are pure, raise your arms to heaven and cry, Woe,
woe to the malefactors!
Omnes. Woe, woe!
Eldest. Cryer, begin.
Cryer. I call for accusation against malefactors!
Whose heart is pure, whose hand is clean, let him accuse,
and call upon cord and sword for vengeance! vengeance!
vengeance!
Accuser (stepping forward). My heart is pure from
misdeed, and my hands are clear from innocent blood.
God pardon my sins of ignorance, and frame my steps to
His ways. I raise my hand aloft and cry for vengeance!
vengeance! vengeance!
Eldest. Whom dost thou accuse?
Accuser. I call upon the cord and sword for vengeance
upon Adelheid von Weislingen. She has committed adultery and murder. She has poisoned her husband by the
hands of his servant: the servant hath slain himselfthe husband is dead!
Eldest. Swearest thou by the God of Truth that thy
accusation is true?
Accuser. I swear.
Eldest. Dost thou take upon thy head the punishment
of adultery and murder, should it be found false?
Accuser. I do.
Eldest. Your voices. (Judges converse in low whispers.)
Accuser. Judges of the Secret Tribunal, what is your
doom upon Adelheid von Weislingen, accused of murder
and adultery?
Eldest. She shall die! Shall die a bitter death! With
cord and with sword shall she doubly expiate a double




1771.]       G6TZ VON BERLICHINGEN.              165
crime. Raise your hands to heaven and call down upon
her Woe! woe! woe!
Omnes. Woe! woe! woe!
Eldest. Avenger, come forth! (The Avenger advances.)
There hast thou cord and sword. Within eight days thou
must remove her from before the face of heaven. Judges!
ye that in secret judge and in secret avenge, keep your
hearts from wickedness and your hands from innocent
blood.'
The gloom and terror which darken this scene fitly
prepare the mind for that more awful scene of execution
which follows it (also struck out from the second version).
Adelheid is in bed, tossing restlessly and sleeplessly; night
is hideous to her, and she pines for the day.' Is Weislingen dead?' she murmurs to herself. She rings the bell,
but no one hears her.'Sleep closes their ears!... Is
Franz dead?... He was a loveable youth..... Ah!
Sickingen! Sickingen!...' Thus murmuring the name
now so dear to her, she closes her murderous retrospect in
sleep. The ghost of the murdered Franz appears - calls
upon her, and vanishes. The Avenger creeps from under
her bed.
Adelheid (awakening). I saw him! He was struggling
with the agonies of death! -he called upon me! called
upon me.... His eyes were filled with love.... Ha!
assassin! assassin I
Avenger. Call not -you call Death! The spirits of
Vengeance will deafen Help.
Adelheid. Do you want gold? -jewels? Take them.
Only let me live.
Avenger. I am no robber. Darkness has ordained
darkness: thou must die.




166       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boon IiI.
Adelheid. Woe! woe!
Avenger. On thy head! If the odious phantoms of
thy misdeeds draw thee not down to hell, look up - look
up to heaven, and pray that the sacrifice I now offer it be
enough!
Adelheid. Let me live! What have I ever done to
thee? I clasp thy knees.
Avenger (aside). An imperial creature! What a look!
What a voice!... In her arms I —dog that I amshould be a god.... If... If I were to deceive her?
She is in my power.
Adelheid. He seems moved.
Avenger. Thou weakenest me....Wilt thou grant
me...
Adelheid. What?
Avenger.... That which man can demand of lovely
woman in the depth of night.
Adelheid (aside). My cup is full! Crimes and shame
encircle me with flames of hell. I expiate! I expiate!... Vain, vain to seek to obliterate crimes with crimes —
ignominy with ignominy. Dishonor the most infamous,
and death the most ignominious, in one hellish picture
rise before me!
Avenger. Decide!
Adelheid (aside). A ray of hope! (Goes towards the
bed. Hefollows; she seizes a dagger and stabs him.)
Avenger. Betrayer to the last! (Falls on her and
strangles her.  Ah! the serpent!  (Stabs her.)... I
bleed... Thus is thy lust punished!... Thou art not
the first.... God! didst thou make her so lovely, and
couldst not thou make her good? (Exit.)
In the simple pathos of the closing scene there is a
grandeur worthy of the occasion. All is over with G6tz,




1771.]       G0iTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.            167
who, mortally wounded, comes out into the garden of the
prison to breathe his last.
Gotz. Almighty God! How  sweet it is to be under
thy heaven! How free! The trees put forth their buds;
all the world hopes. Farewell, my children! my buds
are crushed, my hope is in my grave!
Elizabeth. Shall I not send Lerse to the cloister for thy
son, that thou mayest see and bless him?
Gotz. Leave him where he is: he needs not my blessing: he is holier than I. Upon our wedding, Elizabeth,
could I have thought I should die thus!... Lerse, thy
countenance cheers me in the hour of death. As in our
most noble fights my spirit encouraged yours; now yours
supports mine. Oh, that I could but see George once
more, to warm myself in his look! You look down and
weep... is he dead? George is dead! Then die, G6tz!
thou hast outlived thyself —outlived  the noblest!...
How died he? Alas! they took him at Millenberg, and
he is executed.
Elizabeth. No, he was slain there! He defended his
freedom like a lion.
Gotz. God be praised! He was the kindest, bravest
youth under the sun. Now dismiss my soul.... My poor
wife! I leave thee in a wretched world. Lerse, forsake
her not. Lock your hearts carefully as your doors. The
age of frankness and freedom is past; that of treachery
begins. The worthless will gain the upperhand by cunning, and the noble will fall into their net%. Maria,
God restore thy husband to thee; may he never fall the
deeper for having risen so high!  Selbitz is dead...
and the good Kaiser... and my George.... Give me
some water.... Heavenly sky!... Freedom! freedom!
(Dies.)




168        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [BooK III.
Elizabethi. Only above... above with thee!... The
world is a prison.
Maria. Gallant and gentle! Woe to this age that has
lost thee!
Lerse. And woe to the future that misprises thee!




1771.]               WETZLAR.                   169
CHAPTER III.
WETZLAR.
IN the spring of 1772 he arrived at Wetzlar, with Gdtz
in his portfolio, and in his head many wild, unruly
thoughts. A passage in the Autobiography amusingly
illustrates his conception of the task he had undertaken
in choosing to inform the world of his early history.
Remember that at Wetzlar he fell in love with Charlotte,
and lived through the experience which was fused into
Werther, and you will smile as you hear him say:' What
occurred to me at Wetzlar is of no great importance,
but it may receive a higher interest if the reader will
allow me to give a cursory glance at the history of the
Imperial Chamber, in order to present to his mind the
unfavorable moment at which I arrived.' This it is to
write autobiography when one has outlived almost the
memories of youth, and entirely lost sympathy with its
agitations. At the time he was in Wetzlar he would have
looked strangely on any one who ventured to tell him that
the history of the Imperial Chamber was worth a smile
from Charlotte; but at the time of writing his meagre
account of Wetzlar he had some difficulty in remembering
what Charlotte's smiles were like. The biographer has a
VOL. I.        15




170          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Book HiI.
difficult task to make any coherent story out of this episode.*
In Wetzlar there were two buildings interesting above
all others to us — the Imperial Court of Justice and
the Teutsche Hais.  The Imperial Court wasma Court of
Appeal for the whole empire, a sort of German Chancery.
Imagine a German Chancery! In no country known to
us does Chancery move with railway speed, and in Germany even the railways are slow. Such a chaotic accu.
mulation of business as this Wetzlar Kammer-Gericht
presented was perhaps never seen before. Twenty thousand cases lay undecided on Goethe's arrival, and there
were but seventeen lawyers to dispose of them. About
sixty was the utmost they could get through in a year, and
every year brought more than double that number to swell
the heap. Some cases had lingered through a century
and a half, and still remained far from a decision, This
was not a place to impress the sincere and eminently practical mind of Goethe with a high idea of Jurisprudence.
Das teutsche Haus was one of the remnants of the ancient institution of the Teutsche Ritter, or Teutonic Order
of Knighthood, celebrated in German medieval history,
where the student is familiar with the black armor and
white mantles of these warrior-priests, who fought with
the zeal of missionaries and the terrible valor of knights,
conquering for themselves a large territory, and still
* Fortunately, during the very months in which I was rewriting
this work, there appeared an invaluable record in the shape of the
correspondence between Goethe and Kestner, so often alluded to by
literary historians, but so imperfectly known. (Goethe und Wterther.
Briefe Goethe's, meistens aus seiner Jugendzeit. Herausgegeben von
A. Kestner: 1854.) This book, which is very much in need of an
editor, is one of the richest sources to which access has been had for
a right understanding of Goethe's youth; and it completes the scries of corroborative evidence by which to control the Autobiograph.y




1772.]                WETZLAR.                    171
greater influence. But it fared with them as with theknights of other Orders. Their strength lay in their zeal;
their zeal abated with success. Years brought them increasing wealth, but the spiritual wealth and glory of their
cause departed. They became what all Corporations inevitably become, and at the time now written of, they were
reduced to a level with the knights of Malta. The Order
still possessed property in various parts of Germany, and
in certain towns there was a sort of steward's house,
where rents were collected and the business of the Order
transacted; this was uniformly styled das teutsche Haus.
There was such a one in Wetzlar; and the Amtmann, or
steward, who had superintendence over it, was a certain
Herr Buff, on whom the reader is requested to fix his eye,
not for any attractiveness of Herr Buff, intrinsically considered, but for the sake of his eldest daughter, Charlotte.
She is the heroine of this episode.
Nor was this house the only echo of the ancient Ritterthum  in Wetzlar.  Goethe, on his arrival, found there
another, and more consciously burlesque parody, in the
shape of a Round Table and its Knights, bearing such
names as St. Amand the Opiniative, Eustace the Prudent,
Lubomirsky the Combative, and so forth. It was founded
by August Friedrich von Goue, Secretary to the Brunswick Embassy, of whom we shall hear more: a wild
and whimiscal fellow, not without a streak of genius, who
drank himself to death. He bore the title of Ritter Coucy, and christened Goethe' Gdtz von Berlichingen'der
Redliche - Gtz the Honest.' In an imitation of Werther which Goue wrote, * a scene introduces this Round
Table in one of its banquets at the Tavern; a knight sings
a French song,'where upon Gotz exclaims,' Thou, a Ger* Mlasuren, oder der junge Werther. Ein Trauerspiel aus dem
Illyrischen. 1775.




172        LIFE AND WOR1KS OF GOETHE.           [BooK III.
man Ritter, and singest foreign songs!'  Another knight
asks Gotz,' H-low far have you advanced with the monument which you are to erect to your ancestor?' Gdtz
replies,'It goes quietly forward. Methinks it will be a
slap in the face to pedants and the public.' *
Of this Round Table and its buffooneries, Goethe has
merely told us that he entered heartily into the fun at first,
but soon wearying of it, relapsed into his melancholy fits.'I have made many acquaintances,' says Werther,' but
have found no society. I know not what there is about
me so attractive that people seek my company with so
much ardor. They hang about me, though 1 cannot
walk two steps in their path.' A description of him, written by Kestner at this peribd, is very interesting, as it
gives us faithfully the impression he produced on his
acquaintances before celebrity had thrown its halo round
his head, and dazzled the perceptions of his admirers.'In the spring there came here a certain Goethe, by
profession t a Doctor Juris, twenty-three years old, only
son of a very rich father; in order- this wxas his father's
intention - that he might get some experience in praqi,
but according to his own intention, that he might study
Homer, Pindar, etc., and whatever else his genius, his
manner of thinking, and his heart might suggest to him.'Ein Stfick das Meister und Gesellen auf's Maul schliigt.'
Cited by Appell: Werther und seine Zeit, p. 38.
t Seiner Handthierung nach. The word is old German, and now
fallen out of use, although the verb handthieren is still occasionally
used. I notice it for the sake of a correction of orthography, which
I owe to Varnhagen von Ense, viz.: that in old Gothic the th is
equivalent to d (thus Theoderich becomes Dietrich), hence in handthieren the th is superfluous: it should be handieren, which corresponds with the French word manier.




1772.]               WETZLAR.                   173'At the very first the beaux esprits here announced
him to the public as a colleague, and as a collaborator in
the new Frankfurt Gelehrte Zeitung, parenthetically also
as a philosopher, and gave themselves trouble to become
intimate with him. As I do not belong to this class of
people, or rather am not so much in general society, I did
not know Goethe until later, and quite by accident. One
of the most distinguished of our beaux esprits, the Secretary of Legation Gotter, persuaded me one day to go with
him to the village of Garbenheim — a common walk.
There I found him on the grass, under a tree, lying on his
back, while he talked to some persons standing round him
- an epicurean philosopher ('von Goue, a great genius),
a stoic philosopher (von Kielmansegge), and a hybrid
between the two (Dr. K6nig) — and thoroughly enjoyed
himself. Hie was afterwards glad that I had made his
acquaintance under such circumstances.  Many things
were talked of —some of them very interesting. This
time, however, I found no other judgment concerning him
than that he was no ordinary man. You know that I do
not judge hastily. I found at once that he had genius, and
a lively imagination; but this was not enough to make me
estimate him highly.' Before I proceed further, I must attempt a description
of him, as I have since learned to know him better.' He has a great deal of talent, is a true genius and a
man of character; possesses an extraordinarily vivid
imagination, and hence generally expresses himself in
images and similes. He often says, himself, that he always
speaks figuratively, and can never express himself literally; but that when he is older he hopes to think and say
the thought itself as it really is.'He is ardent in all his affections, and yet has often
great power over himself. His manner of thinking is
15.




174        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BoOK III.
noble: he is so free from prejudices that he acts as it
seems good to him, without troubling himself whether it
will please others, whether it is the fashion, whether conventionalism allows it. All constraint is odious to him.' He is fond of children, and can occupy himself with
them very much. He is bizarre, and there are several
things in his manners and outward bearing which might
make him disagreeable. But with children, women, and
many others, he is nevertheless a favorite.' He has a great respect for the female sex. In principiis he is not yet fixed, and is still striving after a sure
system.' To say something of this, he has~.a high opinion of
Rousseau, but is not a blind worshipper of him.' He is not what is called orthodox. Still this is not
out of pride or caprice, or for the sake of making himself
a role. On certain important subjects he opens himself to
few, and does not willingly disturb the'contentment of
others in their own ideas.'It is true he hates scepticism, strives after truth and
after conviction on certain main points, and even believes
that he is already convinced as to the weightiest; but as
far as I have observed, he is not yet so.  He does not go
to church or to the sacrament, and prays seldom. For,
says he, I am not hypocrite enough for that.' Sometimes he seems in repose with regard to certain
subjects, sometimes just the contrary.' He venerates the Christian religion, but not in the
form in which it is presented by our theologians.'He believes in a future life, in a better state of existence.' He strives after truth, yet values the feeling of truth
more than the demonstration.'He has already done much, and has many acquire



1772.]                WETZLAR.                   175
ments, much reading; but he has thought and reasoned
still more. He has occupied himself chiefly with the
belles lettres and the fine arts, or rather with all sorts of
knowledge, except that which wins bread.'
On the margin of this rough draught, Kestner adds:'I
wished to describe him, but it would be too long a business, for there is much to be said about him. In one
word, he is a very remarkable man.'
Further on:' I should never have done, if 1 attempted
to describe him fully.'
The Gotter referred to at the opening of this letter was
a young man of considerable culture, with whom Goethe
became intimate over renewed discussions on Art and
Criticism.' The opinions of the Ancients,' he says,' on
these important topics, I had studied by fits and starts for
some years. Aristotle, Cicero, Quinctilian, Longinus —
none were neglected, but they did not help me, for they
presupposed an experience which I needed. They introduced me to a world infinitely rich in works of Art; they
unfolded the merits of great poets and orators, and convinced me that a vast abundance of objects must lie before
us ere we can think upon them - that we must accomplish
something, nay fail in something, before we can learn our
own capacities and those of others. My knowledge of.much that was good in ancient literature was merely that
of a schoolboy, and by no means vivid. The most splendid
orators, it was apparent, had formed themselves in life,
and we could never speak of them as artists without, at the
same time, mentioning their personal peculiarities. With
the poets this was perhaps less the case; but everywhere
Nature and Art came in contact only through life. And
thus the result of all my investigations was my old reso



176        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK IIm.
lution to study Nature, and to allow her to guide me in
loving" imitation.'
Properly to appreciate this passage we must recall the
almost universal tendency of the Germans to construct
poems in conformity with definite rules, making the poet
but a development of the critic. Lessing nobly avowed
that he owed all his success to his critical sagacity;
Schiller, it is notorious, hampered his genius by fixing on
his Pegasus the leaden wings of Kant's philosophy; and
Klopstock himself erred in too much criticism. Goethe
was the last man to disdain the rich experience of centuries, the last man to imagine that ignorance was an advantageous basis for a poet to stand upon, but he was too
thoroughly an artist not to perceive the insufficiency of
abstract theories in the production of a work of art which
should be the expression of real experience., Art is not
impersonal like science, and therefore cannot be taught;
Art is nourished not by theory but by life.
In conjunction with Gotter he translated Goldsmith's'Deserted Village,' though he speaks slightingly of his
share in it. Through Gotter's representations he was also
persuaded to publish some little poems in Boie's Annual.' I thus* came into contact with those,' he says,'who,
united by youth and talent, always effected so much in
various ways. Buiirger, Voss, Hil1ty, the two Counts Stolberg, and several others grouped round Klopstock; and in
this poetical circle, which extended itself more and more,
there was developed a tendency which I know not exactly
how to name. One might call it that need of independ* Diintzer, in his Studien, has thrown doubts on this connection
with the G6ttingen school having originated in Wetzlar. But the
point is of no importance, and Goethe's own version is left undisturbed in the text.




1772.]               WETZLAR.                    177
ence which always arises in times of peace - that is to say
precisely when, properly speaking, one is not dependent.
In war we bear restraints of force as well as we can; we
are physically, but not morally wouinded; the restraint
disgraces no one; it is no shame to serve the time; we
grow accustomed to suffering both from foes and friends;
we have wishes rather than definite views. On the contrary, in times of peace our love of freedom becomes more
and more prominent, and the greater our freedom, the
more we wish for it; we will tolerate nothing above us;
we will not be restrained; no one shall be restrained I
This tender, sometimes morbid feeling, assumes in noble
souls the form of justice: such a spirit then manifested
itself everywhere; and because but few were oppressed,
it was wished to free these from occasional oppression.
And thus arose a certain moral contest between individuals
and the government, which, however laudable its origin,
led to unhappy results. Voltaire, reverenced for his conduct in the affair of Calas, had excited great attention;
and in Germany, Lavater's proceedings against the Landvogt (sheriff of the province), had perhaps been even more
striking. The time was approaching when dramatists and
novelists sought their villains among ministers and official
persons; hence arose a world, half real, half imaginary, of
action and reaction, in which the most violent accusations
and instigations were made by writers of periodical journals, under the garb of justice, who produced the more
powerful effect because they made the public imagine that
it was itself the tribunal   a foolish notion, as no public
has an executive power; and in Germany, dismembered
as it was, public opinion neither benefited nor injured any
one.'
JIt was a period of deep unrest in Europe; the travail of
the French revolution. In Germany the spirit of the rev



178        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox iiI.
olution issued from the study and the lecture hall; it was
a literary and philosophic insurrection, with Lessing,
Klopstock, Kant, Herder, and Goethe, for leaders. Authority was everywhere attacked, because everywhere it
had shown itself feeble, or tyrannous. The majestic perruke of Louis XIV. was lifted by an audacious hand, which
thus revealed the baldness so long concealed. No one
now believed in that Grand Monarque; least of all Goethe,
who had Gdtz von Berlichingen in his portfolio, and to
whom  Homer and Shakespeare were idols.'Send me
no more books,' writes Werther,' I will no longer be led,
incited, spurred by them. There is storm enough in this
breast. I want a cradle-melody, and that 1 have in all its
fulness in Homer. How often do I lull with it my raging
blood to rest! " The Kestner correspondence proves, what
before was known, that Werther is.full of biography, and
that Goethe was then troubled with fits of terrible depression following upon days of the wildest animal spirits.
He was fond of solitude, reading, or making sketches of
the landscape in his rough imperfect style.' A marvellous serenity has descended on my spirit,' writes Werther,'to be compared only to the sweet mornings of spring
which so charm my heart. I am alone, and here life
seems delicious in this spot formed for natures like mine.
I am so happy, so filled with the calm feeling of existence,
that my art suffers. I cannot sketch, yet never was I
a greater painter than at this moment! When the dear
valley clothes itself in vapor, and the sun shines on the
top of my impenetrable forest and only a few gleams steal
into its sanctuary, while I lie stretched in the tall grass by
the cascade, curiously examine the many grasses and
weeds, and contemplate the little world of insects with
their innumerable forms and colors, and feel'within me
the presence of the Almighty who formed us after his own




1772.]               WETZLAR.                    179
image, the breath of the All-loving who sustains us in endless bliss,- my friend, when my eyes are fixed on all
these objects, and the world images itself in my soul like
the form of a beloved, then I yearn and say: Ah! couldst
thou but express that which lives within thee, that it should
be the mirror of thy soul, as thy soul is the mirror of the
Infinite God!'
He had come to Wetzlar with the arrow in his breast.
The image of Frederika pursued him. It could only be
banished by the presence of another.' When I was a
boy,' he prettily says in a letter to Salzmann,'I planted
a cherry-tree, and watched its growth with delight. Spring
frost killed the blossoms, and I had to wait another year
before the cherries were ripe — then the birds ate them;
another year the caterpillars -. then a greedy neighbor -
then the blight. Nevertheless, when I have a garden
again, I shall again plant a cherry-tree!' He did so:'And from Beauty passed to Beauty,
Constant to a constant change.' *
The image which was to supplant that of Frederika was
none other than that of the Charlotte Buff, before mentioned. Two years before his arrival, her mother had
died. The care of the house and children devolved upon
her. She was only sixteen, yet good sense, housewifely
aptitude, and patient courage, carried her successfully
through this task. She had for two years been betrothed
to Kestner, Secretary to the Hanoverian Legation, then
aged four-and-twenty: a quiet, orderly, formal, rational,
cultivated man, possessing great magnanimity, as the
correspondence proves, and a dignity which is in nowise
represented in the Albert of Werther, from whom we must
* Moncton Milnes.




180       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
be careful to distinguish him, in spite of the obvious identity of position. How -Goethe came to know- Kestner
has already been seen; how he came to knowv Lotte
may now be told.`  The reader with Wert7ie- r in hand
may compare the narrative there given with this extract
from Kestner's letter to a friend.' It happened that
Goethe was at a ball in the country where my maiden
and I also we-re. Icould only come late, and was forced
to ride after them. My maiden, therefore, drove there in
other society. In the carriage was Dr. Goethe, who here
first saw Lottchen. He has great knowledge, and-has made
Nature in her physical and moral aspects his principal
study, and has sought the true beauty of both. No woman here had pleased him. Lottchen at once fixed his
attention. She is young, and although not regularly
beautiful, has a very attractive face. Her glance is as
bright as a spring morning, and especially it was so that
day, for she loves dancing. She was gay, and in quite a
simple dress. He noticed her feeling for the beauty of
Nature, and her unforced wit, - rather humor than wit.
He did not know she was betrothed. I came a few hours
later; and it is not our custom in public to testify
anything beyond friendship to each other.  He was
excessively gay (this he often is, though at other times
melancholy); Lottchen quite fascinated him, the more so
because she took no trouble about it, but gave herself
wholly to the pleasure of the moment. The next day, of
course, Goethe called to inquire after her. He had seen
her as a lively girl, fond of dancing and pleasure; he now
saw her under another and a better aspect, — in her
domestic quality.
* Lotte and Lottchen, it is perhaps not altogether superfluous to
add, are the favorite diminutives of Charlotte.




1772.]               WETZLAR.                    181
To judge from  her portrait, Lotte must, in hez' way,
have been a charming creature; not intellectually cultivated, not poetical, -above all, not the sentimental girl
we have in Werther, but a serene, calm, joyous, openhearted German maiden, an excellent housewife, and a
priceless manager. Goethe at once fell in love with her.
An extract from Kestner's account will tell us more.
After describing his engagement to Lotte, he adds, —'She is not strictly a brilliant beauty, according to the
common opinion; to me she is one: she is, notwithstanding, the fascinating maiden who might have hosts of admirers, old and young, grave and gay, clever and stupid,
etc. But she knows how to convince them quickly that
their only safety must be sought in flight or in friendship.
One of these, as the most remarkable, I will mention,
because he retains an influence over us. A youth in
years (twenty-three), but in knowledge, and'in the developement of his mental powers- and character, already a
man, an extraordinary genius, and a man of character,
was here, - as his family believed, for the sake of studying the law, but in fact to track the footsteps of Nature
and Truth, and to study Homer and Pindar. He had no
need to study for the sake of a maintenance.  Quite by
chance, after he had been here some time, he became
acquainted with Lottchen, and saw in her his ideal: he
saw her in her joyous aspect, but was soon aware that this
was not her best side: he learned to know her also in her
domestic position, and, in a word, became her adorer. It
could not long remain unknown to him that she could give
him nothing but friendship; and her conduct towards him
was admirable. Our coincidence of taste, and a closer
acquaintance with each other, formed between him and
me the closest bond of friendship. Meanwhile, although
he was forced to renounce all hope in relation to Lottchen,
VOL. I      16




182      LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.          [BooR III.
and did renounce it, yet he could not, with all his philosophy and natural pride, so far master himself as completely to repress his inclination. And he has qualities
which might make him dangerous to a woman, especially
to one of susceptibility and taste. But Lottchen knew
how to treat him so as not to encourage vain hope, and
yet make him admire her manner towards him. His
peace of mind suffered: there were many remarkable
scenes, in which Lottchen's behavior heightened my
regard for her; and he also became more precious to me
as a friend; but I was often inwardly astonished that love
can make such strange creatures even of the strongest
and otherwise the most self-sustained men. 1 pitied him,
and had many inward struggles; for, on the one hand, I
thought that I might not be in a position to make Lottchen so happy as he would make her; but, on the other
hand, I could not endure the thought of losing her. The
latter feeling conquered,. and in Lottchen I have never
once been able to perceive a shadow of the same conflict.'
Another extract will place this conflict in its true light.' I am under no further engagement to Lottchcn than that
under which an honorable man stands when he gives a
young woman the preference above all others, makes
known that he desires the like feeling from her, and when
she gives it, receives from her not only this, but a complete acquiescence. This I consider quite enough to bind
an honorable man, especially when such a irelation lasts
several years. But in my case there is this in addition,
that Lottchen and I have expressly declared ourselves,
and still do so with pleasure, without any oaths and asseverations.' This absence of any legal tie between them
must have made Kestner's position far more trying. It
gives a higher idea both of his generous forbearance and




1772.1                WETZLAR.                      183
of the fascination exercised by Goethe: for what a position! and how much nobility on all sides was necessary
to prevent petty jealousies ending in a violent rupture!
Certain it is that the greatest intimacy and the most affectionate feelings were kept up without disturbance. Confident in the honor of his friend and the truth of his
mistress, Kestner never spoiled the relation by a hint of
jealousy. Goethe was constantly in Lotte's house, where
his arrival was a jubilee to the children, who seized hold
of him, as children always take loving possession of those
who are indulgent to them, and forced him to tell them
stories. It is a pleasant sight to see Goethe with children; he always shows such hearty fondness for them;
and these brothers and sisters of Lotte were doubly endeared to him because they belonged to her.
One figure in this Wetzlar set arrests our attention: it is
that of a handsome blonde youth, with soft blue eyes and
a settled melancholy of expression. His name is Jerusalem, and he is the son of the venerable Abbot of Riddagshausen.*  He is here attached as Secretary to the
Brunswick Legation, a colleague, therefore, of Von Goue.
He is deeply read in English literature, and has had the
honor of Lessing's friendship; a friendship subsequently
expressed in the following terms, when Lessing, acting as
his editor, wrote the preface to his Philosophical Essays:' When he came to Wolfenbiittel he gave me his friendship. I did not enjoy it. long, but I cannot easily name
one who in so short a space of time excited in me more
affection.  It is true I only learned to know one side of
his nature, but it was the side which explains all the rest.
* No Catholic, as this title might seem to imply, but a good Protestant; his Abbey, secularized two centuries before, yielded him
only a title and revenues.




184        LIFB AND WORKS OF GOETRE.          [3oox III.
It was the desire for clear knowledge; the talent to follow
truth to its last consequences; the spirit of cold observation; but an ardent spirit not to be intimidated by truth...
How sensitive, how warm, how active this young inquirer
was, how true a man among men, is better known to more
intimate friends.' The Essays which these words introduce are five in number; the titles are given below.':The melancholy of his disposition led him to think
much of suicide, which he defended on speculative
grounds. And  this melancholy and these meditations
were deepened by an unhappy passion for the wife one of
his friends. The issue of that passion we shall have to
narrate in a future chapter. For the present it is enough
to indicate the presence of this youth among the circle of
Goethe's acquaintances.  They saw  but little of each
other, owing to the retiring sensitiveness of Jerusalem;
probably the same cause kept them asunder years
before in Leipsic, where they were fellow-students; but
their acquaintance was enough to furnish Goethe with
material which he was afterwards to use in his novel.
Jeiusalem's unhappy passion and Goethe's unhappy'passion, one would think, must have been a bond of
union between them; but in truth Goethe's passion can
scarcely have been called'unhappy' — it was rather a
deliciously uneasy passion. Love, in the profound, absorbing, headlong sense, it was not. It was an imaginative passion, in which the poet was more implicated than
the man. Lotte excited his imagination; her beauty, her
serene gayety, her affectionate manners, charmed him;
* I. Dass die Sprache dem ersten Menschen durch Wunder nicht
mitgetheilt sein kann. It. Ueber die Natiur und den Ursprung der
allgemeinen und abstrakten Begriffe. iii. Ueber die Freiheit. Iv.
Ueber die Mendelssohnsche Theorie yvo  sinnlichen Vergniigen.
v. Ueber die vermischten Empfindungen.




1772.]                WETZLAR.                   185
the romance of his position heightened the charm, by
giving an unconscious security to his feelings. I am persuaded that if Lotte had been free, he would have fled
from her as he fledc from Frederika. In saying this, however, I do not mean that the impossibility of obtaining her
gave him any comfort. He was restless, impatient, and,
in a certain sense, unhappy. He believed himself to be
desperately in love with her, when in truth he was only in
love with the indulgence of the emotions she excited;
a paradox which will be no mystery to those acquainted
with the poetic temperament.
Thus passed the summer. In August he made a little
excursion to Giessen, to see Professor Hopfner, one of the
active writers in the Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen.
Characteristically he calls on the professor incognito, presenting himself as a shy awkward student; which, as
H6pfner only knows him through correspondence, is facile
enough. The comic scene ends by his jumping into the
professor's arms, exclaiming,'I am Goethe!' Here, in
Giessen, he found Merck. He persuaded him to return
to Wetzlar, to be introduced to Lotte. Merck came; but
so far from undervaluing her, as the very inaccurate
account in the Autobiography would have us understand,
Merck wrote to a friend:'J'ai trouve aussi l'amie de
Goethe, cette fille dont il parle avec tant d'enthousiasme
dans toutes ses lettres. Elle merite reellement tout ce qu'il
pourra dire du bien sur son compte.' * He concealed this
admiration from Goethe, however, and exasperated him
by preferring the' Juno forn' of one of her friends, and
pointing her out as the more worthy of attention, because
she was disengaged. That Goethe should have been
offended, was in the order of things; but in the retrospec~ Briefe aus dem Freundeskreise von Goethle, Herder, Merck, p. 59.
16*




186        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
tive glance which he gave to this period in his old age, he
ought to have detected the really friendly spirit animating
Merck; he ought not to have likened him to Mephistopheles; the more so as Merck's representations were
really effectual, and hastened the denouement. Every
day made Goethe's position less tenable. At last he consented to tear himself away, and accompany Merck in a
trip down the Rhine. It was time. Whatever factitious
element there may have been in his passion, the situation
was full of danger; indulgence in such emotions would
have created at last a real and desperate passion; there
was safety but in flight.
Merck left Wetzlar, having arranged that Goethe should
join him at Coblentz. The following extracts from Kestner's Diary will remind the reader of Goethe's departure
from Leipsic without saying adieu to Kathchen. His dislike of' scenes' made him shrink from those emotions of
leave-taking usually so eagerly sought by lovers.
Sept. 10th, 1772. To-day Dr. Goethe dined with me
in the garden; I did not know that it was the last time.
In the evening Dr. Goethe came to the teutsche Haus. He,
Lottchen, and I, had a remarkable conversation about the
future state; about going away and returning, etc., which
was not begun by him, but by Lottchen. We agreed that
the one who died first should, if he could, give information
to the living, about the conditions of the other life. Goethe
was quite cast down, for he knew that the next morning
he was to go.''Sept. 11th, 1772. This morning at seven o'clock
Goethe set off without taking leave. He sent me a note
with some books. He had long said that about this time
he would make a journey to Coblentz, where the paymaster of the forces, Merck, awaited him, and that he
would say no good-byes, but set off suddenly. So I had




1772.]               WETZLAR.                   187
expected it. But that I was, notwithstanding, unprepared
for it, I have felt - felt deep in my soul. In the morning I came home. " Herr Dr. Goethe sent this at ten
o'clock." I saw the books and the note, and thought what
this said to me -" He is gone! "- and was quite dejected. Soon after, Hans* came to ask me if he were
really gone? The Geheime Rdthin Langen had sent to
say by a maid-servant: " It was very ill-mannered of Dr.
Goethe to set off in this way, without taking leave."
Lottchen sent word in reply: " Why had she not taught
her nephew better?" Lottchen, in order to be certain,
sent a box which she had of Goethe's, to his house. He
was no longer there. In the middle of the day the
Geheime Rdthin Langen sent word again: "She would,
however, let Dr. Goethe's mother know how he had conducted himself."  Every one of the children in the
teutsche Haus was saying: "Dr. Goethe is gone!"  In
the middle of the day I talked with Herr von Born, who
had accompanied him, on horseback, as far as Brunnfels.
Goethe had told him of our evening's conversation.
Goethe had set out in very low spirits. In the afternoon
I took Goethe's note to Lottchen. She was sorry about
his departure; the tears came into her eyes while reading.
Yet it was a satisfaction to her that he was gone, since
she could not give him the affection he desired. We
spoke only of him; indeed, I could think of nothing else,
and defended the manner of his leaving, which was
blamed by a silly person; I did it with much warmth.
Afterwards I wrote him word what had happened since his
departure.'
How graphically do these simple touches set the whole
situation before us; the sorrow of the two lovers at the
" One of Lotte's brothers.




188        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooRm II.
departure of their friend, and the consternation of the
children on hearing that Dr. Goethe is gone! One needs
such a picture to re-assure us that the episode, with
all its strange romance, and with all its danger, was
not really a fit of morbid sentimentalism. Indeed, had
Goethe been the sentimental Werther he has represented, he would never have had the strength of will
to tear himself from such a position. He would have
blown his brains out, as Werther did. On the other hand,
note what a worthy figure is this of Kestner, compared
with the cold Albert of the novel. A less generous nature
would have rejoiced in the absence of a rival, and forgotten, in its joy, the loss of a friend. But Kestner, who
not only knew his friend was his rival,- and such a rival,
that doubts crossed him whether this magnificent youth
were not really more capable of rendering Lotte happy
than he himself was, - grieved for the absence of his
friend!
Here is Goethe's letter, referred to in the passage just
quoted from the Diary:'He is gone, Kestner; when you get this note he is
gone! Give Lottchen the enclosed. I was quite composed, but your conversation has torn me to pieces. At
this moment I can say nothing to you but farewell. If I
had remained a moment longer with you I could not have
restrained myself. Now I am alone, and to-morrow I go.
O my poor head!'
This was the enclosure, addressed to Lott:' I certainly hope to come again, but God knows when!
Lotte, what did my heart feel while you were talking,
knowing, as I did, that it was the last time I should see
you? Not the last time, and yet to-morrow I go away.
He is gone! What spirit led you to that conversation?
When I was expected to say all I felt, alas! what I cared




1772.]               WETZLAR.                    189
about was here below, was your hand, which I kissed for
the last time. The room, which I shall not enter again,
and the dear father who saw me to the door for the last
time. I am now alone, and may weep; I leave you
happy, and shall remain in your heart. And shall see
you again; but not to-morrow is never! Tell my boys,
He is gone. I can say no more.'




190        AFE AND WORKS OP GOETHE.    [Boo: IIi.
CHAPTER IV.
PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.
HAVING sent his luggage to the house of Frau von
Laroche, where he was to meet Merck, he made the
journey down the Lahu, on foot. The banks of that river
charmed his eye, and helped to relieve the sadness which
lie felt at thus bidding adieu to his romance. The vineclad heights, the misty valleys, and the towering castles,
solicited his pencil. The old desire of becoming a painter,
which haunted him through life, now rose within him.
There is a psychological curiosity in noting this long persistence bf a desire in one so destitute of the faculty which
usually awakens the desire. In spite of this absence of
faculty, the desire tormented him during many years, and
now rose up in such a serious shape, that he resolved to
settle forever whether he should devote himself to the
art or not. The test was curious. The river glided beneath, now flashing in the sunlight, now partially concealed
by willows. Taking a knife from his pocket, he flung it
with his left hand into the river, having previously resolved
that if he saw it fall he was to become an artist; but if
the sinking knife were concealed by the willows he was
to abandon the idea. No ancient oracle was ever more
ambiguous than the answer now given him. The willows
concealed the sinking knife, but the water splashed up like




1772.]       PREPARATIONS FOR WEtRTHER.               191
a fountain, and was distinctly visible.  So indefinite an
answer left him in doubt.He wandered pleasantly on the banks till he reached
Ems, and then journeyed down the river in a boat. The
old Rhine opened upon him; and he mentions with peculiar delight the magnificent situation of Oberlahnstein, and
above all the majesty of the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. On
arriving at the house of Geheirnrath von La Rochq, where
he had been announced by Merck, he was most kindly received by this excellent family, wherein he was soon considered as a member. His literary tendencies bound him
to the mother; his joyousness and strong sense, to the
father; his youth and poetry, to the daughters. The Frau
von Laroche, Wieland's earliest love, had written a novel
in the Richardson style, Die Geschichte des Frduleins von
Sternheim; and Schifer remarks that she probably gathered Merck, Goethe, and others into her house with a view
to favorable criticisms of this novel.  If this were her
design, she succeeded with Goethe, who reviewed her
book in the Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen. Whether
this complaisance was extorted by herself, or by the charms
of her daughter Maximiliane, history saith not; certain it
is that the dark eyes of the daughter made an impression
on the heart of the young reviewer. She is the Mile. B.
* This mode of interrogating fate recalls that strange passage in
Rousseau's Confessions (Livre vi.), where he throws a stone at a tree:
if he hits, it is a sign of salvation; if he misses, of damnation! Fortunately he hits:'Ce qui, v'ritablement, n'itait pas difficile, car
j'avais eu le soin de le choisir fort gros et fort pros; depuis lors je
n'ai plus dout6 de mon salut.' IIad Goethe read this passage? The
Confessions appeared in 1768, that is, four years before this journey
down the Lahn. Yet from a passage in one of his letters to the
Frau von Stein, it seems as if he then, I 782, first read the Confessions.




192         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Booc III.
introduced in Werther; but she is even still more interesting to us as the future mother of Bettina. They seem to
have looked into each other's eyes, flirted and sentimentalized, as if no Lotte had been left in Wetzlar. Nor will
this surprise those who have considered the mobile nature
of our poet: l He is miserable at moments, but the fulness
of abounding life, the strength of victorious will, and the
sensibility to new impressions, keep his ever active nature
from the despondency which killed Werther. He is not
always drooping because Charlotte is another's.  He is
open to every new impression, serious or gay.' Thus,
among other indications, we find him throwing off in Pater
Brey and Satyros, sarcasm and humor which are curious
as products of the Werther period, although of no absolute
worth; and we follow him down the Rhine, in company
with Merck and his family, leisurely enjoying Rheinfels, St.
Goar, Bacharach, Bingen, Elfeld, and Biberich, —'The blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefiess castles, breathing stern farewells
From gray but leafy walls where Ruin greenly dwells'sketching as if life were a leisure summer day.
He returned to Frankfurt, and busied himself with law,
literature and painting.  Wandering Italians, then rare,
brought casts of antique statues to Frankfurt; and with
delighted eagerness he purchased a complete set, thus to
revive as much as possible the grand impression he received at Mannheim. Among his art-studies must be noted
the attention bestowed on the Dutch painters. He began
to copy some still-life pictures; one of these he mentions
with pride, and what, think you, this one was? - a copy
of a tortoiseshell knife-handle inlaid with silver! He has
Gotz von Berlichingen in his portfolio, and delights in
copying a knife-handle!




1772.]     PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.             193
To law he devoted himself with greater assiduity than
ever. His father, delighted at going through the papers
with him, was peculiarly gratified at this honorable diligence, and in his delight was willing to overlook the other
occupations of' this singular creature,' as he rightly named
him.  Goethe's literary plans were numerous, and the
Frankfurt Journal gave him constant opportunities for
expressing himself on poetry, theology and even politics.
Very significant is the following passage from one of these
articles in reply to the complaint that the Germans had no
Fatherland, no Patriotism:' When we have a place in the
world where we can repose with our property, a field to
nourish us, and a house to cover us, have we not there our
Fatherland? and have not thousands upon thousands in
every city got this? and do they not live happy in their
limited sphere? Wherefore, then, this vain striving for a
sentiment we neither have nor can have, a sentiment which
only in certain nations, and in certain periods, is the result
of many concurrent circumstances? Roman patriotism!
God defend us from it, as from a giant! we could not find
the stool upon which to sit, nor the bed on which to lie in
such patriotism?' Through life he seems to have been
misled by this sophism. - It is noticed here as a detail of
his mind at this period; a period, be it observed, when, if
ever, he may be supposed ardent in patriotism, since he
was then re-writing G6tz von Berlichingen. He found, on
re-reading the manuscript, that, besides the unities of time
and place, he had sinned against the higher unity of composition. He says, -'In abandoning myself to my imagination, I had not
deviated much in the beginning, and the first acts were
pretty much as had been intended. In the following acts,
however, and especially towards the end, I was unconVOL. I.    17




194        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boom IIn.
sciously led away by a singular passion. In making Adelheid so loveable, I had fallen in love with her myself, —
my pen was unconsciously devoted to her alone, -the interest in her fate gained the preponderance; and as, moreover, G6tz, towards the end, has little to do, and afterwards
only returns to an unhappy. participation in the Peasant
War, nothing was more natural than that a charming
woman should supplant him in the mind of the author,
who, casting off' the fetters of art, thought to open a new
field. I was soon sensible of this defect, or rather this
culpable superfluity, since my poetical nature always impelled me to unity. Instead of the biography of G6tz and
German antiquities, I now confined my attention to my
own work, to give it more and more historical and national
substance, and to cancel that which was fabulous or passionate. In this I indeed sacrificed much, as the inclination of the man had to yield to the conviction of the artist.
Thus, for instance, I had placed Adelheid in a terrific nocturnal gypsy scene, where she produced a great effect by
her beautiful presence. A nearer examination banished
her; and the love affair between Franz and his gracious
lady, which was very circumstantially carried on in the
fourth and fifth acts, was much condensed, and only the
chief points indicated.'Without altering the manuscript, which 1 still possess
in its original shape, I determined to rewrite the whole,
and did this with such activity, that in a few weeks I
produced an entirely new version. It had never been my
intention to have the second poem printed, as I looked upon
this likewise as no more than a preparatory exercise, the
foundation of a new work, to be accomplished with greater
industry and deliberation.' When I suggested my plans to Merck, he laughed at
me, and asked what was the meaning of this perpetual




1773.]     PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.            195
writing and rewriting? The work, he said, by this means,
only becomes different, and seldom better; you must see
what effect one thing produces, and then try something
new. " Be in time at the hedge, if you would dry your
linen," he exclaimed in the words of the proverb; hesitation and delay only make uncertain men. On the other
hand, I pointed out how unpleasant it would be to offer a
bookseller a work on which I had bestowed so much affection, and perhaps have it refused; for how would they
judge of so young, nameless, and audacious an author?
As my dread of the press gradually vanished, I wished to
see printed my comedy Die Mitschuldigen, upon which I
set some value, but I found no publisher inclined to undertake it.'Here the mercantile taste of my friend was at once
excited. He proposed that we should publish at our own
expense this singular and striking work, from which we
should derive lmrge profit. Like many others, he used
often to reckon up the bookseller's profit, which with
many works was certainly great, especially if what was
lost by other writings and commercial affairs was left out
of the calculation. We settled that I should procure the
paper, and that he should answer for the printing. To
work we went, and I was pleased to see my wild dramatic
sketch in clean proof sheets; it looked really better than
I myself expected. We completed the work, and it was
sent off in several parcels. It was not long before the
attention it excited became universal. But as, with our
limited means, the copies could not be forwarded, a pirated
edition suddenly made its appearance. As, moreover,
there could be no immediate return, especially in ready
money, for the copies sent out, and as my treasury was
not very flourishing at the time when much attention and
applause was bestowed upon me, I was extremely per



196        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boo III.
plexed how to pay for the paper by means of which I had
made the world acquainted with my talent. On the other
hand, Merck, who knew better how to help himself, was
certain that all would soon come right again; but I never
perceived that to be the case.'
There is some slight inacuracy in the foregoing, which
a comparison of the first and second versions of the work
will rectify. The changes he effected were very slight,
and mainly consist in the striking out of the two scenes in
which Adelheid plays so conspicuous a part. Merck's
active sympathy and decision in this matter stand in
pleasing contrast with Herder's strange want of insight, or,
shall we say, jealous unfriendliness? It was surely not a
work to be returned with mocking discouragement, and
by a man like Herder. What, then, was the reason of
Herder's conduct? Was it want of appreciation, or was
it offended self-love which rose against thl masterpiece of
the youth whom he had depreciated at Strasburg? It is
hard to say. If critical sagacity was at fault, the fact is
more remarkable, because on its appearance Gdtz met
with almost universal applause, even from critics whose
taste was most opposed to such lawless novelties.- The
effect on the public was instantaneous, startling. Its bold
expression of the spirit of Freedom, its defiance of French
criticism, and the originality no less than the power of the
writing, carried it triumphant over Germany. It was
pronounced a masterpiece in all the salons and in all the
beer-houses of that uneasy time. Imitations followed with
amazing rapidity; and the stage was noisy with the clang
* This has been ably set forth by Stahr in his work on Merck.
What Goethe says on the subject is very far fro;lL accurate.




1773.]      PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.            197
of chivalry, the book shelves creaked beneath the weight
of resuscitated Middle Ages.
An amusing example of' the trade' is mentioned by
Goethe. A bookseller paid him a visit, and with the air
of a man well satisfied with his proposal, offered to give
an order for a dozen plays in the style of GStz, for which
a handsome honorarium should be paid. His offer was
the more generous, because such was the state of literature at this period, that, in spite of the success G6tz
achieved, it brought no money to its author, pirated
editions circulating everywhere, and robbing him of his
reward. Moreover, what the bookseller proposed was
what the public expected. Foolish public! When once
a writer has achieved success in any direction, he must
continue in that direction, or peril his reputation. An
opinion has been formed of him; he has been classed;
and the public will not have its classification disturbed.
Nevertheless, if he repeat himself, this unreasoning public
declaims against his'poverty.' No man ever repeated
himself less than Goethe.  He did not model a statue,
and then amuse himself with taking casts of it in different
materials. He lived, thought and suffered; and because
he had lived, thought and suffered, he wrote. When he
had once incarnated experience in song, he never recurred to it. The true artist, like the snake, casts his skin,
but never resumes it. He works according to the impulse
from within, not according to the demand from without.
And Goethe was a genuine artist, never exhausting a
lucky discovery, never working an impoverished vein.
Every poem came fresh from life, coined from the mint
of his experience., G6tz is the greatest product of the Sturm und Drang
movement.! As we before hinted, this period is not simply
one of Titanic hopes and mediaeval retrospections, it is also
17,




198       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boor III.
one of unhealthy sentimentalism. Goethe, the great representative poet of his day — the Secretary of his Age -
gives us masterpieces which characterize both these tendencies. Beside the insurgent Gotz stands the dreamy
Werther. And yet, accurately as these two works represent two active tendencies of that time, they are both far
removed above the perishing extravagances of that time;
they are both ideal expressions of the age, and as free
from the disease which corrupted it as Goethe himself was
free from the weakness of his contemporaries. Wilkes
used to say that he had never been a Wilkite. Goethe
was never a Werther. To appreciate the distance which
separated him and his works from his sentimental contemporaries and their works, we must study the characters of
such men as Jacobi, Klinger, Wagner, and Lenz, or we
must read such works as Woldemar. It will then be plain
why Goethe turned with aversion from such works, his
own included, when a few years had cleared his insight,
and settled his aims. Then also will be seen the difference
between Genius which idealizes the spirit of the age, and
Talent which panders to it.<
It was, indeed, a strange epoch; the unrest was the
unrest of disease, and its extravagances were morbid
symptoms. In the letters, memoirs and novels, which still
remain to testify to the follies of the age, may be read a
self-questioning and sentimental introspection, enough to
create in healthy minds a distaste both for sentiment and
self-questioning. A factitious air is carried even by the
most respectable sentiments; and many not respectable
array themselves in rose-pink. Nature is seldom spoken
of but in hysterical enthusiasm. Tears and caresses are
t As Karl Griin epigrammatically says of Goethe and his contemporaries,' he was at once patient and physician, they were patients
and nothing else.'




1773.]      PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.             199
prodigally scattered, and upon the slightest provocations.
In Coburg an Order of Mercy and Expiation is instituted
by sensitive noodles. Leuchsenring,,whom Goethe satirized in Pater Brey, as a professional sentimentalist, gets
up a secret society, and calls it the Order of Sentiment,
to which tender souls think it a privilege to belong. Friendship is fantastically deified; brotherly love draws trembling
souls together, not on the solid grounds of affection and
mutual service, but on entirely imaginary grounds of'spiritual communion;' whence arose, as Jean Paul wit-l
tily says,' an universal love for all men and beasts
except reviewers.' It was a sceptical epoch, in which
everything established came into question. Marriage, of
course, came badly off among a set of men who made the
first commandment of genius to consist in loving your
neighbor and your neighbor's wife.
These were symptoms of disease; the social organization was out of order; a crisis, evidently imminent, was'
heralded by extravagance in literature, as elsewhere. The
cause of the disease was want of Faith. In religion, in philosophy, in politics, in morals, this eighteenth century was
ostentatious of its disquiet and disbelief. The old Faith,
which for so long had made European Life an organic
unity, and which in its tottering weakness had received a
mortal blow from Luther, was no longer universal, living,
active, dominant, its place of universal directing power was
vacant; a new Faith had not arisen.  The French Revolution was another crisis of that organic disturbance which
had previously shown itself irt another order of ideas,in the Reformation. Beside this awful crisis, other minor
crises are noticeable. Everywhere the same Protestant
spirit breaks through traditions in morals, in literature and
in education. Whatever is established, whatever rests on
tradition, is questioned. The classics are no longer be



200        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [BooK III.
lieved in; men begin to maintain the doctrine of Progress,
and the superiority of the moderns. Art is pronounced to
be in its nature progressive. Education is no longer permitted to pursue its broad traditional path; the methods
which were excellent for the past no longer suffice for the
present; everywhere new methods rise up to ameliorate
the old. The divine right of institutions ceases to gain
credence.  The individual claimed and proclaimed his
4reedom; freedom of thought and freedom of act. Freedom is the watchword of the eighteenth century.
Enough has been said to indicate the temper of those
times, and to show why Werther was the expression of that
temper. Turning to the novel itself, we find it so bound
up with the life of its author, that the history of his life at
this epoch is the record of the materials from which it was
created; we must, therefore, retrace our steps again to
the point where Goethe left Wetzlar, and, by the aid of
his letters to Kestner, follow the development of this strange
romance.
Gdtz was published in the spring of 1773. It was in
the autumn of 1772 that Goethe left Wetzlar, and returned
home. His letters to Kestner and Charlotte are full of
passionate avowals and tender reminiscences. The capricious orthography and grammar, which will be noticed in
them, belonged to a period when it was thought unworthy
of a genius to conform to details so fastidious as correct
spelling or good grammar; but the affectionate nature
which warms these letters, the abundant love the writer
felt and inspired, these belong to him, and not to his age.
If a proof were wanted of Goethe's loving disposition, we
might refer to these letters, especially those addressed to
the young brother of Charlotte. The reader of this Biogrraphy, however, will need no such proof, and we may therefore confine ourselves to the relation of Goethe to the




1773.]     PREPARATIONS FOR WERtIER.             201
Kestners.' God bless you, dear Kestner,' runs one of the
early letters,'and tell Lotte that I often believe I can forget her; but then I have a relapse, and it is worse with me
than ever.' He longs once more to be sitting at her feet,
letting the children clamber over him. He writes in a
strain of melancholy, which is as much poetry as sorrow;
when a thought of suicide arises, it is only one among the
many thoughts which hurry through his mind. There is a;
very significant passage in the Autobiography, which aptly
describes his real state of mind:'I had a large collection
of weapons, and among them a very handsome dagger.
This I placed by my bedside every night, and before extinguishing my candle, I made various attempts to pierce
the sharp point a couple of inches into my breast; but not
being able to do it, I laughed myself out of the notion,
threw aside all hypochondriacal fancies, and resolved to
live.' He played with suicidal thoughts, because he was
restless, and suicide was a fashionable speculation of the
day; but whoever supposes these thoughts of suicide were
serious, has greatly misunderstood him. He had them not,
even at this period; and when he wrote Werther he had
long thrown off even the faint temptation of poetic longings
for death. In October, 1772, the report reaches him that
his Wetzlar friend, Goue, has shot himself:' Write to me
at once about Goue,' he says to Kestner;'I honor such
an act, and pity mankind, and let all the Philisters make
their tobacco-smoke comments on it and say: There, you
see! Nevertheless, I hope never to make my friends unhappy by such an act, myself.' He was too full of life
to do more than coquette with the idea of death. Here is
a confession:'I went to Homburg, and there gained new
love of life, seeing how much pleasure the appearance of
a miserable thing like me can give such excellent people.'
On the 7th of November he suddenly appeared in Wetzlar




202        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK iIn.
with Schlosser, and stayed there till the 10th, in a feverish,
but delicious, enthusiasm. He writes to Kestner on reaching home:' It was assuredly high time for me to go.
Yesterday evening I had thoroughly criminal thoughts as
on the sofa.... And when I think how above all my
hopes your greeting of me was, I am very calm. I confess I came with some anxiety. I came with a pure,
warm, full heart, dear Kestner, and it is a hell-pain when
one is not received in the same spirit as one brings. But
so —God give you a whole life such as those two days
were to me!'
The report of Goue's suicide, before alluded to, turned
out to be false; but the suicide of Jerusalem was a melancholy fact. Goethe immediately writes to Kestner:'The unhappy Jerusalem! The news was shocking,
and unexpected to me; it was horrible to have this news
as an accompaniment to the pleasantest gift of love. The'
unfortunate man! But the devil, that is, the infamous men
who enjoy nothing but the chaff of vanity, and have the
lust of idolatry in their hearts, and preach idolatry, and
cramp healthy nature, and overstrain and ruin the faculties,
are guilty of this misery, of our misery. If the cursed
parson is not guilty, God forgive me that I wish he may
break his neck like Eli. The poor young man! When
I came back from a walk, and he met me in the moonlight, I said to myself, he is in love. Lotte must still remember that I laughed about it. God knows, loneliness
undermined his heart, and for seven years * his form has
been familiar to me. I have talked little with him. When
I came away I brought with me a book of his; I will keep
that and the remembrance of him as long as I live.'
* This'seven years' refers to the first sight of Jerusalem at
Leipsic.




1773.]      PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.           203
Among the many inaccuracies of the Autobiography,
there is one of consequence on the subject of Werther,
namely, the assertion that it was the news of Jerusalem's
suicide which suddenly set him to work. The news reached
him in'October, 1772, and in November Kestner sent him
the narrative of Jerusalem's last days.  Not until 1774
did he write Werther. In fact, the state of his mind at
this period is by no means such as the Autobiography
describes. Read this letter written in December:'That
is wonderful! I was about to ask if Lenchen: had arrived, and you write to tell me she is. If I were only there
I would nullify your discourse, and astonish all the tailors;
I think I should be fonder of her than of Lotte. From the
portrait she must be an amiable girl, much better than
Lotte, if not precisely the... And I amfree and thirsting for love. I must try and come; yet that would not
help me. Here am I once more in Frankfurt, and carry
plans and fancies about with me, which I should not do if
I had but a maiden.' In January he seems to have found
a maiden, for he writes:'Tell Lotte there is a certain
maiden here whom I love heartily, and whom I would
choose before all others if I had any thought of marriage,
and she also was born on the 11th of January.t  It would
be pretty; such a pair! Who knows what God's will is.'
I fancy he here alludes to Anna Sybilla Munch, of whom
we shall hear presently; but there is some doubt possible,
as she was not born in January but in July. It may be
lAntoinette Gerock, a relation of Schlosser's, who is known
to have loved him passionately, and to have furnished some
traits for Mignon., But a doubt is thrown on this latter
supposition by a passage in the next letter, wherein he
speaks of having helped to adorn his friend for a ball, to
* A sister of Charlotte's.     f Lotte's birthday.




204        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [Boo InI,
which he did not accompany her, but walked with Antoinette on the bridge in the moonlight. Clear, however, it
is that he is not very melancholy.'Yesterday I skated
from sunrise to sunset. And I have other sources of joy
which I can't relate. Be comforted that I am almost as
happy as people who love, like you too, that I am as full
of hope, and that I have lately felt some poems. My
sister greets you, my maiden also greets you, my gods
greet you.' Thus we see, that, although Lotte's picture
hangs by his bedside, although her image hovers constantly before him, and the Teutsche Haus is the centre of
many yearning thoughts, he is not pining despondently for
Charlotte. He has rewritten G6tz, and allowed Merck to
carry it to the printers. He is living in a very merry
circle, one figure in which is Anna Sybilla Miunch, as we
gather from a letter written in February, 1773, a month
after that in which he refers to' his maiden.' Here is
the passage:'At Easter I will send you a quite adventurous novelty.?  My maiden greets Lotte. In character she
has much of Lenchen, and my sister says resembles her
portrait. If we but as much in love as you two - meanwhile I call her my " dear little wife," for recently she fell
to me in a lottery as my wife.' She was then only fifteen,
and their relation, which appears never to have been very
passionate, was at present mere play.
And now the day approaches when Lotte is to be married and leave Wetzlar. He writes to her brother Hans,
begging him, when Lotte departs, to write at least once a
week, that the connection with the Teutsche Haus may not
be broken, although its jewel is carried away. He writes
to Kestner to be allowed to get the wedding ring.'I am
wholly yours, but from henceforth care not to see you nor
*Gltz.




1773.]     PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.            205
Lotte. Her portrait too shall away from my bedroom the
day of her marriage, and shall not be restored till I hear
she is a mother; and from that moment a new epoch begins, in which I shall not love her but her children, a little
indeed on her account, but that's nothing to do with it; and
if you ask me to be godfather, my spirit shall rest upon
the boy, and he shall make a fool of himself for a maiden
like his mother.' Enclosed was this note to Lotte:' May
my memory with this ring forever remain with you in
your happiness. Dear Lotte, some time hence we shall
see each other again, you with this ring on your finger,
and I as always thine. I know no name or bye-name to
sign this with. You know me.' When the marriage takes
place he writes to Kestner.' God bless you; you have
surprised me. I had meant to make a holy sepulchre on
Good Friday, and bury Lotte's portrait. But it hangs still
by my bed, and shall remain there till I die. Be happy.
Greet for me your angel, and Lenchen; she shall be the
second Lotte, and it shall be as well with her. I wander
in the desert where no water is, my hair is my shade, and
my blood my spring.' The bridesmaid brings him the
bridal bouquet, a flower of which he sticks in his hat, as
he walks to Darmstadt, in a melancholy mood; but to
show that his passion for Charlotte was after all only a
poetic passion, here is a passage in the letter he sent to
Kestner immediately after the marriage:' O Kestner,
when have I envied you Lotte in the human sense? for
not to envy you her in the spiritual sense I must be an
angel without lungs and liver. Nevertheless I must disclose a secret to you. That you may know and behold.
When I attached myself to Lotte, and you know that I
was attached to her from my heart, Born talked to me
about it, as people are wont to talk. " If I were K. I
should not like it. How can it end? You quite cut him
voL. I.    18




206        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
out! " and the like. Then I said to him in these very
words, in his room, it was in the morning: " The fact is,
I am fool enough to think the girl something remarkable;
if she deceived me, and turned out to be as girls usually
are, and used K. as capital in order to make the most of
her charms, the first moment which discovered that to me,
the first moment which brought her nearer to me, would
be the last of our acquaintance," and this I protested and
swore. And between ourselves, without boasting, I understand the maiden somewhat, and you know how I have felt
for her and for everything she has seen and touched, and
wherever she has been, and shall continue to feel to the end
of the world. And now see how far I am envious, and
must be so. For either I am a fool, which it is difficult to
believe, or she is the subtlest deceiver, or then -Lotte,
the very Lotte of whom we are speaking.' A few days
afterwards he writes:'My poor existence is petrified to
barren rock. This summer I lose all. Merck goes. My
sister too. And I am alone.'
The marriage of Cornelia, his much-loved sister, was to
him a very serious matter, and her loss was not easily
supplied. It came, too, at a time when other losses pained
him. Lotte was married, Merck was away, and a dear
friend had just died. Nevertheless he seems to have been
active in plans. Among them was most probably that of
a drama on Mlahomet, which he erroneously places at a
later period, after the journeys with Lavater and Basedow,
but which Schafer, very properly, restores to the year
1773, as Boie's Annual foi 1774 contains the Mahomet's
song, -all that was written, except the plan. Goethe has
narrated in full the conception of this piece, Which is very
grand; he tells us the idea arose within him of illustrating,he sad fact, noticeable in the biographies of genius, that
very man who attempts to realize a great idea comes in




1773.]      PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.             207
contact with the lower world, and must place himself on
its level in order to influence it, and thus compromises
his higher aims and finally forfeits them.  He chose
Mahomet as the illustration, never having regarded him
as an imposter. He had carefully studied the Koran and
Mahomet's life, in preparation.' The piece,' he says,'opened with a hymn sung by Mahomet alone under the open
sky. He first adores the innumerable stars as so many
gods; but as the star god (Jupiter) rises, he offers to him,
as the king of the stars, exclusive adoration. Soon after,
the moon ascends the horizon, and claims the eye and
heart of the worshipper, who, refreshed and strengthened
by the dawning sun, is afterwards stimulated to new
praises. But these changes, however delightful, are still
unsatisfactory, and the mind feels that it must rise still
higher, and mounts therefore to God, the One Eternal,
Infinite, to whom all these splendid but finite creatures
owe their existence.  I composed this hymn with great
delight; it is now lost, but might easily be restored as a cantata, and is adapted for music by the variety of its expression. It would, however, be necessary to imagine it sung
according to the original plan, by the leader of a caravan
with his family and tribe; and thus the alternation of the
voices and the strength of the chorus would be secured.'Mahomet converted, imparts these feelings and sentiments to his friends; his wife and Ali become unconditional
disciples. In the second act, he attempts to propagate this
faith in the tribe; Ali still more zealously. Assent and
opposition display themselves according to the variety of
character. The contest begins, the strife becomes violent,
and Mahomet flies. In the third act, he defeats his enemies, makes his religion the public one, and purifies the
Kaaba from idols; but this being impracticable by force,
he is obliged to resort to cunning.  What in his character




208        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK III.
is earthly increases and developes itself; the divine retires
and is obscured. In the fourth act, Mahomet pursues his
conquests, his doctrine becomes a means rather than an
end, all kinds of practices are employed, nor are horrors
wanting. A woman, whose husband has been condemned
by Mahomet, poisons him. In the fifth act he feels that
he is poisoned. His great calmness, the return to himself
and to his better nature, make him worthy of admiration.
He purifies his doctrine, establishes his kingdom, and
dies.'This sketch long occupied my mind; for, according
to my custom, I was obliged to let the conception perfect
itself before I commenced the execution. All that genius,
through character and intellect, can exercise over mankind, was therein to be represented, and what it gains and
loses in the process. Several of the songs to be introduced in the drama, were rapidly composed; the only one
remaining of them, however, is the Mahomet's Gesang.
This was to be sung by Ali, in honor of his master, at the
apex of his success, just before the change resulting from
the poison.' Of al! his unrealized schemes, this causes
me the greatest regret. In grandeur, depth, and in the
opportunities for suptle psychological unravelment of the
mysteries of our nature, it was a scheme peculiarly suited
to his genius. How many Clavigos and Stellas would onenot have given for such a poem?
This Mahomet it is, if my suspicion be correct, to which
he refers in a letter to Kestner, July, 1773:'I am working my experience into a drama for the consolation of gods
and men. I know what Lotte will say when she sees it,
and I know what I shall answei' her.' If this does not
refer to Mahomet it must refer to lWerther; but in this
case we must place the composition of Werther earlier
than other evidence would indicate, and reject his state



1773.]     PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.             209
ment that it was written in four weeks of uninterrupted
excitement.
Maximiliane Laroche had recently married Brentano, a
Frankfurt merchant, a widower with five children, and
many years her senior. Goethe became intimate at their
house; and, as Merck writes,' il joue avec les enfans et
accompagne le clavecin de madame avec la basse. M.
Brentano, quoique assez jaloux pour un Italien, l'aime et
veut absolument qu'il frequente la maison.' The husband
wanted his presence, often as an umpire in the disputes
with his wife; and the wife, also, chose him umpire with
her husband; nay, Merck hints,'il a la petite Madame
Brentano a consoler sur l'odeur de l'huile, du fromage, et
des manieres de son mari.' So passed autumn and winter,
in a tender relation, such as in those days was thought
blameless enough,_ but such as modern writers cannot
believe to have been so blameless. For my part, I cannot
disbelieve his own word on this matter, when he says,' My
former relation to the young wife, which was, properly
speaking, only that of a brother to a sister, was resumed
after marriage. Being of her own age, I was the only
one in whom she heard an echo of those voices to which
she had been accustomed in her youth. We lived in childish confidence; and, although there was nothing passionate
in our intercourse, it was painful, because she was unable
to reconcile herself to her new condition.' If not passionate, the relation was certainly sentimental and dangerous. Hear how he writes to Frau Jacobi:' It goesfkvell
with me, dear lady, and thanks for your double, triple
latter. The last three weeks there has been nothing but
excitement, and now we are as contented and happy as
possible. I say we, for since the 15th of January not a
branch of my existence has been solitary. And Fate,
which I have so often vituperated, is now courteously en-18*



210        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK In.
titled beautiful, wise Fate, for since my sister left me, this
is the first gift that can be called an equivalent. The Max
is still the same angel whose simple and darling qualities
draw all hearts towards her, and the feeling I have for her
- wherein her husband would find cause for jealousy
now makes the joy of my existence. Brentano is a worthy
fellow, with a frank, strong character, and not without
sense. The children are lively and good.' An anecdote,
related by his mother to Bettina, gives us an amusing
picture of him parading before Max. The morning was
bright and frosty.' Wolfgang burst into the room where
his mother was seated with some friends: " Mother, you
have never seen me skate, and the weather is so beautiful
to-day." I put on my crimson fur cloak, which had a
long train, and was closed in front by golden clasps, and
we drove out. There skated my son, like an arrow among
the groups. The wind had reddened his cheeks, and blown
the powder out of his brown hair. When he saw my
crimson cloak he came towards our carriage and smiled
coaxingly at me. " Well," said I, " what do you want? "
"Come, mother, you can't be cold in the carriage, give
me your cloak."  "You won't put- it on, will you."
" Certainly." I took it off, he put it on, threw the train
over his arm, and away he went over the ice like a son of
the gods.  Oh, Bettina, if you could have seen him!
Anything so beautiful is not to be seen now! I clapped
my hands for joy. Never shall I forget him, as he darted
out Itom under one arch of the bridge and in again under
the other, the wind carrying the train behind him as he
flew! Your mother, Bettina, was on the ice, and all this
was to please her.'
No thought of suicide in that breast!
Quite in keeping with this anecdote is the spirit of the
satirical farce G6tter, Helden und Wieland, which is




1774.]      PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.             211
alluded to in this passage of a letter to Kestner, May,
1774, and must therefore have been written some time
before:' My rough joke against Wieland makes more
noise than I thought. He behaves very well in the matter,
as I hear, so that I am in the wrong.' The origin of this
farce was a strong feeling in the circle of Goethe's friends,
that(Wieland had modernized, misrepresented, and traduced the Grecian gods and heroes. One Sunday afternoon' the rage for dramatizing everything' seized him,
and with a bottle of Burgundy by his side he wrote off the
piece just as it stands. The friends were in raptures with
it. He sent it to Lenz, then at Strasburg, who insisted on
its at once being printed. After some demurring, consent
was given, and at Strasburg the work saw the light. Iit reading it, the public, unacquainted with the circumstances and
the mood to which it owed its origin, unacquainted also
with the fact of its never having been designed for publication, felt somewhat scandalized at his alcoholic fierceness of sarcasm. But in truth there was no malice in it.
Flushed with the insolence and pride of wit, he attacked a
poet whom, on the whole, he greatly loved; and Wieland
took no offence at it, but reviewed it in the Teutsche Mercur, recommending it to all lovers of pasquinade, persiJiage, and sarcastic wit. This reminds one of Socrates
standing up in the theatre when he was lampooned by
Aristophanes, that the spectators might behold the original
of the sophist they were hooting on the stage.  Gdtter,
IHelden und Wieland is really amusing, and under the
mask of its buffoonery contains some sound and acute
criticism.* The peculiarity of it, however, consists in its
* It called forth a retort, Thieren, Menschen, und Goethe; which
has not fallen in my way. Critics speak of it as personal but worthless.




212       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BoOK III.
attacking Wieland for treating heroes unheroically, at a
time when, from various parts of Germany, loud voices
were raised against Wieland, as an immoral, an unchristian, nay, even an atheistical writer. Lavater called upon
Christians to pray for this sinner; theologians forbade
their followers to read his works;'pulpits were loud
against him. In 1773 the whole Klopstock school rose
against him` in moral indignation, and burned his works
on Klopstock's birthday. Very different was Goethe's ire.
He read nothing of this in Wieland, but he saw that the
gods and heroes were represented in perruques and satin
breeches, that their cheeks were rouged, their thews and
sinews shrunk to those of a petit maitre; and against such
a cornition of the old Pagan life he raised his voice.' I cannot blame you,' he writes to Kestner,' for living
in the world and making acquaintances among men of
rank and influence. Intercourse with the great is always
advantageous to him who knows properly how to use it.
I honor gunpowder, if -only for its power of bringing me a
bird down out of the air.... So in God's name continue,
and don't trouble yourself about the opinion of others, shut
your heart to antagonists as to flatterers.... 0 Kestner,
I am in excellent spirits, and if I have not you by my side,
yet all the dear ones are ever before me. (The circle of
noble natures is the highest happiness I have yet achieved,)
And now, my dear Gdtz! I trust in his strong nature, he,
will endure. He is a human offspring with many sins,
and nevertheless one of the best. Many will object to his
clothing and rough angles; yet I have so much applause
that it astonishes me. I don't think I shall soon write anything which will again find its public. Meanwhile I work
on, in the hope that something striking in the whirl of
things may be laid hold of.'
* Gtervinus, iv. 285.




1774.]     PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.            213
As yet, therefore, we see that Werther was not in contemplation. On Christmas day 1773, in answer to Kestner's wish that he should come to Hanover and play a part
there, he writes this noticeable sentence:'My father
would not object to my entering foreign service, and no
hope or desire of an office detains me here — but, dear
Kestnerl the talents and powers which I have, I need too
much for my own aims; I am accustomed to act according
to my instinct, and therewith can no prince be served.'
In less than two years he was to accept service under a'
prince; but we shall see that he did so with full consciousness of what was required, and of what he could afford to
give.
The mention of that prince leads me to make an important correction in the dcate of the first acquaintance with
him, erroneously placed in the December of 1774 by
Goethe and by all subsequent writers, until Stahr ~- noticed
in the correspondence with Knebel the real date of February 1774. It is useless to inquire how Goethe's memory
could so have deceived him as to bring this important
event in conjunction with his first acquaintance with Lili;
the dates of the Knebel correspondence are beyond question. On the 11th of February Knebel paid him a visit,
and informed him that the two princes, Karl August and
Constantine, were desirous of seeing him. He went, and
was received with flattering kindness, especially by Karl
August, who had just read GStz. He dined with his royal
hosts in a quiet way, and then left them, having received
and produced'an agreeable impression. They were going
to Mainz whither he promised to follow them. His father,
like a sturdy old burgher, who held aloof from princes, shook
his sceptical head at the idea of this visit. To Mainz, how* Weimar und Jena,.ii. p. 211.




214        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Book InI.
ever, the poet went, a day or two afterwards, and spent
several days with the young princes, as their guest. This
was his first contact with men of high rank.
In the following May he hears with joy that Lotte is a
mother, and that her boy is to be called Wolfgang, after
him; and on the 16th of June he writes to Lotte:'I will
soon send you a friend who has much resemblance to me,
andhope you will receive him well; he is named Werther,
and is and was- but that he must himself explain.'
Whoever has followed the history thus far, moving on
the secure ground of contemporary document, will see
how vague and inaccurate is the account of the composition of Werther given by its author, in his retrospective
glance at the period. It was not originated by the news
of Jerusalem's death. It was not originated by growing
despair at the loss of Charlotte. It was not originated by
tormenting thoughts of self-destruction. It was not to free
himself from suicide that he wrote this story of suicide.
All these several threads were woven into its woof; but
the rigor of dates forces us to the conviction that TVcrtlhcr,
although taken from his experience, was not written while
that experience was being lived. Indeed, the true philosophy of art would, 2 p7'iori, lead us to the conviction that,
although he cleared his' bosom of the perilous stuff' by
moulding this perilous stuff into a work of art, he must
have essentially outlived the storm before he painted it,
conquered his passion, and subdued the rebellious thoughts,
before he could make them plastic to his purpose. The
poet cannot see to write when his eyes are full of tears;
cannot sing when his breast is swollen with sighs, and
sobs choke utterance.  He must rise superior to his grief
before he can sublimate his grief in song.  The artist is a
master, not a slave; he wiclds his passion, lie is not hur



1774.]      PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER.             215
ried along by it; he possesses, and is not possessed. Art
enshrines the great sadness of the world, but is itself not
sad. The storm  of passion weeps itself away, and the
heavy clouds roll off in quiet masses, to make room for
the sun, which, shining through, touches them to beauty
with its rays.  While pain is in its newness it is pain, and
nothing else; it is not Art, but Feeling. Goethe could not
write TVertlher before he had outlived Wertherism.  It
may have been, as he says, a' general confession,' and
a confession which brought him  certain relief; but we do
not confess until we have repented, and we do not repent
until we have outlived the error.
W'erther was written rapidly.'I completely isolated
myself,' he says;'nay, prohibited the visits of my
friends, and put aside everything that did not immediately
belong to the subject. Under such circumstances, and
under so many preparations in secret, I wrote it in four
weeks, without any scheme of the whole, or treatment of
any part being previously put on paper.' It is of this
seclusion Merck writes' Le grand succes que son drame
a eu lui tourne un peu la tete. Il se detache de tous ses
amis, et n'existe que dans les compositions qu'il prepare
pour le public.'
In September 1774 he wrote to Lotte, sending her a
copy of TVerthcr:'Lotte, how dear this little book is to
me thou wilt feel in reading it, and this copy is as dear to
me as if it were the only one in the world. Thou must
have it, Lotte; I have kissed it a hundred times; have
kept it locked up that no one might touch it. O, Lotte!
And I beg thee let no one except Meyers see it yet; it will
be published at the Leipsic fair. I wish each to read it
alone, thou alone, — Kestner alone, — and each to write
me a little word about it. Lotte, adieu, Lotte!'




216         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.             [BooK III.
Let us now take a glance at this work, which startled
Europe, and which for a long while was all that Europe
knew of Goethe.:
t Scott in prefacing his translation of Gotz, says: "It was
written by the elegant author of the Sorrows of WVerther."




1774.'W ERTHERi                   217
CHAPTER V.
WERTHER.
Aujou-rdhui l'homme d&sire imznensniemnt, mais iV veut
faiblement. In these words Guizot has written an epigraph
for fWerther, a book composed out of a double history,
the history of its author's experience, and the history of
one of his friends.
The story of Jerusalem, whom we saw in the WVetzlar
circle, furnished Goethe with the machinery by which to
introduce his own experience.  He took many of the
details from Kestner's long letter, sent shortly after the
catastrophe: the letter may therefore be here abridged, as
an introduction to the novel. Jerusalem, melancholy by
temperament, was unhappy during the whole of his Wetzlar residence.  He had been denied admittance into the
high diplomatic society to which his position gave him
claims; he had been in unpleasant relations with his ambassador, whose secretary he was; and he had fallen in
love with the wife of his friend.  Thus oppressed, he
shunned company, was fond of long moonlight walks, and
once lost himself in the wood, wanderingl about the whole
night.  But he was solitary, even in his grief, told none of
his friends the causes of his melancholy, and solaced himself with novels - the wretched novels of that day. To
these he added all the tragedies hie could get hold of;
VOL. I.     19




218        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
English writers, especially the gloomy writers; and various philosophical works. He wrote also essays, one on
suicide, a subject which greatly occupied him.  lMendelssohn's Phladon was his favorite work.-'' When the rumor
reached Wetzlar of Goue's suicide, he said that Goud was
not a fit man for such a deed, but defended the act as an
act. A few days before his own unhappy end he awas
talking with Schleimitz about suicide, and said,' It must
be a bad look out, however, if the shot were not to take
effect!' The rest of the narrative must be told in Kestner's own words, the simple circumstantial style best fitting such a history.' Last Tuesday he comes with a discontented look to
Kielmansegge, who was ill. The latter asks him how he
is?  "Better than I like to be."  He also that day talked
a good deal about love, which he had never done before;
and then about the Frankfurter Zeitung, which had for
some time pleased him more than usual. In the afternoon
(Tuesday) he goes to Secretary H.'s. Until eight o'clock
in the evening they play tarock together.  Annchen
Brandt was also there; Jerusalem accompanied her home.
As they walk, Jerusalem often strikes his forehead, gloomily and repeatedly says: " If one were but dead, - if one
were but in heaven! " Annchen joked him about it; he
bargains for a place by her side in heaven, and at parting
he says: "It is agreed, then, that I shall have a place by
you in heaven."'On Wednesday, as there were great doings at the
Crown Prince, and everybody invited everybody, he went
there to dinner, though he generally dined at home, andl
he brought Secretary H. with him. He did not belhave
* Goethe it will be remembered, made in Strasburg an analysis of
this work, contrasting it with Plato's.




1774.]                 WERTHER.                    219
there otherwise than usual; if anything, he was more
cheerful. After dinner Secretary H. takes him home with
himr to see his wife. They take coffee; Jerusalem says to
MrI s1.:." De:ar Mrs. II., this is the last coffee I siall drink
wviI. you."  She tl hinks it a joke, and answers in that tone.
The samne afternoon (VWednesday) Jerusalem was alone at
H.'s: what took place there is unknown; perhaps herein lies
the cause of what followed. In the evening, just as it was
dark, Jerusalem comes to Garbenheim, into the usual inn,
asks whether any one is in the room above? On the answer, No, he goes up, soon comes down again, goes out
into the yard, towards the left, comes back after a little
while, goes into the garden; it becomes quite dark, he
remains there a long time, the hostess makes her remarks
upon this, he comes out of the garden, goes past her with
hasty steps, all without saying a word, into the yard, hurrying straight away from it.'In the meantime, or still later, something passed between H. and his wife, concerning which, H. confides to a
female friend that they quarrelled a little about Jerusalem;
and his wife at last desired that he would forbid him the
house, whereupon he did so the following day, in a note.'[It is said':;- that Secretary H. has given secret information that on the Wednesday before Jerusalem's death,
when he was with I-I. and his wife taking coffee, the husband was obliged to go to the ambassador. When he
returns, he observes an extraordinary seriousness in his
wife, and a silence in Jerusalem, which appear strange to
him, especially as he finds them so much changed after
his return. Jerusalem goes away. Secretary H. makes
his observations on the above-mentioned circumstances:
* The passage in brackets occurs in a subsequent letter; it is inserted here to give the story continuity.




220         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox IIi.
he contracts suspicion that something injurious to him may
have happened in his absence; for he is very suspicious
and jealous.  Nevertheless, he puts on a composed and
cheerful air, and determines to put his wifie to the1 test
He says: Jerusalem has often invited himn to dinner; whT1a
does she think of their asking Jerusalem for once to dine
with them?  She, the wife, answers: NTo; and she must
entirely break off intercourse with Jerusalem; he begins
to behave in such a way that she must altogether avoid his
society. And she held herself bound to tell him, her husband, what had passed in his absence.  Jerusalem  had
thrown himself at her feet, and had wanted to make a
formal declaration of love to her.  She was naturally indignant at this, and had uttered many reproaches to him,
etc.  She now desired that her husband would forbid hilm,
Jerusalem, the house, for she could and would neither see
nor hear anything more of him.'Hereupon, it is said, H. the next morning Gwrote the
note to Jerusalem, etc.]'In the night of Wednesday-Thursday he got up at two
o'clock, awakened the servant, said lie could not sleep, he
was not well, has a fire lighted, tea made, yet is afterwards, to all appearance, very well.'Thursday morning, Secretary I-I. sends Jerusalerm  a
note. The maid will not wait for an answer, and goes
away.  Jerusalem  has just been shaved.  At eleven
o'clock Jerusalem sends a note to Secretary H., who does
not take it from  the servant, and says he requires no
answer, he cannot enter into any correspondence, and
besides they saw each other every day at the office.
When the servant brings back the note unopened, Jerusalem throws it on the table and says: Very good.  (Perhaps to make the servant believe that it relatedl to some
indifferent matter.)




1774.1]                WERTHER.                     221' In the middle of the day he dines at home, but takes
little -some soup. At one o'clock he sends a note to
me, and at the same time one to his ambassador, in which
he begs the latter to send him  his money for this (or the
following) month.  The servant comes to me.  I am  not
at home, nor is my servant. Jerusalem in the meantime
is gone out, comes home about a quarter past three, the
servant gives him the note again. Jerusalem asks him
why he did not leave it at my house with some maid.
servant? He replies, because it was open and unsealed.
Jerusalem: That was of no consequence, every one might
read it; he must take it again.  The servant thinks himself hereby warranted to read it also, reads it, and then
sends it by a boy who waits in the house. I, in the meantime, had come home; it might be half-past three when I
received the following note: " Might I beg of you to lend
me your pistols for a journey which I am about to take?
-J."' As I knew  nothing of all this that I have told
you, or of his principles, having never had any particular
intercourse with him, I had not the least hesitation in
sending him the pistols.'The servant had read in the note that his master
intended to make a journey, and indeed the latter had
himself told him so, also had ordered everything for his
journey the next morning at six o'clock, even thefriseur,
without his (the servant's) knowing whither, or with
whom, or in what way. But as Jerusalem always kept
his engagements secret from him, this did not arouse his
suspicion. Nevertheless he thought to himself: " Is master perhaps going secretly to Brunswick, leaving me here
t-' Durfle ich Ew. Wohlgeb. wohl zu, Ci1Cer vorhabeidenC Reise
umr ihre Pistolen gehorsacmst ersuchen?' The German epistolary
forms of civility are not translatable.
19'




222       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
alone? " &c. He had to take the pistols to a.gunmaker's
to get them loaded.' The whole afternoon Jerusalem was busy alone; rummaged among his papers, wrote, walked, as the people
below in the house heard, rapidly up and down the room.
He also went out several times, and paid his small debts;
he had taken a pair of ruffles, he said to the servant; they
did not satisfy him, he must return them to the tradesman;
if he did not like to take them again, there was the money
for them, which in fact the tradesman preferred.'About seven o'clock the Italian master came to him.
He found him restless and out of humor. He complained
that he had his hypochondriasis again strongly, and about
various things; said also, that the best he could do would
be to take himself out of the world. The Italian urged
upon him very seriously that such passions must be repressed by philosophy, &c. Jerusalem: That is not so
easily done; he would rather be alone to-day, he might
leave him, &c. The Italian: He must go into society,
amuse himself, &c. Jerusalem: Well, he was going out
again. The Italian, seeing the pistols on the table, is
anxious about the: result, goes away at eight o'clock and
to Kielmansegge, to whom he talks of nothing but Jerusalem, his restlessness and discontent, without however
mentioning his anxiety, because he believed that he might
be laughed at for it.'The servant went to Jerusalem to take off his boots.
But he said, he was going out again; as he really did,
before the Silberthor on the Starke Weide and elsewhere
in the streets, where, with his hat pressed over his eyes,
he rushed by several persons, with rapid steps, without
seeing any one. He was also seen about this time standing a long time by the river, in a position as if he meant
to throw himself in (so they say).




1774.]                WERTHER.                   223'Before nine o'clock he comes home, says to the ser.
vant that there must be more fuel put in the stove,
because he shall not go to bed yet, also tells him to get
everything ready for six o'clock in the morning, and has
a pint of wine brought to him. The servant, that he may
be ready very early, because his master was always very
punctual, goes to bed in his clothes.' As soon as Jerusalem was alone, he seems to have
prepared everything for the dreadful deed. He tore up
his correspondence and threw it under the table, as I
have myself seen. He wrote two letters, one to his relations, the other to H.; it is thought also that he wrote one
to the ambassador Hilffler, which the latter perhaps suppresses. They lay on the writing table. The first, which
the medical man saw the next morning, contained in substance only what follows, as Dr. Held, who read it, related
to me:'" Dear father, dear mother, dear sisters and brother-inlaw, forgive your-unhappy son and brother; God, God
bless you! "' In the second, he entreated H. for forgiveness that he
had disturbed the peace and happiness of his married life,
and created dissension between this dear couple, etc. At
first his inclination for H.'s wife had been only virtuous,
etc. It is said to have been three sheets long, and to have
ended thus: -" One o'clock. In the other life we shall
see each other again." (In all probability he shot himself
immediately on finishing this letter.)'
The sensation produced in Wetzlar by this suicide was
immense. People who had scarcely seen him once were
unable to quiet themselves about it; many could not
sleep; the women especially felt the deepest interest in
the fate of this unhappy youth; and TVerther found a
public ready for it.




224         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
With these materials in hand, let us take up the novel
to see how Goethe employs them. Werther is a man who,
not having yet learned self.mastery, imagines that his'nmense desires are proofs of immense superiority; one
uJf those of whom it has been wittily said that they fancy
themselves great painters because they paint with a big
brush. He laughs at all rules, whether they be rules of
Art, or rules which Convention builds like walls around
our daily life. He hates order - in speech, in writing,
in costume, in office. In a word, he hates all control.
Gervinus remarks that he turns from men to children
because they do not pain him, and from them to Nature
because she does not contradict him; from truth to poetry
and in poetry from the clear world of Homer to the formless world of Ossian. Very characteristic of the epoch is
the boundless enthusiasm inspired by Ossian, whose rhetorical trash the Germans hailed as the finest expression of
Nature's poetry. Old Samuel Johnson's stern, clear sense
saw into the very heart of this subject when he said,' Sir,
a man might write such stuff forever if he would but
abandon his mind to it.' It is this abandonment of the
mind, this throwing the reins on the horse's neck, which
makes such writing possible; and it was precisely this
abandonment to impulse, this disregard of the grave remonstrances of.reason and good sense, which distinguished
the Werther epoch.
Werther is not Goethe. Werther perishes because he
is wretched, and is so wretched because he is so weak.
Goethe was' king over himself.' He saw the danger and
evaded it; tore himself away from the woman he loved,
instead of continuing in a dangerous position. Yet although Werther is not Goethe, there is one part of Goethe
living in Werther. This is visible in the incidents and
language as well as in the character. It is the part we




1774.]               WERTHER.                   225
see re-appearing under the various masks of Weislingen,
Clavigo, Faust, Fernando, Edward, Meister and Tasso,
which no critic will call the same lay figure variously
draped, but which every critic must see belong to one
and the same genus: men of strong desires and weak
volitions, wavering impressionable natures unable to
attain self-mastery. Goethe was one of those who are
wavering because impressionable, but whose wavering
is not weakness; they oscillate, but they return into the
direct path which their wills have prescribed. He was
tender as well as impressionable.    $ could not be
stern, but he could be resolute. He had only therefore to
keep in abeyance the native force of resolution which
gave him mastery, and in that abeyance a weak wavering
character stood before him, the original of which was
himself.
When a man delineates himself, he always shrinks from
a complete confession. Our moral nature has its modesty.
Strong as the impulse may be to drag into light that which
lies hidden in the recesses of the soul, pleased as we may
be to create images of ourselves, we involuntarily keep
back something, and refuse to identify ourselves with the
creation. There are few things more irritating than the
pretension of another to completely understand us. Hence
authors never thoroughly portray themselves.  Byron,
utterly without self-command, is fond of heroes proud and
self-sustaining. Goethe, the strongest of men, makes
heroes the footballs of circumstance. But he also draws
from his other half the calm, self-sustaining characters.
Thus we have the antithesis of G6tz and Weislingen -
Albert and Werther - Carlos and Clavigo —Jarno and
Meister - Antonio and Tasso - the Captain and Edward;
and, deepened in coloring, Mephistopheles and Faust.
Werther is not much read now-a-days, especially in




226        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOR III.
England, where it labors under the double disadvantage
of a bad name and an execrable translation. Yet it is
well worth reading in the original, where it will be found
very unlike the image of it current among us. I remember many years ago reading it in the execrable English
version with astonishment and contempt; this contempt
remained, until accidentally falling in with a Spanish
translation, the exquisite beauty of the pictures changed
my feeling into admiration, and Goethe's own wonderful
prose afterwards fixed that admiration forever.+ It is a
masterpiece of style; we may look through German literature in vain for such clear sunny pictures, fulness of life,
and delicately managed simplicity., Its style is one continuous strain of music, which, restrained within the limits
of prose, fulfils all the conditions of poetry; dulcet as the
sound of falling waters, and as full of sweet melancholy as
an autumnal eve.
Nothing can be simpler than the structure of this book,
wherein, as M. Marmier well remarks,* every detail is so
arranged as to lay bare the sufferings of a diseased spirit.
Werther arrives at his chosen retreat, believing himself
cured, and anticipating perfect happiness. He is painter
and poet. The fresh spring mornings, the sweet cool
evenings, soothe and strengthen him. He selects a place
under the limes to read and dream away the hours.
There he brings his pencil and his Homer. Everything
interests him-the old woman who brings his coffee, the
children who play around him, the story of a poor family.
In this serene convalescene he meets with Charlotte, and
a new passion agitates his soul. His simple uniform existence becomes changed. He endeavors by bodily activity
to charm away his desires. The days no longer resemble
* Etudes sur Goethe, p. 11.




1774.]                WERTflER.                    227
each other: now ecstatic with hope, now crushed with
despair. Winter comes: cold, sad, gloomy. He must
away. He departs, and mingles with the world, but the
world disgusts him. The monotony and emptiness of
official life are intolerable to his pretensions; the parchment pride of the noblesse is insulting to his sense of
superiority. He returns to the peaceful scene of his
former contentment, and finds indeed Charlotte, the children, his favorite woods and walks, but not the calmness
which he seeks. The hopelessness of his position overwhelms him. Disgusted with the world —unsatisfied in
his cravings -he dies by his own hand.
Rosenkrantz -in the true spirit of that criticism which
seeks everywhere for meanings more recondite than the
author dreamt of — thinks that Goethe exhibits great art
in making Werther a diplomatist, because a diplomatist is
a man of shams (scheinthuer); but the truth is, Goethe
made him precisely what he found him. His art is truth.
He is so great an artist that the simplest realities have to
him significance.! Charlotte cutting bread and butter for
the children - the scene of the ball -the children clinging round Werther for sugar, and pictures of that kind,
betray so little inventive power, that they have excited the
ridicule of some English critics to whom poetry is a thing
of pomp and classicality, not the beautiful vesture of
reality.  The beauty and art of Werther is not in the
incidents (a Dumas would shrug despairing shoulders over
such invention), but in the representation. What is Art
but Representation? -
*' L'art n'est qu'une forme,' says George Sand, with a truth
few critics have penetrated; let me add Goethe's own opinion —
surely of weight in such matters:'None will comprehend the
simple truth that the highest, the only operation of art is representation.'\? (Gestaltung.)




228        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boo III.
The effect of Werther was prodigious.' That nameless unrest,' says Carlyle,' the blind struggle of a soul
in bondage, that high, sad, longing discontent which was
agitating every bosom, had driven Goethe almost to despair. All felt it; he alone could give it voice. And
here lies the secret of his popularity; in his deep, susceptive heart he felt a thousand times more keenly what
every one was feeling; with the creative gift which belonged to him as a poet, he bodied it forth into visible
shape, gave it a local habitation and a name; and so
made himself the spokesman of his generation. Werther
is but the cry of that dim, rooted pain under which all
thoughtful men of a certain age were languishing: it
paints the misery, it passionately utters the complaint;
and heart and voice all over Europe loudly and at once
respond to it. True it prescribes no remedy; for that
was a far different, far harder enterprise, to which other
years and a higher culture were required; but even this
utterance of pain, even this little, for the present is
grasped at, and with eager sympathy appropriated in
every bosom. If Byron's life-weariness, his moody melancholy, and mad, stormful indignation, borne on the
tones of a wild and quite artless melody, could pierce so
deep into many a British heart, now that the whole
matter is no longer new — is indeed old and trite —we
may judge with what vehement acceptance this Werther
must have been welcomed, coming, as it did, like a voice
from the unknown regions: the first thrilling peal of that
impassioned dirge which, in country after country, men's
ears have listened to till they were deaf to all else. For
Werther infusing itself into the core and whole spirit of
literature, gave birth to a race of sentimentalists who have
raged and wailed in every part of the world, till the better
light dawned on them, or, at worst, exhausted nature laid




1774.]                  WERTHER.                        229
herself to sleep, and it was discovered that lamenting was
unproductive labor. These funereal choristers, in Germany a loud, haggard, tumultuous, as well as tearful
class, were named the Kra ftmdnner, or Powermen; but
have long since, like sick children, cried themselves to
rest.':
Perhaps there never was a fiction which so startled and
enraptured the world. Men of all kinds and classes were
moved by it. It was the companion of Napoleon, when
in Egypt; it penetrated into China. To convey in a
sentence its wondrous popularity, we may state that in
Germany it became a people's book, hawked about the
streets, printed on miserable paper, like an ancient ballad;
and in the Chinese empire, Charlotte and Werther were
modelled in porcelain.t
*  Miscellanies, vol. i. p. 272.
t While in Italy, he received a letter from a young Frenchman,
who said:' Oui, Monsieur, je vous dois la meilleure action de ma
vie, par consequent, la racine de plusieurs autres, et pour moi votre
livre est bon. Si j'avais le bonheur d'habiter le meme pays que
vous, j'irais vous embrasser, et vous dire mon secret; mais malheureusement j'en habite un ou personne ne croirait au motif qui
vient de me d6terminer a cette d'marche. Soyez satisfait, Monsieur,
d'avoir pu a trois cents lieues de votre demeure ramener le coeur
d'un jeune homme a l'honnetet6 et' la vertu, toute une famille va
etre tranquille, et mon cceur jouit d'une bonne action."
Let me not forget the visit of his English admirer, who accosted
him on the stairs with' You must be the author of Werther!'
adding that he could not wait a moment longer, all he wanted to say
was this,' I will not repeat what you must have heard from thousands, for indeed your work has not affected me so much as it has
others; but when I think what it required to write such a book, I
am lost in astonishment.' Having eased his mind of this weight,
he wished Goethe a hearty farewell, and ran down stairs.
A similar story is told by Schiller in a letter to K6rner. "A
shrivelled figure entered my room, and asked me if I was not Councillor Schiller. I replied in the affirmative.' I heard that you were
VOL. I.       20




230         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.             [Boao III.
Objectors of course there were. Lessing, for example,
who neither suffered from the disease of the epoch, nor
tolerated any approach to sentimentality, thought so fiery
a production ought to have a cold epilogue to counteract
it.'Do  you believe,' he wrote,'that any Roman or
Grecian youth would thus and therefore have committed
suicide? Certainly not. They knew how to guard themselves from the extravagancies of love, and in the days of
Socrates such an ~i Y~'ozoT  Xa0ox;1' whom rt To-it-cV 7Cao qIJlC
impelled, would scarcely be pardoned even_ bya girl.
Such little-great questionable originals only suit our Christian culture, which knows so well how to transform a
corporeal necessity into a spiritual perfection. So, worthy
Goethe, let us have a concluding chapter; and the more
cynical the better.'-  This is a misstatement of the whole
question. It is not the extravagance of love which causes
Werther's suicide: it is his own diseased moral nature
which makes life insupportable, and which makes unhappy
here, and could not restrain myself from seeing the author of Don
Carlos.''Gehorsamer Diener! your most obedient servant,' said
I;' whom have I the honor of addressing?'' I have not the happiness of being known to you. My name is Vulpius.''I am
indebted to you for your politeness; unluckily, I have an engagement.'' Oh, sir, I beg you won't mention it. I am quite satisfied
with having seen you.' " - Briefwechsel, i. p. 105.
At the risk of swelling this note to unreasonable dimensions, I
must quote a passage from Pliny's Letters, which records a similar anecdote:'Nunquamne legisti Gaditanum quemdam Titi Livii
nomine gloriaque commotum ad visendum eum ab ultimo terrarum
orbe venisse, statimque ut viderat abiisse?' - Lib. ii. Ep. iii.
* Lessing: Werke, x. 225, Letter to Eschenberg.
It is surmised that Lessing's objections to Werther were sharpened
by his dislike at recognizing his young friend, Jerusalem, thus
brought into a fiction. A letter from Weisse to Garve, quoted by
Appell ( Werther und seine Zeit, p. 50), confirms this.




1774.]                WERTHER.                    231
love the spark that fires the train. Moreover, one reads
with surprise this reference to Greek and Roman life,
coming from so admirable a scholar as Lessing. He
forgot that Sophocles, in the Antigone, makes an unhappy
lover commit suicide because his mistress is lost to him.
He forgot, also, that the Stoics introduced the'fashion'
of suicide into Rome; and in Alexandria the Epicureans
established a'society for the suppression of life' —the
ovvaLooavovEvot - where, having exhausted every pleasure-;
the members assembled at the feast, the wine-cup went
freely round, and in the midst of this orgie they quietly
put an end to their contemptible existences:-a new
variation of the'conversazione,' at which, instead of
music and aesthetic tea, the guests were invited to supper
and suicide.
The Berlin Aristarchus — Nicolai — an upright, but
narrow-minded man, and a great enemy of all Sclhwdrmerei, wrote by way of criticism a parody called the Joys
of Young Werther, in which sentimentalism is ridiculed:Werther shoots himself with' chicken's blood only, and
marries Charlotte' and lives happy all the rest of his
life.'
Goethe's answer to this was'a burlesque poem called
Nicolai at Werther's grave, which, however, cannot be
communicated.'  This poem  has been recovered and
printed by Boas.-  It is exceedingly coarse, and not very
humorous. The admirers of Werther, of course, are
greatly incensed against Nicolai; but they forget that
Nicolai never denied the talent of the work, he only
followed Lessing's objection to its tendency. His criticism, moreover, was but a feather in the scale against the
praise which poured in from all sides. Two specimens of
* JV'achtrage zu Goethe's Werke: Lief. i. p. 12.




232        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.            [Boox III.
this enthusiasm may here be given. The first is from
Zimmermann, the author of the well-known work on
Solitude, who thus breaks out in one of his letters:-'Werther's Leidun! vous ne me supposez pas capable
d'avoir tarde une minute a dbevorer ce roman si vrai, si
naturel, si ressemblant a tout ce qu'on a senti mille et
mille fois en sa vie, et cependant la lecture du premier
tome m'a donne tant d'emotion, a remue et fait fremir
tellement toutes les cordes de mon Ame qu'il m'a fallu
reposer quinze jours avant que j'ai eu le courage d'en
venir au second, dont la lecture a ete( pareillement l'affaire
d'un instant.'`
Kotzebue's enthusiasm  is not less.'I cannot find
words to express,' he says in his Memoirs,'the overpowering emotions excited in my soul by this wonderful
philosophical romance. From that moment I conceived
so enthusiastic an attachment to its author, that at his
request I would willingly have thrust my hand into the
fire to rescue his shoe buckle.' t; But while the public was reading the tragic story of
Werther through fast flowing tears, a painful sense of
indignation rose in the breasts of Kestner and Charlotte at
seeing themselves thus dragged into publicity, their story
falsified. The narrative was in many respects too close
to reality not to be very offensive in its deviations from
reality. The figures were unmistakeable; and yet they
were not the real figures. The eager public soon found
* Briefe von Golthe und dessen Mutter an F. v. Stein, p. 180.
t In the Appendix to this volume (Appendix D), will be found a
curious list of works called forth by the publication of Werther, and
testifying to the effect it produced. It may interest the reader to
know, that the first of the many translations which appeared was by
Gibbon's friend, George Deyverdun: Werther, traduit de l'./lLlemand; 1776.




1774.]               WERTHER.                   233
out who were the principal personages, and that a real
history was at the bottom of the romance; but as the whole
truth could not be known, the Kestners found themselves
in a very false light.'They were hurt by this indiscretion
of their friend; more hurt perhaps than they chose to confess; and we may read, in the following fragment of the
sketch of the letter sent by Kestner on receipt of the
book, the accents of an offended friend whose pride restrains the full expression of his anger:' Your Werther might have given me great pleasure,
since it could have reminded me of many interesting
scenes and incidents. But as it is, it has in certain respects given me little edification. You know I like to
speak my mind.' It is true, you have woven something new into each
person, or have fused several persons into one. So far
good. But if in this interweaving and fusing you had
taken counsel of your heart, you would not have so prostituted the real persons whose features you borrow. You
wished to draw from nature, that your picture might be
truthful; and yet you have combined so much that is contradictory, that you have missed the very mark at which
you aimed. The distinguished author will revolt against
this judgment, but I appeal to reality and truth itself when
I pronounce that the artist has failed. The real Lotte
would, in many instances, be grieved if she were like the
Lotte you have there painted. I know well that it is said
to be a character compounded of two, but the Mrs. H.
whom you have partly inwoven was also incapable of what
you attribute to your heroine. But this expenditure of
fiction was not at all necessary to your end, to nature and
truth, for it was without any such behavior on the part of a
woman -a behavior which must ever be dishonorable
20O



234        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
even to a more than ordinary woman -that Jerusalem
shot himself.' The real Lotte, whose friend you nevertheless wish to
be, is in your picture, which contains too much of her not
to suggest her strongly, is, I say - but no, I will not say
it, it pains me already too much only to think it. And
Lotte's husband - you called him your friend, and God
knows that he was so -is with her.'The miserable creature of an Albert! In spite of its
being an alleged fancy picture and not a portrait, it also
has such traits of an original (only external traits, it is
true, thank God, only external), that it is easy to guess
the real person. And if you wanted to have him act so,
need you have made him such a blockhead? that forthwith you might step forward and say, see what a fine
fellow I am!'
Kestner here touches on a point of morality in literature
worth consideration. While emphatically declaring that
the artist must take his materials from reality, must employ his own experience, and draw the characters he has
really known, we must as emphatically declare that he is
bound to represent his experience in forms sufficiently different from the reality to prevent the public reading actual
histories beneath his invention, and recognizing the persons he has employed as lay figures, whenever those persons are assigned parts which they would reject. There
is, of course, great difficulty in keeping to truth while
avoiding the betrayal of actual occurrences; but it is a
difficulty which is commanded by morality.
Goethe was evidently astounded at the effect his book
had produced on his friends:' I must at once write to
you, my dear and angry friends, and free my heart. The
thing is done; the book is out; forgive me if you can.
I will hear nothing till the event has proved how exagger



1774.]               WERTHER.                    235
atedsyour anxiety is, and till you have more truly felt, in
the book itself, the innocent mingling of fiction and truth.
Thou hast, dear Kestner, exhausted everything, cut away
all the ground of my excuse, and left me nothing to say;
yet I know not, my heart has still more to say, although I
cannot express it. I am silent, but the sweet presentiment
I must still retain, and I hope eternal Fate has that in store
for me which will bind us yet closer one to the other. Yes,
dear ones, I who am so bound to you by love, must still
remain debtor to you and your children for the uncomfortable hours which my — name it as you will- has
given you.... And now, my dear ones, when anger
rises within you, think, oh think only that your old
Goethe, ever and ever, and now more than ever, is your
own.'
Their anger fell. They saw that he had committed an
indiscretion, but had done no more. They wrote forgiveness, as we gather from this letter Goethe sent on the
21st of November:'Here I have thy letter, Kestner! On a strange desk,
in a painter's studio, for yesterday I began to paint in oil,
I have thy letter, and must give thee my thanks! Thanks,
dear friend! Thou art ever the same good soul! 0 that
I could spring on thy neck, throw myself at Lotte's feet,
one, one minute, and all, all that should be done away
with, explained, which I coid not make clear with quires
of paper! 0 ye unbelieving ones, I could exclaim! Ye
of little faith! Could you feel the thousandth part of what
Werther is to a thousand hearts, you would not reckon the
sacrifice you have made towards it! Here is a letter, read
it, and send me word quickly what thou thinkest of it, what
impression it makes on thee. Thou sendest me Hennings'
letter; he does not condemn me; he excuses me. Dear
brother Kestner! if you will wait, you shall be contented.




236        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK in.
I would not, to save my own life, call back Werther, and
believe me, believe in me, thy anxieties, thy gravamina
will vanish like phantoms of the night if thou hast patience;
and then, between this and a year, I promise you in the
most affectionate, peculiar, fervent manner, to disperse, as
if it were a mere north-wind fog and mist, whatever may
remain of suspicion, misinterpretation, etc., in the gossiping public, though it is a herd of swine. Werther must
- must be! You do not feel him, you only feel me and
yourselves; and that which you call stuck on, and in spite
of you, and others, is interwoven. If I live, it is thee I
I have to thank for it; thus thou art not Albert. And
thus -' Give Lotte a warm greeting for me, and say to her:
"To know that your name is uttered by a thousand hallowed lips with reverence, is surely an equivalent for
anxieties which would scarcely, apart from anything else,
vex a person long in common life, where one is at the
mercy of every tattler."' If you are generous and do not worry me, I will send
you letters, cries, sighs after Werther, and if you have
faith, believe that all will be well, and gossip is nothing,
and weigh well your philosopher's letter, which I have
kissed.
O0 then! - hast not felt how the man embraces thee,
consoles thee, and in thy - in Lotte's worth, finds consolation enough under the wretchedness which has terrified
you even in the fiction. Lotte, farewell, - Kestner, love
me, and do not worry me.'
The pride of the author in his darling breaks out in this
letter, now his friends have forgiven him. We must admit
that Kestner had reason to be annoyed; the more so as
his friends, identifying him with the story, wrote sympathetically about it. He had to reply to Hennings on the




1784.]               WERTHER.                    237
subject, and in telling him the true story, begged him to
correct the false reports. He says:'In the first part of
Werther, Werther is Goethe himself. In Lotte and Albert
he has borrowed traits from us, my wife and myself.
Many of the scenes are quite true, and yet partly altered;
others are, at least in our history, unreal. For the sake
of the second part, and in order to prepare for the death
of Werther, he has introduced various things into the first
part which do not at all belong to us. For example, Lotte
has never either with Goethe or with any one else stood in
the intimate relation which is there described; in this we
have certainly great reason to be offended with him, for
several accessory circumstances are too true and too well
known for people not to point to us. He regrets it now,
but of what use is that to us? It is true he has a great
regard for my wife; but he ought to have depicted her
more faithfully in this point, that she was too wise and
delicate ever to let him go so far as is represented in the
first part. She behaved to him in such a way as to make
her far dearer to me than before, if this had been possible.
Moreover, our engagement was never made public, though
not, it is true, kept a secret; still she was too bashful ever
to confess it to any one. And there was no engagement
between us but that of hearts. It was not till shortly before my departure (when Goethe had already been a year
away from Wetzlar at Frankfurt, and the disguised Werther had been dead half a year) that we were married.
After the lapse of a year, since our residence here, we
have become father and mother. The dear boy lives still,
and gives us, thank God, much joy. For the rest, there
is in Werther much of Goethe's character and manner of
thinking. Lotte's portrait is completely that of my wife.
Albert might have been made a little more ardent. The
second part of Werther has nothing whatever to do with




238        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
us... When Goethe had printed his book, he sent us an
early copy, and thought we should fall into raptures with
what he had done. But we at once saw what would be
the effect, and your letter confirms our fears. I wrote
very angrily to him. HIe then, for the first time saw what
he had done; but the book was printed, and he hoped our
fears were idle.' In another letter to the same, Kestner
says:'You have no idea what a man he is. But when
his great fire has somewhat burnt itself out, then we shall
all have the greatest joy in him.'
We have thus brought to a close the history of Werther,
its composition and effect; a history so important in the
biography of its author, that we might have been excused
for having devoted so much space to it, even if the letters,
which have furnished the evidence, did not throw so strong
a light upon a period very inadequately represented in the
Wahrheit und Dichtung.
On the 28th August, 1849, the hundredth anniversary of
the great poet's birth, when all Germany joined in a jubilee,
a small marble monument was erected in the well known
Wertherplatz without the Wetzlar gates, where Goethe
was wont to sit and muse; three lime trees are planted
round it, bearing this inscription:
RUIEPLATZ DES DICHTERS
GOETHE
ZU SEINEM ANDENKEN FRISCH IBEPFLANZT
BEI DER JUBELFEIER AMI 28 AUG. 1849.




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.            239
CHAPTER VI.
SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.
THERE never was a solitary Great Man.. We may
single one man from out the crowd, and place him on
a pedestal; but, if we look attentively, we shall perceive
others surrounding him also deserving pedestals, though
none perhaps so eminent as he. Shakespeare, who lets
few things escape his glance, has noted this in Julius
CaTsar:'When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?'
The reason is, that whenever the confluence of circumstances calls for great energies, the energies are ready to
the call. Men are equal to their destiny, and, as Schiller
finely says,' grow with the circle wherein they move.''Es wachst der Mensch mit seinem grosserem Kreise.'
Eminent as Goethe stood above his contemporaries, he
did not stand alone; around him, on his first splendid
entrance into the arena, were men who had already fixed
the fluctuating reverence of the public - Lessing, Herder,
Klopstock, Wieland, and many lesser names. These, and
their works, I might presuppose the reader to be more or
less familiar with; and, consulting my own ease ratlhr
than his profit, might pass on with the briefest indication.




240        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
But, in truth, it is a great mistake to presuppose such
knowledge; only a few readers will possess it; the majority would by no means be grateful for a compliment which
left them in darkness, and it is for the sake of these that
the present chapter is written. It is a chapter, not a volume, and must therefore only touch upon leading traits.
For readers who desire more detail, there is no lack of
voluminous works.
Germany is a large and heterogeneous country. It is
washed by the waves of the Baltic, German and Adriatic
Seas; it lies between the woods of Poland and the marshes
of Holland, between the Alpine ranges and the Danish
plains; it shakes hands with Scandinavia, with Italy, and
with France, and thus presents an area of many peoples
united by a common language and a certain community of
thought. As the land is, so is the literature: a vast heterogeneous mass, not easily reducible to any one distinct
formula. To select a characteristic from such varieties,
and say that is the spirit of German literature, must, on
the face of it, be an arbitrary proceeding; whatever we
select will assuredly be liable to numerous counterstatements. Nevertheless with a full consciousness of what
there is of arbitrary in the attempt, it will be necessary to
make one here, if only for the sake of brevity. Let us
then resolutely overlook all varieties, and fix our attention
solely on the dominant type - that which has persisted
through history, and is never wholly obscured by the temporary tendencies of the time. This dominant'and persistent characteristic, which may be taken as the spirit of
German literature, is Idealism — a much-abused word,
which I am forced to use for want of a better. By Idealism is here understood what is often expressed by the
words Spiritualism and Mysticism: the tendency to see in
Nature a deeper and higher meaning than she carries in




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.          241
her face; a tendency to disregard Matter or Form, as the
mere body, the rude hieroglyph of Spirit; a tendency
which is also characterized by the word subjective.
This Idealism is pre-eminently German. It is also
essentially Christian, and is thus diametrically opposed to
the tendency of the Pagan mind. A comparison of Greek
and Christian Art will serve to bring both characteristics
into distinct relief.
The famous Tannhtiuser legend will serve us an illustration of the Christian tendency. Tannhauser, the German knight and minstrel, is lured by Venus into her
enchanted domain on the Wartburg, where she and her
nymphs live a voluptuous and thoroughly Pagan life, hateful to all Christians, as a life of mere sin and sensuousness.
He passes some time with her in voluptuous oblivion of
the world. Growing weary, and eager for change, he
once more enters the world he had left, but finds himself
under the universal ban. The mere fact of his having
been in the Venusberg is tantamount to his having formally sold himself to the Evil One. Hunted by his former
companions like a wild beast, and shunned by every
Christian, he repairs repentant to Rome, to seek absolution from the Pope. But large as the power of absolution
is, there are sins so tremendous that no absolution can
remove them; and when the Pope hears what has been
the sin of Tannh/iuser, he refuses pardon, and drives him
forth to Wander, like another Cain, homeless on the earth.
Such was the German conception of Venus, the mother
of Love. She was no longer the Goddess Aphrodite, but
a lovely Devil luring the souls of. men to everlasting perdition.  Nay, Ritter Tannhauser himself, even when
under her spell, knows she is not a Goddess, but tells her
plainly,' Oh Venus, my lovely wife, you know you are
but a devil.'
VOL. I.     21




A:42       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.' O, Venus, schane Fraue mein,
Ihr seyd eine Teufelinne!'
Nothing can be more unlike the Greek conception. In
the story of Ulysses and Calypso, we have the same idea
of a warrior passing years with a charmer; but when he
quits her island no one thinks of shunning him; and he
narrates his long residence there to Alcinous and Areta
without raising one wrinkle of shocked respectability.
Nay, so unlike to any Greek conception is this Tannhiuser
story, that in the Legend of Phryne we have Beauty upheld as something sacred and awful. Phryne, while living
at Athens in splendor, and wooed by men of rank and
genius, was accused, like Aspasia, before the popular
court of justice, of impiety. The judges were about to
condemn her, when her defender, the orator Hyperides,
bethought him of a bold stroke: he suddenly tore aside
the garment which concealed the most beautiful of bosoms,
and then'a deisidaimonia, i. e. a religious shudder of
awe,' so says an ancient writer,'seized the judges at the
sight of this unveiled beauty. They believed that they
should sin against Aphrodite herself, if by their verdict
they destroyed a form which the goddess had consecrated as her earthly priestess, in thus endowing it
with such wondrous beauty. They declared the accused
free.'
These two typical legends aptly illustrate the two opposite modes of regarding Beauty. The one people thought
that Beauty was ideal perfection - the culmination of Nature in the human form. The other people thought that
Beauty was an accursed lure — the cunning instrument
of the Evil One. The Crotonians, we are told by Heroditus, raised an altar to Philippus,' because he was beautiful.' There is no altar the Christian would have smitten
to the ground with deeper scorn. This difference arises




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.          243
from the antagonism of their religious conceptions. The
Pagan deified nature, the Christian diabolized nature.
Where the active  fancy of the Greek filled woods,
streams, valleys and rocks with hamadryads, naiads, gods
who lived a free and godlike life; the imagination of the
Christian saw supernatural powers indeed, but powers of
darkness, instruments wherewith Satan tempted and perplexed mankind. The early priests, who brought Christianity to the German shores, found there a mythology
which - as elsewhere - they pronounced to belong to
an Olympus of Hell. They never threw doubts on the
existence of the supernatural beings, they simply declared
them to be the agents of Satan."' And they were consistent. Their creed divided the powers of the world into a
Good Principle and an Evil Principle, which were represented by Spirit and Matter. It is clear, therefore, that to.
give Satan the dominion of Matter, was to make the body
hateful, and the senses tempters to a Pleasure which was
Sin. The Christian reaction against the Pagan materialism was thus thoroughly spiritual; the reaction was triumphant over an enervated society, ready for a change.
Whatever was of this world was pronounced worthless;
this life had only value as a preparation for the life to
come. How widely opposed such a conception was to
that of the Greeks need not be insisted on; it is enough
to allude to the complaint of Achilles in Hades, that he
would rather be a laborer on earth, toiling in the fields,
than be king of Shades. This life was to the Greek what
the life to come was to t.s Christian. Greek Art, therefore, is thoroughly realistic. But a great error is committed by those who say that Greek Art is distinguished
from Christian Art by the absence of symbolism. It had
* Grimm: Deutsche.Mythologie, cap. xxvi.




244       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox III.
its symbolism, wide and deep as the Christian, but the
symbolism expressed a totally different order of conceptions. The Greek honored the body, and aimed at the
perfect representation of it, because he deified nature, and
strove to approach her as closely as possible. The Christian, on the contrary, despised the Body. He looked on
Nature herself as partaking of the Fall, and thereby
impure, alien from God. The Body, thus conceived as
the perishable vehicle of the Soul, was not a fitting
symbol. He did not try to express his Ideal in the Body,
but beyond it.
This contrast is well seen in the early forms of each
Art: the Eginetan statues, and'the paintings of Giotto
and Perugino. In the Eginetan sculpture the bodies are
represented with a truth and beauty perfectly marvellous,
when contrasted with the want of truth and expression in
the faces, all of one type, and all with the same fixed
smile. In Giotto and Perugino the faces are admirable in
expression, but the figures are singularly ill-drawn and
ungraceful. The Greek thought less of the soul than of
the body, less of expression than of form. The face and
its expression'were to him only details of the general
physigonomy of the external man. To the Christian the
face was the physiognomy, for it expressed the soul. A
complete Man was the ideal of the one, a complete Soul
the ideal of the other.
In stating thus decisively that Realism is the dominant'characteristic of the Greek mind, as Idealism is of the
Christian, it may be worth while to guard against misconception, and correct a very general error, the error,
namely, of supposing that the Greeks had no Spiritualism
mingling with their Realism. What was before said of
Germany equally applies to Greece; we may fix our
attention on the dominant characteristic, but we must not




1774.].   SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.         245
forget that there are numerous varieties. Thus, even in
the palmy days of Grecian thought we shall find thinkers
as unmistakeably idealistic as any to be found in Germany. Xenophanes was such, Pythagoras was such, and
we have only to look into Plato, or still more into Plotinus
and the Alexandrian writers, to see an Idealism and an
Asceticism comparable to the extremes of the middle-age
extravagances.
I have dwelt on the capital distinction between Pagan
and Christian Art as a means of more thoroughly elucidating the spirit of German Art. For German Art carries
further than any other the Idealism which is essential to
Christianity; and indeed the words German and Christian
are frequently used as convertible terms. The doctrines
which changed the thought of Europe, were welcomed
by the Germans, prepared to accept thein. Already they
had an Evil Principle, —Loki. They had their giants
and dwarfs, their elves and kobolds, good and evil spirits.
They had, moreover, Priestesses and Prophetesses; and
these women, whom they held to be divinely inspired, the
Christians, by a natural consequence of the logic which
turned gods into demons, accused of being inspired by the
devil. The long and terrible history of Witchcraft tells
what fanaticism could make of such logic. Inspiration
which did not come from the Church, clearly came from
the devil. Epileptic women were'possessed.' Women
who had more than ordinary acuteness were accused of
witchcraft. This derivation of the Witch from the Priestess is but another illustration of that tendency to diabolize
which may be seen running throughout the speculations
and literature of the Middle Ages. The Church proclaimed
itself sole possessor of the Truth, sole repository of inspiration, sole miracle-worker; but as there were some wonders performed without the aid of the Church, the priests
21*




246        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [IBoo  III.
naturally declared those wonders counterfeits. For Satan
was not only the enemy of God, he was in every way his
imitator. There is a curious indication of this -in the
Celtic myth of Merlin the great magician, whom Satan in
imitation begat from a virgin.' It is on this' imitative
action' of Satan that the whole world of magic and witchcraft rests. He parodied the holy miracles in devilish
wonders; and as the Church had its inspired men, so had
Satan his apostles and wonder-workers. The pious man
gave his soul to God and renounced the world's pomps;
the impious man gave his soul to the Devil for possession
of the world's pomps. A formal compact and covenant
gave Satan the reversion of a soul. Faust is a type of
such covenants. But the Faust-legend is noble compared
with the legend of the Witches' Sabbath.
Women, who from the earliest days had been regarded
as weak, subordinate and somewhat accursed, and who in
Eve had given the first example of willingness to listen to
Satan, were selected by popular belief as the Chosen Ones
of the Devil. Men also were chosen, and these were
Wizards or Magicians; but they were less numerous than
the witches, a fact which Sprenger, in his famous manual
of witchcraft, Malleus Maleficarum, thinks it necessary to
explain. Men and women paid a terrible penalty to superstition; they were persecuted and burnt by thousands. No
one doubted the fact of their covenant with Satan. No
one doubted that they held their Witches' Sabbath on the
Blocksberg, and elsewhere, of which circumstantial narratives were ready to attest every detail. From nine o'clock
till midnight Wizards and Witches assembled.  Satan
appeared, sometimes in the form of a lusty dancer gayly
*Johannes Scherr: Geschichte Deutscher Cultur wcd Sitte, p.
354; a work to which I am indebted for many details.




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.          247
dressed, but mostly in the majestic form of a dusky,
hideous man, half man, half goat, seated on a throne of
gold and ebony. He wore a crown of little horns, and
besides this crown he had two horns at the back of his
head, and one upon his brow, which shed rays of light
brighter than the moon. His large owl eyes flashed a
fearful light. His fingers terminated in claws, his chin
carried a goat's beard, a forked tail completed his terrible
aspect. No sooner did he appear than the whole assembly
knelt before him, denying God; then kissing his left hand,
left foot left side (with other less honorable parts of his
person), they proclaimed him Lord. They confessed to
him their sins, which consisted of going to church, honoring Christian ceremonies, and not doing all the evil which
opportunity permitted. EHe awarded penances and absolution. Then began the Satanic Mass, at the close of
which came the Sacrament of bread and wine; but the
hellish Host was black and tough, like an old shoe, and
the wine bitter. Then followed the Witches' Dance, every
face turned round, gazing at the festive tables. During,
the saturnalia the Devil embraced them  one after the
other, and bade them imitate him in doing evil whenever
they could.
This was no mere play of imagination, it was a devout
belief; to doubt was to incur the accusation of being in
league with Satan; those who were bold enough to
express scepticism, were burnt as worse than heretics.
1The belief in witchcraft was by no means confined to
Germany, but in Germany the belief was more fruitful
than elsewhere.  The legendary lore of the German
people is mainly composed of what may be called the
goblin-element.  And very noticeable it is that when the
Reformation came to scatter to the winds all the Legends
of Catholicism, it never touched the true goblin-legend.




248       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK III.
Luther believed not only in the Devil, but in witches, with
hearty belief; and one day seeing a poor Cretin, he
declared the boy was'possessed,' and bade them throw
him into the water.
However strong this Idealistic tendency, it was of course
incapable, even when most dominant, of overruling entirely the Realism, which made men cling fast to Nature,
and to Sensuous pleasures. We shall therefore at all
times find a struggle between the two tendencies even in
Germany; and it has been remarked that the two great
poets of the middle ages, Wolfram von Eschenbach in his
Parzival, and Gottfried von Strasburg in his Tristan und
Isolde, represent the same Antagonism of Idealism and
Realism, as Klopstock and Wieland, Schiller and Goethe,
subsequently represented. Indeed, the progress of human
development moves through a series of oscillations. One
Idea rules the day, to be dethroned by an antagonist,
which, in its turn, is dethroned. Every epoch has one
dominant tendency, which in expressing itself exhausts
itself; and thus, as Heine felicitously says,' every age
is a sphynx, which sinks into the earth as soon as its
problem is solved.' Herein lies the secret of triumphant
reactions.
In History, in Philosophy, in Art, there is a perpetual
Antagonism between Freedom and Despotism, Spiritualism
*nd Materialism, Mysticism and Rationalism - or, to use
pur former distinction - Idealism  and Realism.  The
Struggle is supported by the clamorous instincts of mankind to look forward to an Age of Perfection, and to look
backward to an Age of Gold. The contemplation of this
antagonism asserting itself through successive reactions,
has thrown some minds into scepticism, others into indifference. The ultimate reconciliation of these antagonists
will only be possible when Philosophy and Art shall have




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.            249
acquired a fixed basis. That it will then be possible may
be seen in the evidence furnished us by Science. There
also we observe historically a similar succession of triumphant reactions, which however are finally closed as soon
as a positive basis is established. In astronomy, physics
and chemistry,. we are no longer perplexed byfundamental
changes, the changes are all in one direction of development, increasing every year our certainty and power. If
in Biology there are still battles fought between the Materialists and Spiritualists, the reason is that Biology still
wants the breadth of positive basis acquired by the other
sciences. When Philosophy has once settled its basis, the
oscillating movement of Progress will give place to a
direct movement.
If we look at the early German Art, we shall see that
while Idealism was its inspiration, the Realistic struggle
was also active and finally triumphant.:This Eastern
Idealism which Christianity brought to Rome had there to
combat the native inborn Realism of the Southern races.
When Roman Catholicism began to express itself in Art,
and to give Dogmas a Form, it necessarily appealed to
Realism, in appealing to the Senses and Affections. Music, painting, sculpture, architecture, resting on a sensuous.
basis, could not make progress except through greater and
greater predominance of Realism. And we see even the
Northern nations borrowing their poetry and art from the
Southern, i. e., becoming more and more realistic. In
the so-called' Romantic epoch,' in which the middle ages
reached the flower of their Art, the spirit was German,
but the form was Southern.  The Minnesingers show the
increasing encroachment of the worldly, realistic spirit
over Christian asceticism: they sing the joys of love, of
life, action and adventure, as if there were no doctrine of
the worthlessness of the world and nothingness of life.




250        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BQOK III.
Nowhere is this realism mriore manifest than in the great
national epos, the Nibelungen Lied, which, although reaching us in a form not more authentic than that of the Homeric poems, is nevertheless an authentic witness. Any
poem more naively sensuous, more sincerely worldly, it
would be difficult to name. The Minne's body, the beauty
of the knight's body, are chaunted by the poet with frank
admiration; the charms of mind being rarely, if ever,
alluded to. The vigor of physical life, the splendor of
dress, the glory of action, are dweit on with delight; the
next world, and all the thoughts which connect themselves
with it, never seemed to trouble the actors. No profession
of Christian doctrine is visible; not a trace of anything
which belongs to the spiritualistic conception of life. It is
as pagan as the Iliad.
The Nibelungen Lied is indeed a national product. It
has undergone many modifications in the course of its
existence, but there is no doubt that it is made up from
the various legends which were current in the ballads of
the people during the earliest days; and we may here
remark that the notion of the existence of a special class
of Bards in these early days is entirely discredited by
German scholars; so that instead of attributing these
ballads to a class of Bardic Homeridae, we must attribute
them to the general invention of the nation. In those
days there were no Poets, there were only Singers; there
was no Art of Poetry, but only a Song which issued from
"the heart of the nation.  In this Song, the burden of
which was familiar to all, every one joined; the harp was
passed from hand to hand, and in chorus all the voices rose
together. This singing together, which Tacitus noticed, is
a German characteristic, and to it the Heroic Songs of the
nation are due.-  In contrast with this national song or
* Vilmar Geschichtc der Deutschen National Literatur, Sixth
Edition, p. 25.




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.          251
Volkspoesie, stands Poetic Art or Kunstpoesie, which is
the work of individual genius, and in which the individual
makes his worth felt in the ornament and arrangement of
the material, in invention properly so called. The Volkspoesie, that which was the common property of the
people, disappeared in the ninth century, when the pagan
song gave place to priestly song, when the Heroes were
banished and the Saints appeared. The old German Epos
then gives place to the Christian Epos, the so-called
Altsdclhsische Evangelienharmonie, which has Christ for
the Hero, and the Gospel Narrative for subject-matter.
With the Crusades begins a new epoch. Before touching on this important epoch let us fix our attention on one
fact, namely, that the Volkspoesie came really from the
people, while the Kunstpoesie, as it is called, came from
the court. The one was national, the other individual.
A similar contrast exists in our own days between the
Ballad whose parentage no one can trace, and the Poem
which is the creation of an individual Poet. The Kunstpoesie arose in courts, and kings and courtiers were the
poets. In the history of the national culture we see this
courtly form of Art becoming more and more predominant.
The consequences are twofold: First, poetry gradually
ceases to be national both in its material and form, becomes
more individual, and exclusively addresses individuals and
a class; secondly, it becomes imitative, and this imitation
is carried so far, that at last German nationality becomes
a matter of scorn, as we see in Frederick the Great, and
the imitators of French Literature.
It was in the period of the Crusades that this movement
began. The Crusades developed a new life in poetry.
From all parts of Europe the streams of various nationalities, united by a common faith, met to oppose the
Saracen. The chiefs of these armies were in constant




252        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETIIE.   [BooK: II.
quarrel, but the people themselves were on excellent terms.
The effects of such a collision of nationalities could not
be other than important.  One effect it is necessary to
specify: The Crusades brought Poetry once more into the
daily affairs of life, removed it from the exclusive hands
of the clergy, and from the exclusive treatment of religious
subjects. They made Art once more secular. The knight
became a minstrel, or listened with pride to the recital of
his deeds in verse.  Nor was this all. His deeds, his
heroism, his perils and warlike exercises suddenly became
surrounded with a halo of righteousness.  Hitherto his
life had been without the sanction of a holy cause. He
belonged to a religion of Peace, and his ways were the
ways of war. Hence a life of violence was frequently
closed by an old age of repentance.  He quitted the
turmoil of the tourney and the battle field, for the quiet of
the cloister.  He forsook the vanities of this world, to
prepare himself for the glories of the next.  With the
Crusades came a change.  The battle field was sacred,
the very' vanities' became instruments to work out the
designs of Providence. The strong arm dealt a powerful
blow for the holiest of causes. Life was no longer the
ignoble struggle of sensualism rebuked by asceticism: it
was a noble struggle, for a worthy aim. Thus was
Realism reconciled with Idealism, and Poetry once more
became the songs of daily life. This path, once opened,
gradually became broader.  A  purely earthly ambition
replaced the original religious motive. Frederick II. wanted
to possess the Holy Land for himself, not merely to drive
out the Infidel. Richard the Lion Heart thought more of
chivalrous renown than of Christian glory. The knights
thought more of their ladies than of the Virgin. They
flocked to the east, arrayed in splendor, which Saint
Bernard preached against in vain; for woman's eyes




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.           253'rained bright influence;' woman's colors were worn
with ostentatious pride. The cross became a pretext.
The Crusades form a point of departure in European
literature. They influenced all Europe, but in Germany,
with which we have here to concern ourselves, the national
character markedly modified this influence. The subjective tendency - in other words the Idealism - is seen
predominating even amid this great outburst of Realism.
The Ritterpoesie is less realistic than any other contemporary literature.  Gervinus has noticed with emphasis the
absence of war songs in this warlike age.' Who would
believe it?' he exclaims:'Among the thousands of songs
which have come down to us from various knightly Minnesingers, and from different epochs - among all the
products of an exclusively military race which had nothing to do but to wield the sword, and which could do
nothing else; not one single war song has been discovered!
Scarcely one in which the warlike valor of the knight is
placed high.' The lays of the Minnesingers are indeed
all subjective; they are errotic or sentimental. The Troubadours of Provence mirror in their lays everything which
varies life; the German minstrel mirrors nothing but his
own feelings, and mostly the feelings of love.  This
contrast points to a national contrast. The Troubador is
gay, the Minnesinger sentimental. The one paints external life, the other paints internal life; one sings of
war, of tourney, of courts, of wine, of friendship; the
other sings of love and its sorrows;.oucr yov'oV,izEl.
Nor is this contrast accidental; it lies in the national
character. At the present day the same phenomenon is
noticeable. Thus Shakespeare has become a national poet
in Geimany, almost as much as Goethe or Schiller; but
the works of Shakespeare which hold the highest place in
the national mind, are Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, that
VOL. I.         22




254        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II.
is to say, plays of philosophy and love. Julius Ccesar,
Othello, Coriolanus, Henry 1V. -- the masterpieces of
passion, character and history, are admired, indeed,
because they are Shakespeare's; but they have few such
profound admirers as Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet.
Thus we see that during the very realistic reaction of
the Ritter period the Idealistic tendency asserts itself. It
emerges more distinctly into prominence during the socalled Didactic Period, in which we detect the national
tendency to make Poetry the vehicle of Philosophy, -to
think, where Art is content to feel. The poets borrow
foreign stories, but they make them national by throwing
into them a philosophic meaning; as we see in the mass
of Christian Legends which were produced at this period.
It would take us too far to narrate the series of oscillations through which Literature moved.  Enough if we
allude to the Renaissance, which brought into Europe the
revelation of the matchless Art of Antiquity, and which,
by its example, banished the hideous sacrifice of Form to
Meaning, and opened a field for healthy Realism in Art.
Even Gothic Architecture, the sole product of the Middle
Ages which has true artistic beauty, gave way to Grecian
columns and Roman cupolas. In Painting, the triumphs of
Leonardo, Raphael, Titian, and Correggio consecrated the
realistic movement.
With the Reformation another change came. Idealism
onee minore asserted itself. All the fair forms of Catholic
Art were scouted, as the fair forms of Pagan Art had
formerly been. German Literature from this time forward
becomes a dreary table-land. Wherever it is not exclusively religious and protestant, it is drearily imitative.
Imitation of the Classics and the French, however, once
more brought back Realism. The old legends circulated
among the'people, but the poets wrote for courts and




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.           255
academies, not for the people. To write Latin or French,
was necessary during a long period, when the German
language was despised and neglected as the' language of
horses.' Remnants of this scorn still remain, especially
in courts, where French is thought to be the language
fittest for courtly mouths; and we have to remember that
until Wolff no philosopher ever thought of writing in
German; the great Leibnitz wrote Latin and French,
never German. Early protests against this scorn had
been made by Germans, but Logan and his admirers
protested in vain. In 1650 the brave Moscherosch upbraided his countrymen for their want of nationality: —'O, more than unreasoning imitators! Have you ever
known an animal so irrational as to change his voice and
utterance to please another?  Did you ever hear a cat
bark to please a dog, or a dog mew for love of a cat?
Did you ever hear a bird low or a cow whistle? And
yet you would give up your own noble language which
was born with you!'
Passing over this long and dreary period we arrive at
the eighteenth century, when a new spirit was awakened,
national and protestant.  The Protest of the eighteenth
century was twofold: 1. negative against Authority; and
2. positive in favor of nature. The negative protest was
directed against French Taste as the authority in Literature; and against the letter of Scripture as the authority
in Religion, - the authority with which Protestantism had
replaced Papal Infallibility. To combat these Authorities,
an appeal was made to Nature and to National Literature.
In Art, Homer, Shakespeare, Legendary Lore, and the
free spirit of earlier times were invoked as examples. In
Religion, an appeal was made by the Rationalists to the
natural judgment of man's soul, and by the Pietists to the
spirit of Christianity, as seen in the early ages. Klopstock




256        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
Wieland, Lessing, and Herder thus prepared the way for
Goethe and Schiller.
In Klopstock, born 1724, we see Idealism once more
victoriously asserting itself: Fatherland and Christianity
were the two sources of his inspiration. But he was too
much of a poet not to have a large admixture of Realism,
and too much of a German not to have a strong imitative
tendency. Very remarkable it is in the history of German
culture, to notice how, in the dull stagnant periods, Imitation of foreigners is the ruling motive, and how also
revolutions are made by the substitution of one imitation
for another. Like premature republicans, they cut off the
head of their king, to place another on the throne. The
shout of freedom rouses them to revolt; no sooner are
they free, than the cry is,'whom  shall we obey?'
Gervinus has remarked that the dictum of the Klopstock
school was' originality,' by which they opposed Winckelmann, who declared the only way to produce inimitable
works was to imitate the ancients; and yet even this cry
of originality was an imitation, borrowed fiom the English
poet, Young.'Curiously enough, even this notion of
original genius is not original with us; and the great
English drama, which was so far from being a copy, was
copied in every way by our "' original " poets!'  Not
only in the instance mentioned by Gervinus, but in the
two great epochs of German literature which preceded,
we notice a similar fact.  The middle age culture is
everywhere far more receptive and imitative than original,
and the famous knightly-poetry is drawn from Arabia,
through France, not from the German-Christian soil.
Again, when with Opitz (1624) a new era begins, we see
him drawing from French, Spanish and Italian models
*Gervinus, iv. 419.




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.,    257
the rules for his Buch von der teutschen Poeterey, declaring it impossible for Germans to surpass them.
In Klopstock we see the three elements of Imitation,
Christianity and Nature, all working towards Idealism.
The poetry of Homer, Pindar and Ossian, lured him
almost as much as the psalms of David, and the bards of
his fatherland. His Odes are inspired by this triple love;
some of them are religious, some bardic and some antique.
His influence was instantaneous, immense, because it
moved with the spirit of the time; if succeeding years
have left him somewhat stranded on the shore, a wreck of
the past, and not a living influence, we must not forget
the services he performed in an age when he stood out as
a giantf. The very enthusiasm he excited, the high and
priestly office which he gave the poet, as a real Vates, the
services he rendered to the rebellious German language,
will secure for him a grateful recognition even among
those wearied by his odes and epic.
Klopstock went back to Nature, as well as to the early
Singers. He vindicated Realism by his free and joyous
habits, by gymnastic exercises, by skating, of which he
was passionately fond, and for which he wrote laws with
something of Solonic gravity; by horsemanship, by bathing and by admiration of pretty women. His Idealism
was no asceticism. Like Milton, he was an accomplished
cavalieri and like Milton, passionately fond of music.
Remembering Coleridge's sarcasm, I will hasten to add
that the resemblance to Milton must not be pushed much
farther; if he is a German Milton, he is indeed very
German. All such parallels have necessarily an imperfect
side, but if one must be made, I would call Klopstock a
German Wordsworth rather than a German Milton; not
so much in reference to the quality of his poetry, as to
his life and his position in national literature. The first
22 *




258        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
three cantos of the Messias, published in 1748, a year
before Goethe's birth, produced a wonderful impression.
The rest of the poem was delayed till 1773, much to the
regret of his admirers, who were tempted to curse the
generous patron whose pension enabled the poet to be thus
idle. But in truth a change had come over him. He
grew melancholy, was troubled with desires for death, and
only cared to live that he might finish his religious poem;
and, as Lessing said, he began to correct his verses more
with a view to orthodoxy than to art.
If in Klopstock we have the representative of German
Idealisn in Wieland we have the representative of German
Realisnim. They are contrasts in all essentials. W~ieland
is sensuous where Klopstock is supersensuous, rational
where Klopstock is sentimental; philosophy and history
rule his muse, as religion and music ruled that of Klopstock; and he is eminently didactic where Klopstock is
eminently lyrical. Wieland had a marked preference for
the later classics, and the French and Italian poets, as
Klopstock had for the northern and English. Voltaire
was to Wieland what Young was to Kiopstock. Even on
English ground the same contrast is observable. Wieland
takes up Shaftesbury and Shakespeare; Klopstock, —
Young, Richardson and Milton. Klopstock was' terribly
in earnest,' as Kemble said of Kean; Wieland was a
gay, light, wandering nature, incapable of any profound
earnestness. If we have called one the German Wordsworth, we may call the other, in the same loose way, the
German Moore. It was the fashion to call Wieland a
Greek, because he wrote pleasant tales, of a Frenchified
Hellenic cast; but although in Agathon, for example, a
certain reflex of Grecian culture and Grecian light is
visible; yet, as in an old Palimpsest you may still trace
the rugged, ineffaceable writing of some monkish homily




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.         259
which has been made to cede the place to a pleasant
legend, so under this surface-polish of culture, the German
WVieland is unmistakeably legible.
Wieland, born in 1733, early displayed the characteristics of his later years, and preluded to that fluctuating
Imitation which, through life, was his inspiration.  He
confessed that he could read nothing with delight which
did not set him to work at imitating it; and all his wonrs
are imitative.  He began his studies at three years of
age, and at seven read Cornelius Nepos with enthusiasm.
Between his twelfth and sixteenth years he read all the
Roman writers, with Voltaire, Fontenelle and Bayle.
Xenophon and Addison followed; and in his seventeenth
year he wrote an imitation of Lucretius (1751), and
played off Bayle and Leibnitz against Aristotle, to the
delight of a public which had the sublime stupidity to
accept him  as the'German  Lucretius.'  The young
Realist boldly proclaimed that Happiness was the aim of
Creation, the greatest psalm which could be sung in the
Creator's glory. He changed about, however, and passed
over to the pietists for a time; but the imitative tendency
which led him thither, as readily led him away again to
Xenophon, Anacreon, Lucian and the French. He stood
in terror of Lessing; and his own disposition also moved
him towards lighter, cheerfuller, views of life. Lessing
had made him acquainted with Shakespeare, and his
(prose translation of our greatest poet, which appeared in
1762-66, was the best service he rendered his nation./
In 1762 Wieland was brought into contact with' goon
society,' through Graf Stadion, and made acquaintance not
only with the world but with many English and French
writers of the moral deistical school, who completed his
emancipation from the pietists, and taught him  how to
write for' the world.' lHe became the favorite poet of




260         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
good society. His tales and poems were all animated
with an epicurean morality, and written with a certain
lightness and grace (German lightness and German grace:
they never lost the national character) which gradually
passed from lightness into voluptuousness and obscenity,
qualities not less acceptable to the mass of his readers, in
spite of the indignation they roused in sterner circles. He
appealed, indeed, piteously against his critics, from his
lax writings to his moral life, and wished they' could see
him in his'quiet domestic home, they would then judge
otherwise of him.' In truth, his life was blameless, and
he might, with Martial, have thrown the blame of his
writings on his readers:'Seria cum possim, quod delectantia malim
Scribere; tu causa es, Lector amice, mihi
Qui legis et tota cantas mea carmina Roma.'
At the time of Goethe's appearance Wieland was in this
bad odor, as we have before noted;,but he lived through
it, and wrote his masterpiece, Oberon, when Goethe was
with him in Weimar.
Klopstock and Wieland as Idealist and Realist, with an
Anglomania and a Gallomania, began a revolution of
which they were the Girondins. The real revolutionary
Captain, the real leader of the German mind, was Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, one of the greatest critics the
world has seen, and certainly the greatest prose writer of
Germany. Born 1729, just twenty years older than
Goethe therefore, and thirty years older than Schiller, he
was, as Gervinus truly says, the great finger-post of his
nation; leading it from the regions of Cherubim and
Seraphim, whither Klopstock pointed, and from the distant Wonderland of Fable whither Wieland pointed, he
brought it back to the German Home.  He wrote genuine




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.             261
German; and created a German prose, such as no writer
has on the whole surpassed, and very few approached.
This of itself was no small service. But his services lie
in almost every direction: Religion, Philosophy, Art,
Drama, Scholarship, everywhere an innovator, everywhere strong, clear, decisive; nowhere an imitator. In
this, as in so many respects, he was unlike his nation;
indeed, profound and manysided as his influence has
been, it has always been rather that of a counterpoise
to German tendencies, than of additional momentum,
simply because his nature was antagonistic to that of
his nation. He had no Idealism, no Sentimentalism,
no Schwarmerei.  His intelleet, like his style, was'clear,
sharp, precise; he would tolerate no vagueness, and he
hated rhetoric; a keen, analytic, healthy intellect, practical in all its aims, decisive in its movement, inspired by
the sincerest love of truth, but never inspired by imagination.
Forever wandering from city to city, as from topic to
topic, a restless gladiator for the Truth, throwing fragments, never systems, to the public, writing to clear his
own mind of doubts, and publishing to submit his doubts
to others,bhe is the most revolutionary writer of that, or
perhaps of any age.! In one of his Theological Fragments he begins with the intention of tearing it to pieces,
should he succeed in satisfying his own mind during cornposition; should he not succeed, he will publish it, that
others may take up his doubts, and carry them to better
issues.' It is not Truth,' he said in reply to Goeze,
* Lessing schrieb Deutsch. Gervinus, iv. p. 319. Admirable as
this work is in so many respects (superior to all literary histories
known to me), there is no chapter of it more remarkable than this
on Lessing.




262        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.' which makes man worthy, but the striving after Truth.
If God in His right hand held every Truth, and in His left
the one Inward Impulse after Truth, although with the
condition that I should err forever, and bade me choose,
— I would humbly incline to his left hand, saying,' O0
Father, give me that: pure Truth is for Thee alone."' No
man but one who felt a genuine love of Truth dared have
said that; no one but a man of a genuine fighting activity
could have conceived it. How Lessing fought, how incessantly, and how nobly, is known to every student of German Literature, where his rank is among the proudest
glories of the nation.
In Religion, Lessing is the real successor to Luther. He
fought against the letter of Scripture as Luther fought
against Church pretensions; he appealed incessantly to
the verdict of Reason against Authority. In Literature
he combated arbitrary rules, let them call themselves by
what name they pleased. The French Taste was paramount in the Drama: he attacked it with terrible wit and
pitiless logic: placing in contrast Plautus, Sophocles, and
Shakespeare. His Litteratur Briefe and his Hamburgische
Dramaturgie startled, staggered, and finally conquered the
nation. His Minna von Barnhelm was a national drama,
which crowded the stage with sollatesque pieces, as G6tz
subsequently did with chivalry pieces. That piece, as
well as the more ambitious, but far less successful Emilia
Galotti, still keeps the stage; and the noble Nathan der
Weise still speaks to the people its elevated accents of
humanity and tolerance.
kLessing had the erudition of a German, but no erudite
German was ever so little of a bookworm) In everything
he looked to the end; but did not, like so many self-styled
practical men, therefore overlook the means. He knew
the worth of books; no man better; and all the better,




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.            263
because he held them as books. In the same way he
knew the worth of Rules. He did not fight against them
as Rules, but against them as irrational. There were rules
founded in reason, and rules founded on mistaken notions.
To suppose that rules cramped genius was laughable;
genius could not be cramped, and above all, not by the
rules which, according to the theorists, had been originated
by genius; but if the fear of rules cramping genius was
absurd, still more absurd was the belief that rules could
make genius. We must not be surprised to find, therefore,
in Lessing's writings the most exhaustive erudition, and
the highest respect for what reason justifies in the masterpieces of the past. Without calling on his nation to imitate
Homer, Sophocles, Plautus and Shakespeare, he calls on
his nation to study them.
The Laokoon, which still remains the masterpiece of
Art-criticism, and in which we see the principles that
Goethe and Schiller afterwards so strenuously upheld, is
very characteristic of Lessing's mind. He strives to make
clear to artists the boundaries of the several arts, believing
that there is a natural inclination to mingle what belongs
to one mode of representation with what belongs to
another; this intermingling of styles he calls a sign of
decay. The analytic tendency of his mind is seen in the
Laokoon; another tendency is also seen, which is equally
characteristic: the tendency to pure Realism. He loved
a beautiful landscape, but, German though he was, never
felt any of the soft sadness and mystic witchery felt by
moderns. He looked on Nature as a Greek looked on
her, seeing nothing behind the panorama. He called the
modern feeling for Nature, the feeling which the invalid
has for Health. Passionately fond of Plastic Art, he was
insensible to Music; and in Plastic Art he preferred Sculpture to Painting, Design to Color. In Poetry he preferred




264        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [BooK Ill.
Homer to Sophocles and Shakespeare, and these to every
one else. He demanded Poetry for men, not for women
and boys. Very characteristic it is that in those days of
enthusiasm for Ossian, who was placed beside, when not
above, Homer, Lessing never once mentions him.
XWe are touching the weak place in thus touching on
the strong; we approach the defect in indicating the great
quality of his mind. Lessing's intellect was clear, strong,
healthy, but it was not impassioned, it was not winged
with powers which could carry it to the height of genius.
lie knew it well; he confessed himself no poet; confessed
he was a Thinker in whom was wanting that enthusiasm
which is the flower of genius. It is as a critic therefore that he lives, and it is owing to the clearness of his
intellect rather than the force of his genius, that his plays
are of' eternal substance.'
The enthusiasm, sentimentalism, and rhetoric which Lessing wanted are to be found in Herder (born 1744), who is
the next great critical name in German literature. Herder
is the lineal descendant of Lessing, imitating his revolutionary efforts, helping to disseminate his ideas, and succeeding in carrying them further by reason of the very qualities
which distinguished him from Lessing. The works published about this period, namely, Fragmente zur Deutschen
Literatur, 1767; the Kritische Wdlder, 1769; and Von
Deutscher Art und Kunst, 1773, show Lessing's influence as the groundwork, with Hamann's and his own
rhetorical, and theologico-poetical tendencies, as variations.
If Lessing is now best known by his Laokoon and Nathan,
Herder is almost exclusively known by his Ideas towards
a History of Mankind: the contrast between these works
is all the greater, because of the evident parentage.
Herder had something of the Hebrew Prophet in him, but
the Hebrew Prophet fallen upon Deistical times, with




1774.]   SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.           265
Spinoza and Lessing for teachers. To complete the
contrast between Lessing and Herder, it may be added
that both were Critics rather than Poets; but the clear
rational poetry of Lessing survives, while the rhetoric of
Herder is altogether forgotten. Both greatly influenced
their nation, Herder perhaps more than Lessing at the
time; but as the waves of time roll on they leave Herder more and more behind, scarcely washing anything
away of the great Lessing.
i Herder's merit, according to Gervinus, is that he gave
an impulse to poetic activity, less through his own example than through his union of Imagination and Fancy with
uesthetical criticism, thus throwing a bridge over from
criticism, to poetry, From youth upwards there was something in him solitary, visionary and sensitive; he was
never seen to leap and play like other boys, but wandered
lonely with his thoughts. A vast ambition, resting on a
most predominating vanity, made him daring in Literature,
bitter, and to many unendurable, in intercourse. His
sensitive nerves forbidding the study of Medicine, he chose
that of Theology.  He became one of Germany's most
renowned preachers; but although his loved wife weaned
him from the early' freethinking,' he never to the last
became what could be called orthodox; he was, so to
speak, a rhetorical Spinoza' in orders.'
Although Herder was not more a poet than Lessing, he
had more of the poetical element in his nature; but it
was confused, and instead of ripening into fruit, ran to
aeed in rhetoric. This fault, which was also a quality,
brought him nearer to his age and nation.  It gave a
charm to his teaching. It roused enthusiasm. It aided
his efforts towards the dissemination of Ossian, Hebrew
Poetry, and old German Literature, especially old ballads.
VOL. I.   23




266        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
It was in this agitation and revolution that Goethe made
his appearance, to sum up all the tendencies of his age,
and to express them, not in critical disquisitions, but in
works of genius., His success was instantaneous, for he
performed what others prescribed.i He  was not an
imitator, but he walked on the paths which had been
prepared. As he wisely says: In der wahren Kunst giebt
es keine Vorschule, wohl aber Vorbereitungen.*  What
preparations had been made for him, he used, but he used
them as an original genius uses the materials at hand.
Goethe was by nature a Realist, and his relation therefore to the Idealism of his nation must at all times have
been equivocal. As a child of the age he could not escape
its tendencies, but as a man organically opposed to those
tendencies, he could only write as a Greek born in Germany during the later half of the eighteenth century, and
treat Idealism in a thoroughly realistic style: and this he
did. Had he been pure Greek he would not so have
moved his nation; had he not expressed the tendencies
of his age he must have been dumb. In G6tz and
Werther the clear objective spirit is as visible as in
Iphigenia or Hermann und Dorothea. The true poetic
Idealist is Schiller. But at the time now spoken of,
Schiller was a boy of fifteen. Coincident with his rise
into eminence, is the open rupture of Goethe with the
Sturm und Drang school. When Schiller comes to
represent Idealism, Goethe has proclaimed himself the
representative of Realism: and the two great Leaders
have their separate camps. The nation felt it, and felt,
as Gervinus remarks, that these two alone were the
independent representatives of German poetry, for' while
*' In true Art there is no school where Art can be learned, but
simply Preparations.' Here, as so often occurs, I am forced to content myself with a poor paraphrase.




1774.]    SURVEY OF GERMAN LITERATURE.           267
Klopstock was called our Milton, Wieland our Voltaire,
and Jean Paul our Sterne, and others in the same way,
Goethe and Schiller were never other than themselves.'
In Goethe we see united the two great tendencies of
Realism and Idealism, and the two essential conditions of
National Art — the treatment of national material, and
the perfect art of that treatment.




268        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
CHAPTER V1I.
CLAVIGO.
RETURNING from this digression, -we find Goethe now at
the perilous juncture in an author's career, when, having
just achieved a splendid success, he is in danger either of
again snatching at laurels in presumptuous haste, or of
suffering himself to repose upon the laurels he has won,
talking of greatness, instead of learning to be great. Both
perils he avoided. He neither traded on his renown, nor
conceived  that his education was complete.  Wisely
refraining from completing fresh important works, he
kept up the practice of his art by trifles, and the education
of his geniusiy serious studies.
Among these trifles are Clavigo, the Jahrmarktsfest zu
Plundersweilern, and the Prolog zu Bahrdt's 2Neuesten
Offenbarungen. For the composition of Clavigo we must
retrace our steps a little, and once more see him in the
Frankfurt circle during the summer of 1774, that is, before
the publication of Werther, which was delayed till October.
In his sister's pleasant circle we have already noticed
Anna Sybilla.Miinch, who was fascinating enough to fix
his attentions. They were accustomed to meet once a
a week, in picnics and pleasure parties; at one of these
it was agreed to institute a marriage lottery.  He thus
speaks of it:' Every week lots were drawn to determine
the couples who should be symbolically wedded; for it




1774.]               CLAVIGO.                   269
was supposed that every one knew well enough how lovers
should conduct themselves, but few had any proper conceptions of the requisite demeanor between man and
wife. General rules were laid down to the effect that
these wedded couples should preserve a polite indifference,
not sitting near each other, nor speaking to each other too
often, much less indulging in anything like caresses.  At
the same time, side by side with this polite indifference,
this well-bred calm, anything like discord or suspicion
was to be sedulously avoided; and whoever succeeded in
gaining the affections of his wife without using the importunities of a lover, was. supposed to have achieved
their ideal.  Much sportive confusion and agreeable
pleasantry of course arose from this scheme.' Strangely
enough, to him it fell thrice to have the same girl
appointed by hazard to fill the place of his wife. When
fate had brought them together for the third time, it was
resolved unanimously that they should be no longer
separated, that heaven had spoken, and that hereafter
they were to consider themselves as man and wife, and
not to draw lots as the others did. At these reunions
something new was generally read aloud by one of the
party. One evening Goethe brought with him as a novelty
the' Memoire' of Beaumarchais. During the conversation which ensued, Goethe's partner said to him:'If I
were thy liege lady, and not thy wife, I would command
thee to change this memoir into a play, to which it seems
well suited.' He answered:' That thou mayest see, my
love, that liege lady and wife are one, I here undertake
that this day week I will read a play on this very matter.'
So bold a promise excited astonishment, but he resolved
on fulfilling it.  What, in such cases,' he says,'is
termed invention, was with  me spontaneous.  While
escorting my titulary wife home I was silent; and on her
23*




270       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BoorK II.
inquiring the cause, I told her that I was thinking out the
play, and had already got into the middle of it - intending to show her how gladly I would do anything to please
her. Upon which she pressed my hand, and I snatched a
kiss.'Thou must not step out of thy character,' she
exclaimed;'they say it is not proper for married folks to
be loving.''Let them say what they please,' I replied,'we will have it our own way.'
He confesses that before reading the play aloud, the
subject had appeared to him eminently dramatic; though,
without such a stimulus as he had received, this piece,
like so many others, would have remained among the
number of possible creations. The only novelty in it was
his mode of treating the villains. He was weary of those
characters so frequently represented, who from revenge,
or from hate, or from trivial motives, ruin a noble nature;
and he wished in Carlos to show the working of clear,
good sense, against passion and inclination. Justified by
the precedent of Shakespeare, he translated, word for
word, the chief scene, and such portions of the memoir
as were dramatic; borrowing the denouement from an
English ballad. He was ready before the week expired,
and read the piece to a delighted audience.
A few words on this memoir may be useful. Beaumarchais had two sisters living in Madrid, one married to an
architect, the other, Marie, engaged to Clavijo, a young
author without fortune. No sooner had Clavijo obtained
the office he had long solicited, than he refused to fulfil
his promise. Beaumarchais hurried to Madrid; his object
was twofold: to save the reputation of his sister, and to
put a little speculation of his own on foot. He sought
Clavijo, and by his sangfroid and courage, extorted from
him a written avowal of his contemptible conduct. No
sooner was this settled, than Clavijo, alarmed at the con



1774.]                CLAVIGO.                  271
sequences, solicited a reconciliation with Marie, offering
to marry her. Beaurnarchais consents, but just as the
marriage is about to take place he learns that Clavijo is
secretly conspiring against him, accusing him of having
extorted the marriage by force. in consequence of which
he has procured an order from the government to expel
Beaumarchais from Madrid. Irritated at such villany,
Beaumarchais goes to the ministers, reaches the king, and
avenges himself by getting Clavijo dismissed from his
post. This is, in brief, the substance of the M6moire
which appeared in February, 1774. The adventure
occurred in 1764, so that Clavijo, who subsequently became a distinguished writer, might have seen himself not
only held up to odium in the sparkling pages of Beaumarchais, but represented on the stage of every German
theatre. He died in 1806, vice-president of the Natural
History Society in Madrid, having previously translated
Buffon, and edited the Mercurio historico y politico de
Madrid.  We must suppose that Goethe knew nothing of
the existence of' Clavijo, when he wrote the drama.
With Beaumarchais in our hands it is curious to read
Clavigo, which is as close a reproduction as the dramatic
form admits; and is an evidence that Goethe did wisely
in not at once proceeding to complete Faust (fragments of
which were written), or Ccesar. He would infallibly have
repeated himself. He has repeated himself in Clavigo:
the exteryncircumstances are changed, but the experience is the same. Clavigo is another Weislingen, and
was meant to be so:'I have written a tragedy,' Goethe
writes to Schonborn,' Clavigo, a modern anecdote, dramatized with the greatest simplicity and heartfelt truth.
My hero is an irresolute, half-great, half-little man, the
pendant to VWeislingen, or rather WVeislingen himself as
the chief person.' He has well portrayed the weak, am



272        LIFE AND WOIIKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
bitious nature of one who hopes to rise still higher in the
world, but feels his career obstructed by a passion which
made him happy in the obscure days of penniless youth.
The popular author and court favorite aspires to some
woman of rank; an aspiration in which he is encouraged
by his friend Carlos, who mockingly strips off the garlands with which the poet's imagination had decked his
mistress.
Marie is a weak, sensitive creature, without much individuality, and is perhaps the poorest sketch Goethe has
given of a woman. There is, however, one little touch
which shows the poet; it is a sentence which escapes
Marie, when Clavigo returns repentant to her feet, appealing to her affection: she throws herself on his neck,
exclaiming,' Ah, sister, whence knows he that I love him
so - woher weiss er dass ich ihn so liehe!'
Marie is overjoyed at Clavigo's return, but her joy is
brief. The demon of ambition, aided by the cold sarcasms of Carlos (in whom we see the germ of Mephistopheles), once more troubles Clavigo, and turns him from
a marriage so ill suited to his hopes. Carlos bitterly, but
truly, says to him,' There is nothing in the,vorld so pitiable as an undecided man, who wavers between two
feelings, hoping to reconcile them.' He suggests that
Beaumarchais should be assassinated.'He who orders
the assassination of the brother, pantomimically intimates
that he will have nothing to do with the sister;' adds
Carlos, quite in the Mephistophelic tone. They determine
on a contemptible plan. Beaumarchais is to be imprisoned for having insulted and threatened Clavigo under his
own roof. The order for arrest arrives, and Marie dies
broken-hearted at the treachery of her lover.
Up to this point - short at least of the death of Marie -
Beaumarchais' Mdmoire has been faithfully followed; a




1774.]                    CLAVIGO.                        273
fifth act is added, with a denouement to fit it for the stage.
This is so brief, and yet so effective, that I give it here, in
Taylor's translation.
ACT V.
SCENE I. - The Street before the House of Gilbert. -  Vight.
(The house is open. Before the door stand three men clad in black
vmantles, holding torches.  Clavigo enters, wrapt in a cloak, his
sword under his arm; a servant goes before him with a torch.)
Clavigo. I thought I told you to avoid this street.
Servant. We must have gone a great way round, sir, and you are
in such haste. It is not far hence where Don Carlos is lodged.
Clavigo. Torches there!
Servant. A funeral. Come on, sir.
Clavigo. Maria's abode! A funeral! A death-agony shudders
through all my limbs. Go, ask, whom they are going to bury.
Servant (to the men). Whom are you going to bury?
The Jk~en. Maria de Beaumarchais.
Clavigo (sits down on a stone and covers himself in a cloak).
Servant (comes back). They are going to bury Maria de Beaumarchais.
Clavigo (springing up). Traitor, must thou repeat it? Repeat
that word of thunder, which strikes all the marrow out of my bones?
Servant. Peace, sir! Come on, sir. Consider the danger by
which you are surrounded.
Clavigo. To hell with thee; reptile! I remain.
Servant. 0, Carlos! O, that I could find thee! -  Carlos!- he
has lost his reason.                                     [Exit.
SCENE II.- CLAvIGo. - The mutes in the distance.
Clavigo. Dead! Maria dead! Torches! her dismal attendants!
It is a trick of enchantment, a night vision which terrifies me;
which holds up to me a picture, in which I may see anticipated the
end of all my treacheries. But there is still time. Still! I tremble - my heart melts with horror! No! no! thou shall not die —I
come, I come! - Vanish, ye spirits of the night, which with your
horrible terrors set;yourselves in my way. (He goes up to them.)




274           LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
Vanish! -They remain! Ha! they look around after me! Woe!
woe is me! They are men like myself. - It is true! true! - Caust
thou comprehend it? She is dead! - It seizes me amid all the horror
of midnight - the feeling - that she is dead. There she lies, the
flowers at her feet! —and thou-O0 have mercy on me God in
heaven -I have murdered her? Hide yourselves, ye stars, look not
down! You who have so often beheld the villain, in feelings of the
most heartfelt happiness leave this threshold; through this street
float along in golden dreams with music and song, and enrapture his
maiden listening at the secret casement and lingering in transport.
And now I fill the house with wailing and sorrow - and this scene
of my bliss with the funeral song- Maria! Maria! take me with
thee! take me with thee! (A mournful music utters a few sounds
from wit;h7in.)  They are beginning the way to the grave.-.  Stop!
Stop! Shut not the coffin - Let me see her yet once. (He runs up
to the house.) Ha! into whose presence am I rushing? whom to face
amid their horrible sorrows? Her friends! Her brother! Whose
breast is panting with raging grief. (The music recommences.)
She calls me! She calls me! I come! — What anguish is this which
overwhelms me! What shuddering withholds me!
SCENE III.
('he music begins for the third time, and continues. Thle torches
move before the door; three others come out to them, who range themselves in order, to inclose the funeral procession, which now comes
out of the house.  Six bearers carry the bier, upon which lies the
coffin, covered. Gilbert and Buenco follow next in deep mourning.)
Clavigo (coming forward with majesty). Halt!
Gilbert. What voice is that?
Clavigo. Halt! (The bearers stop.)
Buenco. Who dares to interrupt the solemn funeral?
Clavigo. Set it down. (The bearers set it down.)
Gilbert. Ha!
Buenco. Wretch! are thy deeds of shame not yet ended? Is thy
victim not safe from thee in the coffin?
Clavigo. No more! make me not frantic. The miserable are
dangerous; I must see her. (He tears off the pall and the lid of the
coffin. JMaria is seen lying within it, clad in white, her hands
clasped before her; Clavigo steps back, and covers hisface.)




1774.]                    CLAVIGO.                        275
Buenco. Wilt thou awake her, to murder her again?
Clavigo. Poor mocker! —Maria!  (He falls down before the
coffin.)
SCENE IV. - BEAUMARCHAIS comes up the street. The former.
Beaumarchais. Buenco has left me. They say she is dead. I must
see her; spite of hell, I must see her. Ha! torches! a funeral. (He
runs hastily up to it, gazes on the coffin and falls down speechless.
They raise him up; he is deprived of sense; Gilbert holds him.)
Clavigo (who is standing on the other side of the coffin). Maria!
Maria!
Beaumarchais (springing up). That is his voice. Who calls
Maria? At the sound of that voice what burning rage starts into
my veins!
Clavigo. It is I.
Beaumarchais (staring wildly around and grasping his sword.
Gilbert holds him.)
Clavigo. I fear not thy blazing eyes, nor the point of thy sword.
Oh! look here, here, on these closed eyes - these clasped hands.
Beaumarchais. Dost thou show me that sight? (He tears himself
loose, runs upon Clavigo, who instantly draws; theyfight; Beaumarchais pierces him through the breast.)
Clavigo. I thank thee, brother; thou marriest us. (He falls
upon the coffin.)
Beaumarchais (tearing him away). Hence from this saint, thou
fiend!
Clavigo. Alas! (The bearers raise up his body and support him.)
Beaumarchais. His blood! Look up, Maria, look upon thy bridal
ornaments, and then close thine eyes forever. See! how I have consecrated thy place of rest with the blood of thy murderer! Charming!
glorious!
SCENE V. - SoPHIfrom the house.  Theformer.
Sophia. My brother? O, my God! —what is the matter?
Beaumarchais. Draw near, my love, and see! I hoped to have
strewn her bridal bed with roses; see the roses with which I adorn
her on her way to heaven.
Sophia. We are lost!
Clavigo. Save yourself, inconsiderate young man! save yourself,




276          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boo: III.
ere the dawn of day. May God, who sent you for an avenger, conduct you! Sophia, forgive me. Brothers, friends, forgive me.
Beaumarchais. How the sight of his gushing blood extinguishes
all the burning vengeance within me! how with his departing life
vanishes all my rage! (Going up to him.) Die, I forgive thee.
Clavigo. Your hand! and your's, Sophia - and your's! (Buenco
hesitates.)
Sophia. Give it him, Buenco.
Clavigo. I thank you; you are still as good as ever; I thank you.
And thou, 0 spirit of my beloved, if thou still hoverest around this
place, look down, see these heavenly kindnesses, bestow thy blessing,
and do thou too forgive me. I come! I come! — Save yourself, my
brother. Tell me, did she forgive me? How did she die?
Sophia. Her last word was thy unhappy name. She departed
without taking leave of us.
Clavigo. I will follow her, and bear your farewells to her.
SCENE VI. - CARLOS, a Servant.  The former.
Carlos. Clavigo! murder!
Clavigo. Hear me, Carlos! Thou seest here the victim of thy
prudence; and now I conjure thee, for the sake of that blood, in
which my life irrevocably flows away - save my brother.
Carlos. O, my friend? (to the servant) are you standing there?
Fly for a surgeon.                              [Servant exit.
Clavigo. It is in vain; save, save my unhappy brother; thy hand
in assurance of it. They have forgiven me, and so I forgive thee.
Accompany him to the frontiers, and - oh!
Carlos (stamping with hisfeet). Clavigo! Clavigo!
Clavigo (Drawing nearer to the coffin, upon which they lay him
down). Maria! - Thy hand! (He uncloses her hands, and grasps
her right hand.)
Sophia (to Beaumarchais). Hence, unhappy one, away.
Clavigo. I have her hand, her cold dead hand. Thou art mine.
Yet this last bridegroom's kiss.
Sophia. He is dying. Save thyself, brother.
(Beaumarchais falls on Sophia's neck. She returns the embrace,
and makes a sign for him to withdraw.)
Powerful as this scene is in theatrical effect, one cannot




1774.]                CLAVIGO.                  277
but admit that cesthetically it is poor and almost commonplace. The clumsiness by which the meeting is contrived has been noticed by Rosenkranz.*  Clavigo  is
seeking Carlos; he orders the servant who lights the way
not to pass through the street where the Beaumarchais
family resides, yet the servant actually leads him there,
because it is the shorter route. The whole tone of this
fifth act is not in harmony with what precedes. The act
is grafted on - it does not grow out of- the subject.
As a stage play the interest is great: the situations are
effective; the dramatic collision perfect; the plot is clearly
and rapidly evolved; the language vigorous, passionate
and pointed. But it must not be tried by any high standard. Merck, anxious about his friend's reputation, would
not consent to judge the play according to the theatrestandard, but exclaimed,' Such trash as this you must not
write again; others can do that!' Goethe says, that in
this Merck was wrong, and for the first time did him an
injury.' We should not in all things transcend  the
notions which men have already formed; it is right that
much should be done in accordance with the common
way of thinking. Had I written a dozen such pieces (and
it would have been easy to do so with a little stimulus),
three or four of them would perhaps have kept their place
upon the stage.'
This can scarcely be accepted as conclusive reasoning.
Merck might have replied,'Perhaps so; but you have
genius fit for higher things than stage-plays.'  Nevertheless, as before hinted, I think Goethe was right in his
course, although the reasons he alleges are unsatisfactory.
Clavigo, like the other trifles he composed at this period,
must be regarded as the sketches with which an artist fills
* Goethe und Seine Werke, p. 185.
VOL. I.      24




278        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Book IIl.
his portfolio, not the works which are to brighten galleries.
The impulse to create was imperious; if trifles were
demanded, he created trifles. His immense activity was
forced to expend itself on minor works, because he dimly
felt himself unripe for greater works.




1774.]         THE LITERARY LION.               279
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LITERARY LION.
ANNA SYBILLA MUNCH was not a little flattered by the
homage of Clavigo, and smiled more tenderly on her
admirer. Hopes of a marriage rose not only in her
breast, but in the breasts of his parents, who, having lost
by marriage their daughter, Cornelia, greatly wished to
see a daughter-in-law in their house. They talked over
the matter; seem to have alluded to it also to Anna herself; and frequently joked their son at table on the expected event. It was thought that he might first make his
long-talked-of journey to Italy, and marry on his return.
At no time prone to marriage, he had not in this instance
the impulse of passion. He admired Anna, but he felt
no passion for her; and even Italy, so long desired, was
now less attractive to him than Germany, where he was
beginning to feel himself a man of consequence, and
where the notable men of the day eagerly sought his acquaintance.
Among these men we must note Klopstock, Lavater,
Basedow, Jacobi and the Stolbergs. Correspondence led
to personal intercourse. Klopstock arrived in Frankfurt
in this October 1774, just before Werther appeared.
Goethe saw him, read the fragments of Faust to him,
and discussed skating with him. But the great religious
poet was too far removed from the strivings of his young




280       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
rival to conceive that attachment for him which he felt for
men like the Stolbergs, or to inspire Goethe with any keen
sympathy.
In June, Lavater also came to Frankfurt. This was a
few months before Klopstock's visit. He had commenced
a correspondence with Goethe on the' occasion of the
Briefe des Pastors. Those were great days of correspondence. Letters were written to be read in circles, and were
shown about like the last new poem. Lavater pestered
his friends for their portraits and for ideal portraits (according to their conception) of our Saviour, all of which were
destined for the work on Physiognomy on which Lavater
was then engaged. The artist who took Goethe's portrait sent Lavater the portrait of Bahrdt instead, to see
what he would make of it; the physiognomist was not taken
in; he stoutly denied the possibility of such a resemblance.
Yet when he saw the actual Goethe he was not satisfied.
He gazed in astonishment, exclaiming' Bist's? Art thou
he?'' Ich bin's. I am he,' was the answer;' and the
two fell on each other's necks.  Still the physiognomist was dissatisfied.'I answered him with my native
and acquired Realism, that as God had willed to make me
what I was, he, Lavater, must even so accept me.'
The first surprise over, they began to converse on the
weightiest topics. Their sympathy was much greater
than appears in Goethe's narrative, written many years
after the real characters of both had developed them}
selves: Goethe's into what we shall subsequently see;
Lavater's into that superstitious dogmatism and priestly
sophistication which exasperated and alienated so many.
Lavater forms a curious figure in the history of those
days: a compound of the intolerant priest, and the factitious sentimentalist. He had fine talents, and a streak of
genius, but he was ruined by vanity and hypocrisy. Born




1774.]          THE LITERARY LION.                281
in Zurich 1741, he was eight years Goethe's senior. In
his autobiographic sketch * he has represented himself
indicating as a child the part he was to play as a man.
Like many other children, he formed for himself a peculiar and intimate relation with God, which made him look
upon his playfellows with scorn and pity, because they did
not share his' need and use of God.' He prayed for
wonders, and the wonders came. God corrected his
school exercises. God concealed his many faults, and
brought to light his virtuous deeds. In fact, Lavater was
a born hypocrite; and Goethe rightly named him' from
the beginning the friend of Lies, who stooped to the
basest flatteries to gain influepce.'  To this flattering
cringing softness he united the spirit of priestly domination. His first works made a great sensation. In 1769
he translated Bonnet's Palingene'sie, adding notes in a
strain of religious sentimentalism then very acceptable.
At a time when the critics were rehabilitating Homer and
the early singers, it was natural that the religious world
should attempt a restoration of the early Apostolic spirit.
At a time when belief in poetic inspiration was a first
article of the creed, belief in prophetic inspiration found
eager followers. I have already touched on the sentimental extravagance of the time; and for those whom a
reasonable repugnance will keep from Lavater's letters
and writings, one sentence may be quoted sufficiently
significant. To the.lovely Countess Branconi he wrote' O toi cheri pour la vie, l'ame de mon &Ame! Ton mouchoir, tes cheveux, sont pour moi ce que mes jarretieres
sont pour toi!' &c., which from a priest to a married
woman is somewhat unctuous, but which is surpassed by
what he allowed to be addressed by an admirer to himself,
* See Gessner's Biographie Lavaters.
24*




282        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [BOOK III.
e. g.:'Oh that I could lie on thy breast in Sabbath holy
evening stillness - oh thou angel!' One sees that this
rhodomontade went all round. They wept, and were
wept on.
At the time of his arrival in Frankfurt, Lavater was in
the first flush of renown. Goethe was peculiarly attracted
to him, not only by the singularity of his character, but
by a certain community of religious sentiment. Community of creed there was not, and could not be. What
Goethe felt we may gather from his attachment to Fraulein
von Klettenberg; what he thought may be seen in such
letters as this to Pfenninger, a friend of Lavater's:' Believe me, dear brother, the time will come when we
shall understand each other. You talk to me as a sceptic,
who wishes to understand - to have all demonstrated -
who has had no experience. The contrary of all this is
the fact. Am I not more resigned in matters of Understanding and Demonstration than you are? I am, perhaps,
a fool to express myself in your language to please you.
I ought, by a purely experimental psychology, to place
my inmost being before you to show that I am a man, and
hence can only feel as other men feel, and that all which
appears contradiction between us is only dispute about
words, arising from my inability to feel things under other
combinations than those actually felt by me, and hence,
in expressing their relation to me, I name them differently,
which has been the eternal source of controversy, and will
for ever remain so. And yet you always-want to oppress
me with evidences. Wherefore? Do I need evidence of
my own existence? Evidence that I feel? I only treasure, love, and demand evidences which convince me that
thousands (or even one) have felt before me that which
strengthens and invigorates me. -And thus to me the word
of man becomes like unto the word of Gods With my




1774.]           THE LITERARY LION.                   283
whole soul, I throw myself upon the neck of my brother:
Moses, Prophet, EFangelist, Apostle, Spinoza, or Machiavelli! To each, however, I would say: Dear friend, it is
with you as it is with me. Certain details you apprehend
clearly and powerfully, but the whole can no more be
conceived by you than by me.'
He names Spinoza in this very remarkable passage;
and the whole letter seems like a reproduction of the passage in the Ethics, where that great thinker, anticipating
modern psychology, shows' that each person judges of
things according to the disposition of his brain, or rather
accepts the affections of his imagination as real things. It
is no wonder therefore (as we may note in passing) that
so many controversies have arisen among men, and that
these controversies have at last given birth to scepticism.
For although human bodies are alike in many things,
there are more in which they differ, and thus what to one
appears good, to another appears evil; what to one appears order, to another appears confusion; what to one is
pleasant, to another is unpleasant.' 
It is unnecessary to interrupt the narrative here by more
closely scrutinizing his studies of Spinoza; enough, if the
foregoing citation have made present to our minds the
probable parentage of Goethe's opinions. The contrast
between Lavater's Christianity and the Christianity of
* Ethices: Pars i. Append. The Latin of this passage is so energetic, that it must here be given:' Quae omnia satis ostendunt,
unumquemque pro dispositione cerebri de rebus judicasse, vel potius
imaginationis affectiones pro rebus accepisse. Quare non mirum est
(ut hoc etiam obiter notemus) quod inter homines tot, quot experimur, controversime ortme sint ex quibus tandem Scepticismus. Nam
quamvis humana corpora in multis conveniunt, in plurimis tamen
discrepant, et ideo id quod uni bonum alteri malurn videtur; quod
uni ordinatum, alteri confusum; quod uni gratum, alteri ingratum
est.'




284        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
Fraulein von Klettenberg interested him, and gave him
matter for thought. He agreed somewhat with both, but
he agreed perfectly with neither. The difference between
Faith and Knowledge he thus reconciled:' In Faith
everything depends on the fact of believing; what we
believe is quite secondary. Faith is a profound sense of
security, springing from confidence in the All-powerful,
Inscrutable Being. The strength of this confidence is the
main point. But what we think of this Being depends on
other faculties, or even on other circumstances, and is
altogether indifferent. Faith is a holy vessel, into which
every man may pour his feelings, his understanding and
his imagination, as entirely as he can. Knowledge is the
antipode of Faith. Therein the point is not whether we
know, but what we know, how much we know and how
well we know it. Hence men may dispute about knowledge, because it can be widened, corrected; but not about
Faith.'
So strong was the attraction of Lavater's society that
Goethe accompanied him to Ems. The journey was
charming; beautiful summer weather, and Lavater's
cheerful gayety, formed pleasant accompaniments to their
religious discussions. On returning to Frankfurt, another
and very different celebrity was there to distract his attention - Basedow, the education reformer. No greater
contrast to Lavater could have been picked out of the
celebrities of that day. Lavater was handsome, clean,
cheerful, flattering, insinuating, devout; Basedow ugly,
dirty among the dirty, sarcastic, domineering, and aggressively heterodox. One tried to restore Apostolic
Christianity, the other could not restrain the most insolent
sarcasms on the Bible, the Trinity, and every form of
Christian creed.  One set up as a Prophet, the other as a
Teacher.




1774.]         THE LITERARY LION.                285
Basedow (born 1723) was also early in indicating his
future part. At school the wild and dirty boy manifested
rebellious energy against all system and all method;
studied in a desultory, omnivorous manner, as' if to fit
himself for everything; ran away from home and became a lackey in a nobleman's house; caught up
Rousseau's doctrine about a state of nature, which he
applied to Education; wrote endless works, or rather
incessant repetitions of one work; shouted with such
lusty lungs that men could not but hear him; appealed to
the nation for support in his philanthropic schemes; collected'a rent'" from philanthropists and dupes; attacked
established institutions, and parenthetically all Christian
tenets; and proved himself a man of restless energy and
of vast and comprehensive ignorance. He made considerable noise in the world; and in private lived somewhat
the life of a restless hog who has taken to philanthropy
and freethinking.
Much as such a character was opposed to his own,
Goethe, eager and inquiring, felt an attraction towards it
as a character to study.  Like many other studies, this
had its drawbacks. He was forced to endure the incessant smoking and incessant sarcasms of the dirty
educationist. The stench he endured with firmness; the
anti-Christian tirades he answered with parodoxies wilder
than any he opposed.'Such a splendid opportunity of
exercising, if not of elevating, my mind,' he says,'was
not to be thrown away; so prevailing on my father and
friends to undertake my law business, I once more set off
for the Rhine in Basedow's company.' Basedow filled
the carriage with smoke, and killed the time with discussions. On the way they fell in with Lavater, and the
three visited several chateaux, especially of those of noble
ladies, everywhere anxious to receive the literary Lions.




286        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK II1.
Goethe, we may parethentically note, is in error when he
says that he was on this voyage greatly pestered by the
women wanting to know'all about' the truth of WTerther;
the fact being that Werther did not appear until the following October; for although the exigencies of my narrative
have caused a certain anticipation in chronology, this
journey with Lavater and Basedow, here following the
publication of Werther, came before it in Goethe's life.
If we are not to believe that the women crowded round
him with questions about Lotte, we can readily believe
the children crowded round him, begging him to tell them
stories.'
Wild and'genius-like' was his demeanor.'Basedow
and I,' he says,'seemed to be ambitious of proving who
could behave the most outrageously.' Very characteristic
is the glimpse we catch of him quitting the ball-room, after
a heating dance, and rushing up to Basedow's room. The
Philanthropist did not go to bed. He threw himself in his
clothes upon the bed, and there, in a room full of tobacco
smoke and bad air, dictated to his scribe. When fatigue
overcame him, he slept awhile, his scribe remaining there,
pen in hand, awaiting the awakening of the Philanthropist,
who, on opening his eyes, at once resumed the flow of his
dictation. Into such a room sprang the dance-heated
youth, began a fierce discussion on some problem previously mooted between them, hurried off again to look
into the eyes of some charming partner, and before the
door closed, heard Basedow recommence dictating.
This union of philosophy with amusement, of restless
theorizing with animal spirits, indicates the tone of his
mind.' I am contented,' he said to Lavater,' I am happy. That I feel; and yet the whole centre of my joy is
an overflowing yearning towards something which I have
not, something which my soul perceives dimly.' He




1774.]           THE LITERARY LION.             287
could reach that'something' neither through the pious
preaching of Lavater, nor through the aggressive preaching of Basedow. Very graphic and ludicrous is the picture
he gives of his sitting like a citizen of the world between
a prophet on the right and a prophet on the left hand -
Prophete rechts, Prophete links,
Das Welt-Kind in der Mitte, -
quietly eating a chicken while Lavater explains to a
country parson the mystery of the Revelations, and Basedow astonishes a dancing-master with a scornful exposure
of the inutility of baptism.*
Nor could he find this'something' in Jacobi, with
whom he now came into friendly, nay, passionate relation.
He could to some extent sympathize with Jacobi's senti.
mental cravings, and philosophic and religious aspirations,
for he was bitten with the Wertherism of the epoch. He
could gaze with him in uneasy ecstasy upon the moonlight,
quivering on the silent Rhine, and pour forth the songs
which were murmuring within his breast. He could
form a friendship, believing it to rest upon an eternal
basis of perfect sympathy; but the inward goad which
drove him onwards and onwards was not to be eradicated
until fresh experience had brought about fresh metamorphoses in his development. It is the Youth we have before
us here, the Youth in his titantic struggles and manywandering aims, not the Man growi into clearness.
Jacobi thought that in Goethe he had at length found
the man his heart needed, whose influence could sustain
and direct him.'The more I consider it,' he wrote to
Wieland,' the more intensely do I feel how impossible it
is for one who has not seen and heard Goethe, to write a
word about this extraordinary creation of God's. One
* See the poem -Dn, -u Coblento




288        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
needs be with him but an hour to see that it is utterly
absurd to expect him to think and act otherwise than as he
does. I do not mean that there is no possibility of an improvement in him; but nothing else is possible with his
nature, which developes itself as the flower does, as the
seed ripens, as the tree grows into the air and crowns
itself.'
Goethe's wonderful personality seems almost everywhere to produce a similar impression.  Heinse, the
author of Ardinghello, writes of him  at this period to
Gleim:' Goethe was with us, a beautiful youth of fiveand-twenty, who is all genius and strength from head to
foot, his heart full of feeling, his soul full of fire and
eagle-winged; I know no man in the whole History of
Literature who at such an age can be compared to him in
fulness and completeness of genius.' Those, and they
are the mass, who think of him as the calm and stately
minister, the old Jupiter throned in Weimar, will feel
some difficulty perhaps in recognizing the young Apollo
of this period. But it must be remembered that not only
was he young, impetuous, bursting into life, and trying
his eagle wings with wanton confidence of strength; he
was, moreover, a Rhinelander, with the gay blood of that
race stimulated by the light and generous wine of the
Rhine- not a Northern muddled with beer. When I
contrast young Goethe with a Herder, for example, it is
always as if a flask'of Rhenish glittered before me,
beside a schoppen of Bavarian beer.
Such answer to his aspirations as the youth could at
this period receive, he found in Spinoza. In his father's
library there was a little book written against Spinoza,
one of the many foolish'refutations' which that grand
old Hebrew's misunderstood system  called forth.'It
made little impression on me, for I hated controversies,




1774.]         THE LITERARY LION.             289
and always wanted to know what a thinker thought, and
not what another conceived he ought to have thought.' It
made him, however, once more read the article Spinoza,
in Bayle's Dictionary, which he found pitiable - as indeed it is. If a philosophy is to be judged by its fruits,
the philosophy which guided so great and so virtuous a
life as that of Spinoza, could not, Goethe thought, deserve
the howls of execration which followed Spinozism. He
procured the Opera Posthuma and studied them; with
what fruit let the following confession indicate. He is
speaking of his new friendship with Jacobi:'The thoughts
which Jacobi imparted to me flowed immediately from his
heart. How deeply was I moved when in unlimited confidence he revealed to me the deepest wants and aspirations of his soul. From so amazing a combination of
mental wants, passion and ideas, I could only gather presentiment of what might perhaps hereafter grow clearer
to me. Fortunately, my mind had already been prepared,
if not thoroughly cultivated in this direction, having in
some degree appropriated the results and style of thought
of an extraordinary man, and though my study had been
incomplete and hasty, I was yet already conscious of important influences derived from this source. This man,
who had wrought so powerfully on me, and who was
destined to affect so deeply my entire mode of thinking,
was Spinoza. After looking around the world in vain for
the means of developing my strange nature, I met with
the Ethics of that philosopher. Of what I read in the
work, and of what I read into it, I can give no account,
but I found in it a sedative for my passions, and it seemed
to unveil a clear, broad view over the material and moral
world. But what especially riveted me to him, was the
boundless disinterestedness which shone forth in every
sentence. That wonderful sentiment,' He who truly loves
VOL. 1s     25




290        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
God must not require God to love him in return,' together
with all the preliminary propositions on which it rests, and
all the consequences deduced from it, filled my mind."To be disinterested in everything, but most of all in love
and friendship, was my highest desire, my maxim, my
practice, so that that subsequent hasty saying,' If I love
thee, what is that to thee?' was spoken right out of my
heart. Moreover, it must not be forgotten here, that the
closest unions rest on contrasts. The all-equalizing calmness of Spinoza was in striking contrast with my all-disturbing activity; his mathematical method was the direct
opposite of my poetic style of thought and feeling, and
that very precision which was thought ill-adapted to
moral subjects made me his enthusiastic disciple, his most
decided worshipper. Mind and heart, understanding and
sense, sought each other with eager affinity, binding together the most different natures. But now all within was
fermenting and seething in action and reaction. Fritz
Jacobi, the first whom I suffered to look into the chaos,
and whose nature was also toiling in its own unfathomable
depths, heartily responded to my confidence, and endeavored to convert me to his own opinions. He, too, felt an
unspeakable spiritual want; he, too, would not have it
appeased by outward aid, but aimed at development and
illumination from within. I could not comprehend what
he communicated to me of the state of his mind; the less,
indeed, as I could form no adequate conception of my
own. Still, being far in advance of me in philosophical
thought, and even in the study of Spinoza, he was able to
guide and enlighten my efforts.'
Although he studied Spinoza much and reverently, he
never studied him  systematically.  The mathematical
* The proposition to which Goethe refers is doubtless the xix of
Book v.:' Qui Deum amat, conari non potest, ut Deus ipsum contra.
amet.'




1774.]          THE LITERARY LION.                291
form into which that thinker casts his granite blocks of
thought, was an almost insuperable hindrance to systematic study on the part of one so impatient, so desultory,
and so unmathematical as Goethe. But a study may be
very fruitful which is by no means systematic; a phrase
may fructify when falling on a proper soil. It has doubtless happened to the reader in his youth to meet with
some entirely novel and profoundly-suggestive idea, casually-cited from an ancient author, and he will remember
the overmastering influence it exercised, the longing it
awakened for a nearer acquaintance with that author. It
was the casual citation of a passage from Spinoza which
made my youth restless, and to this day I remember the
aspect of the page where it appeared, and the revolution
in thought which it effected.* A few ideas determined
the direction of Goethe's mind. Although he did not study
the system of Spinoza with any view of adopting it as a
system, he studied it to draw therefrom food which his
own mind could assimilate and work into new forms.
Spinoza was to him what Kant was to Schiller; but, with
the characteristic difference of the two minds, Schiller
studied systematically, and tried systematically to reproduce what he had studied.
Side by side with Spinozism, we have to note his dim
struggles to gain clearness respecting Christianity. The
influence of Fraulein von Klettenberg attracted him to the
Moravians, who seemed to realize early Christianity; with
his usual impressionability he studied their history and
their doctrines, and gave them some hopes that he would
become a convert; but his enthusiasm cooled down when
he discovered the wide chasm that separated him from
* It may interest some readers to learn, that Spinoza will ere long
appear in English, edited by the writer of these lines.




292        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Bo0K III.
them.'That which separated me from this brotherhood,'
he says,' as well as from many other worthy Christians,
was the very point which has more than once torn the
Church with dissent. One party maintained that by the
Fall, human nature had been so corrupted to its inmost
core, that not a trace of good could be found in it; and
that, therefore, man must renounce all trust in his own
powers, and look only to the effect of grace. The opposite party; admitting the hereditary imperfections of
man, ascribed to nature a certain internal germ of good
which, animated by divine grace, was capable of growing
up into a joyous tree of spiritual happiness. This latter
conviction penetrated to the depths of my soul all the time
that I was, with tongue and pen, maintaining the opposite
doctrine. But I had groped so in the twilight (ich ddmmerte so hin) that I had never clearly stated the dilemma
to myself.'
In spite of all his differences, however, with this sect or
that sect, nothing, as he says, could rob him of his love
of the Holy Scriptures and the Founder of Christianity.
He therefore wrought out for his own private use a Christianity of his own; and as everything which took possession of his soul always assumed a poetic form, he now
conceived the idea of treating epically the history of the
Wandering Jew.'The legend ran that in Jerusalem
there was a shoemaker named Ahazuerus. The shoemaker whom I had known in Dresden supplied me with
the main features of this character; and I animated them
with the spirit and humor of an artisan of the school of
Hans Sachs, ennobling him by a great love for Christ. In
his open workshop he talked with the passers-by, and
jested with them after the Socratic fashion; so that the
people took pleasure in lingering at his booth. Even
the Pharisees and the Sadducees spoke to him; and our




1774.]          THE LITERARY LION.               293
Saviour himself, and his disciples, often stopped before
his door. The shoemaker, whose thoughts were altogether
worldly, I nevertheless depicted as feeling a special affection for our Lord, which chiefly showed itself in a desire
to convert this great man, whose mind he did not comprehend, to his own way of thinking. He therefore gravely
incited Christ to abandon contemplation, to cease wandering through the country with such idlers, and drawing the
people away from their work into the desert; because an
assembled multitude, he said, was always excitable, and
no good could come of such a life. Our Lord endeavored
by parables to instruct him in his higher views, but they
were all thrown away on.the rough shoemaker. As Christ
grew into greater importance, and became a public character, the well-meaning workman pronounced his opinion
still more sharply and angrily, declaring that nothing but
disorder and tumult could result from such proceedings,
and that Christ would at length be compelled to place
himself at the head of a party, which certainly was not
his design.  And now  when these consequences had
ensued, Christ having been seized and condemned, Ahazuerus gives full vent to his indignation, as Judas, who in
appearance had betrayed our Lord, enters the workshop
in despair, with loud lamentations, telling of the frustration of his plan. He had been, no less than the shrewdest
of the other disciples, thoroughly persuaded that Christ
would declare himself Regent and Chief of the people,
and thought by this violence to compel him, whose hesitation had hitherto been invincible, to hasten the declaration.* In this persuasion he had roused the priesthood to
* This new light thrown upon that strange history, though adverse
from all tradition, is in strict accordance with our knowledge of
human nature. It has been adopted by Archbishop Whately, to
25*




294        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
an act from which they had hitherto shrunk. The disciples, on their side, were not unarmed; and probably all
would have gone well, had not our Lord given himself up,
and left them in the most helpless condition. Ahazuerus,
by no means propitiated by this narrative, embitters the
state of the wretched ex-apostle, who has no resource left
but to hang himself. As our Saviour is led past the
workshop of the shoemaker, on his road to execution, the
well-known scene of the legend occurs.  The sufferer
faints under the burden of the cross, which Simon of
Cyrene undertakes to carry. At this moment Ahazuerus
steps forward; and, in the style of those harsh commonsense people who, seeing a man miserable through his
own fault, feel no compassion, but rather, in their illtimed justice, make the matter worse by reproaches,
repeats all his former warnings, which he now turns into
vehement accusations, springing, as it were, from his very
love for the sufferer. Our Saviour answers not, but at
that instant Veronica covers his face with a napkin, and
there, as she removes it and raises it aloft, Ahazureus sees
depicted the features of our Lord, not in their present
agony, but radiant with celestial life. Astounded at the
sight, he turns away his eyes, and hears the words, " Over
the earth shalt thou wander till thou shalt once more see
me in this form." Overwhelmed by the sentence, he is
some time before he recovers himself; he then finds that
every one has gone to the place of execution, and that the
streets of Jerusalem  are empty.  Unrest and yearnings
drive him forth, and his wanderings begin.'
This legendary conception he never executed. It lived
within him  for a long while, and during his travels in
whom, indeed, it is generally attributed; and has furnished the subject of a miracle-play to R. H. Horne. See his Judas Iscariot.




1774.]          THE LITERARY LION.             295
Italy, he again thought of taking it up; but, like so many
other plans, it remained a mere scheme, from the want of
some external stimulus urging him to give it shape.
Another subject also worthy of elaborate treatment is
thus mentioned by him:' The common burthen of humanity which we have all to bear falls most heavily on
those whose intellectual powers expand early. We may
grow up under the protection of parents, we may lean for
a while upon our brothers and friends, be amused by
acquaintances, rendered happy by those we love, but in
the end man is always driven back upon himself; and it,
seems as if the Divinity had so placed himself in relation
to man as not always to respond to his reverence, trust,
and love, at least not in the terrible moment of need.
Early and often enough had I learned that the call to us
is, " Physician, heal thyself; " and how frequently had I
been compelled to exclaim in my pain, "I tread the
wine-press alone!" So now, looking round for support
to my self-dependence, I felt that the surest basis on
which to build was my own productive activity. For
many years I had never known it fail me. What I had
seen by day often shaped itself into magnificent dreams
at night. My time for writing was early in the morning;
but in the evening, or deep in the night, when wine and
social intercourse had elevated my spirits, you might
demand whatever you wanted; only let a subject with
some character in it be proposed, and I was at once prepared and ready. In reflecting on this natural gift, I saw
that it belonged to me as my own, and could neither be
fostered nor hindered by any external circumstances; so
I sought to make it the basis of my whole existence. This
notion transformed itself into an image. The old mythological figure of Prometheus occurred to me; who,
severed from the gods, peopled the world from his own




296        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK III.
workshop. { I clearly felt that nothing important could be
roduced without self-isolation.,JMy productions had been
the children of solitudd; and since I had formed wider
relations with the world there had been no want of power
or of pleasure of invention, but the execution halted, because I had neither in prose nor in verse, what could
properly be called a style of my own, and thus with
every new work had to begin at the beginning, and make
-experiments. As in this I had to exclude all aid from
men, so, after the fashion of Prometheus, I separated
myself from the gods also; and this the more naturally
as, with my mode of thinking, one tendency always
swallowed up and repelled every other.' The fable of Prometheus lived within me. The old
Titan web I cut up according to my own stature, and
began to write a play expressing the incongruous relation
in which Prometheus stood with respect to Jupiter and
the later gods, in consequence of his making men with
his own hand, giving them life by the aid of Minerva,
and thus founding a third dynasty. To this strange composition belongs the monologue which has become
famous in German literature, because it called forth a
declaration from  Lessing against Jacobi on certain important matters of doctrine.' *
Of this Prometheus we possess but a fragment, but the
fragment is of such excellence as to make us regret that
it never was completed. It lies there among his works, a
fragment like the torso of the Theseus, enough to prove
the greatness of the artist, if not enough to satisfy the
spectator. Grand in conception, simple in style, luminous with great thoughts, it would have been an exemplar
*He alludes to the discussion on Spinoza between Jacobi and
Lessing, which gave rise to Jacobi's very feeble book, Ueber die
Lehre des Spinozas, which made a great noise in its day.




1774.]          THE LITERARY LION.                297
of the adaptation of an antique symbol to modern meanings, not the idle imitation of a bygone creed.
Nothing can be more unlike IEschylus. The Greek
Titan glories in his audacity:'ExWv  xws'v 1ucaQro>, oVy: Qvnaoolta[.' Willingly, willingly I did it, never will I deny the deed!'
but while glorying, he complains; the injustice of the
tyrant wrings from him cries of pain, cries of physical
and cries of moral agony. The whole tragedy is one
wild outburst of sorrow. The first words he utters are to
fling his clamorous sorrow on the air, calling on the
Divine Ether and the swift winged Winds, on the Sea
Springs and the multitudinous laughter of the waves, on the
Universal Mother, the Earth - and on the all-seeing Eye,
the Sun, to witness what he, a god, must suffer. These
are his opening words; the closing words carry the same
burden. He wails over the pangs that are and are to
be:
Atl at s'o 7raQoov To V' EtEQo0tcvov
tlAccc OZTE ccW.
This is antique. The Titan in Goethe utters no complaint.
There is no bravado in his defiance; the defiance is uncompromising and sublime.  His contempt for Zeus is
founded on his knowledge of the subordination of Zeus
to a higher power — Destiny.'Away,' he exclaims,' I
serve no slave.'
Geh! Ich diene nicht Vasallen!
In this he resembles the glorious Titan drawn by Shelley,
in the Prometheus Unbound, who, to Mercury's warning of
the years of coming torture, calmly and grandly answers:'Perchance no thought can count them - yet they pass!'




298        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK III.
On this conviction rests his self-reliance. He knows the
reign of tyranny must end, and he awaits that end.
In ~Eschylus also, the Titan knows that Zeus must fall;
he foresees his own release, and, foreseeing it, resolves to
bear his fate as well as he can,' for it is in vain to struggle
against fate.' (v. 105.) Nevertheless, the knowledge of
an end, and the philosophy which preaches acquiescence,
does not prevent him from complaining. And this is very
Greek. Homer makes even Mars, when wounded, howl
with pain; and Sophocles has filled the Philoctetes with
cries of physical pain.  The Greeks had none of our
modern notions respecting the effeminacy of complaint.
It may be objected perhaps to the foregoing view of the
Titan, that iEschylus has in the first scene made him
imperturbably silent, disdaining to answer the taunts of
Power and the pity of Vulcan, as they bind him to the
rock. These draw from him no groan, no word, no
gesture; he has no defiance for the one, nor friendly
gratitude for the other. It is not until he is left alone
that he appeals to Earth, Air and Ocean. This silence,
followed by this passion, produces a sublime effect. But
the sublimity was not the poet's intention; it is an
accidental effect. The silence was simply a stage-neces.
sity, as I have elsewhere shown. Whether owing to some
eurhythmic tendency in the construction of Greek plays,
as Gruppe,* and after him Bode,t have maint.ained; or,
more probably, from motives of economy with respect to
the actors, as Geppert asserts;~ certain it is that in the
plays of lEschylus more than two speakers were never
together on the stage, with one trivial exception in the
*Ariadne: oder die Tragische Kunst der Griechen, p. 143.
tGeschichete der Hellen, Dichtkunst, iii. p. 233.:./llt-Griechische BBahne, p. 58.




1774.]           THE LITERARY LION.                 299
Choephorea, where Pylades says a few words. Hence
scholars have been puzzled to account for the distribution
of the Prometheus into parts. In the first scene the protagonist would take Power and the deuteragonist Vulcan.
Prometheus therefore must be silent, for there is no one to
speak for him. Here comes the difficulty: If Prometheus
is necessarily silent during the prologue, how does he
become eloquent immediately on being left alone?
Welcker * supposes that Prometheus was represented by
a picture, and the protagonist at the close of the prologue
got behind it, and spoke through it; an explanation
accepted by Hermann,t but shown by Schbmann I to be
full of difficulties. Let that point be settled as it may,
the fact remains that the silence of Prometheus was
forced by stage necessities, and was not meant as an
indication of his self-reliance; the further proof of which
is to be seen in his wailings and writhings throughout the
play - notably in the scene with Mercury (v. 905), where
Prometheus is scurrilously fluent.
Shelley never makes his Titan flinch. He stands there
as the sublime of endurance:'To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
To defy power which seems omnipotent;
To love and bear; to hope till Hope creates
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent.' 
This is grand; but grander far the conception of Goethe,
whose Titan knows that he is a god, and that if he be
true to himself, no power can trouble or destroy his
heritage of life and activity:
*Opusc. ii. p. 146.   t Trilogie, p. 30.  t$Prometheus, p. 85.




300          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK III.
Das was ich habe kinnen sie nicht rauben,
Und was sie haben m6gen sie beschiitzen;
Hier Mein und Dein,
Und so sind wir geschieden.
EPIMETHEUS.
Wie vieles ist denn Dein?
PROMETHEUS.
Der Kreis den meine Wirksamkeit erffillt.*
This is a profound truth strikingly brought out. Godlike
energy is seen only in creation; what we can do we are;
our strength is measured by our plastic power. Thus the
contempt of Prometheus for the idleness, the uncreativeness of the gods is both deep and constant.
Curtain thy heavens, Zeus,
With clouds, with mist!
And, like a boy that crushes thistle-tops,
Loosen thy rage on oaks and mountain ridges.
Yet must thou leave
Me my earth standing;
AMy hut, which myself built;
My hearth, with its bright flame,
Which thou dost envy.
I know nought so pitiful
Under the sun as ye gods!
Scantily nourishing
With the forced offerings
Of tremulous prayer
Your divinity!
Children and beggars,
* That which I have they cannot rob me of; that which they have,
let them guard. Here mine, here thine; and thus are we distinguished.
EPIMETHEUS.
What, then, is thine?
PROMETHEUS.
The circle my activity doth fill!




1774.]             THE LITERARY  LION.                   301
And fools hope-deluded,
Keep ye from starving!
Who gave me succor
From the fierce Titans!
Who rescued me
From Slavery!
Thou! thou, my soul, glowing
With holiest fire!
Yet didst thou, credulous,
Pour forth thy thanks to him
Who slumbers above!
I reverence thee?  Wherefore?
Hast lightened the woes
Of the heavily laden?
Hast thou dried the tears
Of the troubled in spirit?
Who fashioned me man?
Was it not almighty Time -
And Fate eternal,
Thy lords and mine?
Here I sit and shape
Man in my image:
A race like myself,
That will suffer and weep,
Will rejoice and enjoy,
And scorn thee,
As I!
Even in this rough plaster-cast of translation, does not the
grandeur and beauty of the original shine through?
VOL. I.       26




302        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox iir.
CHAPTER IX.
L, ILI.'I MUST tell you something which makes me happy;
and that is the visit of many excellent men of all grades,
and from all parts, who, among unimportant and intolerable visitors, call on me often, and stay some time. We
first know that we exist, when we recognize ourselves in
others (man weiss erst dass man ist, wenn man sich in
anadern wiederfindet).' It is thus he writes to the Countess
Augusta von Stolberg,,with whom he had formed, through
correspondence, one of those romantic friendships which
celebrated men, some time in their lives, are generally
led to form. This correspondence is among the most
characteristic evidences we have of his mental condition,
and should be read by every one who wishes to correct
the tone of the Autobiography. Above all, it is the
repository of his fluctuating feelings respecting Lili, the
woman whom, according to his statement to Eckermann,
he loved more than any other.'She was the first,
and I can also add she is the last, I truly loved; for all
the inclinations which have since agitated my heart, were
superficial and trivial in comparison.'    There is no
statement he has made respecting a matter of feeling, to
which I should oppose a flatter contradiction. Indeed we
* Gesprache, iii. p. 299.




1774.]                  LILI.                   303
find it difficult to believe he uttered such a sentence,
unless we remember how carelessly in conversation such
retrospective statements are made, and how, at his very
advanced age, the memory of youthful feelings must have
come back upon him with peculiar tenderness. Whatever
caused him to make that statement, the statement is very
questionable. I do not see that he loved Lili more than
Frederika; and we shall hereafter have positive evidence
that his love for the Frau von Stein, and for his wife, was of
a much deeper and more enduring nature.' My love for
IjUli,' he said to Eckermann,' had something so peculiar
and delicate that even now it has influenced my style in
the narrative of that painfully-happy epoch. When you
read the fourth volume of my Autobiography, you will
see that my love was something quite different from love
in novels.'
Well, the fourth volume is now open to every one, a"d
he must have peculiar powers of divination who can.ead
any profound passion in the narrative. A colder lovehistory was never-written by a poet. There is no emotion
warming his style, and irradiating the narrative; there is
little of a loving recollection, gathering all details into one
continuous story; it is, indeed, with great difficulty one
unravels the story at all. He seems to seize every excuse
to interrupt the narrative by general reflections, or by
sketches of other people. He speaks of himself as'the
youth of whom we now write!' He speaks of her and
her circle in the vaguest manner; and the feelings which
agitated him we must' read between the lines.'
It is very true, however, that the love there depicted is
unlike the love depicted in novels. In novels, whatever
may be the amount of foolishness with which the writers
adumbrate their ideal of the passion, this truth, at least, is
everywhere set forth, that to love we must render up body




304       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK III.
and soul, heart and mind, all interests and all desires, all
prudences and all ambitions, identifying our being with
that of another, in union to become elevated. To love is
for the Soul to choose a companion, and travel with it
along the perilous defiles and winding ways of life;
mutually sustaining, when the path is terrible with
abysses, mutually exhorting, when it is rugged with
obstructions, and mutually rejoicing, when rich broad
plains and sunny slopes make journeying delight, showing
in the quiet Distance the resting-place we all seek in this
world.
It was not such companionship he sought with Lili, it was
not such self-devotion which made him restlessly happy in
her love. While this child of sixteen, in all the merciless
grace of maidenhood, proudly conscious of her power,
ensnared his roving heart through the lures of passionate
desire, she never touched his soul, as the story we have to
tell will sufficiently prove.
Anna Elizabeth Schbnemann, immortalized as Lili, was
the daughter of a great banker in Frankfurt, who lived in
the splendid style of merchant princes. She was sixteen
when Goethe first fell in love with her. The age is significant. It was somewhat the age of Frederika, Lotte,
Anna, Sybilla and Maximiliane, - an age when girlhood
has charms of grace and person, of beauty and freshness,
which even those will not deny who profoundly feel the
superiority of a developed woman. There is poetry in
this age; but there is no depth, no fulness of character.
Imagine the wide-sweeping mind of the author of Gdtz,
Faust, Prometheus, The Wandering Jew, Mahomet, in companionship with the mind of a girl of sixteen!
Nor was Lili an exceptional character. Young, graceful, and charming, she was confessedly a coquette. Early
in their acquaintance, in one of those pleasant hours of




1774.]                    LILI.                     305
overflowing egotism wherein lovers take pride in the confession of faults (not without intimation also of nobler
qualities), Lili told him  the story of her life; told him
what a flirt she had been; told him, moreover, that she
had tried her spells on him, and was punished by being
herself ensnared. Armida found herself spell-bound by
Rinaldo, but Rinaldo followed her into the enchanted
gardens more out of adventurous curiosity than love.
There was considerable difference in their stations; and
the elegant society of the banker's house was every way
discordant to the wild youth, whose thoughts were of
Nature and unconstrained freedom. The balls and concerts to which he followed her were little to his taste.' If,'
he writes to Augusta von Stolberg,' If you can imagine a
Goethe in braided coat, from head to foot in the gallantest
costume, amid the glare of chandeliers, fastened to the
card table by a pair of bright eyes, surrounded by all sorts
of people, driven in endless dissipation from concert to
ball, and with frivolous interest making love to a pretty
blonde, then will you have a picture of the present Carnival-Goethe.' In the following poem he expresses Lili's
fascination and his uneasiness; the translation aims at accu&
racy of meaning rather than poetry, because the meaning
is here the motive for my citing the poem:
Wherefore so resistlessly dost draw me
Into scenes so bright?
Had I not enough to soothe and charm me
In the lonely night?
Homely in my little room secluded,
While the moon's bright beams
In a shimmering light fell softly on me,
As I lay in dreams.
26*




306        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.              [Boon iii.
Dreaming thro' the golden hours of rapture
Soothed my heart to rest,
As I felt thy image sweetly living
Deep within my breast.
Can it be I sit at yonder table,
Gay with cards and lights,
Forced to meet intolerable people,
Because'tis she invites?
Alas! the gentle bloom of spring no longer
Cheereth my poor heart,
There is only spring, and love, and nature,
Angel, where thou art!
The real Goethe is thus drawn in contrast by himself in
his letter to Augusta.' But there is another, who in gray
beaver coat, with boots, and a brown silk neckerchief, who,
ever living in himself, working and striving, now throwing the innocent feelings of youth into little poems, now
the strong spices of life into dramas, sketching his friends
in chalk, asking neither right nor left what will be thought
of his doings, because he always rises through work a step
higher, because he springs at no Ideal, but lets his nature
develope itself fighting and playing.' Here the true chord
vibrates. Born for poetry, and not to pass his life in ballrooms dangling after a pretty blonde who coquetted with
him and with others, he feels that his passion is a folly.
Now when a man feels that -'Cupid may have tapped
him on the shoulder, but I warrant him heart whole.'
Read this poem, and read in it the struggle:
Heart, my heart, what is this feeling,
That doth weigh on thee so sore?
What new life art thou revealing,
That I know myself no more?
Gone is all that once was dearest,
Gone the care that once was nearest,




1774.]                     LILI.                       307
Gone the labor, gone the bliss,
Ah! whence comes such change as this?
Art thou spell-bound by the beauty
Of a sweetly blooming face;
Beauteous shape, and look so truthful,
And an all-resistless grace?
When the bonds I strive to sever,
Man myself to flee forever,
Vain are all my- efforts, vain!
And but lead me back again.
With such magic-web she binds me,
To burst through I have no skill;
All-absorbing passion blinds me,
Paralyzes my poor will.
In her charm8d, sphere delaying,
I must live, her will obeying;
Great, oh! great to me the change!
Love, oh! free me! let me range! *
Lili coquetted, and her coquetry seems to have cooled
his passion for a while, though she knew how to rekindle
it. She served him as he served poor' Kdthchen, in Leipsic; and as in Leipsic he dramatized his experience under
the form of Die Laune des Verliebten, so here he dramatizes the new ex&prience in an opera, Erwin und Elmire,
wherein the coquetry of a mistress brings a lover to de.
spair- a warning to Lili, which does not seem to have
been altogether without effect.
Not only had he to suffer from her thoughtlessness, but
also from the thoughtfulness of parents on both sides. It
was not a marriage acceptable to either house. The bank* No one can be more sensible than I am of the inadequacy of this
translation, but the English reader would rather have a poor translation than an original he could not understand, and the German
reader has only to turn to the original if it live not in his memory.




308       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boor III.
er's daughter, it was thought, should marry into some rich
or noble family. A poet, who belonged to a well-to-do
yet comparatively unimportant family, was not exactly the
bridegroom most desired. On the other hand, the proud,
stiff old Rath did not greatly rejoice in the prospect of
having a fine lady for his daughter-in-law. Cornelia, who
knew her father, and knew his pedantic ways, wrote
strongly against the marriage. Merck, Crespel, Horn,
and other friends, were all decidedly opposed to so incompatible a match. But of course the lovers were only
thrown closer together by these attempts to separate them.
A certain Fraulein Delf managed to overcome objections, and gain the consent of both families.' How she
commenced it, how she got over the difficulties I know
not, but one evening she came to us bringing the consent.'Take each other's hands,' she cried in a half pathetic,
half imperious manner. I advanced to Lili and held out
my hand: in it she placed her's, not indeed reluctantly,
yet slowly. With a deep sigh we sank into each other's
arms greatly agitated.' No formal betrothal seems to
have taken place. Indeed, the consent which was obtained
seems in no wise to have altered the feeling of friends and
relatives. The nearer marriage seemed, the more impracticable it appeared. To Goethe, after the first flush
of joy had subsided, the idea of marriage was in itself
enough to make him uneasy, and to sharpen his sense of
the disparity in station. The arrival of the two Counts
Stolberg, and their proposal that he should accompany
them in a tour through Switzerland, gave an excuse for
freeing himself from Lili,' as an experiment to try whether
he could renounce her.'
Before accompanying him on this journey, it is necessary to cast a retrospective glance at some biographical
details, omitted while the story of Lili was narrated. The




1774.]                   LILI.                    309
mornings were devoted to poetry, the middle of the day to
jurisprudence.  Poetry was the breathing-room  of his
heart. In it he sought to escape from the burden of intolerable doubts.' If I did not write dramas I should be
lost,' he tells Augusta von Stolberg. Among these dramas
we must place Stella, for which, as we learn from a letter
to Merck, the publisher offered twenty dollars, - that is to
say, three pounds sterling. What an insight this gives
into the state of Literature: the author of two most astonishing and popular works is offered three pounds for
a drama in five acts! Poor Schiller, subsequently, was
glad to write histories and translate memoirs for fifteen or
eighteen shillings a sheet of sixteen pages.
In Stella I can trace no biographical element, and perhaps the absence of this element makes the weakness of
the drama. A poorer production was never owned by a
great poet; although there have not been wanting critics
to see in this also the broad handling of a master. It is
the old story of the Count von Gleichen and his two wives.
Fernando has deserted his wife, and formed an attachment
to Stella; but the peculiarity of the situation is, that he
quitted Cecilia, his wife, from no assignable cause, without even having outlived his love for her. He has indeed
every reason to respect and cherish her as the mother of
his child, and as a high principled, virtuous woman; but
he flies from her like a coward, flies to one more passionate, because she gives him the transports of passion in
exchange for his wife's calm affection.- The two women
meet, and discover their love for the same man.
Here is a fine dramatic collision. On'the one side
Fernando sees Duty in the shape of a noble, suffering wife,
and an engaging daughter; on the other, Passion in the
shape of a fascinating mistress. But with this suggestive
subject Goethe has done little. He shows us the con



310         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boos III.
temptible weakness of the wavering Fernando, but the
subject he has not powerfully wrought out. As I cannot
recommend any one to read this play, the two masterly
touches it contains may here be cited.  The following is
delicately observed.
We women believe in men! In the ardor of passion they deceive
themselves, how then can we help being deceived by them?
This also is charming: Fernando returns to Stella after
a long absence, and in their endearments she says:
Stella. How we love you! We do not think of the grief you cause
us!
Fernando (stroking her hair). And has the grief made your hair
gray? It is fortunate your hair is so golden... nay, none seems to
have fallen out! ( Takes the comb from her hair, which falls on her
shoulders. He then twines the hair round his arm, exclaiming:
Rinaldo once more in the ancient chains!
Artists complain of the dearth of subjects, will no one
try his hand at that? Originally the denouement of this'Play for Lovers' (as it was called) solved the difficulty by
a romantic piece of bigamy. Fernando is about to fly
with Cecilia, - about to return to his duty, when his wife
- compassionating the situation of Stella, if Fernando
should leave her - resolves to sacrifice her conjugal
claims, and to share him with Stella!  The curtain falls
as he embraces them both, exclaiming,' Mine! mine!'
This roused vehement opposition. It was said to be a
plaidoyer in favor of bigamy. The public dimly felt that
instead of being a proper solution of the problem, that was
on the whole rather ridiculous. Still more unsatisfactory,
however, if deeply considered, is the denouement which
was added when the play was produced at Weimar, and
which now takes the place of the original in his collected
works. Therein Fernando, unable to quit Stella, and
unable to quit his wife, weeps with both, and blows his




1774.]                    LILI.                      311
brains out.  This is an evasion of the difficulty, not a
solution.
In 1798, a feeble translation of Stella was published in
England, and suggested to Canning his admirable caricature, The Rovers, familiar to all readers of the Antijacobin. Among the ludicrous passages of this parody is
the famous vow of friendship:'.Matilda. A sudden thought strikes me. Let us swear an eternal friendship.'Cecilia. Let us agree to live together.'
But this is really a very slight variation from the
original:
Stella. Madame! Da fhihrt mir ein Gedanke durch den KopfWir wollen einander das seyn, was sie uns h/itten werden sollen!
Wir wollen beisammen bleiben!-Ihre hand! - Von diesen Augenblick an, lass' ich Sie nicht!
Besides Stella, he seems to have worked at Faust, and
to have written the opera of Claudine von Villa Bella,
several passages for Lavater's Physiognomy, and many
smaller poems.
The Stolbergs, with whom the Swiss journey was made,
were two ardent admirers of Klopstock, and two specimens of the defiant' genius' class which scorned conven.
tion.  They hated imaginary  tyrants, outraged  sober
citizens by their reckless recurrence to a supposed' state
of nature,' and astonished sensible citizens by their exaggerated notions,of friendship. Merck was pitiless in his
sarcasms and warnings. Hie could not tolerate the idea
of Goethe's travelling with these Burschen. But Goethe
had too much of kindred devilry in him, breaking out at
moments, to object to the wildness of his companions,
though he began to suspect all was not right when, after
violating every other convenance, they insisted on bathing




312        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boox III.
in public.' Nature' having nothing to say against naked
youths in the bright sunshine, what business had old Humdrum to cover its eyes with modest hands, and pretend to
be shocked? However, so little prepossessed was Humdrum in favor of the Nude, that stones were showered
upon these children of Nature; a criticism which effectively modified their practice, if it failed to alter their
views.
Drinking the health of Stolberg's mistress, and then
dashing the glasses against the wall to prevent their being
desecrated by other mouths after so solemn a consecration
(a process which looked less heroic when item'd in the bill
next day), and otherwise demeaning themselves like true
children of' genius,' they passed a wild and merry time.
This journey need not longer detain us. Two visits alone
deserve mention. One was to Karl August, who was then
in Karlsruhe arranging his marriage with the Princess
Luise, and who very pressingly invited him to Weimar.
The other was to his sister Cornelia, who earnestly set
before him all the objections to a marriage with Lili.' I
made no promises,' he says,'although forced to confess
that she had convinced me. I left her with that strange
Afeeling in my heart with which passion nourishes itself;
[for the boy Cupid clings obstinately to the garment of
Hope even when she is preparing with long strides to
depart.'" The image of Lili haunted him amid the lovely
scenes of Nature:
Dearest Lii, if I did not love thee,
How transporting were a scene like this!
Yet, my Lili, if I did not love thee,
What were any bliss?
It was her Image which held him to his native land. His
father, always desirous he should see Italy, was now
doubly anxious he should go there, as the surest means of




1774.]                 LILI.                    313
a separation from Lili. But' Lombardy and Italy,' says
the poet,' lay before me a strange land; while the dear
home of Germany lay behind, full of sweet domesticities,
and where — let me confess it — she lived who so long
had enchained me, in whom my existence was centred.
A little golden heart, which in my happiest hours I had
received from her, still hung round my neck. I drew it
forth and covered it with kisses.'
On his return to Frankfurt he learned that Lili's friends
had taken advantage of his absence, to try and bring her
to a separation, arguing, not without justice, that his absence was a proof of lukewarmness. But Lili remained
firm; and it was said that she had declared herself willing
to go with him to America. A sentence from the Autobiography is worth quoting, as a specimen of that love' so unlike the love to be found in novels,' which he declared had given a peculiar tone to his narrative. It is in
reference to this willingness of Lili to go to America: -' The very thing which should have animated my hopes
depressed them. My fair paternal house, only a few hundred paces from hers, was after all more endurable and
attractive than a remote, hazardous spot beyond the seas!'
A sentence which recalls Gibbon's antithesis on his resignation of his early love:' I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as
a son.'
He was restless and unhappy during these months, for
he was not strong enough to give her up, nor sufficiently
in love to marry her; jealous of those who surrounded
her, hurt by her coldness, he was every now and then led
captive by her tenderness. There were moments when
by-gone days seemed once more restored, and then instantly vanished again like ghosts. His poem of Lili's
Managerie expresses his surly disgust at the familiar faces
VOL. I.    27




314         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [Boox III.
which surround her. The Bear of the menagerie is a
portrait of himself.
Turning to Art for consolation, he began the tragedy of
Egmont, which he completed, many years afterwards, in
Italy. It was a work which demanded more repose than
could be found in his present condition. That condition
was unhealthy; and I hasten to the denouement of an
episode, which, amid fluctuations of feeling, steadily advanced to an end which must have been foreseen. The
betrothal was cancelled. He was once more free. Free,
but not happy. His heart still yearned for her, because
there lay in his nature a need of loving, rather than
because she was the woman fitted to share his life. He
lingered about the house o' nights, wrapped in his mantle,
satisfied if he could catch a glimpse of her shadow on the
blind, as she moved about the room. One night he heard
her singing at the piano. His pulses throbbed, as he distinguished his own song:
Wherefore so resistlessly dost draw me
Into scenes so bright?the song he had written in the morning of their happiness!
Her voice ceased. She rose, and walked up and down the
room, little dreaming that her lover was beneath her window, torn by terrible emotions.
To give decision to his wavering feelings there came,
most opportunely, a visitor to Frankfurt. This was in
September. Karl August, with his bride, on his way to
Weimar, once more pressed him to spend a few weeks at
his court. The rapid inclination which had sprung up?
between the Prince and the Poet - the desire to Sct somet
thing of the great world — the desire, moreover. t: qci; 
Frankfurt, all combined to make him eagerly accept the
invitation. His father, indeed, tried to dissuade him;




1774.]                   LILI.                     315
partly because he liked not the intercourse of plain citizens with princes, partly because the recent experience of
Voltaire with Frederick the Great seemed to point to an
inevitable termination in disgrace, if not evaded by servility. His consent was extorted at last, however, and
Goethe quitted forever the paternal roof.








BOOK THE FOURTIH.
THE GENIALISCH-PERIOD IN WEIMAR.
1775 to 1779.'Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes?
Quem sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore et armis!
Credo equidem, nec vana fides, genus esse Deorum.'
Virgil.'Tolle Zeiten hab' ich erlebt und hab' nicht ermangelt,
Selbst auch th6richt zu sein wie es die Zeit mir gebot.'
27*








BOOK THE FOURTH.
CHAPTER I.
WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.
ON the 7th of November, 1775, Goethe, aged twentysix, arrived at the little city on the banks of the Ilm, where
his long residence was -to confer on an insignificant Duchy
the immortal renown of a German Athens.
Small indeed is the space occupied on the map by the
Duchy of Saxe-Weimar; yet the historian of the German
Courts declares, and truly, that after Berlin there is no
Court of which the nation is so proud.* Frederick the
Great and Wolfgang Goethe have raised these Courts into
centres of undying interest. Of Weimar it is -necessary
we should form a distinct idea, if we would understand
the outward life of the poet.
Klein ist unter den Fiirsten Germaniens freilich der meine,
Kurz und schmal ist sein Land, massig nur was er vermag.' Small among German princes is mine, poor and narrow
his kingdom, limited his power of doing good.' Thus
* Vehse: Geschichte der Deutschen Hofe scit der Beformation, vol.
5xxviii. p. 3.




320        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [BooK III.
sings Goethe in that poem, so honorable to both, wherein
he acknowledges his debt to Karl August. The geographical importance of Weimar was, and is, small; but
we in England have proud reason to know how great a
place in the world can be filled by a nation whose place
is trivial on the map. We know, moreover, that the
Athens, which it is the pride of Weimar to claim as a
patronymic, was but a dot upon the surface of Europe, a
dot of earth, feeding some twenty thousand freemen, who
not only extended the empire of their arms from Eubcea
to the Thracian Bosphorus, but who left their glories in
Literature, Philosophy and Art, as marvels and as models
for the civilized world. It is interesting therefore to know
how small this Duchy of Saxe-Weimar was, that we may
appreciate the influence exercised by means so circumscribed. We must know how absurdly scant the income
of its generous prince, who, as I am credibly informed,
would occasionally supply the deficiencies of his purse
by the princely unprinceliness of selling to the Jews a
diamond ring, or ancestral snuff-box, that he might hand
the proceeds to some struggling artist or poet. I mention
this lest it should be supposed that a sarcastic spirit has
dictated the enumeration of unimposing details, in the
following attempt to reconstruct some image of Weimar
and its Court.
Weimar is an ancient city on the Ilm, a small stream
rising in the Thuringian forests, and losing itself in the
Saal, at Jena; a stream on which the sole navigation
seems to be that of ducks, and which meanders peacefully
through pleasant valleys, except during the rainy season,
when mountain torrents swell its current and overflow its
banks.  The Trent, between Trentham and Stafford-'the smug and silver Trent' as Shakespeare calls itwill give you an idea of this stream. The town is




1775.] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.  321
charmingly placed in the Ilm valley, and stands some
eight hundred feet above the level of the sea.'Weimar,' says the old topographer, Mathew  Merian,'is
TWeinmnar, because it was the wine-market for Jena and
its environs. Others say it was because some one here
in ancient days began to plant the vine, who was hence
called Weinmayer. But of this each reader may believe
just what he pleases.' *
On a first acquaintance, Weimar seems more like a
village bordering a park, than a capital with a Court, and
having all courtly environments. It is so quiet, so simple; and although ancient in its architecture, has none of
the picturesqueness which delights the eye in most old
German cities.  The stone-colored, light brown, and
apple-green houses have high peaked slanting roofs, but
no quaint gables, no caprices of architectural fancy, none
of the mingling of varied styles which elsewhere charm the
traveller. One learns to love its quiet simple streets and
pleasant paths, fit theatre for the simple actors moving
across the scene: but one must live there some time to discover its charm. The aspect it presented when Goethe
arrived was of course very different from that presented
now; but by diligent inquiry we may get some rough image
of the place restored. First be it noted that the city walls
were still erect; gates and portcullis still spoke of days
of warfare. Within these walls were six or seven hundred
houses, not more; most of them very ancient. Under
these roofs were about seven thousand inhabitants- for
the most part not handsome. The city gates were strictly
g:,,rded. No one could pass through them  in cart or
carriage without leaving his name in the sentinel's book:
even Goethe, minister and favorite, could not escape this
* Topographia Superioris Saxonixc Thuringice, etc., 1650, p. 188.




322         LIFE AND WORKS OF -GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
tiresome formality, as we gather from one of his letters to
the Frau von Stein, directing her to go out alone, and
meet him beyond the gates, lest their exit together should
be known. During Sunday service a chain was thrown
across the streets leading to the church to bar out all passengers; a practice to this day partially retained: the
chain is fastened, but the passengers step over it without
ceremony. There was little safety at night in those silent
streets; for if you were in no great danger from marauders, you were in constant danger of breaking a limb in
some hole or other; the idea of lighting streets not having
presented itself to the Thuringian mind. In the year 1685,
the streets of London were first lighted with lamps; and
Germany, in most things a century behind England, had
not yet ventured on that experiment. If in this 1854
Weimar is still innocent of gas, and perplexes its inhabitants with the dim obscurity of an occasional oil-lamp
slung on a cord across the streets, we may imagine that in
1775 they had not even advanced so far. And our supposition is exact.The palace, which now forms three sides of a quadrangle, and is truly palatial in appearance, was in ashes
when Goethe arrived.  The  ducal pair inhabited the
Fiarstenhaus, which stands opposite.  The park was not in
existence.  In its place there was the Welsch7e Garten, a
garden arranged after the pattern of Versailles, with trees
trimmed into set shapes, with square beds, canals, bridges,
and a Babylonic spiral tower called Die Schnecke, in which
the people assembled to hear music, and to enjoy punch
* In a decree made at Cassel, iq 1775, this sentence is noticeable:'In every house as soon as the alarum sounds at night, every inhabitant must hold out a lighted lantern, in order that the people may
find their way in the streets.' Quoted by Biedermann: Deutschland im 18ten Jahrhundert, i. p. 370.




1775.]  WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.   323
and sweet cakes. To the left of this garden stood the
nucleus of the present park, and a wooded mass stretching
as far as Upper Weimar.
Saxe-Weimar has no trade, no manufactures, no animation of commercial, political, or even theological activity.
-This part of Saxony, be it remembered, was the home
and shelter of Protestantism in its birth.) Only a few miles
from Weimar stands the Wartburg, where Luther, in the
disguise of Squire George, lived in safety, translating the
Bible, and hurling his inkstand at the head of Satan, like a
roughhanded disputant as he was. In the market-place of
Weimar stand, to this day, two houses from the windows
of which Tetzel advertised his Indulgences, and Luther in
fiery indignation fulminated against them. These records
of religious struggle still remain, but are no longer suggestions for the continuance of the strife. The fire is
burnt out; and perhaps in no city of Europe is theology
so placid, polemics so entirely at rest. The Wartburg
still rears its picturesque eminence over the lovely Thuringian valleys, and Luther's room is visited by thousands
of pilgrims; but in this very palace of the Wartburg, besides the room where Luther struggled with Satan, the
visitors are shown the Banqueting Hall of the Minnesingers, where poet challenged poet, and the Sdngerkrieg,
or Minstrels' Contest, was celebrated. The contrast may
be carried further. It may be taken as a symbol of the
intellectual condition of Saxe-Weimar, that while the
relics of Luther are simply preserved, the Minstrel Hall is
now being restored in more than its pristine splendor.
Tiutheran theology is crumbling away, just as the famous
i:,l:spco; has disappeared beneath the gradual scrapings of
visitors' penknivw.:; but the Minstrelsy of which the Germans are so proud, daily receives fresh honor and adulation. Nor is this adulation a mere revival. Every year




324        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooKIV.
the Wartburg saw assembled the members of that numerous family (the Bachs) which, driven from  Hungary in
the early period of Reform, had settled in Saxony, and
had given, besides the great John Sebastian Bach, so
many noble musicians to the world. Too numerous to
gain a livelihood in one city, the Bachs agreed to meet
every year at the Wartburg. This custom, which was
continued till the close of the eighteenth century, not only
presented the singular spectacle of one family consisting
of no less than a hundred and twenty musicians, but was
also the occasion of musical entertainments such as were
never heard before. They began by religious hymns,
sung in chorus; they then took for their theme some popular song, comic or licentious, varying it by the improvisation of four, five, or six parts; these improvisations were
named Quolibets, and are considered by many writers to
have been the origin of German opera.~ \
The theologic fire has long burnt itself out in Thuringia.
In Weimar, where Luther preached, another preacher
came, whom we name Goethe. In the old church there
is one portrait of Luther, painted by his friend, Lucas
Kranach, and greatly prized, as well it may be; but for
this one portrait of Luther there are a hundred of Goethe.
It is not Luther, but Goethe, they think of here; poetry,
not theology, is the glory of Weimar. And corresponding with this, we find the dominant characteristic of the
place to be no magnificent church, no picturesque and
ancient buildings, no visible image of the middle ages, but
the sweet serenity of a lovely park. The park fills the
foreground of the picture, and always rises first in, the
* I am indebted for these curious details to Franz Linszt, whose
genius is only one of the many claims he has to the deep regard of
his friends. He now holds at Weimar the post held by John Sebastian Bach in 1707.




1775.]  WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.   325
memory. Any one who has spent happy hours wandering through its sunny walks and winding shades, watching
its beauties changing through the fulness of summer, and
the striking contrasts of autumn as it deepens into winter,
will easily understand how Goethe could have been content to live in so small a city, which had, besides its nest
of friends, so charming a park. It was indeed mainly his
own creation; and as it filled a large space in his life, it
demands more than a passing allusion here.
Southwards from the palace it begins, with no obstacle
of wall or iron gate, servant or sentinel, to seem to shut us
out, so let us enter and look round. In the dew of morning, and in the silence of moonlight, we may wander
undisturbed as if in our own grounds. The land stretches
for miles away without barrier; park and yellow cornlands forming one friendly expanse. If we pass into it
from the palace gates, a winding path to the right conducts
us into the Belvedere Allee: a magnificent avenue of
chestnut trees, two miles long, stretching from the new
street to the summer palace of Belvedere. This affords a
shaded promenade along the park, in summer grateful for
its coolness, in autumn looking like an avenue of golden
trees. It terminates in the gardens of the Belvedere,
which has its park also beautifully disposed. Here the
Weimarians resort, to enjoy the'fresh air' after their
fashion, namely, with accompaniments of bad beer, questionable coffee and detestable tobacco.*
If, instead of turning into the Belvedere Allee, we keep
within the Park, our walks are so numerous that choice
$ It strikes foreigners with surprise, that the Grand Duke not only
permits the freest access to his parks and grounds, but that here and
at Tiefurt he permits the restaurant to make the public at home.
The Grand Duke is none the worse for such liberality, and the people
are all the happier.
voL. T.    28




326        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
becomes perplexing. Let us cross the Stern Briicke, a
bridge leading from the palace. Turning to our right we
pass along through noble trees, charmed by'The sound of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
Which to the quiet trees all night
Singeth a quiet tune.'
We reach the broad road leading to Upper Weimar. On
this road, which skirts a meadow washed by the Ilm, we
shall pass Goethe's Gartenhaus (Garden House, to be
described hereafter), and then winding round the meadow,
cross another bridge, and enter a shadowy path, pictu.
resque with well-grouped trees —the solemn pine, the
beech, whose dark green patches of moss increase the
brilliancy of its silver bark, the weeping birch with its
airy elegance of forms, the plane tree, the elm, the chestnut and the mountain ash, brilliant with berries hanging
like clusters of coral against the deep blue of the sky.
One steep side of this path is craggy, with masses of mosscovered rock; beneath the other flows the Ilm. A few
paces from the bridge which leads us here, stands the
Borkenhaus (Bark House), a hermit's hut, erected by
Goethe for a fete of the duchess, and subsequently the favorite residence of the duke. It is only twenty feet long
and fourteen deep, built entirely of wood, and plastered
(so to speak) with the bark of trees. It rests against a
rock amid the trees, and is surrounded by a wooden gallery, reached by rough wooden steps. Where is the
prince who would live in such a hut now-a-days? Where
are the ministers who would attend council in such a hut?
Yet, here Karl August lived alone, glad to escape from the
tedium of etiquette, and the palling pleasures of a little
court. Here he debated affairs of state, not less momentous to him because they were trivial in European politics.




1775.]  WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.   327
Here he bathed in the Ilm running beneath. Here he
could see the Garden House of his poet, and telegraph to
him across the Park. In this single room, which was at
once dining-room, council-chamber, study and bedroom,
the manly duke lived alone for months.
From the Borkenhaus a small flight of stone steps conducts us to a mimic Ruin, and thence a narrow winding
paths leads to a stone monument, interesting as a witness
to the growth of a mythos. It is an antique column, four
feet high, round which a serpent winds, in the act of
devouring the offering cakes on the top. The inscription
says, Genio Loci. But the Weimar plebs, disregarding
antique symbols, and imperfectly acquainted with Virgil,
has a legend to tell; a legend sprung, no one knows
whence, rapid and mysterious as the growth of fungi,
like most legends, to satisfy the imperious craving of
Ignorance for explanations; a legend which certifies how,
formerly, a huge serpent dwelt in this spot, the terror of
Weimar, until a cunning baker bethought him of placing
poisoned cakes within the monster's reach; and when the
greedy ignorance of the serpent had relieved Weimar of
the monster, a grateful people erected this monument to
an energetic and inventive baker.  Et voila, comme on
ecrit l'histoire!
I will not fatigue the reader by dragging him all over
this much loved park, which must be enjoyed directly, not
through description;  enough for present purposes if it
be added that while the summer palace of Belvedere is
connected with Weimar by the chestnut avenue, the summer palace and park of Tiefurt is also connected with
* If a fuller description be desired, the reader will find one in the
charming pages of Stahr's Weimar und Jena, to which I take this
occasion of acknowledging a large debt.




328       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
Weimar by a richly wooded road, the Webicht. This
Tiefurt is a tiny little place, quite a curiosity of diminutiveness. The park, through which runs a branch of the
Ilm, is tiny but picturesque. The upper story of the
palace4is a labyrinth of tiny rooms, some of them  so
small that, standing with your back against one wall, you
can touch the wall opposite with your hand. It was here
the Duchess Amalia lived.' I have lived here fifty years,' said Goethe to Eckermann,'and where have I not been? but I was always
glad to return to Weimar.' The stranger may wonder
wherein lies the charm; but a residence at Weimar soon
reveals the secret. Among the charms are the environs.
First, there is Ettersburg, with its palace, woods and park,
some seven miles distant. Then there is Bercka with its
charming valley, dear to all pedestrians, within half-adozen miles; a little further is Jena and its enchanting
valley, from whose heights we look down on the sombre
city, rendered illustrious by so many sounding names.'Jena was to science what Weimar was to poetry.: Assembled there were men like Griesbach, Paulus, BaumgartenCrusius, and Danz, to teach theology; Schelling, Fichte,
Hegel, Reinhold and Fries, to teach philosophy; Loder,
Hufeland, Oken, Dobereiner, to teach science; Luden,
Schultz and others, for history. The Schlegels and the
Humboldts also lent their lustre to the place.  Besides
Jena, we must mention Ilmenau, Eisenach, the Thuringian
forests, and the valley of the Saal: environs attractive
enough for the most restless wanderer.
Having thus sketched the main features of the place, it
will now be desirable to give some indication of the times,
that we may understand the atmosphere in which Goethe
lived. Difficult as the restoration of Weimar has been to
me, and only possible through the aid of what still remains




1775.] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 329
from the old time, the difficulty has been tenfold with
regard to the more changing aspects of society and
opinion. Curiously enough the Germans, famous for
writing' de omne scibile- et scribile,' have produced no
work on the state of manners and the domestic conditions
of this much-be-written period. The books on Goethe
are endless; there is not one which tells us of the Outward circumstances among which he moved. From far
and wide I have gathered together some details which may
aid in forming a picture.
Remember that we are in the middle of the eighteenth
century. The French Revolution is as yet only gathering
its forces together; nearly twenty years must elapse
before the storm breaks. The chasm between that time
and our own is vast and deep. Every detail speaks of it.
To begin with science - everywhere the torch of civilization- it is enough to say that Chemistry did not then
exist. Abundant materials indeed existed, but that which
makes a Science, viz., the power of prevision based on
quantitative knowledge, was still absent; and Alchemy
maintained its place among.the conflicting hypotheses ot
the day. Goethe in Frankfurt was busy with researches
after the'virgin earth.' The philosopher's stone had
many eager seekers.  In  1787, Semler sent to the
Academy of Berlin his discovery that gold grew in a
certain atmospheric salt, when kept moist and warm.
Klaproth, in the name of the Academy, examined this
salt, and found indeed gold leaf in it -which had been
put there by Semler's servant to encourage his master's
credulity. This was the time when, in spite of all the
labors of the encyclopedists, in spite of all the philosophic
and religious'enlightenment,' in spite of Voltaire and
La Mettrie, it was possible for Count St. Germain and
Cagliostro to delude thousands; and Casanova found a
28*




330        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK iv.
dupe in the Marquise d'Urf6, who believed he could
restore her youth, and make the moon impregnate her!
It was in 1774 that Mesmer astonished Vienna with his
marvels of mystic magnetism. The secret societies of
Freemasons and Illuminati, mystic in their ceremonies and
chimerical in their hopes -now in quest of the philosoplar's stone, now in quest of the perfectibility of mankind
- a mixture of religious, political, and mystical reveries,
flourished in all parts of Germany, and in all circles.
With such a condition of Science, we are sure to find
a corresponding poverty in material comfort and luxury.
Highroads, for example, were only found in certain parts
of Germany; Prussia had no chaussee till 1787. Milestones were unknown, although finger-posts existed.
Instead of facilitating the transit of travellers, it was
thought good political economy to obstruct them, for the
longer they remained, the more money they spent in the
country. A century earlier, stage coaches were known
in England; but in Germany, public conveyances, very
rude to this day in places where no railway exists, were
few and miserable; nothing but open carts with unstuffed
seats. Diligences on springs were unknown before 1800;
and what they were even twenty years ago many readers
doubtless remember. Then as to speed: if you travelled
post, it was said with pride that seldom more than an hour's
waiting was necessary before the horses were got ready, at
least on frequented routes. Mail travelling was at the rate
of five English miles an hour and a quarter. Letters
took nine days from Berlin to Frankfurt, which in 1854
require only twenty-four hours. So slow was the communication of news that, as we learn from the Stein
correspondence, so great an event as the death of Frederick
the Great was only known as a rumor a week afterwards
in Carlsbad.' By this time,' writes Goethe,'you must




1775.] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.  331
know in Weimar if it be true.' With these facilities it
was natural that men travelled but rarely, and mostly on
horseback.. What the inns were may be imagined from
the unfrequency of ti'vellers, and the general state of
domestic comfort.
The absence of comfort and luxury (luxury as distinguished from ornament) may be gathered from the
Memoirs of the time, and from such works as Burtuch's
Mode Journal. Such necessities as good locks, doors
that shut, drawers. opening easily, tolerable knives, carts
on springs, or beds fit for a Christian of any other than
the'German persuasion,' are still rarities in Thuringia;
but in those days, when sewers were undreamed of, and a
post-office was a chimera, all that we moderns consider
comfort was necessarily fabulous. The furniture, even
of palaces, was extremely simple. In the houses of
wealthy bourgeoise, chairs and tables were of common fir;
not until the close of the eighteenth century did mahogany
make its appearance. Looking-glasses followed. The
chairs were covered with a coarse green cloth; the tables
likewise; and carpets are only now beginning to loom
upon the national mind as a possible luxury. The windows were hung with woollen curtains, when the extravagance of curtains was ventured on. Easy chairs were
unknown; the only arm chair allowed was the so-called
Grandfather's chair, which was reserved for the dignity
of gray hairs or the feebleness of age.
The salon de reception, or drawing-room, into which
greatly honored visitors were shown, had of course a kind
of Sunday splendor, not dimmed by week-day familiarity.
There hung the curtains; the walls were adorned with
family portraits or some work of extremely' native talent;'
the tables alluring the eye with china, in guise of cups,
vases, impossible shepherds, and very allegorical dogs.




332        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
Into this room the honored visitor was ushered; and there,
no matter what the hour, he was handed refreshment of
some kind. This custom — a compound product of hospitality and bad inns —lingered until lately in England,
and perhaps is still not unknown in provincial towns.
On eating and drinking was spent the surplus now devoted to finery. No one then, except gentlemen of the
first water, boasted of a gold snuff-box; even a goldheaded cane was an unusual elegance. The dandy
contented himself with a silver watch. The fine lady
blazoned herself with a gold watch and heavy chain; but
it was an heirloom! To see a modern dinner-service
glittering with silver, glass, and china, and to think that
even the nobility in those days ate off pewter, is enough
to make the lapse of time very vivid to us. A silver teapot and tea-tray were held as princely magnificence.
The manners were rough and simple. The journeymen ate at the same table with their masters, and joined
in the coarse jokes which then passed for hilarity. Filial
obedience was rigidly enforced, the stick or strap not
unfrequently aiding parental authority. Even the brothers
exercised an almost paternal authority over their sisters.
Indeed, the' position of women' was by no means such
as our women can conceive with patience; not only were
they kept under the paternal, marital, and fraternal yoke,
but society limited their actions by its prejudices still
more than it does now. No woman, for instance, of the
better class of citizens, could go out alone; the servant
girl followed her to church, to a shop, or even to the promenade.
The coarseness of language may be gathered from our
own literature of that period. The roughness of manners
is shown by such a scene as that in Wilhelm.Meister,
where the Fair Saint in her confessions (speaking of high,




1775.]  WEIMAB IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 333
well-born society) narrates how, at an evening party,
forfeits were introduced; one of these forfeits is, that a
gentleman shall say something gallant to every lady present; he whispers in the ear of a lady, who boxes his ears,
and boxes it with such violence that the powder from his
hair flies into the Fair Saint's eyes; when she is enabled
to see again, it is to see that the husband of the lady has
drawn his sword, and stabbed the offender, and that a
duel, in the very presence of these women, is only prevented by one of the combatants being dragged from the
room.
The foregoing survey would be incomplete without
some notice of the prices of things, the more so as we
shall learn hereafter that the pension Karl August gave
Schiller was 200 thalers - about ~60 of our money -
and that the salary Goethe received, as Councillor of
Legation, was only' 1200 thalers- about ~200  per
annum. On reading this, Mr. Smith jingles the loose
silver in his pockets, and with that superb British pride,
redolent of consols, which makes the family of Smith so
accurate a judge of all social positions, exclaims,' These
beggarly Germans! I give my head clerk twice the sum.'
Without, however, wishing to mitigate Mr. Smith's just
contempt, it is necessary I should establish something like
the real relation of this sum to the expenses of living.
Thus we find in Schiller's correspondence with Korner,
that he hires a riding-horse for sixpence a day (vol. i. p.
84), and gets a manuscript fairly copied at the rate of
three halfpence a sheet of sixteen pages (vol. i. p. 92)with us the charge is twopence for every seventy-two
words. The whole of Don Carlos cost but three and
sixpence for copying. He hires a furnished apartment,
consisting of two rooms and a bedroom, for two pounds
twelve and sixpence a quarter (Charlotte von Kalb writing




334        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.-   [BOOK IV.
to Jean Paul, Nov. 1796, says his lodgings will only cost
him ten dollars, or thirty shillings, a quarter); while his
male servant, who in case of need can act as secretary,
is to be had for eighteen shillings a quarter (vol. i. p. 111).
Reckoning up his expenses he says,' Washing, servants,
the barber, and such things, all paid quarterly, and.none
exceeding six shillings: so that, speaking in round numbers, I shall hardly need more than four hundred and fifty
dollars' (vol. ii. p. 94) — that is, about ~70 a year.
Even when he is married, and sees a family growing
round him, he says,' With eight hundred dollars I can
live here, in Jena, charmingly — recht artig' (vol. ii.
p. 153).
It is evident that in Weimar they led no very sumptuous
life. A small provincial town, overshadowed by a Court,
its modes of life were the expression of this contrast.
The people, a slow, heavy, ungraceful, ignorant, but
good-natured, happy, honest race, feeding on black bread
and sausages; the stupidest people I have ever lived
among, and perhaps the ugliest, but a people of whom
that is the worst to be said. Rising higher*, we find the
cultivated classes of employes, artists, and professors,
and, higher still, the aristocracy, without the culture of the
second class, but with a culture of its own, not far removed from vulgarity of mind - a poor, proud, ignorant
nobility, jealous of its small privileges, and believing in
the Court as Calvinists believe in Grace.
The Court! That indeed was the centre and crown of
Wreimarian ambition.'Noble or not noble?' that was
the question.'Iloffidhig oder unfdhig - presentable or
not presentable at Court?' your salvation lay therein. If
you wrote von before your name you were somebody;
without the magical von, you might be Goethe, Schiller,
or Herder, it mattered little - you were nobody. In the




1775.]  WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 335
theatre, until 1825, the nobility alone were allowed admission to the boxes; and when the Jena students crowded
the pit, elbowing out the Weimar public, that public was
forced to return home, or jostle with the students for seats
in pit or gallery. Even when the theatre was rebuilt, and
the bourgeoisie was permitted a place in the boxes, its
place was on the left side of the house, the right being
vigorously reserved for the Vons. This continued until
1848; since that year of revolutions the public has had
the place it can pay for.
To understand how the court overshadowed the city,
we must remember that even so outspoken a democrat as
Herder tried to make his more than questionable title -
his Pfalzgrdifichen Adel- a claim to admission into the
court circle. It was refused, and caused. no small ridicule
to fall on him. We must remember also that Goethe was
forced, against his wish, to be ennobled; and that Schiller,
shut out from the society to which his titled wife had right
of admission, bitterly acquiesced in the like equivocal
honor, complaining of the extra expense it entailed. Proud
as Schiller was, we have his own word for it, that the
acceptance of a title was indispensable.' In a little town
like Weimar,' he writes to K6rner,' it is always a disadvantage to be excluded from anything. For here we find
it sometimes very disagreeable, whereas in a large town
no notice would be taken of it.' Long after Goethe had
been raised to the nobility, it was said in Weimar that the
elevation was merely to enable him to marry the Baroness
von Stein. It was nothing of the kind; there was no idea
of such a marriage. The reason lay deeper.  Even
Karl August, wilful and imperious as we shall find him in
defence of his friend, felt that he could not persist in disregarding the prejudices of his nobility, and that Goethe
must have a title to admission among them. The Duchess




336         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK iv.
Amalia undertook to persuade him of the necessity of his
being ennobled.
There is nothing wonderful in this. Castes are castes,
and jealous of intruders; and we, who look with reverence
at such men of genius as Goethe, Schiller and Herder,
believing them to be noble among the noblest, apply a
very different standard of measurement, and ignore the
standard naturally applied  by the Vons.  To  Serene
Stupidities it was doubtless as monstrous that an untitled
poet should be counted' one of them,' as it would seem to
Mr. Smith that his friend's' footman of genius' should
dine at table in Portland Place. Nor must the smallness
of the Weimar court mislead our judgment. It is quite
true the Weimar court but little corresponded with those
conceptions of grandeur, magnificence and historical
or political importance, with which the name of court is
usually associated. But just as in gambling the feelings
are agitated less by the greatness of the stake than by the
variations of fortune, so in the social gambling of court
intrigue, there is the same ambition and agitation, whether
the green cloth be an empire or a duchy. Within its
limits Saxe-Weimar displayed all thatran imperial court
displays in larger proportions; it had its ministers, its
army, its chamberlains, pages and sycophants.  Court
favor and disgrace elevated and depressed, as if they had
been imperial smiles or autocratic frowns. A standing
army of six hundred men, with cavalry of fifty hussars,
had its War Department, with war minister, secretary and
clerk.*
The nobles were narrowed within the limits of their
* Lest this should appear too ridiculous, I will add that one of the
small princes (the Graf von Limburg Styrum) kept a corps of hussars, which consisted of a colonel, six officers, and two privates!




1775.] WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 337
prejudices; they were also for the most part of mediocre
ability; to say they were mostly stupid, is to say that they
were men and women. And as they formed the predominating element of Weimar, we see at once how, in spite
of the influence of Karl August, and the remarkable men
he assembled round him, no real public for Art could be
found there. Some of the courtiers played more or less
with Art, some had real feeling for it; but the majority
set decided faces against all the beaux esprits. When the
Duchess Amalia travelled with Merck in 1778, Weimar
was loud in anticipatory grumblings:' She will doubtless
bring back some bel esprit picked up en route!' was the
common cry. And really when one comes to consider
the habits of these beaux esprits, and their way of making
life'genial' (as a future chapter will reveal), impartiality
confesses that this imperfect sympathy on the part of the
Vons was not without its reason.
Not without profound significance is this fact that in
Weimar the poet found a Circle, but no Public. To
welcome his productions there were friends and admirers;
there was no Nation. Germany had no public; nor has
it to this day. It was, and is, a collection of cities, not a
Nation. To appreciate by contrast the full significance of
such a condition, we must look at Greece and Rome.
There the history of Art tells the same story as is everywhere told by the history of human effort. It tells us that
to reach the height of perfection there must be the cooperation of the Nation with individual Genius. Thus it
is necessary for the development of science that science
should cease to be the speculation of a few, and become
the minister of the many;-from  the constant pressure of
unsatisfied wants science receives its energetic stimulus
and its highest reward. In Art the same law holds. In
Athens the whole Nation co-operated with the Artists, and
VOL. i.      29




'338       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
this is one cause why Athenian Art rose into unsurpassed
splendor. Art was not the occupation of a few, ministering to the luxury of a few. It was the luxury of all. Its
triumphs were not hidden in galleries and museums; they
blazed in the noonday sun, they were admired and criticized by the whole people, and, as Aristotle expressly
says, every free citizen was from youth upwards a critic
of Art.  Sophocles wrote for all Athens, and by all
Athens was applauded. The theatre was open to all free
citizens. Phidias and  Praxiteles, Scopas and  Myron,
wrought their marvels in brass and marble as expressions
of a national faith, and as delights of a national mind.
Temples and market-places, public groves and public
walks, were the galleries wherein these sculptors placed
their works.  The  public treasury was liberal in its
rewards, and the rivalry of private munificence was not
displayed to secure works for private galleries, but to
enrich the public possessions.  The citizens of Gnidos
chose to continue the payment of an onerous tribute
rather than suffer their statue of Venus to quit their city.
And when some murmurs rose against the expense which
Pericles was incurring in the building of the Parthenon,
he silenced those murmurs by the threat of furnishing the
money from his private purse and then placing his name
on the majestic work.
Stahr, who has eloquently exhibited the effects of such
national co-operation in Art, compares the similar influence
of publicity during the Middle Ages, when the great
painters and sculptors placed their works in cathedrals,
open all day long, in council-houses and market-places,
whither the people thronged, with the fact that in our day
Art finds refuge in the galleries of private persons, or in
museums closed on Sundays and holidays.*
* See his Torso, pp. 147-151.




1775.]  WEIMAR IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.  339
Nor is this all. The effect of Art upon the Nation is
visible in the striking fact that in Greece and Rome the
truly great men were crowned by the public, not ignored
in favor of one who pandered to the fashion and the tastes
of a Few, or who flattered the first impressions of the
Many. It was young Phidias whom the Athenians chose
to carve the statue of Pallas Athene and to build the
Parthenon. Suppose Phidias had been an Englishman,
would he have been selected by government to give the
nation a statue of Wellington or to build the Houses of
Parliament? The names most reverenced by contemporaries in Greece and in Italy are the names which
posterity has declared to be the highest. Necessarily so.
The verdict of the public, when that public includes the
whole intelligence of the nation, must be the correct
verdict in Art.
That Goethe felt the necesity of a Nation to co-operate
with the Artist is clearly seen in many passages; the
following from Tasso may suffice:
In a contracted sphere a noble man
Cannot develope all his mental powers.
On him his country and the world must work.t
He must endure both censure and applause;
Must be compelled to estimate aright
Himself and others. Solitude no more
Lulls him delusively with flattering dreams.
Opponents will not, friendship dares not, spare.
Then in the strife the youth puts forth his powers,
Knows what he is, and feels himself a man.




340        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
CHAPTER II.
THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMIAR.
The Dowager Duchess Amalia — Mlle. G6chhausen - WielandEinsiedel - Corona Schroter - Bertuch - Musasus - Seckendorf- The Duchess Luise - Karl August — Grifin Werther -
Frau von Stein - Knebel - Herder.
HAvING endeavored to reconstruct some image of Weimar and its people, we may now descend from generals
to particulars, and sketch rapidly the principal figures
which will move across that scene during the first years of
Goethe's residence.
The Dowager Duchess Amalia is a very interesting
figure.'She had the Brunswick blood, with its capriciousness, love of pleasure and frivolity; but she had also a
mind well cultivated, not poorly gifted, and ready in
appreciating men of talent. Although a niece of Frederick the Great, she did not follow the princely fashion of
the day, and turn her eyes away from German Literature
to fix them only upon France. She chose Wieland as the
tutor of her son, and made him her own dear friend.
Schiller, a rash judge of persons, and not very keen in his
perception of woman's character, wrote to KSrner, after
his first interview with the Duchess:'She has made no
conquest of me. I cannot like her physiognomy. Her
intellect is extremely limited, nothing interests her but
what is based on the sensuous: hence the taste she has,




1775.]      THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMAR.            341
or affects to have, for music, painting, and the rest.  She
is a composer herself, and has set Goethe's Erwin und
Elmnire to music.  She speaks little; but has, at any rate,
the merit of throwing aside all the stiffness of ceremony.'
Schiller's verdict cannot be accepted by any one who
reflects, that, besides her appreciation of men of talent,
who found delight in her society, she learned Greek from
Wieland, read Aristophanes and translated Propertius,
was a musical composer, a tolerable judge of art, discussed politics with the Abbe Raynal, and Greek and
Italian Literature with Villoison; that, moreover, with all
her multifarious reading and enjoyments, she contrived to
superintend the education of her sons, and manage her
kingdom with unusual success. This is not to be done by
an'extremely limited intellect.'
The'sensuous basis' alluded to by Schiller was certainly there.  One sees it in her portraits.  One sees it
also in the glimpses of her joyous, pleasure-loving existence. Biographers and eulogists omit such details; for
in general the biographical mind moves only through
periods of rhetoric, which may be applied with equal
felicity to every prince or princess of whom it is the cue
to speak. But it is by such details that the image of the
Duchess can alone be made a living one. Here, for
example, is a sketch of her, given by an anonymous traveller.' She is small in stature, good-looking, with a
very spirituelle phyiognomy; she has the Brunswick nose,
lovely hands and feet, a light yet princely gait, speaks
well but rapidly, and has something amiable and fascinating in her nature..... This evening there was a Redoute,
tickets one gulden (two francs) each.  The Court arrived
* Quoted from Bernouilli by Vehsc: Gcschichte der Deutschen
Hofe, vol. xxviii. p. 60.
29*




342        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK Iv.
at eight. The Duchess was magnificent, en domino, and
brilliant with jewels. She dances well, lightly and gracefully. The young princes, who were attired as Zephyr
and Amour, also danced well. The masquerade was very
full, lively and varied. A faro table was laid out: the
smallest stake being half a gulden. The Duchess staked
dollars and half-louis, played generously and lost. But as
she was glad to dance, she did not play long. She danced
with every mask who invited her, and stayed till nearly
three o'clock, when almost every one had gone home.'
The same writer also speaks of another Redoute.' The
Duchess appeared en reine grecque, a very beautiful costume, which suited her well. The ball was very brilliant;
some students from Jena were there. At the last ball of
the season, the Duchess sent me one of her own Savoyard
dresses, and I was frise and dressed like a woman by the
Countess von G6rtz's maid. The young Count was likewise dressed as a woman, and we went to Court so, dined
there, and drove thence to the ball, which lasted till six
o'clock.'
This pleasure-loving Duchess, who knew so well how to
manage her kingdom, cared little for the' dignities' of
her state. According to Wieland, she lived sometimes in'student' fashion, especially at Belvedere, where studentsongs, not always the most decorous, rang joyously through
the moonlit gardens. Driving once with seven friends in
a haycart from Tiefurt, and overtaken by a storm, she
made no more ado, but drew over her light clothing Wieland's great coat, and in that costume drove on!
Her letters, especially those to Goethe's mother, several
of which I have seen, have great heartiness, and the most
complete absence of anything like formality. In one of
them, I remember, she apologizes for not having written
for some time, not from want of friendship, but lack of




1775.]     THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMAR.            343
news; to show that she has been thinking of Frau Aja,
she sends her a pair of garters worked by herself.' Liebe
Frau Aja!' she writes on another occasion,' My joy at
the receipt of your letter is not easily described, nor will
I attempt it, for true feelings are too sacred to be set
down in black and white. You know, dear mother, what
you art to me, and can believe how infinitely your remembrance of me has rejoiced me.' -
Beside the figure of the Duchess Amalia, we see that of
the merry and malicious little humpbacked G6chhausen,
her maid of honor, by intimates named Thusnelda. One
sees not why this spritely little demon de bonne compagnie
should have been named after the wife of Arminius. She
was a great favorite with Amalia, with Karl August also,
who was constantly engaged in' wit combats' with her,
not always of the mildest. She animated society with her
devices, and kept up a voluminous correspondence with
wits and notabilities in other cities. She was very fond of
Goethe, and wrote constantly to his mother. But Karl
August was her darling, perhaps because he plagued her
so incessantly. As a sample of the lengths to which
tricks were carried, consider the following anecdote, which
I have from Frau von Goethe, who had it from her fatherin-law, an accomplice in the deed.; One night as Thusnelda came up the stairs leading to her bedroom, her
candle was blown out. Not much heeding this, she went
on, reached the gallery into which her bedroom opened,
and walked on,feeling for the door. There is no great
difficulty in finding the door of your own room in the dark,
* Here is another extract, which I leave in the original:' Ach
Mutter, Mutter  - sie errathen wohl meiner Gedanken! was macht
der alter Vater? er sollte ja nicht wohl seyn. Griissen sie ihn von
mir, und das tausendmal. Leben Sie wohl, beste Mutter; behalten
Sie mir lieb und denken fleissig an ihre Freundin. Amalia.'




344        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
yet Thusnelda groped, and groped, and groped in vain:
no lock met her hand, a smooth blank wall allowed her
hand to pass and repass over it with increasing confusion.
Where was the door? Where was she? After groping
some time, her perplexity growing into undefined alarm,
she descended to the Duchess's room; but she found that
closed; the Duchess was asleep; and her gentle krwckings
were not answered. Up stairs she went again, again to
pass her hands along the wall, but still to find no door.
The night was cold, and she was half-frozen with cold
and fear before the mystery was explained: the Duke and
Goethe had removed her door, and built up the wall in its
place.
Wieland, who has already been characterized, had established his paper, the Teutsche Merkur, which was not
without its influence. When he ceased to be the prince's
tutor, he remained the valued friend of the Duchess. He
was in all the pleasure parties. So also was Einsiedel,
who, at first court page, became chamberlain to the
Duchess Amalia in 1776. A jovial careless epicurean;
everywhere known as l'ani, from his good nature and
eccentricity; filling the mouth of gossip with his extravagances; poet and musician in a small way; actor and
inventor of amusements, his name meets us on every
page of the Weimar chronicles. Among his follies may
be mentioned the characteristic adventure with the Frau
von Werther, who gave herself out as dead, had a figure
buried in her name, and went off with Einsiedel to -
Africa! She came back soon after, and separated from
her husband in due form.'EinSiedel makes us think of Corona Schr6ter, the Hofsdngerin (singer to the court — we have no such word,
because we have no such thing). This beautiful and
accomplished creature Goethe had knownl while he was a




1775.]      THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMAR.            345
student at Leipsic, and when, shortly after his arrival at
Weimar, he made an expedition to Leipsic with the Duke,
he saw her there again and induced her to come to Weimar. She was the grace of their private theatricals, and
the original personator of Iphigenia.' Als eine Blume zeigt sie sich der Welt,'
says Goethe of her, in that passage wherein he has immortalized her and Mieding.-  What a description:
She, like a flower, opens to the world!
Corona painted, sang, played, was learned in music, and
declaimed with peculiar elegance, -'The Muses lavished on her every art.'
According to Karl August, she was' marble-beautiful, but
marble-cold;' Goethe says of her:'Und hoch erstaunt, seht Ihr in ihr vereint
Ein Ideal, das Kfinstlern nur erscheint.' t
There is a notion current, originating with Riemer, but
shown by Schill to be very improbable, that Goethe had
a liaison with Corona. I not only agree with Scholl's
reasoning, but can corroborate it by the testimony of the
Frau von Goethe, who assured me her father-in-law expressly and emphatically told her that he never had a
passion for any actress. Varnhagen von Ense suspects
that Corona was privately married to Einsiedel; if not,
her letters, still extant although inedited, prove that they
were on the footing of lovers.
Another chamberlain, poet and musician was Seckendorf, who translated Werther into French, a year after
Goethe's arrival (Les Souffrances du Jeune Werther. Par
* See the poem Ilieding's Tod.
t And gently awed, you feel in her combined
What is Ideal in the artist's mind.




346        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.  [BooK Iv.
le B. S. d. S. Erlangen, 1776); and to these gay companions must be added B1de, the translator of Cervantes and
Smollett; Bertuch, the treasurer; and Museus, the collectorlof Volksmiirchen- a passionate lQver of gardening,
who gave Weimar its pleasant Erholung, and who might
be seen daily crossing the quiet streets with a cup of
coffee in one hand, his garden tools in the other, trudging
along to his loved Erholung.
These are the principal figures of Amalia's Court. We
may now glance at the Court of the reigning Duke and
Duchess - Karl August and Luise.
Of the Duchess Luise no one ever speaks but in terms
of veneration. She was one of those rare beings who,
through circumstances the most trying, as well as through
the ordinary details of life, manifest a noble character.
The Queen of Prussia and the Duchess of Saxe-Weimar
are two of the great figures in modern German history,
who both opposed the chief man of the age, Napoleon, and
were both admired by him for that very opposition. Luise
was so grand a creature that we can afford to add that she
was of a cold temperament, somewhat rigid in her enforcement of etiquette (in this so unlike the dowager), and
wore to the last the. old costume which had been the fashion in her youth; apt in the early years of her marriage
to be a little querulous with her husband, but showing
throughout their lives a real and noble friendship for him.
And he was worthy of that friendship, much as his
strange, and in many respects opposite nature, may have
tried her. Karl August, whom Frederick the Great pronounced, at fourteen, to be the prince, of all he had seen,
who gave the greatest promise, was in truth a very mixed,
but very admirable, character.  He can afford to be
looked at more closely and familiarly than most princes.
He was a man whose keen appreciation of genius not




1775.]     THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMAR.          347
only drew the most notable men of the day to Weimar,
but whose own intrinsically fine qualities kept them there.
It is easy for a prince to assemble men of talent. It is
not easy for a prince to make them remain beside him, in
the full employment of their faculties, and in reasonable
enjoyment of their position.  Karl August was the prince
who with the smallest means produced the greatest result
in Germany. He was a man of restless activity. His
eye was on every part of his dominions; his endeavors to
improve the condition of the people were constant. In his
tastes no man in Germany was so simple, except his
dearest friend, Goethe, with whom, indeed, he had many
cardinal points in common. I remember, on first seeing
their busts together, being struck with a sort of faint
family resemblance between them. Karl August might
have been a younger brother, considerably'animalized,'
but still belonging to the family. They had both, on the
paternal side,.Thuringian blood in their veins; and in
many respects Amalia and Frau Aja were akin. But
while Karl August had the active, healthy, sensuous,
pleasure-loving temperament of his friend, he wanted the
tact, which never allowed Goethe, even in his wildest
period, to overstep limits b;he wanted the tenderness and
chivalry which made the poet so uniformly acceptable to
women. He was witty, but his bon-mots are mostly of
that kind which, repeated after dinner, are not considered
fit for drawing-room publication. Very characteristic'is
it of him, who had bestowed unusual pains in collecting a
Bibliotheca Erotica, that when Schiller wrote the Maid oJ
Orleans he fancied Schiller was going to give another
version of La Pucelle, and abetted his mistress, the Frau
von Heygendorf, in her refusal to play the part of the
rehabilitated Maiden! He was rough, soldierly, brusque
and imperious. He was at home when in garrison with




348        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boox Iv.
Prussian soldiers, but out of his element when at foreign
Courts, and not always at ease in his own. Goethe describes him longing for his pipe at the Court of Brunswick
in 1784:'De son cots notre bon Duc s'ennuie terriblement, il cherche un interet, il n'y voudrait pas etre pour
rien, la marche tres bien mesuree de tout ce qu'on fait
ici le gene, il faut qu'il renonce a sa chere pipe et une fee
ne pourroit lui rendre un service plus agreable qu'en
changant ce palais dans une cabane de charbonnier.' * In
a letter (unprinted), he writes to Goethe, then at Jena,
saying he longs to be with him to watch sunrise and sunset, for he can't see the sunset in Gotha, hidden as it is by
the crowd of courtiers, who are so comme il faut, and
know their'fish duty' with such terrible accuracy, that
every evening he feels inclined to give himself to the
devil. His delight, when not with soldiers, was to be
with dogs, or with his poet alone in their simple houses,
discussing philosophy, and'talking of lovely things that
conquer death.' He mingled freely with the people. At
Ilmenau he and Goethe put on the miners' dress, descended
into the mines, and danced all night with peasant girls.
Riding across country, over rock and stream, in manifest
peril of his neck; teazing the maids of honor, sometimes
carrying this so far as to offend his more princely wife;
wandering alone with his dogs, or with some joyous companion; seeking excitement in wine, and in making love
to pretty women, without much respect of station; offending by his roughness and wilfulness, though never estranging his friends - Karl August, often grieving his admirers,
was, with all his errors, a genuine and admirable character. His intellect was active, his judgment, both of men
and things, sound and keen. Once, when there was a
* Briefe an Frau von Stein, iii. p. 85. The French is Goethe's,
as also spelling and accent, or rather want of accent




1775.]    THE NOTABILITIES OF WEIMAR.           349
discussion about appointing Fichte as professor at Jena,
one of the opponents placed a work of Fichte's in the
Duke's hands, as sufficient proof that such a teacher could
not hold a chair. Karl August read the book- and
appointed Fichte. He had gieat aims; he also had the
despotic will which bends circumstances to its determined
issues.' He was always in progress,' said Goethe to
Eckermann;'when anything failed, he dismissed it at
once from his mind. I often bothered myself how to
excuse this or that failure; but he ignored every shortcoming in the cheerfulest way, and always went forward
to something new.'
Such was Karl August, as I conceive him from the letters of the period, and from the reports of those who knew
him. Eight years younger than Goethe, he attached
himself to him as to a brother. We shall see this attachment and its reciprocal influences in the following pages;
clouds sometimes gather, quarrels and dissatisfaction are
not absent (from what long friendship are they absent?);
but fifty years of mutual service and mutual love proved
the genuineness of both their characters.
Among the Weimar notables, Fraui von Stein must
always have conspicuous eminence-. i-T'a lfuture chapter
we shall learn more of her. Enough for the present to
say that she was Hofdame (Lady of Honor) to the Duchess
Amalia, and for many years the passionately loved idol of
Goethe. Beside her we may mention the Countess von
Werther, who was to Karl August what the Baroness von
Stein was to Goethe. She, as is well known, is the original of the charming Countess in Jrilhelm Meister, and
her husband was still more eccentric than the eccentric
Count. It is related of him. that once when the Duke
and some other illustrious guests were in his chateau, he
VOL. I.     30




350        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK IV.
collected several of his peasants, dressed them in his
livery, and blacked their faces to make them pass as
negroes!
To close this list we have Major von Knebel, the translator of Lucretius and Propertius, an honest, upright, satirical republican, the intimate friend of Karl August and
Goethe, the' philanthropic Timon,' as Herder called him,
severe against all shams and insincerities, but loving the
human nature he declaimed against. As one looks upon
his rough, genial, Socratic head, one seems to hear the
Jo! Jo! issuing from his mouth; as one reads his correspondence, the accents of an independent, thoroughly
honest nature, give weight to what he says.
I have omitted Herder.  He did not come to Weimar
till after Goethe, and indeed was drawn there by Goethe,
whose admiration for him, begun at Strasburg, continued
unabated. The strange bitterness and love of sarcasm
in Herder's nature, which could not repel the young student, did not alter the affection of the- man. In one of
Goethe's unpublished letters to the Duchess Amalia, there
is an urgent appeal on behalf of Herder, whose large
family had to-be supported on very straitened means; the
Duke had promised to provide for one of the children, and
Goethe writes to Amalia, begging her to do the same for
another. No answer coming to this appeal, or at any rate
no prompt notice being taken, he writes again more
urgently, adding, that if she does not provide for the
child, he (Goethe), out of his small income, will! And
this was at a time when Herder was most bitter against
Goethe.. Well might Merck exclaim:'No one can withstand the disinterestedness of this man!'




1775.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.   351
CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.
THIS was the circle into which Goethe entered in all
the splendor of youth, beauty and fame: Youth, which,
according to the fine conception of the Greeks, is'the
herald of Venus;' Beauty, which those Greeks adored as
the splendor of Truth; and Fame, which has at all times
been a halo dazzling to mortal eyes. Thus equipped for
conquest, how can we wonder that he conquered? Even
Amalia, angry with him for having ridiculed her darling
Wieland, could not withstand the magic of his presence.
Her love of genius left her no choice. She was fascinated by his wild ways, and by his splendid talents. One
moment he startled her with a paradox, the next moment
he sprang from his seat, waltzing and whirling round the
room with antics which made her scream with laughter.
And Wieland? — he was conquered at once. He shall
speak for himself, in a letter written after their first interview:'How perfectly I felt at the first glance, he was a
man after my own heart! How I loved the magnificent
youth as I sat beside him at table! All that I can say
(after more than one crisis which I have endured) is this;
since that morning my soul is as full of Goethe as a dew
drop of the morning sun..... I believe the Godlike
creature will remain longer with us than he intended; and
if Weimar can do anything, his presence will accomplish




352        LIFE AND WORES OF GOETHE.   [Booi v.
it.' This is very honorable to Wieland: the gray Nestor
gazes with unenvious delight upon the young Achilles.
Heroic eyes are always proud to recognize heroic proportions.
After Wieland and the Duchess, the rest were easy to
conquer.'He rose like a star in the heavens,' says
Knebel.'Everybody worshipped him, especially the
women.' In the costume of his own Werther, which
was instantly adopted by the Duke, he seemed the ideal
of a poet. To moderns there are no very sentimental
suggestions in a costume which was composed of blue
coat and brass buttons, top-boots and leather breeches,
the whole surmounted by powder and pig-tail; but in
those days this costume was the suggestion of everything
tender and romantic. Werther had consecrated it.* The
Duke not only adopted it, but made all around him adopt
it also, sometimes paying the tailor's bill himself. Wieland
alone was excepted; he was too old for such masqueradings.
Thoroughly to appreciate the effect of his influence
with women, we must remember the state of feeling and
opinion at the time. Those were the days of gallantry,
the days of'Puffs, paints and patches, powders, billets doux.'
The laxity of German morals differed only from the more
audacious licentiousness of France in having sentimentalism in lieu of gayety and luxuriousness, for its basis.
The heart of a French marquise was lost over a suppertable sparkling with champagne and bon-mots; the heart
of a German Grafin yielded more readily to moonlight
*It should be remembered, that in Germany, at that time, boots
were only worn in very bad weather; and in the presence of women
no one ever appeared except with shoes and silk stockings.




1775.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.    353
melancholy and a copy of verses.  Wit and audacity
were the batteries for a French woman; the German was
stormed with sonnets and a threat of suicide. For the
one, Lothario needed sprightliness and bon ton; for the
other, turbulent disgust at all social arrangements, expressed in interjectional rhetoric, and a deportment outrageous to all conventions.  It is needless to add that
marriage was to a great extent what Sophie Arnould, with
terrible wit, called' the sacrament of adultery;' and that
on the subject of the sexes the whole tone of feeling was
low. Poor, simple, earnest Schiller, whom no one will
accuse of laxity, admired Les Liasons Dangereuses, and
saw no reason why women should not read it; although
to our age the infamy of that book is so great as to stamp
a brand upon the society which produced and applauded
it.  Yet even  Schiller, who  admired  this book, was
astounded at the condition of women at Weimar.' There
is hardly one of them,' he writes to K6rner,' who has not
had a liaison.  They are all coquettes..... One may
very easily fall into an " affir of the heart," though it will
not last any time.' It was thought, apparently, that since
Eros had wings, he must use them and fly.@
With this tone of society we can understand how, as
Goethe in after-life confessed to Eckermann, the first
years at Weimar were'perplexed with love affairs.' A
great admirer of women, and greatly admired by them,
it was natural he should fall into their snares.  Many
charmers are named; among them, Frdulein von Kalb,
* Plato, somewhere in the Phadrus, cites one of the Homeridse to
the effect that the God men called EQwz,, the Gods call' Highflyer,'
IE/r)ta, -' owing to an innate necessity impelling him to flight,'
lt aTteOgVo(rvi)o' acayij,'. Indeed, Eros is everywhere a young gentleman of roving disposition; stops out late o' nights, and alarms his
mother thereby (see her plaints in MIoschus).
30'




354         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
Corona Schr6ter, and Kotzebue's sister, Amalia: but I
am  bound to say that, after the most diligent inquiry, I
can find no reliable evidence for believing any one of
those named to have been really loved by him. We must
content ourselves with the fact of his having flirted considerably: making love to every bright pair of eyes which
for a moment could make him believe what he said.For the first few months he gave himself up to the excitement of this new life. Among other things he introduced skating. Weimar had hitherto seen no gentleman
on the ice; but now, Klopstock having made skating
famous by his poetry, Goethe made it fashionable by his
daring grace.  Skating on the Schwansee became'the
rage.' Sometimes of nights the banks were illuminated
with lamps and torches, music and fireworks animating
the scene. The Duchess and. ladies, masked as during
carnival, were driven in sledges over the noisy ice.' We are somewhat mad lhere,' Goethe writes to Merck,'and, play the devil's own game.' Wieland's favorite
epithet for him was wiithig: — outrageous; and wiuthig he
was. I catch strange glimpses of him, now dashing across
the ice, now loosening his long hair in Bertuch's room,
and, with locks flowing over his shoulders, whirling round
in mad Bacchante waltz; now startling Weimar by endeavoring, as Wieland says,' to brutalize bestial nature;'
and finally, standing in the market-place with the Duke
by the hour together, smacking huge sledge whips for a
wager. Imagine a Duke and a Poet thus engaged in a
public market-place!
His constant companion, and in all develries and dissipation his most jovial associate, was Karl August. All
*'Ich log und trog mich bei alien hiibschen Gesichtern herum, und
hatte den Vortheil immer ein Augenblick zu glauben was ich sagte,'
he says in a letter to the Frau von Stein, Cvol. i. p. 5.




1775.]   THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.   355
ceremony was laid aside between them. They dined
together, often shared the same bed-room, and called each
other by the brotherly thou.' Goethe will never leave
this place again,' writes Wieland;' K. A. can no longer
swim or wade without him. The court, or rather his
liaison with the Duke, wastes his time, which is really a
great pity - and yet - with so magnificent and godlike a
creature nothing is ever lost!' Weimar was startled in
its more respectable, grave circles by the conduct of these
two and their associates: conduct quite in keeping with
the period named'the genial.' *  In their orgies they
drank wine out of skulls (as Byron and his friends did in
their wild days), and in ordinary intercourse exhibited but
a very mitigated respect for meum and teum, borrowing
handkerchiefs and waistcoats which were never returned.
The favorite epithet of that day was' infinite:' Genius
swallowed infinite sausages, drank infinitely, loved infinitely.
But the poet's nature soon wearies of such scenes.
After some two months of dissipation, in masking, skating,
hunting, drinking and dicing, the want to be once more
among simple people and lovely scenes drove him away
from Weimar to Waldeck.  Amid the crowded tumult of
life he ever kept his soul sequestered; and from the hot
air of society he broke impatiently away to the serenity of
solitude. While on this journey along the pine-clad
mountains, there came over him a feeling of the past, in
which the image of Lili painfully reappeared.
He was called back to Weimar by the Duke, impatient
of his absence; and, while debating in his own mind
" It is difficult to find an English word to express the German
genial, which means pertaining to genius. The genial period was
the period when every extravagance was excused on the plea of
genius.




356       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.           [BOOK IV.
whether he should accept a place there, or return to
Frankfurt, he began to take his seat, as a guest, in the
Privy Council.  He had tried the Court, and now he was
about to try what virtue lay in government.' I am here
as if at home,' so runs one of his letters,' and the Duke
daily becomes dearer to me.' Indeed his father's prognostications had failed.  The connection between his son
and the Duke was of a totally different kind from that between Voltaire and Fritz. In secret Voltaire despised the
verses of his patron, as his patron in secret despised the
weakness of Voltaire. A few unguarded expressions were
enough to snap the link which bound them together; but a
lifetime only deepened the regard of Goethe and Karl
August. Nor must it be supposed that their friendship
was merely that of boon companions. Both had high
aims and strong wills. Prince Hal might recreate himself
with Falstaff, Pistol, Bardolph and the rest; but while
chucking Mrs. Quickly under the chin, he knew he was
one day to be England's lord.  Karl August and Goethe
were not the men to lose themselves in the fleeting hours
of dissipation; serious, steady business was transacted
almost the moment before some escapade:
Mein Carl und ich vergessen hier
Wie seltsam uns ein tiefes Schicksal leitet.
Und ach! ich fiihl's, im stillen werden wir
Zu neuen Scenen vorbereitet.' My Karl and I here forget the strange mysterious Fate
which guides us; and I feel that in quiet moments we are
slowly preparing for new scenes.' Yes, they learned' in
the happy present to forecast the future.'
The Duke knew what he was doing when he overstepped all precedent, and, in June 1776, elected Goethe to
the Post of Geheime Legations Rath, with a seat anld voice




1776.)  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS IN WEIMAR.    357
in the Privy Council, and a salary of 1200 thalers. In
writing to Goethe's father, the Duke intimated that there
was absolute freedom of leaving the service at will, and
that indeed the appointment was a mere formality, no
measure of his affection.'Goethe can have but one position - that of my friend. All others are beneath him.
The post of Geheime Legations Rath at Weimar is
not a very magnificent post; and the salary of 1200
thalers (about 2001.) seems still less magnificent when we
remember that at that period the King of Prussia gave the
Barberini, an Italian dancer, exactly ten times the sum.
But, such as it was, the appointment created great noise.
Weimar was thunderstruck. The favor shown to Wieland
had not passed without scandal; but alarming indeed was
this elevation of a Frankfurt bourgeois. A poet, who
wrote no von before his name, who had gone through
none of the routine of business, whose life was anything
but' respectable,' to be lifted suddenly over the plodding
heads of legitimate aspirants! If this was to be, what
reward could meritorious mediocrity expect? what advantage had slowly acquired routiniary knowledge?
So murmured a scandalized Court. At last these
murmurs expressed themselves distinctly in the shape of a
protest. The Duke thought the act worthy of a deliberate justification, and with his own hand added these words
to the protocol of the acts of his ministry:' Enlightened
persons congratulate me on possessing such a man. His
genius and capacity are well known. To employ a man
of such a stamp in any other functions than those in
which he can render available the extraordinary gifts he
possesses, is to abuse them. As to the observation that
persons of merit may think themselves unjustly passed
over: I observe, in the first place, that nobody to my
knowledge, in my service, has a right to reckon on an




3o8        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Book Iv.
equal degree of favor;, and I add that I will never consent
to be governed by mere length of service or rotation in
my choice of a person whose functions place him in such
immediate relation to myself, and are so important to the
happiness of my people. In such a case I shall attend to
nothing but the degree of confidence I can repose in the
person of my choice. The public opinion which perhaps
censures the admission of Dr. Goethe to my council without having passed through the. previous steps of Amtmann,
Professor, Kammerath, or Regierungsrath, produces no
effect on my own judgment. The world forms its opinion
on prejudices; but I watch and work -as every man
must who wishes to do his duty - not to make a noise,
not to attract the applause of the world, but to justify my
conduct to God and my conscience.'
Assuredly we may echo M. Dumont's sentiment, that'the prince who, at nineteen, wrote those words, was no
ordinary man.' He had not only the eye to see greatness, he had also the strong Will to guide his conduct
according to' his views, untrammelled by routine and
formulas.' Say what you will, it is only like can recognize like, and a prince of great capacity will always
recognize and cherish greatness in his servants.'  People
saw that the Duke was resolved. Murmurs were silenced;
or only percolated the gossip of private circles, till other
subjects buried them, as all gossip is buried.
It is just to add that there was some reason in the murmurs of Weimar. In those days the nobles everywhere
regarded places as their privilege; and when a bourgeois
of ability was once proposed to fill a place, the King of
Bavaria exclaimed,' What, must I employ an adventurer?'
(Does not the feeling still linger in England?) It was
thought a great thing of Frederick August of Saxony
* Goethe to Eckcerlaawn, iii. p. 232.




1776.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS IN WEIMAR.    359
that he held merit to be a claim. Besides this general
feeling, which Goethe's appointment must have ruffled,
the mode of life which the genial company led was not
only the subject of gossip in Weimar, it grew and grew as
scandals grow, not losing substance on the way, and
reached the ears of distant friends. Thus only a month
before the appointment, Klopstock wrote to Goethe a letter
which scandal extorted from friendship.' Hamburg, 8th of May, 1776.'Here is a proof of my friendship, dearest Goethe!
It is somewhat difficult, I confess, to give it, but it must
be given. Do not fancy that I wish to preach to you
about your doings; or that I judge harshly of you because
you have other views than mine. But your views and
mine quite set aside, what will be the inevitable consequence if your present doings continue? The Duke, if
he continues to drink as he does, instead of strengthening,
as he says, his constitution, will ruin it; and will not live
long. Young men of powerful constitutions - and that
the Duke is not - have in this way early perished. The
Germans have hitherto, and with justice, complained that
their princes would have nothing to do with authors.
They now gladly make an exception in favor of the
Duke. But what a justification will not the other princes
have, if you continue your present tone? If only chat
should happen which I feel will happen! The Duchess
will perhaps still subdue her pain, for she has a strong,
manly intellect. But that pain will become grief! And
can that be suppressed? Louisa's grief, Goethe!...
I must add a word about Stolberg. He goes to Weimar
out of friendship for the Duke. He must also live well
with him. But how? In his style? No! unless he, too,
becomes altered, he will go away. And then what re



360        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
mains for him? Not in Copenhagen, not in Weimar.
I must write to Stolberg; what shall I say to him?
You may please yourself about showing this letter to the
Duke. I have no objection against it. On the contrary;
for he is assuredly not yet arrived at that point when he
will not listen to the honest word of a friend.'KLOL'STOCK.'
Goethe's answer, dated the 21st May, a fortnight later
therefore, runs thus:' In future, spare us such letters, dear Klopstock!
They do no good, and only breed bad blood. You must
feel yourself that I have no answer to make. Either I must,
like a school.boy, begin a Pater peccavi, or sophistically
excuse, or as an honest fellow defend, and perhaps a
mingling of all these might express the truth, but to what
purpose? Therefore, not a word more between us on
this subject. Believe me, I should not have a moment's
rest if I replied to all such admonitions. It pained the
Duke a moment to think it was Klopstock. He loves and
honors you; you know I do the same. Good bye. Stolberg must come all the same. We are no worse; and
with God's help will be better than what he has seen us.'
To this Klopstock indignantly replied-'You have much misunderstood the proof of my friendship, which was great, precisely because of my reluctance
to mix myself unasked in the affairs of others. And as
you include all such letters and all such admonitions
(your expressions are as strong as that) in the same class
with the letter which contained this proof of my friendship, I hereby declare you unworthy of that friendship.
Stolberg shall not come, if he listens to me, or rather, if
he listens to his own conscience.'




1776.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.    361
The breach thus made was never repaired. Stolberg
did not come to Weimar; and Klopstock wrote no more.
To return: whatever basis there may have been for the
report which Gossip magnified, certain it is that the Duke
did not forget the cares of state in these wild orgies.
Both he and his friend were very active, and very serious.
If Weimar, according to the historian of Germany,?
stands as an illustrious exception among the German
Courts, it was because Karl August, upheld by his friend,
knew how to carry into earnest practice the axiom of
Frederick the Great: PA king is but the first of subjects.'
Goethe's beneficent activity is seen less in such anecdotes
as those often cited of his opening a subscription for
Burger to enable him  to complete his translation of
Homer, and of his relieving Jung Stilling from distress,
than in the constant and democratic sympathy with which
he directed the Duke's endeavors; and if ever the correspondence between him and Karl August should be
published, the force and constancy of this feeling will be
recognized.
That he had not the grave deportment of a councillor
is very evident. Imagine him, as in this anecdote related
by Gleim:' Soon after Goethe had written Werther I
came to Weimar, and wished to know him. 1 had brought
with me the last Musen Almanach, a literary novelty, and
read here and there a poem to the company in which I
passed the evening. While I was reading, a young man,
booted and spurred, in a short green shooting-jacket
thrown open, came in and mingled with the audience. I
had scarcely remarked his entrance. He sat down opposite to me and listened attentively. I scarcely knew what
there was about him that particularly struck me, except a
*.Menzel, ccxli.
VOL. I.    31




362        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
pair of brilliant black Italian eyes. But it was decreed
that I should know more of him.'During a short pause, in which some gentlemen and
ladies were discussing the merits of the pieces I had read,
lauding some and censuring others, the gallant young
sportsman (for such I took him to be) arose from his chair,
and bowing with a most courteous and ingratiating air to
me, offered to relieve me from time to time in reading,
lest I should be tired. I could do no less than accept so
polite an offer, and immediately handed him the book.
But oh! Apollo and all ye Muses —not forgetting the
Graces -what was I then to hear? At first, indeed,
things went on smoothly enough:
Die Zephyr'n lauschten,
Die Bdiche rauschten,
Die Sonne
Verbreitet, ihre Licht mit Wonnethe somewhat more solid, substantial fare of Voss, Stolberg, and Burger was delivered in such a manner that no
one had any reason to complain.'All at once, however, it was as if some wild and
wanton devil had taken possession of the young reader, and
I thought I saw the Wild Huntsman bodily before me. He
read poems that had no existence in the Almanach; broke
out into all possible modes and dialects. Hexameters,
Iambics, doggerel verses one after another, or blended in
strange confusion, came tumbling out in torrents. What
wild and humorous fancies did he not combine that evening!  Amidst them  came such noble, magnificent
thoughts, thrown in detached and flitting, that the authors
to whom he ascribed them must have thanked God on
their knees if they had fallen upon their desks.' As soon as the joke was discovered, universal merriment spread through the room. He put everybody pres



1776.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.   363
ent out of countenance in one way or the other. Even
my Maecenasship, which I had always regarded it as a
sort of duty to exercise towards young authors, poets and
artists, had its turn. Though he praised it highly on the
one side, he did not forget to insinuate on the other that I
claimed a sort of property in the individuals to whom I
afforded support and countenance. In a little fable composed extempore in doggerel verses, he likened me wittily
enough to a worthy and most enduring turkey hen that
sits on a great heap of eggs of her own and other people's, and hatches them with infinite patience; but to
whom it sometimes happens to have a chalk egg put under
her instead of a real one: a trick at which she takes no
offence.'" That is either Goethe or the Devil! " cried 1 to
Wieland, who sat opposite me. "' Both," he replied.'
It is worth bearing in mind what the young Goethe was,
that we may the better understand the reason of what he
became. No sooner had he commenced his career as
politician, than he began to tone down the extravagance
of his demeanor; without foregoing any enjoyments, he
tried to accord more with those in whom a staid demeanor was necessitated by their more flagging pulses of
lethargic life. One month after his appointment Wieland
writes of him:'Goethe did in truth, during the first
months of his visit here, scandalize most people (never
me); but fiom the moment that he decided on becoming
a man of business, he has conducted himself with blameless ap.nooav', and all worldly prudence.' Elsewhere he
says:' Goethe, with alf his real and apparent sauvtagerie,
has, in his little finger, more conduite and savoir faire
than.all the court parasites, Boniface sneaks, and political
cobweb-spinners have in their whole bodies and souls. So
long as Karl August lives no power can remove him.'




364       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK IV.
As we familiarize ourselves with the details of this
episode, there appears less and less plausibility in the
often iterated declamation against Goethe on the charge
of his having' sacrificed his genius to the court.' It becomes indeed a singularly foolish display of rhetoric.
Let us for a moment consider the charge. He had to
choose a career. That of poet was then, even more than
now, impossible; verse could create fame, but no money:
fama andfmes were then, as ever, in terrible contiguity.
As soon as the necessity for a career is admitted, much
objection falls to the ground; for those who reproach him
with having wasted his time on court festivities, and the
duties of government, which others could have done as
well, must ask whether he would have saved that time
had he followed the career of jurisprudence, and jostled
the lawyers through the courts at Frankfurt? -or would
they prefer seeing him reduced to the condition of poor
Schiller, wasting so much of his precious life in literary' hackwork,' translating French books for a miserable pittance?  Time, in any case, would ihave been claimed;
in return for that given to Karl August, he received, as
he confesses in a poem addressed to the Duke,' what the
great seldom bestow - affection, leisure, confidence, garden and house. No one have I had to thank but him;
and much have I wanted, who, as a poet, ill-understood
the arts of gain. If Europe praised me, what has Europe
done for me? Nothing. Even my works have been an
expense to me.'
In 1801, writing to his mother on the complaints uttered
against him by those who judged so falsely of his condition, he says they only saw what he gave up, not what he
gained —they could not comprehend how he grew daily
richer, though he daily gave up so much. He confesses
that the narrow circle of a burgher life would have ill



1776.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.   365
accorded with his ardent and wide-sweeping spirit. Had
he remained at Frankfurt he would have been ignorant of
the world. But here the panorama of life was unrolled
before him, and his experience was every way enlarged.
Did not Leonardo da Vinci spend much of his time
charming the court of Milan with his poetry and luteplaying? did he not also spend time in mechanical and
hydrostatical labors for the state? No reproach is'lifted
against his august name; no one cries out against his
being false to his genius; no one rebukes him for having
painted so little at one period. The' Last Supper' speaks
for him. Will not Tasso; Iphigenia, Hermann und Dorothea, Faust, Mleister, and the long list of Goethe's works,
speak for him?
I have dwelt mainly on the dissipation of his time, because the notion that a court life affected his genius by' corrupting his mind' is preposterous. No reader of this
biography, it is to be hoped, will fail to see the true relations in which he stood to the Duke; how free they were
fiom anything like servility, or suppression of genuine
impulse. Indeed, one of the complaints against him,
according to the unexceptionable authority of Riemer,
was that made by the subalterns,' of his not being sufficiently attentive to court etiquette.' To say, as Niebuhr
says, that the' court was a Delilah to which he sacrificed
his locks,' is profoundly to misunderstand his genius, profoundly to misread his life. Had his genius been of that
stormy class which produces great Reformers and great
Martyrs - had it been his mission to agitate mankind by
words which, reverberating to their inmost recesses, called
them to lay down their lives in the service of an Idea —
had it been his tendency to meditate upon the far-off destinies of man, and sway men by the coercion of grand
representative abstractions - then, indeed, we might say
1'




366        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
his place was aloof from the motley throng, and not in
sailing down the swiftly-flowing stream to sounds of mirth
and music on the banks. But he was not a Reformer, not
a Martyr. ( He was a Poet, whose religion was Beauty,
whose worship was of Nature, whose aim was Culture.
His mission was to paint Life, and for that it was requisite
he should see Life, to know'The haunt and the main region of his song.'
Happier circumstances might indeed have surrounded
him, and given him a greater sphere. It would have been
very different, as he often felt, if there had been a Nation
to appeal to, instead of a heterogeneous mass of small
peoples, willing enough to talk of Fatherland, but in nowise prepared to become a Nation. There are many other
ifs in which much virtue could be found; but inasmuch as
he could not create circumstances, we must follow his example, and be content with what the gods provided. I do
not, I confess, see what other sphere was open to him in
which his genius could have been more sacred; but I do
see that he built out of circumstance a noble Temple in
which the altar-flame burnt with a steady light. To hypothetical biographers he left the task of settling what Goethe
might have been; enough for us to catch some glimpse of
what he was.' Poetry,' Carlyle profoundly says,' is the attempt which
man makes to render his existence harmonious.' It is the
flower.into which a life expands, but it is not the life itself,
with all daily needs, daily struggles, daily prosaisms. The
true poet manfully accepts the condition in which destiny
has placed him, and therein tries to make his existence
harmonious; the sham poet,'like a weak workman fretful
with his tools, is loud in assurances of what he might be,
were it his lot to live in other circumstances. Goethe was




1776.]  THE FIRST WILD WEEKS AT WEIMAR.    367
led by the current of events to a little court, where he
was arrested by friendship, love, leisure, and opportunities
of a freer, nobler life than Frankfurt Law Courts offered
him. After much deliberation he chose his career: these
pages will show how in it he contrived to be true to his
genius.
It is scarcely worth while to notice trash about his'servility' and' court slavery.' He was not required to be
servile; and his nature was as proud as any prince's.
They call me a prince's servant,' he said to Eckermann,' and a prince's slave; as if there were any meaning in
such words! Whom do I serve? A tyrant — a despot?
Do I serve one who lives for his own pleasures at the
people's cost? Such princes and such times are, thank
God! far enough from us. For more than half a century
I have been connected in the closest relations with the
Grand Duke, and for half a century have striven and toiled
with him; but I should not be speaking truth were I to
say that I could name a single day on which the Duke had
not his thoughts busied with something to be devised and
effected for the good of the country; something calculated
to better the condition of each individual in it. As for
himself, personally, what has his princely state given him
but a burden and a task? Is his dwelling, or his dress, or
his table more sumptuously provided than that of any private man in easy circumstances? Go into our maritime
cities, and you will find the larder and cellar of every
considerable merchant better filled than his. If, then, I
am a prince's slave, it is at least my consolation that I am
but the slave of one who is himself a slave of the general
good.'
And to close this subject, read the following passage
from Merck's letter to'Nicolai - (the Merck who is said
by Falk to have spoken so bitterly of the waste of Goethe's




368       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK Iv.
life at Weimar):'I have lately paid Goethe a visit at the
Wartburg, and we have lived together for ten days like
children. I am delighted to have seen with my own eyes
what his situation is. The Duke is the best of all, and has
a character firm as iron: I would do,for love of him, just
what Goethe does..... I tell you sincerely that the Duke is
most worthy of respect, and one of the cleverest men that I
have ever seen, - and consider that he is a Prince, and
only twenty years of age!' The long and friendly correspondence Merck kept up with the Duke is the best
pledge that the foregoing judgment was sincere.




1776.]         THE FRAU VON STEIN.               369
CHAPTER IV.
THE FRAU VON STEIN.
FROM out the many flirtations that amused him, there
rises one which grew into predominant importance, swallowing up all the others, and leaping from lambent flame:
into eager and passionate fire. It was no transitory flash,
but a fire which burnt for ten years, and thereby is distinguished from all previous attachments. It is a silver thread
woven among the many-coloded threads which formed the
tapestry of his life. I will here detach it, to consider it
by itself.
The Baroness von Stein,' Hofdame,' and wife of the
Master of the Horse, was, both by family and position, a
considerable person. To us she is interesting, as having
sprung from a Scotch family, named Irving, and as being
the sister-in-law to that Baron Imhoff, who sold his first
wife to Warren Hastings. She was the mother of seven
children, and had reached that age which, in fascinating
women, is of perilous fascination- the age of three-andthirty.  We can understand something of her power if we
look at her portrait, and imagine those delicate, coquettish
features animated with the lures of sensibility, gayety, and
experience of the world. She sang well, played well,
sketched well, talked well, appreciated poetry, and handled sentiment with the delicate tact of a woman of the




370        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
world. Her pretty fingers had turned over many a serious
book; and she knew how to gather honey from weeds.
With moral deficiencies, which this history will betray,.she was to all acquaintances a perfectly charming woman;
and retained her charm  even in old age, as many living
witnesses testify.  Some years after her first acquaintance
with Goethe, Schiller thus writes of her to his friend
K6rner:' She is really a genuine, interesting person, and
I quite understand what has attached Goethe to her.
Beautiful she can never have been; but her countenance
has a soft earnestness, and a quite peculiar openness. A
healthy understanding, truth and feeling, lie in her nature.
She has more than a thousand letters from Goethe; and
from Italy he writes to her every week. They say the
connection is perfectly pure and blameless.'
It was at Pyrmont that Goethe first saw the Frau von
Stein's portrait, and was three nights sleepless in consequence of Zimmermann's des~ription of her. In sending
her that flattering detail, Zimmermann added,' he will
assuredly come to Weimar to see you.' Under her por.
trait Goethe wrote,' What a glorious poem it would be to
see how the world mirrors itself in this soul! She sees the
world as it is, and yet withal sees it through the medium
of love; hence sweetness is the dominant expression.'
In her reply to Zimmermann, she begs to hear more about
Goethe, and intimates her desire to see him. This calls
forth a reply that she' has no idea of the danger of his
magical presence.' Such dangers pretty women'gladly
run into, especially when, like Charlotte von Stein, they
are perfect mistresses of themselves.
Tearing himself away from Lili, his heart still trembling from the agitations of a victory over its desires, he
saw this charming woman. The earth continues warm
long after the sun has glided below the horizon; and the




1776.]         TIlE FRAU VON STEIN.             371
heart continues warm some time after the departure of its
sun. Goethe was therefore prepared to fall desperately
in love with one who'viewed all things through the
medium of love.' And there is considerable interest in
noting the kind of idol now selected. Hitherto he has
been captivated only by very young girls, whose youth,
beauty, and girlishness, were the charms to his wandering
fancy; but now he is fascinated by a woman, a woman
of rank and elegance, a woman of culture and experience,
a woman who, instead of abandoning herself to the charm
of his affection, knew how, without descending from her
pedestal, to keep the flame alive. The others loved him,
— showed him their love, — and were forgotten.  She
contrived to keep him in the pleasant fever of hope, made
herself necessary to him, made her love an aim, and kept
him in the excitement of one' Who never is, but always to be blest.'
Considering the state of society and opinion at that
period, and considering moreover that, according to her
son's narrative, her husband was scarcely seen in his own
home more than once a week, and that no pretence of
affection existed between them, we can understand how
Goethe's notorious passion for her excited sympathy in
Weimar. Not a word of blame escaped any one on this
subject. They saw a lover whose mistress gave him just
enough encouragement to keep him eager in pursuit, and
who knew how to check him when that eagerness would
press on too far. In his early letters to her there are
sudden outbreaks and reserves; sometimes the affectionate
thou escapes, and the next day, perhaps even in the next
sentence, the prescribed you returns. These letters follow
almost daily. So early as January, 1776, this significant
phrase escapes:'Adieu, angel!  I shall never become




372        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Book Iv.
more prudent; and have to thank God for it. Adieu!
and yet it grieves me that I love thee so -and precisely
thee!'
Here is an answer, apparently, to something she has
written (for unhappily we have none of her letters: she
had taken the precaution to demand her letters back from
him, and burnt them, carefully preserving his!):' Wherefore must I plague thee! dearest creature!
Wherefore deceive myself and plague thee! We can
be nothing to each other, and yet are too much to each
other. Believe me thou art in all things one with me -
but because I see things as they. are it makes me mad!
Good night, angel, and good morning. I will see thee no
more... Only... Thou knowest all.  My heart
is... All I can say is mere folly. In future I shall' see
thee as men see the stars.' A few days after, he writes,'Adieu, dear sister, since it must be so.'
I select the following as indicating the tone:' 1st May. To-day I shall not see you. Your presence
yesterday made so wonderful an impression on me, that I
know' not as yet whether I am well or ill from it. Adieu,
dearest lady.'
1st May.  Evening.  Thouart right to make me a
saint, that is to say, to remove me from thy heart. Holy
as thou art, I cannot make thee a saint. To-morrow,
therefore... Well, I will not see thee. Good night!'
On the 24th May, a passionate letter reveals that she
had written or spoken to him in a decided tone about'appearances' and the' world':' So the purest, most beautiful, truest relation I ever had
to a woman, except to my sister, that also must be disturbed! I was prepared for it; but I suffered infinitely
on account of the past and the future, and of the poor
child thus consecrated in sorrow. I will not see you;




1776.]        THE FRAU VON STEIN.               373
rour presence would make me sad. If I am not to live
with you, your love will help me no more than the love
)f those absent, in which I am so rich. Presence, in the
moment of need, discerns, alleviates and strengthens.
The absent comes with the hose when the fire is extinguished — and all for the sake of the world! The
world, which can be nothing to me, will not let thee be
anything to me. You know not what you do... The
hand of one in solitude who hears not the voice of love,
presses hard where it rests. Adieu, best of women!''25th May. You are always the same, always infinite
love and goodness. Forgive me if I make you suffer. I
will learn to bear my suffering alone.''2d June. Adieu. Love me as ever, I will come
seldomer and write seldomer.''4th June. Here, dear lady, is the tribute. I will see
if I can keep my resolution not to come. You are not
quite safe with me. Yesterday there were again some
moments in which I truly felt how I love you.''6th June. So you could do me the unkindness of
remaining away yesterday. Truly what you do must be
right in my eyes!! But it made me sad.''7th June. You are a- darling to have told me all!
When one loves one should tell everything. Dearest
angel, and I have again three words which will set you
at rest, but only words from me to thee! I shall come
to-day.'
She was forced to quit Weimar for a while.'Dearest
lady,' he writes,' I dare not think you are going away on
Tuesday, and that you will be away from me six months.
For what avails all else? It is presence alone which
influences, consoles and edifies! even though it sometimes
torments- torment is the sunshower of love.'
Here is a curious passage:'Last night as I lay in my
VOL. I.     32




374        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
bed half asleep, Philip brought me a letter; half stupefied,
I read - that Lili is betrothed!! I turn round and fall
asleep. How I pray that fate may act so by me in the
right moment. Dear angel, good night.'
One more extract.'(Oh! you have a way of giving
pain which is like that of destiny, which admits of no
complaint, however it may grieve.
In a little while the tone grows more subdued. Just as
the tone of his behavior in Weimar, after the first wild
weeks, became softened to a lower key, so in these letters
we see, after a while, fewer passionate outbreaks, fewer
interjections, and no more thou's. But love warms them
still. The letters are incessant, and show an incessant preoccupation. Certain sentimental readers will be shocked,
perhaps, to find so many details about eating and drinking;
but when they remember Charlotte cutting bread and butter, they may understand the author of Werther eloquently
begging his beloved to send him a sausage.




1776.]           THE GARTENHAUS.                375
CHAPTER V.
THE GARTENIHAUS.
THE visitor may still read the inscription, at once
homage and souvenir, by which Goethe connected the
happy hours of love with the happy hours of active solitude passed in his Garden House in the Park. Fitly is
the place dedicated to the Frau von Stein. The whole
spot speaks of her. Here are the flower-beds from which
almost every morning flowers, with the dew still on them,
came with letters, as fresh and beautiful, to greet the
beloved. Here are the beds from which came the asparagus he was so proud to send her. Here is the orchard in
which grew the fruit so often sent. Here is the room in
which he dreamt of her; here the room in which he
worked, while her image hovered around him. The house
stands within twenty minutes' walk from the house where
she lived, separated by clusters of noble trees.
If the reader turns back to the description of the Park
(page 325), he will ascertain the position of this Gartenhaus. Originally it belonged to Bertuch. One day when
the Duke was earnestly pressing Goethe to take up his
residence at Weimar, the poet (who then lived in the
Jigerhaus in the Belvedere Allee), undecided as to
whether he should go or remain, let fall, among other excuses, the want of a quiet bit of land, where his taste for
gardening could be indulged.' Bertuch, for example, is




376        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK IV.
very comfortable; if I had but such a bit of ground as
that!' Hereupon the Duke, very characteristically, goes
to Bertuch, and without periphrasis, says,'I must have
your garden.' Bertuch starts:' But your highness —''But me no buts,' replies the young prince;' I can't help
you. Goethe wants it, and unless we give it to him we
shall never keep him here; it is the only way to secure
him.' This reason would probably not have been so cogent with Bertuch, had not the Duke excused the despotism
of his act by giving in exchange a much more valuable
house and grounds. In a few days Goethe received the
Garden House as the gift of his princely friend.
It is charmingly situated, and, although of modest pretensions, is one of the most enviable houses in Weimnar.
The Ilm runs through the meadows which front it. The
town, although so near, is completely shut out from view
by the thick-growing trees. The solitude is absolute,
-broken only by the occasional sound of the church clock,
the music from the barracks, and the screaming of the
peacocks spreading their superb beauty in the park. So
fond was Goethe of this house, that winter and summer
he lived there for seven years; and when in 1782, the
Duke made him a present of the house in the Frazuenplan, he could not prevail upon himself to sell the Gartenhaus, but continued to make it a favorite retreat. Often
when he chose to be alone and undisturbed, he locked all
the gates of the bridges which led from the town to his
house, so that, as Wieland complained, no one could get
at him except by aid of picklock and crowbar.
It was here, in this little garden, he studied the development of plants, and made many of those experiments
and observations which have given him a high rank among
the Discoverers in Science. It was here the poet escaped
from court. It was here the lover was happy in his love.




1776.]         THE GARTENHAUS.                   377
How modest this Garden-house really is; how far removed from any thing like one's preconceptions of it! It is
true that the position is one which many a rich townsman
in England would be glad of, as the site for a handsome
villa: a pretty orchard and garden on a gentle slope; in
front, a good carriage road, running beside a fine meadow
encircled by the stately trees of the park. But the house,
a half-pay captain with us would consider a miserable cottage; yet it sufficed for the court-ftvorite and minister.
Here the Duke was constantly with him; sitting up, till
deep in the night, in earnest discussion, often sleeping on
the sofa instead of going home. Here both Duke and
Duchess would come and dine with him, in the most
simple, unpretending way, the whole banquet in one instance consisting, as we learn from a casual phrase in the
Stein correspondence, of'a beer-soup and a little cold
meat.'
There is something very pleasant in noticing these traits
of the simplicity which was then practised. The Duke's
own hut - the Borkenhaus - has already been described
(page 326). The hut, for it was nothing else, in which
Goethe lived in the Ilmenau mountains, and the more than
bourgeois simplicity of the Garden House, make one
aware of one thing among others, namely, that if he
sacrificed his genius to a court, it assuredly was not for
loaves and fishes, not for luxury, or material splendor of
any kind. Indeed, such things had no temptation for his
simple tastes.' Rich in money,' he writes to his beloved,'I shall never become; but, therefore, all the richer in
Confidence, Good Name and Influence over the minds of
men.'
It was his love of Nature which made him so indifferent
to luxury. That love gave him simplicity and hardihood.
In many things he was unlike his nation - notably in his
32*




378        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Book Iv.
voluntary exposure to two bright, wholesome things,
which to his contemporaries were little less than bugbears - I mean, fresh air and cold water. The nation
which consented to live in the atmosphere of iron stoves,
tobacco, and bad breath, and which deemed a pint of
water all that man could desire for his ablutions, must
have been greatly perplexed at seeing Goethe indulge in
fresh air and cold water as if they were vices.
Two anecdotes will bring this contrast into relief. So
great was the German reluctance to even a necessary
exposure to the inclemencies of open air exercise, that
historians inform us'a great proportion, especially among
the learned classes, employed a miserable substitute for
exercise in the shape of a machine, by means of which
they comfortably took their dose of movement without
leaving their rooms.' 0  And Jacobs, in his Personalien,
records a fact which, while explaining how the abovenamed absurdity could have gained ground, paints a sad
picture of the life of Geman youth in those days. Describing his boyish days at Gotha, he says:' Our winter
pleasures were confined to a not very spacious courtyard, exchanged in summer for a little garden within the
walls, which my father hired.  We took no walks.  Only
once a year, when the harvest was ripe, our parents took
us out to spend an evening in the fields.t  So little had
Goethe of this prejudice against fresh air, that when he
began the rebuilding of his Gartenhaus, instead of sleeping at an hotel or at the house of a friend, he lived there
through all the building period, and we find him writing.' At last I have a window once more, and can make a
fire.' On the 3d of May he writes,' Good morning: here
* Biedermann: Deutschland's Politische JMaterielle und Sociale
Zustande, i. p. 343.
t Quoted by Mrs. Austin: Germany fronm 1760 to 1814, p. 85.




1776.]           THE GARTENHAUS.                  379
is asparagus. How were you yesterday? Philip baked
me a cake; and thereupon, wrapped up in my blue cloak,
I laid myself on a dry corner of the terrace and slept
amid thunder, lightning and rain, so gloriously that my
bed was afterwards quite disagreeable.' On the 19th he
writes,' Thanks for the breakfast. I send you something
in return. Last night 1 slept on the terrace, wrapped in
my blue cloak, awoke three times, at 12, 2 and 4, and
each time there was a new  splendor in the heavers.'
There are other traces of this tendency to bivouac, but
these will suffice.  He bathed not only in the morning
sunlight, but also when the moonlight shimmered on the
Ilm. Always in the free air seeking vigor"Tauche mich in die Sonne frfih
Bad' ab im Monde des Tages MIiih."'
The Duke shared this love of bathing, which December's cold could not arrest. It was here Goethe learned
to swim by the aid of' corks' (which so often served him
as an illustration), and no inclemency of the weather
could keep him out of the water. The fascination of
water luring into its treacherous depths, is wonderfully
expressed by him in that ballad, which every one knows,
and almost every one tries to translate. I have tried my
hand in this version:
THE FISHERMAN.
The water rushed, the water swelled:
A fisherman sat by,
And gazed upon his dancing float
With tranquil-dreaming eye.
And as he sits, and as he looks,
The gurgling waves arise:
A maid, all bright with water-drops,
Stands straight before his eyes.




380         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.             [BooK iv.
She sang to him, she spake to him:' My fish why dost thou snare
With human wit and human guile
Into the killing air?
Couldst see how happy fishes live
Under the stream so clear,
Thyself would plunge into the stream,
And live forever there.' Bthe not the lovely sun and moon
Within the cool deep sea,
And with wave-breathing faces rise
In two-fold witchery?
Lure not the misty heaven-deeps
So beautiful and blue?
Lures not thine im1age, mirrored in
The fresh eternal dew?'
The water rushed, the water swelled,
It clasped his feet, I wis;
A thrill went through his yearning heart
As when two lovers kiss!
She spake to him, she sang to him:
Resistless was her strain
Half drew him in, half lured him in;
He ne'er was seen again.
There is an anecdote which must find a place here.
One night, while the moon was calmly shining on our
poetical bather, a peasant, returning home, was in the act
of climbing over the bars of the floating bridge; Goethe
espied him, and moved by that spirit of devilry which so
often startled Weimar, he gave utterance to wild sepulchral tones, raised himself half out of water, ducked
under, and reappeared howling, to the horror of *the
aghast peasant, who, hearing such sounds issue from  a
figure with long floating hair, fled as if a legion of devils
were at hand. To this day there remains an ineradicable
belief in the existence of the water-sprite who howls
among the waters of the Ilm.




1777.]        PRIVATE THEATRICALS.             381
CHAPTER VI.
PRIVATE  THEATRICALS.'LET my present life,' writes Goethe to Lavater, January, 1777,' continue as long as it will, at any rate I have
heartily enjoyed a genuine experience of the variegated
throng and press of the world- Sorrow, Hope, Love,
Work, Wants, Adventure, Ennui, Impatience, Folly, Joy,
the Expected and the Unknown, the Superficial and the
Profound -just as the dice threw - with fetes, dances,
sledgings - adorned in silk and spangles - a marvellous
menage!  And withal, dear brother, God be praised, in
myself and in my real aims in life, I am quite happy.'' Goethe plays indeed a high game at Weimar,' writes
Merck,'but lives at Court after his own fashion. The
Duke is an excellent man, let them say what they will,
and in Goethe's company will become still more so.
What you hear is Court scandal and lies. It is true the
intimacy between master and servant is very great, but
what harm is there in that?  Were Goethe a nobleman it
would be thought quite right. He is the soul and direction
of everything, and all are contented with him, because he
serves many and injures no one. Who can withstand the
disinterestedness of this man?)'
He had begun to make his presence felt in the serious
departntent of affairs;'not only in educating the Duke
who had chosen him as his friend, but also in practical




382       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
ameliorations. He had induced the Duke to call Herder
to Weimar, as Hof Prediger (Court chaplain) and General-superintendent; whereat Weimar grumbled, and gos.
siped, setting afloat stories of Herder having mounted the
pulpit in boots and spurs. Not content with these efforts
in a higher circle, Goethe sought to improve the condition
of the people; and among his plans we note one for
the opening of the Ilmenau mines, which for so many
years had been left untouched.
Amusement went hand in hand with business. Among
the varied amusements, one, which greatly occupied his
time and fancy, deserves a more special notice, because
it will give us a glimpse of the Court, and will also show
us how the poet turned sport into profit. I allude to the
Private Theatricals which were started shortly after his
arrival. It should be premised that the theatre was still
in ashes from the fire of 1774.' Seyler had carried his
troupe of players elsewhere; and Weimar was without its
stage. Just at this period Private Theatricals were even
more'the rage,' than they are in England at present. In
Berlin, Dresden, Frankfurt, Augsburg, Nuiremberg and
Fulda, were celebrated amateur troupes. In Wurtzburg,
for a long while, a noble company put on sock and bus-.
kin; in Eisenach, Prince and Court joined in the sport.
Even the Universities, which in earlier times had, from
religious scruples, denounced the drama, now forgot their
antagonism, and in Vienna, Halle, G6ttingen and Jena,
allowed the students to have private stages.
The Weimar theatre surpassed them  all. It had its
poets, Goethe, Einsiedel, etc.; its composers, its scene
painters, its costumiers. Whoever showed any talent for
recitation, singing, or dancing, was pressed into service,
and hadjto work as hard as if his bread depended on it.
The almost daily rehearsals of drama, opera, or ballet,




1777.]        PRIVATE THEATRICALS.               383
occupied and delighted men and women glad to have
something to do.  The troupe was distinguished: the
Duchess Amalia, Karl August, Prince Constantine, Bode,
Knebel, Einsiedel, Musaeus, Seckendorf, Bertuch and
Goethe; with Corona Schr6ter, Kotzebue's sister Amalia,
and Friulein Gochhausen. These formed a curious strolling company, wandering fiom Weimar to all the palaces
in the neighborhood — Ettersburg, Tiefurt, Belvedere,
even to Jena, Dornburg and Ilmenau. Often did Bertuch,
as Falk tells us, receive orders to have the sumpter waggon, or travelling kitchen, ready for the early dawn,
when the Court would start with its wandering troupe. If
only a short expedition was intended, three sumpter asses
were sufficient. If it was more distant, over hill and dale,
far into the distant country, then indeed the night before
was a busy one, and all the ducal pots and pans were in
requisition. Such boiling and stewing and roasting! such
slaughter of capons, pigeons and fowls! The ponds of
the Ilm were dragged for fish; the woods were robbed of
their partridges; the cellars were lightened of their wines.
With early dawn rode forth the merry party, full of anticipation, wild with arimal spirits. On they went through
solitudes, the grand old trees of which were wont only to
see the soaring hawk poised above their tops, or the wildeyed deer bounding past the hut of the charcoal burner.
On they wern: youth, beauty, gladness and hope, a goodly
train, like that which animated the forest of Ardennes,
when' under the shade of melancholy boughs' the pensive
Duke and his followers forgot awhile their cares and' painted pomps.'
Their stage was soon arranged. At Ettersburg the
traces are still visible of this forest stage, where, when
weather permitted, the performances took place. A wing
of the chateau was also made into a theatre. But the




384       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
open-air performances were most relished. To rehearsals
and performances in Ettersburg the actors, sometimes as
many as twenty, were brought in the Duke's equipages;
and in the evening, after a joyous supper, often enlivened
with songs, they were conducted home by the Duke's
body-guard of Hussars bearing torches. It was here they
performed Einsiedel's opera, The Gypsies, with wonderful
illusion. Several scenes of Gdtz von Berlichingen were
woven into it. The illuminated trees, the crowd of gypsies in the wood, the dances and songs under the blue
starlit heavens, while the sylvan bugle sounded from afar,
made up a picture, the magic of which was never forgotten. On the Ilm also, at Tiefurt, just where the river
makes-a beautiful bend round the shore, a regular theatre
was constructed. Trees, and other natural objects, such
as fishermen, nixies, water-sprites, moon and stars, - all
were introduced with effect.
The performances were of the same varied nature as
the theatres.  Sometimes French comedies, sometimes
serious works of art, often broad extravaganzas. Occasionally they played charades, in which the plan was prearranged, but the dialogue left to the improvisation of the
actors. Once when, as improvisatores are apt to become,
an actor grew wordy and wandering, they rushed on the
stage, carried him off by force, and informed the audience
(as if it were a part of the piece) that he was suddenly
taken ill. The records of that time have preserved for us
the outline of a magical piece, got up in honor of Goethe's
birthday - Minerva's Birth, Life and Deeds. It was a
magnificent magic-lantern piece, with music by Seckendorf. The characters were not represented by puppets,
but by gentlemen and ladies in the so-called Petit Colise'e
at Tiefurt. On the site of this new temple of the Muses
stood formerly a solitary wood hut. In the representation




1777.]         PRIVATE THEATRICALS.               385
every appliance was sought after which eternal effect demanded. It took place behind a large white curtain en
silhoutte. In the Ilistoire universelle des T/lidtres there is
only one example of a theatrical representation of this kind,
namely, the drama which Chiron presented to his pupil,
Achilles, and which had the same object and significance as
the Tiefurt drama. In antiquity such representations were
called unzbrc  palpitantes, by moderns, ombres chinoises.
They were introduced at the Weimar Court about this
time, by the Duke George of Saxe-Meiningen, and were
very much in favor there.
The subject of this Tiefurt piece is remarkable: Jupiter
(in the person of the painter Kraus, on whose shoulders
was placed a colossal paste-board head), in order to frustrate the prophecy that on the accouchement of his wife
Metis, he would be thrust from the throne, has devoured
Metis. Thereupon he suffers terrible pains in the head;
Ganymede, hovering behind him on a great eagle, offers
him the cup of nectar: the pains of the Thunderer-increase
visibly, and Ganymede soars into the air to fetch JEsculapius and Vulcan. 2Esculapius seeks in vain to cure his
master. A Cyclops, who is summoned, bleeds him at the
nose, without effect. Then comes the powerful Vulcan
(represented by the young Duke Karl August), who, holding in one hand his hammer, in the other a great iron bar,
and encircled by an apron, approaches his suffering
father, and with one good stroke of the hammer splits his
divine skull, out of which proceeds Minerva, the goddess
of wisdom (represented by Corona Schr6ter), at first quite
a small figure, but-by means of appropriate machinery becoming larger and larger every moment, till at last the
whole of her tall, slim form is revealed, enveloped in light
gauze. She is received by Father Zeus in the most
friendly manner; and rich gifts are presented to her by all
VOL, I. ~    33




386         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOk IV.
the gods. She is furnished with a helmet, an aegis, and a
lance; Ganymede places Jupiter's owl at her feet, and
amidst music and choral singing the curtain falls.
In the third and last act, the poet had departed fiom the
materials of the myth. He made the new-born goddess
read in the Book of Fate, and find there the 28th of
August * marked as one of the most fortunate days. She
says that' on that day three-and-thirty years ago a man
was given to the world, who will be honored as one of the
best and wisest.' Then appears a winged genius in the
clouds, bearing G6ethe's name.  Minerva crowns.this
name, and at the same time dedicates to it the divine gifts
which have been immemorially the tokens of her favor;
for example, the golden lyre of Apollo, and the flowery
wreath of the Muses. The whip of Momus alone, on the
thong of which stood the word' Aves,: is laid aside and
rejected by the goddess; while the names Iphigenia and
Faust appear in the clouds in fire transparencies. At the
close, Momus advances unbashed, and brings the reprobated symbol of his Art as a present to Goethe.
Such was the opening and dedication of the new Weimar-Tiefurt Court Theatre. It is obvious that the piece
was intended purely to celebrate the birthday of Goethe,
the director of this social theatrei; and gives us not a bad
idea of the ingenuity and pains bestowed upon these
amusements. The reader will not fail to notice that if
Goethe prepared fetes for the birthday of his Duchess,
Weimar also prepared fetes for the birthday of its poet.
Another favorite -magic-lantern piece was King Midas,
which is mentioned in Amalia's letters to Knebel in the
year 1781. But the best known of the Tiefurt dramnas is
Goethe's Opleretta Die Fischerin, performed in the sumGoethe's birthday.




1777.]          PRIVATE THEATRICALS.              387
mer of 1782. The charming text, beginning with the
famous Erl-K6nig, is preserved in Goethe's works. The
piece was represented in the Tiefurt park, partly on the
bank of the llm near the bridge, partly oq the Ilm itself,
which was illuminated with numerous torches and lamps.
Under lofty alders against the river were placed scattered
huts of fishermen; nets, boats and fishing implements
stood around. On Dortchcen's (Corona Schrbter) hearth
fire was burning. At the moment in which the fishermen,
who had been called together, lighted their strips of wood
and torches, and spread themselves with their brilliant
lights in boats and on the banks of the river, to search for
the lost maiden, the light flashed suddenly up from the
necks of land which stretched forward into the Ilm, illuminating thp nearest objects, and showing their reflection
in the water, while the more distant groups of trees and
hills lay in deep night. The spectators had assembled in
great numbers, and as they crowded on the wooden
bridge, the better to catch the magical effect of the illumination on the water, their weight crushed the bridge in,
and the eager gazers fell into the river. No one, however,
was injured. The involuntary bathers were heartily
laughed at, and the.accident waV regarded as an amusing
interlude.
I find further that when the'Birds' of Aristophanes
was performed at Ettersburg, the actors were all dressed in
real feathers, their heads completely covered, though free
to move. Their wings flapped, their eyes rolled, and
ornithology was absurdly parodied. It is right to add,
that besides these extravagances and ombres chinoises,
there were very serious dramatic efforts: amohg them we
find Goethe's second dramatic attempt, Die Mitschuldigen,
which was thus cast:




388        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [Boox iv.
A Iceste.Goethe.
Soller..             Bertucli.
Der Wirth                        Mussius.
Sophie.....    Corona Schrbter.
Little did the Leipsic student, when writing that comedy,
imagine he would one day perform it at the court of Weimar! Another play was the Geschwister, written in
three evenings, it is said out of love for the sweet eyes of
Amalia Kotzebue, sister of the dramatist, then a youth.
Kotzebue thus touches the point in his Memoirs:' Goethe
had at, that time just written his charming piece, Die
Geschwister. It was performed at a private theatre at
Weimar, he himself playing William and my sister Mariane - while to me, yes to me -.was allotted the important part of postillion! My readers may imagine with
what exultation I trod the stage for the first time before
the mighty public itself:'.Another piece was Cumberland's West Indian, in which the Duke played Major
O'Flaherty, Eckhoff (the great actor) the Father, and
Goethe Belcour, dressed ir, a white coat with silver lace,
blue silk vest, and blue silk knee breeches, in which they
say he looked superb.
While mentioning these, I must not pais over the Ivphigenia (then in prose), which was thus cast:
Orestes... Goethe.
Pylades.                    Prince Constantine.
Thoas.. nebel.
%drkas.... Seidler.
Iphigenia......   Corona Schr6ter.'Never shall I forget,' exclaims Dr. Hufeland,' the impression Goethe made as Orestes, in his Grecian costume;
one might have fancied him Apollo. Never before had
there been seen such union of physical and intellectual
beauty in one man!' His acting, as far as I can learn,




1777.]          PRIVATE THEATRICALS.                389
had the ordinary defects of amateur acting; it was impetuous and yet stiff, exaggerated and yet cold; and his
fine sonorous voice displayed itself without nice reference
to shades of meaning. In comic parts, on the other hand,
he seems to have been excellent; the broader the fun,
the more at home he felt; and one can imagine the
rollicking animal spirits with which.he animated the
Marktschreier in the Plundersweiler; one can picture him
in that extravagance of the Gepflichtes Braut,* giving
vent to his sarcasm on the' sentimental' tone of the
age, ridiculing his own Werther, and merciless to Woldemnar.t
I have thus brought together, irrespective of dates, the
scattered indications of these theatrical amusements.
How much enjoyment was produced by them! what
social pleasure! and what endless episodes to which
memory recurred in after times, when seated round the
dinner table! Nor were these amusements profitless.
Wilhelm  Meister was designed and partly written about
this period, and the reader who knows Goethe's tendency
to make all his works biographicaljwill not be surprised
at the amount of theatrical experience which is mirrored in that work; nor at the earnestness which is there
made to lurk beneath amusement, so that what to the
crowd seems no more than a flattery of their tastes, is to
the man himself a process of the highest culture.
Boar-hunting in the light of early dawn, sitting in the
middle of the day in grave diplomacy and active council,.
rehearsing during the afternoon, and enlivening the even* Published under a very mitigateld form, as the Triumph der.Empfindsamkeit. See the next chapter for further notice of this
piece.
t Jacobi and Wieland were both seriously offended with his parodies of their writings; but both soon became reconciled to him.
f33R*




390        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
ing with grotesque serenades or torchlight sledgings —
thus passed many of his days; not to mention flirtations,
balls,'masquerades, concerts and verse-writing.  The
muse was, however, somewhat silent, though Hans Sachs'
poetische Sendung, Lila, some charming lyrics, and the
dramas and operas written for the occasion, forbid the
accusation of idleness. He was storing up materials.
Faust, Egmont, Tasso, Iphigenia and lMeister were germinating.
The muse was silent, but was the soul inactive? As
these strange and variegated scenes passed before his
eyes, was he a mere actor, and not also a spectator?
Let his works answer. To some indeed it has seemed as
if in thus lowering great faculties to the composition of
slight operas and festive pieces, Goethe was faithless to
_ is mission, false to his own genius. This is but a repetition of Merck's exclamation against Clavigo, and may
be answered from the same point of view. Herder thought
that the Chosen One should devote himself to great works.
This is the pedantry of a man of letters who can conceive no other aim than the production of great works.
But Goethe needed to live as well as to write. Life is
multiplied and rendered infinite by Feeling and Knowledge. He sought both to feel and to know. The great
works he has written - works vast in conception, austerely grand in execution, the fruits of earnest toil and
lonely self-seclusion - ought to shield him now from any
charge of wasting his time on frivolities, though to Herder
and Merck such a point of view was denied.
It wag his real artistic nature and genuine poetic mobility
which made. him scatter with so prodigal a hand the trifles
which distressed his friends. i Poetry was the melodious
voice breathing from his entire manhood, not a profession,
not an act of duty  It was an impulse; the sounding




1777.]        PRIVATE THEATRICALS.               391
chords of his poetic nature vibrated to every touch, grave
and stately, sweet and impassioned, delicate and humorous. He wrote not for Fame. He wrote not for Pence.
He wrote poetry because he had lived it; and sang as the1
bird sings on its bough.  Open to every impression,
touched to ravishment by beauty, he sang whatever at the
moment filled him with delight - now trilling a careless
snatch of melody, now a simple ballad, now a majestic
hymn ascending from the depths of his soul on incensebearing rhythms, and now a grave quiet chaunt, slow with
its rich burden of meanings. Men in whom the productive
activity is great cannot be restrained from throwing off
trifles, as the plant throws off buds beside the expanded
flowers.:Michael Angelo carved the Moses and painted
the Last Judgment,'but did he not also lend his masterhand to the cutting of graceful cameos?




392        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
CHAPTER VII.
BIANY-COLORED THREADS.
HITHERTO our narrative of this Weimar period has
moved mainly among generalities, for only by such means
could a picture of his life be painted. Now, as we advance further, it is necessary to separate the threads of
his career from those of others with which it was so
inwoven.
It has already been noted, that he began to tire of the
follies and extravagancies of the first months. In this
year, 1777; he was quiet in his Garden-house, occupied
with drawing, poetry, botany, and the one constant occupation of his heart - love for the Frau von Stein. Love
and ambition were the guides which led him through the
labyrinth of the court. Apnid those motley scenes, atnid
those swiftly-succeeding pleasures, Voices, sorrowing
Voices of the Past, made themselves audible above the
din, and recalled the vast hopes' which once had given
energy to his aims; and these reverberations of an Ambition once so cherished, arrested and rebuked him, like
the deep murmurs of some solemn bass moving slowly
through the showering caprices of a sportive melody.
The quiet influence exercised by the Frau von Stein is
visible in every page of his letters. As far as I can divine
the state of things, in the absence of her letters, I fancy
she coquetted with him; when hie showed any disposition
to throw off her yoke, when his manner seemed to ihiply




1777.)        MANY-COLORED THREADS.              393
less warmth, she lured him back with tenderness; and
vexed him with unexpected coldness when she had drawn
him once more to her feet.'You reproach me,' he
writes,'with alternations in my love. It is not true; but
it is well that I do not every day feel how utterly I love
you.' Again:' I cannot conceive why the main ingredients of your feeling have lately been Doubt and want of
Belief. But it is certainly true that one who did not hold
firm his affection might have that affection doubted away,
just as a man may be persuaded that he is pale and ill.'
That she tormented him with these coquettish doubts is
but too evident; and yet when he is away from her, she
writes to tell him he is become dearer!' Yes, my treasure!' he replies,' I believe you when you say your love
increases for me during absence. When away, you love
the idea you have formed of me; but when present, that
idea is often disturbed by my folly and madness..... I
love you better when present than when absent: hence I
conclude my love is truer than yours.' At times he seems
himself to have doubted whether he really loved her; or
only loved the delight of her presence.
With these doubts mingles another element, his Ambition to do something which will make him worthy of her.
In spite of his popularity, in spite of his genius, he has not
subdued her heart, but only agitated it. He endeavors,
by devotion, to succeed. Thus Love and Ambition play
into each other's hands, and keep him  in a seclusion
which astonishes and pains several of those who could
never have enough of his company.
In the June of this year, his solitude was visited by one
of the agitations he could least withstand - the death of
his only sister, Cornelia.  Sorrows and Dreamns, is the
significant entry of the following day in his Journal.
It was about this time that he undertook the care of




394        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK IV.
Peter Imbaumgarten, a Swiss peasant boy, the prot(ege of
his friend, Baron Lindau. The Baron dying, left Peter
once more w-ithout protection.  Goethe, whose heart was
open to alls especially to children, gladly undertook to continue the Baron's care; and as we have seen him sending
home an Italian image-boy to his mother at Frankfurt, as
Wilhelm Meister undertakes the care of Mignon and Felix,
so does this' cold' Goethe add love to charity, and become
a father to the fatherless.
The autumn tints were beginning to mingle *their red
and yellow with the dark and solemn firs of the Ilmenau
mountains, and Goethe and the Duke could not long keep
away from the loved spot, where poetical and practical
schemes occupied the day, and many a wild prank startled
the night. There they danced with peasant girls till early
dawn; the net result of which was a swelled face, forcing
Goethe to lay up.
On his return to Weimar, he. was distressed by the receipt 9f one of the many letters which Werther drew upon
him. He had made sentimentality poetical; it soon became a fashion. Many were the melancholy youths who
poured f6rth their sorrows to him, demanding sympathy
and consolation. Nothing could be more antipathetic to
his clear and healthy nature. It made him ashamed of
his Werther. It made him merciless to all Wertherism.
To relieve himself of the annoyance, he commenced the
satirical extravaganza of the Triumph der Emnpfindsamkeit.
Very significant, however, of the unalterable kindliness of
his disposition is the fact, that although these sentimentalities had to him only a painful or a ludicrous aspect, he
did not suffer his repugnance to the malady to destroy his
sympathy for the patient. There is a proof of this in the
episode lie narrates of his Harz Journey, made in No



1777.]         MANY-COLORED  THREADS.                 395
vember and December of this year.* Most readers know
his poem, Die Harzreise im Winter.  The object of that
journey was two-fold; to visit the ilmenau Mines, and to
visit an unhappy misanthrope whose Wertherism had distressed him.  He set out with the Duke, who had arranged
a hunting party to destroy a'great thing of a boar,'t
then ravaging the country round Eisenach; but, although
setting out with them, he left them, en route, for purposes
of his own.
Through hail, frost and mud, lonely, yet companioned
by great thoughts, he rode along the mountainous solitudes, and reached at last the Brocken.  A  bright sun
shone on its eternal sndws as he mounted, and looked
down upon the cloud-covered Germany beneath him.
Here he felt the air of freedom  swell his breast.  The
world with its conventions lay beneath him; the court
with its distractions was afar; and the poet stood amidst
these snowy solitudes communing with that majestic spirit
of Beauty which animates Nature. There,.'high above the misty air
And turbulence.of murmuring cities vast,' i
he was lost in reveries of his future life.:
Dem Geier gleich
Der auf den schweren Morgenwolken,
Mit sanftem Fittig ruhend,
Nach Beute schaut
Schwebe mein Lied.
* And not in 1776, as he says; that date is disproved by his letters to the Frau von Stein.
t The expression is classical, dear reader! It is to be found in
Herodotus, if not in severer writers, and seems felicitously to express the sort of wondering horror with which the peasants regarded
the monster. See Clio, xxvi.,S2 fpoi2fi.e Zo XZe,,wa dyto'reov Urefa'l,
x;. r. r.
t Wordsworth.




396        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
This image (I adopt his own explanation) of the hawk
poised above the heavy morning clouds looking for his
prey, is that of the poet on those snowy heights looking
down on the winter landscape, and with his mind's eye
seeking amidst the perplexities of social life for some
object worthy of his muse.
Writing to his beloved, he speaks of the good effect
this journeying amid simple people (to whom he is only
known as Herr Weber, a landscape painter) has upon
his imagination. It is like a cold bath, he says. And
d propos of his disguise, he remarks how very easy it is to
be a rogue, and what advantages it gives one over simple
honest men, to assume a character that is not your own.
But now let us turn to the second object of his journey.
The letter of the misanthrope just alluded to was signed
Plessing, and dated from Wernigerode. There was something remarkable in the excess of its morbidity, accompanied by indications of real talent. Goethe did not
answer it, having already hampered himself in various
ways by responding to such extraneous demands upon his
sympathy; another and more passionate letter came, imploring an answer, which was still silently avoided. But
now the idea of personally ascertaining what manner of
man his correspondent was, made him swerve from his
path; and under an assumed name he called on Plessing.
- On hearing that his visitor came from Gotha, Plessing
eagerly inquired whether he had not visited Weimar, and
whether he knew the celebrated men who lived there.
With perfect simplicity Goethe replied that he did, and
began talking of Kraus, Bertuch, Musaus, Jagemann, etc.,
when he was impatiently interrupted with' But why don't
you mention Goethe?' He answered that Goethe also had
he seen; upon this he was called upon to give a description of that great poet, which he did in a quiet way,




1777.]      MANY-COLORED THREADS.              397
sufficient to have betrayed his incognito to more sagacious
eyes.
Plessing then with great agitation informed him that
Goethe had not answered a most pressing and passionate
letter in which he, Plessing, had described the state of his
mind, and had implored direction and assistance. Goethe
excused himself as he best could; but Plessing insisted on
reading him the letters, that he might judge whether they
deserved such treatment.' Meanwhile,' says Goethe,' the deplorable condition of
this young man had become always clearer to me; he
had never taken cognizance of the outward world; but
had, on the contrary, cultivated his mind by multifarious
reading, and directed inwards all his powers and affections; and in this way, as in the depths of his being he
found no productive talent, he had gone far to ruin
himself altogether; even the occupation and consolation
which stand so gloriously open to us by employing ourselves with the ancient languages, seemed to be completely wanting to him.'As I had already proved, both in myself and others,
that the best remedy in such cases is to throw ourselves
with energy and faith upon Nature and her infinite variety,
I immediately made the attempt to apply it in this case
also; and after a little reflection answered him in the
following way: " I think I understand why the young
man, in whom you have placed so much confidence, has
remained silent to you; for his present way of thinking is
too different from yours to allow him to hope that you
could come to any agreement with each other. I have
myself been present during some conversations in the
circle 1 spoke of, and have heard it maintained that a
person can escape and save himself from a painful, selftorturing, gloomy state of mind, only by the contemplation
VOL. I.     34




398        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK IV.
of Nature, and' hearty sympathy with the outward world.
Even the most general acquaintance with Nature, it does
not signify in what way, — any active communication
with it, either in gardening or farming, hunting or mining,
draws us out of ourselves; the employment of mental
energies upon real, actual appearances, gives us, by degrees, the greatest satisfaction, clearness and instruction;
just as the artist who keeps true to Nature, and at the same
time goes on cultivating his mind, is certain to succeed
the best."' My young friend appeared to get very restless and
impatient at this, just as we do when we begin to be irritated at some foreign or entangled language, the meaning
of which we cannot understand; on which I, without much
hope of a successful result, but rather for the purpose of
not remaining silent, went on speaking. To me especially,
as a landscape painter, I said, did this appear evident, as
my particular department of Art was in direct communication with Nature: however, since that time, I had observed with more assiduity and eagerness than previously,
not only noted any remarkable natural landscapes and
appearances, but felt myself more full of love for all
things and all men. But in order that I might not lose
myself in the abstract, I related how even this compulsory
winter excursion, instead of being painful to me, had furnished me with lasting enjoyment. I described to him
picturesquely and poetically, and still as truly and naturally as I was able, the course of my journey; I pictured
the snow clouds which I saw that morning rolling above
the mountains, with the most diversified appearances
during the day-time; and then I presented to his imagination the curious turreted and walled fortifications of Nordhausen, as seen in the twilight; and further, in the nighttime, the torrents rushing down the mountain ravines,




1777.]         MANY-COLORED THREADS.             399
their waters illuminated transiently, and glistening in the
flickering light of the guide's lantern; and, last of all, the
miners' cavern. But here he interrupted me with warmth,
and assured me that he heartily regretted the trouble he
had taken in going to see it, short as the distance was; it
had not at all come up to the picture he had painted in
his imagination. After what had passed, such morbid
symptoms did not annoy me; for how often had I been
obliged to learn that mortals throw away the valuable
possession of a clear reality for a dismal phantom of their
gloomy imaginations! Just as little did it astonish me,
when he, in answer to my demand," How he had pictured the cavern to himself?" gave a description of it,
such as the boldest scene painter would scarcely have
dared to represent as the forecourt of Pluto's empire.'On this I tried some more propoedeutic suggestions as
expedients for effecting a cure; but these were rejected
so emphatically, with the assurance that nothing in this
world ever could or should content him, that my heart
closed itself against him, and I felt my conscience, by the
fatiguing journey I had undertaken on his account, and
with the consciousness of the best intentions towards him,
completely freed from the necessity of taking any further
trouble about him. It was already late, when he wanted
to read me the second still more passionate letter, which
also was not unknown to me; but he accepted my apology
for not wishing to listen to it then, from being too tired;
giving me at the same time an invitation to dinner the
day afterwards, in the name of his family; an answer to
which I told him I would give him early the next morning.
And thus we parted in peace and quietness; his person
leaving quite a peculiar impression behind. He was of middle size, his features had nothing attractive, but neither
had they anything repulsive in them; his gloomy air had




400         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
nothing uncourteous about it; and he might, in fact, have
passed for a well-educated young man, who had been
preparing himself in retirement, in schools and academies,
for the pulpit and professor's chair.' On going out, I found the sky quite cleared up, and
twinkling with stars, the streets and squares covered with
snow; and I stopped upon a narrow  bridge, and stood
quietly surveying the surrounding objects in the wintry
night. At the same time I revolved the adventure in my
mind, and felt myself quite resolved not to see the young
man again; in pursuance of which I ordered my horse at
daybreak, delivered an anonymous and apologetic slip of
paper to the waiter, to whom I was able, at the same time
to say many things in praise of the young person to whom
he had introduced me, and which were quite true besides,
and of which, no doubt, the dexterous fellow made good
use, for his own purposes. I now rode along the northeast slopes of the H-Iarz, in wild, stormy weather, with the
snow-flakes drifting-around me, after having first seen the
Rammelsberg, the brass-foundry, and other establishments
of that kind.' -
He was subsequently able to assist Plessing, who, on
visiting him at Weirnar, discovered his old acquaintance,
the landscape painter. t But the characteristic part of this
* Campaign in France; translated by Robert Farie. With reference to the above narrative, some slight inaccuracy in the details
(at which no one will be surprised on hearing that it was written
fifteen years subsequent to the occurrence) is indicated by the Diary,
fragments of which are published in the Stein correspondence: one
entry is,' With Plessing rambled among the mountains.'
t In 1788, Plessing was appointed Professor of Philosophy in the
University of Duisburg, where Goethe visited him on his return home
from the campaign in France, 1792. The reader may be interested to
know, that Plessing entirely outlived his morbid melancholy, and




1778.]        MANY-COLORED THREADS.                   401
anecdote — and that which makes me cite it here - is,
the practical illustration it gives of his fundamental realism,
which looked to nature and earnest activity as the sole cure
for megrims sentimentalisms and self-torturings. Turn
your mind to realities, and the self-made phantoms which
darken your soul will disappear like night at the approach
of dawn.
In the January of the following year (1778) Goethe
was twice brought face to face with Death. The first was
during a boar-hunt; his spear snapped in the onslaught,
and s.he was in imminent peril, but fortunately escaped.
On the following day, while he and the Duke were skating
(perhaps talking over that very escape), there came a
crowd over the ice, bearing the corpse of the unhappy
Fraulein von Lassberg, who, in the despair of unrequited
love, had drowned herself in the llm, close by the very
spot where Goethe was wont to take his evening walk.
At all times this would lhave been a shock to him, but the
shock was greatly intensified by the fact that in the pocket
of the unfortunate girl was found a copy of I7Verther! *
It is true we absolve an  author in such cases.  No
reflecting man ever reproached Plato with the suicide
of Cleombrotus, or Schiller with the brigandage of highwaymen. Yet when fatal coincidences occur, the author,
whom we absolve, cannot so lightly absolve himself. It
is in vain to argue that the work does not, rightly conbecame T respectable name in German letters. His principal works
are, Osiris und Socrates, 1783; Historische und Philosophische
Untersuchungen fiber die Denkart Thelogie und  Philosophie der
altesten Volker, 1785; and I1emnonium, oder Versuche zur Enthullung der Geheimnisse des Alterthums, 1787. He died 1806.
* Riemer, who will never admit anything that may seem to tell
against his idol, endeavors to throw a doubt on this fact, saying it
was reported only out of malice. But he gives no reasons.
34*




402       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK Iv.
sidered, lead to suicide; if it does so, wrongly considered,
it is the proximate cause, and the author cannot easily
shake off that weight of blame. Goethe, standing upon
logic, might have said:' If Plato instigated the suicide of
Cleombrotus, certainly he averted that of Olympiodorus;
if I have been one of the causes which moved this girl
towards that fatal act, I have also certainly been the cause
of saving others, notably that young Frenchman who
wrote to thank me.' Hle might have argued thus; but
Conscience is tenderer than Logic; and if, in firing at a
wild beast, I kill a brother hunter, my conscience wil not
leave me altogether in peace.
The body was borne to the house of the Frau von Stein,
which stood nearest the spot, and there he remained with
it the whole day, exerting himself to console the wretched
parents. He himself had need of some consolation. It
affected him deeply, and led him  to speculate on all
cognate subjects, especially on melancholy.'This inviting sadness,' he beautifully says,' has a dangerous
fascination, like water itself and we  are charmed by the
reflex of the stars of heaven which shines through both.'
He was soon, however,'forced into theatrical levity'
by the various rehearsals necessary for the piece to be
performed on the birthday of the Duchess.  This was
the Triumph der Empfindsamkeit.  The adventure with
Plessing, and finally this tragedy of the Fraulein von
Lassberg had given increased force to his antagonism
against Wertherism and Sentimentality, which he now
lashed with unsparing redicule. The hero of this extravaganza is a Prince, whose soul is only fit for moonlight
ecstasies and sentimental rhapsodies. He adores Nature;
not the rude, rough, imperfect Nature whose gigantic
energy would alarm any truly sensitive mind; but the
beautiful rose-pink Nature of books.  He likes Nature as




1778.]        MANY-COLORED THREADS.               403
one sees it at the Opera. Rocks are picturesque, it is
true; but they are often crowned with tiaras of snow,
sparkling but apt to make one' chilly;' turbulent winds
howl through their clefts and crannies in a style alarming
to delicate nerves. The Prince is not fond of the winds.
Sunrise and early morn are lovely - but damp; and the
Prince is liable to rheumatism.
To obviate all such inconveniences he has had a
mechanical imitation of Nature executed for his use, and
this accompanies him on his travels;so that at a moment's
notice, in secure defiance of rheumatism, he can enjoy a
moonlight scene, a sunny landscape, or a sombre grove.
He is in love; but his mistress is as factitious as his
landscapes. Woman is charming but capricious, fond but
exacting; and therefore the Prince has a doll dressed in
the same style as the woman he once loved. By the side
of this doll he passes hours of rapture; for it he sighs;
for it he rhapsodizes.
The real woman appears -the original of that much
treasured image.  Is he enraptured?  Not in the least.
His heart does not palpitate in her presence; he does not
recognize her; but throws himself once more into the
arms of his doll, and thus sensibility triumphs.
There are five acts of this'exquisite fooling.' Originally it was much coarser and more personal than we now
see it. Bbttiger says that there scarcely remains a shadow
of its flashing humor and satiric caprice. The whip of
Aristophanes was applied with powerful wrist to every
fashionable folly, in dress, literature, or morals, and the
spectators saw themselves as in a mirror of sarcasm. At
the conclusion, the doll was ripped open, and out fell a
multitude of books, such as were then the rage, upon
which severe and ludicrous judgments were passed -and
the severest upon Werther.  The whole piece was inter



404          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [Boo( riv.
spersed with ballets, music and comical changes of scene;
so that what now appears a tiresome farce, was /then an
irresistible extravaganza.
This extravaganza has the foolery of Aristophanes, and
the'physical fun' of that riotous wit, whom Goethe was
then studying. But when German critics are in ecstasies
with its wit and irony, I confess myself at a loss to conceive clearly what they mean. National wit, however, is
perhaps scarcely amenable to criticism. What the German
thinks exquisitely ludicrous, is to a Frenchman, or an
Englishman, generally of a quite mediocre mirthfulness.
Wit, which requires delicate handling, the Germans
generally touch with gloved hands. Sarcasm is with
them a sabre not a rapier, hacking the victim where a
thrust would suffice. It is a noticeable fact that amnid all
the riches of their Literature they have nothing strictly
speaking Comic of a high order. They have produced
no Comedy.  To  them  may be applied  the  couplet
wherein the great original of Grotesque Seriousness sets
forth his verdict:
Jwuw!to&5arzafltcX   Etv'at acAEuWZT.LOv' EQyov LaTUrCL1a',
11o2.2cv aQ 7hj 71C-E1ttaGcVTr)V CaTljv otlyoig ZaYU1aoact.*
which I will venture to turn thus:
Miss Comedy is a sad flirt,- you may guess,
From the number who court her, the few she doth bless!
*Aristophanes, Equites, v. 516.




1778.]       THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.            405
CHAPTER VIII.
THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.
A STRANGE phantasmagoria is the life he led at this
epoch. His employments are manifold, yet his studies,
his drawing, etching and rehearsing are carried on as if
they alone were the occupation of the day. His immense
activity, and power of varied employment, scatter the
energies which might be consecrated to some great work;
but in return, they give him the varied store of material
of which he stood so much in need. At this time he is
writing Wilhelm  Meister and Egmont; Iphigenia is also
taking shape in his mind. His office gives him much to
do; and Gervinus, who must have known how great were
the calls upon his time, should have paused ere he threw
out the insinuation of' diplomatic rudeness' when Goethe
answered one of his brother-in-law's letters through his
secretary.  Surely with a brother-in-law one may take
such latitude? *
This man, whose diplomatic coldness and artistocratic
haughtiness have formed the theme of so many long tirades, was of all Germans the most sincerely democratic,
until the Reign of Terror in France frightened him, as it
* Since the above was written, the correspondence with the Frau
v. Stein has appeared; and from it we learn that in Switzerland he
even dictated some letters to her!




406        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BooK iv.
did others, into.more modified opinions. " Not only was
he always delighted to be with the people, and to share
their homely ways, which his own simple tastes made
consonant with theirs, but we find him in the confidence
of intimacy expressing his sympathy with the people in
the heartiest terms.  When among the miners he writes
to his beloved,' How strong my love has returned upon
me for these lower classes! which one calls the lower,
but which in God's eyes are assuredly the highest! Here
you meet all the virtues combined: Contentedness, Moderation, Truth, Straightforwardness, Joy in the slightest
good, Harmlessness, Patience — Patience - Constancy
in —  in..... I will not lose myself in panegyric!'
Again, he is writing Iphigenia, but the news-of the
misery and famine among the stocking-weavers of Apolda
paralyzes him.'The Drama will not advance a step: it
is cursed; the King of Tauris must speak as if no stocking-weaver in Apolda felt the pangs of hunger!''In striking contrast stands the expression of his contempt for what was called the'great world,' as he
watched it in his visits to the neighboring Courts. If
affection bound him to Karl August, whom  he was forming, and to Luise, for whom he had a tender chivalrous
regard, his eyes were not blind to the nullity of other
princes and their followers.'Good society have I seen,'
runs one of his epigrams;'they call it the " good,"
although there is not in it the material for the smallest of
poems.'
Gute Gesellschaft hab' ich gesehen; man nennt sic die Gute
Wenn sic zum kleinstein Gedicht keine Gelegenheit giebt.
Notably was this the case in his journey with the Duke
to Berlin, May 1778. He only remained a few days
there; saw much, and not without contempt.'I have
got quite close to old Fritz, having seen his way of life,




1778.]        THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.              407
his gold, his silver, his statues, his apes, his parrots, and
heard his own curs twaddle about the great man.' He
shut his soul from the Berlin world' as if in a castle.'
With the men he held no intercourse.'  have spoken no
word in the Prussian dominions which might not be made
public.  Therefore I am  called haughty and so forth.'
Varnhagen intimates that the ill-will he excited by not
visiting the literati, and by his reserve, was so great as to
make him averse from hearing of his visit in after years.*
What, indeed, as Varnhagen asks, had Goethe in common
with Nicolai, Ramler, Engel, Zellner, and  the rest?
Humboldt he visited at Tegel, but the great traveller was
then a youth, and had not taken his place among the
notables. Frederick the Great took no notice of him.
Indeed, Frederick's admiration lay in other directions.
What culture he had was French, and his opinion of
German literature had been very explicitly pronounced
in a work published this year, in which Gdtz von Berlichingen was cited as a sample of the reigning bad taste.
The passage is too curious to be omitted.' Vous y verrez
representer les abominables pieces de Shakspear traduites
en notre langue, et tout l'auditoire se pamer d'aise en
entendant ces farces ridicules, et dignes des sauvages de
Canada.' That certainly was afflicting to' le bon gout;'
but that was not the worst. Shakespeare might be pardoned for his faults,'car la naissance des arts n'est
jamais le point de leur maturite.  Mais voila encore un
Goetz de Berlichingen qui parait sur la scene, imitation
detestable de ces mauvaises pieces anglaises, et le parterre
applaudit et demande avec enthousiasme la re6ptition de
ces degouttantes platitudes!'
* Vermischte Schriften, iii. p. 62.
t De la Littirateur Alllemande, p. 46. His opinion of the newlydiscovered Nibelungen Lied was no less characteristically contemptuous: he declared he would not give such rubbish house-room.




408        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.           [BOOK IV.
Thus the two German Emperors, Fritz and Wolfgang,
held no spiritual congress; perhaps no good result could
have been elicited by their meeting. Yet they were, each
in his own sphere, the two'most potent men then reigning.
Fritz did not directly assist the literature of his country,
but his indirect influence has been indicated by Griepenkerl.* He awoke the Germans from their sleep by the
rolling of drums; those who least liked the clang of arms
or the'divisions of a battle field,' were nevertheless
awakened to the fact that something important was going
on in life, and they rubbed their sleepy eyes, and tried to
see a little into that. The roll of drums has this merit, at
all events, that it draws men from their library table to
the window, and so makes them look out upon the moving,
living world of action, wherein the erudite may see a'considerable sensation' made even by men unable to
conjugate a Greek verb in't-.' t
On returning to Weimar, Goethe occupied himself with
various architectural studies, a propos of the rebuilding of
the palace; and commenced those alterations in the park,
which resulted in the beautiful distribution formerly described. But I pass over many details of his activity, to
narrate an episode which must win the heart of every
reader. In these pages it has been evident, I hope, that
no compromise with the truth has led me to gloss over
faults, or to conceal shortcomings. All that testimony
warrants I have reproduced: good and evil, as in the
mingled yarn of life. Faults and deficiencies, even griev* Der KIunstgenius der Deutschen Literatur des letzten Jahrhunderts, i. p. 52.
t Dr. George has become famous (or did become so -for, alas!
what is fame?) by his shrewd suspicion that Frederick with all his
victories could not accomplish that feat of intellectual vigor. Many
men still measure greatness by verbs in,et.




1778.]        THIE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.               409
ous errors, do not estrange a friend from our hearts; why
should they lower a hero? Why should the biographer
fear to trust the' tolerance of human sympathy? Why
labor to prove a hero faultless? The reader is no valet
de chanmbre, incapable of crediting greatness in a robe de
chambre.  Never should we forget the profound saying of
Hegel, in answer to the vulgar aphorism (' No man is a
hero to his valet de chambre'); namely,'This is not
because the Hero is no Hero, but because the Valet is a
Valet.'@   Having trusted to the effect which the true man
would produce, in spite of all drawbacks, - and certain
that the true man was loveable as well as admirable, I
have made no direct appeal to the reader's sympathy,
nor tried to' make out a case in favor of extraordinary
virtue.'
But the tribute of affectionate applause is claimed now
we have arrived at a passage in his life so characteristic
of the delicacy, generosity and nobility of his nature, that
it is scarcely possible for any one not to love him, after
reading it. Of generosity, in the more ordinary sense,
there are abundant examples in his history. Riemer has
instanced several, t but these are acts of kindness, thoughtfulness and courtesy, such as one expects to find in a prosperous poet. That he was kind, gave freely, sympathized
fieely, acted disinterestedly, and that his kindness showed
itself in trifles quite as much as in important actions (a
most significant trait!:), is known to all persons moderately
* Nicht aber darum weil dieser kein Held ist, sondern well jener
der Kammerdiener ist.' - Philosophie der Geschichte, p. 40. Goethe
repeated this as an epigram; and Carlyle has wrought it into the
minds of hundreds; but Hegel is the originator.
t l2ittheilungen, vol. i. 102 - 5.
t There is lamentable confusion in our estimation of character
on this point of generosity. We often mistake a spasm of sensibility
vOL. I.       35




410          LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.           [BOOK IV.
acquainted with German literature. But the disposition
exhibited in the story I am about to tell is such as few
would have imagined to be lying beneath the stately prudence and calm self-mastery of the man so often styled' heartless.'
This is the story: A man (his name still remains a
secret) of a strange, morbid, suspicious disposition, had
fallen into destitution, partly from  unfortunate circumstances, partly from his own fault.  He applied to Goethe
for assistance, as so many others did; and he painted his
condition in all the eloquence of despair.' According to the idea I form of you from your letters,'
writes Goethe,' I fancy 1 am not deceived, and this to me
is very painful, in believing that I cannot give help or
hope to one who needs so much. But I am not the man
to say, "Arise, and go farther."  Accept the little that I
can give, as a plank thrown towards you for momentary
succor. If you remain longer where you are, I will gladly
see that in future you receive some slight assistance. In
acknowledging the receipt of this money, pray inform me
how far you can make it go. If you are in want of a
dress, greatcoat, boots, or warm stockings, tell me so; I
have some that I can spare.'Accept this drop of balsam  from  the compendious
medicine-chest of the Samaritan, in the same spirit as it is
offered.'
This was on the 2d of November, 1778. On the 11th
for the strength of lovingness - making an occasional act of kindness the sign of a kind nature. Benjamin Constant says of himself:' Je puis faire de bonnes et fortes actions; je ne puis avoir de bons
procdeis. There are hundreds like him. On the other hand, there
are hundreds who willingly perform many little acts of kindness and
courtesy, but who never rise to the dignity of generosity; these are
poqr natures, ignorant of the grander throbbings of human pulses.




1778.]       THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.            411
he writes again, and from the letter we see that he had
resolved to do more than throw out a momentary plank to
the shipwrecked man - in fact he had undertaken to support him.'In this parcel you will receive a greatcoat, boots,
stockings and some money. My plan for you this winter
is this:' In Jena living is cheap. I will arrange for board,
lodging, etc., on the strictest economy, and will say it is
for some one who, with a small pension, desires to live in
retirement.  When that is secured I will write to you;
you can then go there, establish yourself in your quarters,
and I will send you cloth and lining, with the necessary
money, for a coat, which you can get made, and I will
inform the rector that you were recommended to me, and
that you wish to live in retirement at the University.'You must then invent some plausible story, have your
name entered on the books of the University, and no soul
will ever inquire more about you, neither Burgomaster
nor Amtmann. I have not sent you one of my coats, because it might be recognized in Jena. Write to me and
let me know what you think of this plan, and at all events
in what character you propose to present yourself.'
The passage in italics indicates great thoughtfulness.
Indeed the whole of this correspondence shows the most
tender consideration for the feelings of his prot6g6. In
the postscript he says:' And now step boldly forth again
upon the path of life! We live but once.... Yes, I
know perfectlyvwhat it is to take the fate of another upon
one's own shoulders, but you shall not perish!' On the
23d he writes:' I received to-day your two letters of the 17th and 18th,
and have so far anticipated their contents as to have caused
inquiry to be made in Jena for the fullest details as for one




412        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BooK Iv.
who wished to live there under the quiet protection of the
University. Till the answer arrives keep you quiet at
Gera, and the day after to-morrow I will send you a
parcel and say more.' Believe me you are not a burden on me; on the contrary, it teaches me economy. Ifritter away much of my
income which I might spare for those in want. And do
you think that your tears and blessings go for nothing?
He who has, must give, not bless; and if the Great and
the Rich have divided between them the goods of this
world, Fate has counterbalanced these by giving to the
wretched the powers of blessing, powers to which the fortunate know not how to aspire.'
Noble words! In the mouth of a pharisaical philanthropist declaiming instead of giving, there would be
something revolting in such language; but when we know
that the hand which wrote these words was'open as day
to melting charity,' when we know that (in spite of all
other claims) he gave up for some years the sixth part of
his very moderate income to rescue this stranger from
want, when we know by the irrefragable arguments of
deeds, that this language was no hollow phrase, but the
deep and solemn utterance of a thoroughly human heart,
then, I say, those words awaken reverberations within our
hearts, calling up feelings of loving reverence for him who
uttered them.
How wise and kind is this also:'Perhaps' there will
soon turn up occasions for you to be useful to me where you
are, for it is not the Project-maker and Promiser, but he
who in trifles affords real service, that is welcome to one
who would so willingly do something good and enduring.'I-ate not the poor philanthropists with their precautions and conditions, for one need pray diligently to
retain, amidst such bitter experience, the good-will, cour



1778.]      THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.           413
age and levity of youth, which are the main ingredients
of benevolence. And it is more than a benefit which God
bestows when He calls us, who can so seldom do anything,
to lighten the burden of one truly wretched.'
The next letter, dated December 11th, explains itself:' Your letter of the 7th I received early this morning.
And first to calm your mind: you shall be forced to
nothing; the hundred dollars you shall have, live where
you may; but now listen to me.
I know that to a man his Ideas are Realities; and although the image you have of Jena is false, still I know
that nothing is less easily reasoned away than such hypochondriacal anxieties. I think Jena the best place for
your residence, and for many reasons. The University
has long lost its ancient wildness and aristocratic prejudices; the students are not worse than in other places, and
among them there are some charming people. In Jena,
they are so accustomed to the flux and reflux of men that
no individual is remarked. And there are too many living
in excessively straitened means, for poverty to be either a
stigma or a noticeable peculiarity. Moreover it is a city
where you can more easily procure all necessities. In the
country during winter, ill, and without medical advice,
would not that be miserable?'Further, the people to whom I referred you are good
domestic people, who, on my account, would treat you
well. Whatever might occur to you, I should be in a condition, one way or another, to assist you. I could aid you
in establishing yourself; need only for the present guarantee your board and lodging, and pay for it later on. I
could give you a little on New Year's Day, and procure
what was necessary on credit. You would be nearer to
me. Every market day I could send you something —
wine, victuals, utensils that would cost me little, and would
35*




414        LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.    [BOOK Iv.
make your existence more tolerable; and I could thus
make you more a part of my household expenses. The
objection to Gera is, that communication with it is so difficult; things do not arrive at proper times, and cost money
which benefits no one. You would probably remain six
months in Jena before any one remarked your presence.
This is the reason why I preferred Jena to every other
place, and you would do the same if you could but see
things with untroubled vision. How, if you were to make
a trial?  However, I know a fly can distract a man with
sensitive nerves, and that, in such cases, reasoning is
powerless.' Consider it: it will make all things easier. I promise
you you will be comfortable in Jena. But if you cannot
overcome your objections, then remain in Gera. At New
Year you shall have twenty-five dollars, and the same
regularly every quarter. I cannot arrange it otherwise.
I must look to my own household demands; that which I
have given you already, because I was quite unprepared
for it, has made a hole, which I must stop up as I can.' If you were in Jena, I could give you some little commissions to execute for me, and perhaps some occupation;
I could also make your personal acquaintance, and so on.'But act just as your feelings dictate; if my reasons do
not convince you, remain in your present solitude. Commence the writing of your life, as you talk of doing, and
send it me piece-meal, and be persuaded that I am only
anxious for your quiet and comfort, and chose Jena simply
because I could there do more for you.'
The hypochondriacal fancies of the poor man were invincible; and instead of going to Jena hlie went to llmenau,
where Goethe secured him  a home, and sent him books
and money. Having thus seen to his material comforts,
he besought him to occupy his mind by writing out the




1778.1       THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.             415
exlperience of his life, and what he had observed on
his travels.  In the following letter he refers to his other
pre;otg~, Peter Imbaumgarten.' I am very glad the contract is settled. Your maintenance thus demands a hundred dollars yearly, and I will
guarantee the twenty-five dollars quarterly, and contrive
also that by the end of this month you shall receive
a regular allowance for pocket-money. I will also send
what I can in natura, such as paper, pens, sealing wax,
etc. Meanwhile here are some books.'Thanks for your news; continue them.  The wish to
do good is a bold, proud wish; we must be thankful when
we can secure even a little bit.' I have now a proposition to make.  When you are in
your new quarters I wish you would pay some attention
to a boy, whose education I have undertaken, and who
learns the huntsman's craft in Ilmenau. He has begun
French; could you not assist him in it? He draws nicely; could you not keep him to it? I wo.uld fix the hours
when he should come to you. You would lighten my
anxiety about him if you could by friendly intercourse
ascertain the condition of his mind, and inform me of it;
and if you could keep an eye upon his progress. But of
course this depends on your feeling disposed to undertake
such a task. Judging from  myself - intercourse with
children always makes mefeel young and happy. On hearing your answer, I will write more particulars. You will
do me a real service, and I shall be able to add monthly
the trfle which I have set aside for the boy's education.' I trust T shall still be able to lighten your sad condition,
so that you may recover your cheerfulness.'
Let me call attention to the delicacy with which he here
intimates that he does not mean to occupy Kraft's * time
* Herr Kraft was the assunmcd name of this still anonymous proteg6.




416        LIFE AND WORIKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
without remunerating it. If that passage be thoroughly
considered, it will speak as much for the exquisite kindness of Goethe's nature as any greater act of liberality.
Few persons would have considered themselves unentitled
to ask such a service fiom one whose existence they had
secured. To pay for it would scarcely have entered their
thoughts. But Goethe felt that to demand a service, which
might be irksome, would, in a certain way, be selling
benevolence; if he employed Kraft's time, it was right that
he should pay what he would have paid another master.
On the other hand, he instinctively shrunk from the indelicacy of making a decided bargain. It was necessary to
intimate that the lessons would be paid for; but with that
intimation he also conveyed the idea that in undertaking
such a task, Kraft would be conferring an obligation upon
him; so that Kraft might show his gratitude, might benefit
his benefactor, and nevertheless be benefited. After reading such a sentence I could, to use WVieland's expression,'have eaten Goethe for love!'
Kraft accepted the charge; and Goethe having sent him
some linen for shirts, some cloth for a coat, and begged
him to write without the least misgiving, now sends this
letter:' Many thanks for your care of Peter; the boy greatly
interests me, for he is a legacy of the unfortunate Lindau.
Do him all the good you can quietly. How you may
advance him! I care not whether he reads, draws, or
learns French, so that he does occupy his time, and I hear
your opinion of him. For the present, let him consider
his first object is to acquire the huntsman's craft, and try
to learn from him how he likes it, and how he gets on
with it. For, believe me, man must have a trade which
will support him. "The artist is never paid; it is the artisan.
Chliodowiecki, the artist whom we admire, would cat but




1778.]       THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.             417
scanty mouthfuls; but Chodowiecki, the artisan, who with
his wood-cuts illumines the most miserable daubs, he is
paid.'
In a subsequent letter he says,'Many thanks. By
your attention to these things, and your care of Peter, you
have performed true service for me, and richly repaid all
that I may have been able to do for you. Be under no
anxiety about the future, there will certainly occur opportunities wherein you can be useful to me; meanwhile continue as heretofore.' This was written on the very day of
his return to Weimar from  the Swiss journey! If this
tells us of his attention to his protege, the next letter tells
us of his anticipating even the casualty of death, for he
had put Kraft on the list of those whom he left as legacies
of benevolence to his friends. It should be remarked that
Goethe seems to have preserved profound secrecy with
respect to the good he was then doing; not even in his
confidential letters to Frau von Stein is there one hint of
Kraft's existence. In short, nothing is wanting to complete the circle of genuine benevolence.
The year-1781 began with an increase of Kraft's pension; or rather, instead of paying a hundred dollars for
his board and lodging, and allowing him pocket-money, he
made the sum two hundred dollars.  I can spare as
much as that; and you need not be anxious about every
trifle, but can lay out your money as you please. Adieu;
and let me soon hear that all your sorrows have left you.'
This advance seems to have elicited a demand for more
money, which produced the following characteristic answer.' You have done well to disclose the whole condition of
your mind to me; I can make all allowances, little as I
may be able to completely calm you. My own affairs will
not permit me to promise you a farthing more than tihe




418       LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.           [BooK iv.
two hundred dollars, unless I were to get into debt, which
in my place would be very unseemly. This sum you
shall receive regularly. Try to make it do.'I certainly do not suppose that you will change your
place of residence without my knowledge and consent.
Every man has his duty, make a duty of your love to me
and you will find it light.' It would be very disagreeable to me if you were to
borrow from any one. It is precisely this miserable unrest now trbubling you which has been the misfortune of
your whole life, and you have never been more contented
with a thousand dollars than you now are with two hundred; because you always still desired something which
you had not, and have never accustomed your soul to
accept the limits of necessity. I do not reproach you with
it; I know, unhappily too well, how it pertains to you, and
feel how painful must be the contrast between your present and your past. But enough! One word for a
thousand: at the end of every quarter you shall receive
fifty dollars; for the present an advance shall be made.
Limit your wants: the Must is hard, and yet solely by,
this Must can we show how it is with us in our inner man.
To live according to caprice requires no peculiar powers.' "
The following explains itself:' If you once more read over my last letter, you will
see plainly that you have misinterpreted it. You are
neither fallen in my esteem, nor have I a bad opinion of
you, neither have I suffered my good opinion to be led
astray, nor has your mode of thinking become damaged in
* I will give the original of this fine saying, as I have rendered it
but clumsily: Das Mluss ist hart, aber beim Muss kann der Mensch
allein zeigen wie's inwendig mit ihm steht. Willkiirlich leben kann
jeder.




1778.]       THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.             419
my eyes: all these are exaggerated expressions, such as
a rational man should not permit himself. Because I also
speak out my thoughts with freedom, because I wish certain traits in your conduct and views somewhat different,
does that mean that I look on you as a bad man, and that
I wish to discontinue our relations?'It is these hypochondriacal, weak and exaggerated notions, such as your last letter contains, which I blame and
regret. Is it proper that you should say to me: I am to
prescribe the tone in which all your future letters must be
written.  Does one command an honorable, rational man
such things as that? Is it ingenuous in you on such an
occasion to underline the words that you eat my bread?
Is it becoming in a moral being, when one gently blames
him, or names sorhething in him as a malady, to fly out
as if one had pulled the house about his ears?' Do not misconstrue me, therefore, if I wish to see you
contented and satisfied with the little I can do for you.'So, if you will, things shall remain just as they were;
at all events I shall not change my behavior towards
you.'
The unhappy man seems to have been brought to a
sense of his injustice by this, for although there is but one
more letter, bearing the date 1783, that is, two years
subsequent to the one just given, the connection lasted for
six years. The denouement is untold; and we know not
whether death released Goethe from the responsibility, or
whether Kraft's circumstances were bettered by any regular
employment. When Goethe undertook.to write the life of
Duke Bernhard he employed Kraft to make extracts for
him from the Archives; which extracts, Luden, when he
came to look over them with a biographical purpose,
found utterly worthless.* The last words we find of
* See Luden's Rilckbliclke in. Mcein Leben.




420         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
Goethe's addressed to Kraft are,' You have already been
of service to me, and other opportunities will offer. I
have no grace to dispense, and my favor is not so fickle.
Farewell, and enjoy your little in peace.'
I do not envy the philosophy of that man who can read
these letters unmoved. To my apprehension they reveal
a nature so exquisite in far-thoughted tenderness, so true
and human in its sympathies with suffering, and so ready
to alleviate suffering by sacrifices rarely made to friends,
much less to strangers, that after reading them, the epithets of'cold' and' heartless,' so often applied to him,
sound like blasphemies against the noblest feelings of
humanity.  Observe, this Kraft was no romantic object
appealing to the sensibility; he had no thrilling story to
stimulate sympathy; there was no'subscription list'
opened for him; there were no coteries weeping over his
misfortunes. Unknown, unfriended, ill at ease with himself and with the world, he revealed his wretchedness in
secret to the great poet, and in secret that poet pressed his
hand, dried his eyes and ministered to his wants. And
he did this not as one act, not as one passing impulse, but
as the sustained sympathy, of six years.
Pitiful and pathetic to me is the thought that such a
man can, for so many years, both in his own country and
in ours, have been reproached, nay even vituperated as
cold and heartless! A certain reserve and stiffness of
manner, a certain soberness of old age, a want of political
enthusiasm, and some sentences wrenched from their true
meaning, are the evidences, whereon men build the
strange hypothesis that he was an Olympian Jove sitting
above Humanity, seeing life but not feeling it, his heart
dead to all noble impulses, his career, a calculated egotism.
How it was that one so heartless became the greatest poet




1778.]       THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.              421.of modern times- how it was that he whose works contained the widest compass of human life, should himself
be a bloodless, pulseless Diplomatist — no one thought
of explaining till Menzel arose, and with unparalleled
effrontery maintained that Goethe had no genius, but only
talent, and that the miracle of his works lies in their style
— a certain adroitness in representation! Menzel is a
man so completely rejected by England - the translation
of his work met with such hopeless want of encouragement, - that I am perhaps wrong to waste a line upon it;
but the bold style in which his trenchant accusations are
made, and the assumption of a certain manliness as the
momentum to his sarcasms, have given his attacks on
Goethe a circulation independent of his book. To me he
appears radically incompetent to appreciate a poet. I
should as soon think of asking the first stalwart Kentish
farmer for his opinion on the Parthenon. The farmer
would doubtless utter some energetic sentences expressive
of his sense of its triviality; but the brutality of his language would not supply the place of knowledge, feeling
and taste; nor does the brutality of Menzel's style supply
those deficiencies of nature and education which incapacitate him for the perception of Art.
The paradox still remains then, in spite of Menzel: A
great poet destitute of the feelings which poetry incarnates
- a man with a great soul, destitute of soul - a man who
wrote Werther, Egmont, Faust, Hermann und Dorothea,
and lIeister, yet knew not the joys and sorrows of his
kind; will any one defend that paradox? - Not only
* I remember once, as we were walking along Piccadilly, talking
about the infamous Buchlein von Goethe, Carlyle stopping suddenly
and with his peculiar look and emphasis, saying,' Yes it is the wild
cry of amazement on the part of all spooneys that the Titan was not
VOL. I.      36




422         LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.   [BOOK IV.
that paradox, but the still more inexplicable one, of all
who knew Goethe, whether they were his peers or his
servants, loving him as only loveable natures can be loved.
Children, women, clerks, professors, poets, princes -all
loved him. Even Herder, bitter against every one, spoke
of him with a reverence which astonished Schiller, who
writes:' He is by many besides Herder named with a
species of devotion, and still more loved as a man than
admired as an author. Herder says he has a clear, universal mind, the truest and deepest feeling, and the greatest purity of heart.'` Men might learn so much from
his works had not the notion of his coldness and indifference disturbed their judgment.' In no line,' says Carlyle,' does he speak with asperity of any man, scarcely of
anything. He knows the good and loves it; he knows
the bad and hateful and rejects it; but in neither case with
violence. His love is calm and active; his rejection implied rather than pronounced.'
But so it is in life: a rumor, originating perhaps in
thoughtless ignorance, circulated by relentless malice,
gains credence in the face of evidence, which no amount
of evidence suffices to dissipate. There is an atmosphere
round certain names, a halo of glory or a halo of infamy,
and men perceive this halo without seeking to ascertain its
origin. Every public man is in some respects mythical;
and the fables are believed in spite of all the contradictions
of evidence. It is useless to hope that men will pause to
inquire into the truth of what they hear said of another,
before accepting and repeating it; but with respect to
a spooney too! Here is a godlike intellect, and yet you see he is not
an idiot! Not in the least a spooney!'
* Briefw. mit Korner, i. p. 136.




1778.]      THE REAL PHILANTHROPIST.           423
Goethe, who has now been nearly a quarter of a century
in his grave, one may hope that evidence so strong as
these pages furnish may be held more worthy'of credence
than anything which gossip or ignorance, misconception
or partisanship, has flung upon the wings of Rumor.








APPENDI X.
APPENDIX A.
Latin Dialogue composed by Goethe in his eighth year.
PATER ET FILIUS. JAN. 1757.
F. Licetne tecum ire in cellam vinariam?
P. Immo licebit: utprimum dixeris, quid illic facturus sis.
F. Audio, quod vina replenda sint, cujus rci notionem veram
habere cuperem.
P. Astute, latet sub hoc quid monstri: dic verum.
F. Ingenue fatear: volupe est tandem aliquando videre lapidem fundamentalem et clausularem.
P. Sequere me, voluntati tuse in utroque satis fiet.
F. Lubens sequar. Verum ecce sumus ad scalas. Quva tenebrse Cimmerise, sepulcrum ipsum non potest esse obscurius.
P. Mitte hanc, hac vice, funestam  imaginem: descende mi
fili provide et mox infra lucem invenies.
F. Rectissime: jamjam  omnes res circumjacentes video, ut,
ahena, ollas, doliola, orcas, labra e. i. g. a.
P. Exspecta paulisper, plura adhuc eaque clariora hactenus
tibi patefient.
F. Profecto, clarum  illud perpausillum  quod per cellse spiraculum intrat illuminat omnia.
P. Ubinam igitur opinaris, genio tuo satisfacere.
3G6




426                     APPENDIX.
F. Lapidem  quideml, quem dicunt, clausulareml super caput
meum  optime cerno, at lapidem fundamentalemr reperire non
licet.
P. Ecce in isto angulo in murum inclusus cminet.
F. Video et recordor, illum multis solenitatibus adhibitis a
me eo collocatum fuisse.
P. Potesne alia atque alia eodem tempore gesta, tibi revocare in memoriam.
F. Quidni: Me ipsum video scilicet in abisso ut murarium
amictum spatulam manu tenentem magnoque murariorum sociorum agmine stipatum, lapicida latus meum claudente.
P. Nihilne amplius tune eveniebat?
F. Quod sic. Primarius nempe corum murariorum Ciceronem (ut solent) agere voluit, cui tamen concione vix coepta vox
faucibus hmsit, steteruntque comae * quas proe pudore sibi evellere non cessavit spectatoribus interim cum deridentibus.
P. Quid boni nunc ad hunc lapidem  cogitas, quem  intueri
adeo anhelasti?
F. Cogito mecum  et opto, ut iste haud prius quam  cum
mundi ipsius interitu universali de loco suo moveatur.
P. Id soli Deo commitendum esse certe scio.  Ta'u vero progredere mecum ulterius.
F. Papme, quam commode nobis cx hac in majorem transire
licet cellam multa sane opera multoque oleo constiterit usque
dum hame apertura conficeretur.
P. Rem acu tetigisti: adde adhuc periculum, quod operarii
iniverunt, inprimis in exstruendis, quas hie vides, scalis primariis, ubi tota fere hoec fornix fulcris innumeris sustinebatur.
F. Et tamen in tantis periculis habitationem ipsi non mutavimus. 0 salutarem inscitiam! etenim si ego hoc scivissem,
non tam secure in utramvis aurem dormivissem:
P. An nescis, quam dulce sit, preeteritorum meminisse periculorum.
At, mi fili,. respice nune et alterum scopum, quomodo videlicet implentur dolia.
F. IIem, quid hoc sibi vult, quod tantum vini singulis doliis
* This is a verse from Virgil transposed.




APPENDIX.                     427
infundatur: quorsum igitur abit, cum in hac re teneamus modum.
P. Optime animadvertis, scito igitur, vina in dies etiam non
utendo sese consumere, quse, nisi dicta ratione restituerentur,
omnia tandem evanescerent.
F. Atqui, hoc pacto consultius esset, istam  absumtionem
utendo atque fruendo prsevenire quam  ab illa prseveniri, nam
quid prodest cella vinis plena, si in auram abirent.
P. Stulte! huic decremento minori, ut vides, sumtu, obviam
eundum est.
F. Do manum: sed qu3o vina his in doliis asservantur.
P. Docta (!) quidem est hsec ignorantia, hoc tamen habeto,
quod multos annos computent proptereaque rarissima sint,
idque tibi dico, ut aliquando illis moderate utaris et in seram
posteritatem illa transferri quoque studeas.
F. Curabo: sod pace tua scire velim, utrum id vini genus
forsan sit, quod Theologicum vocari tribusque istis literis C 0 S
indicari solent (!).
P. Eia quam facete respondes. Boni isti Theologi multum
in hac re pati debent, cum tamen plerique eorum ab illis bibendis abstinere cogantur.
F. Hoc quoque vcrum est, quare iideMa illud dicterium in
Jureconsultos referre amant.
P. HRc sufficiant.




428                       APPENDIX.
APPENDIX B.
THESE Felicitationes nove indicate something more than his
progress in Latin and Greek: they give glimnpses of the turn of
thought which directed his studies. The spelling and accentuation are the boy's.
I. Opto ut sit hic dies benedictiones ac pacis.
EvyoUaCtt Ya VTJi?j i,!kCa TI -ri Q sEy, lcr   xUL  TI,  ErQ)i,'71 7.
(I hope that this day will be a day of blessing and of
peace.)
II. Opto ut transigas hunc diem  sanitate optima in pace et
salute.
j;o:itt, i',a (Jiylj;,uiv,,,veaQe  iv, yl XQLeL1T?,1 7e,0,1,  xcd
(I pray that you may pass this day in peace, security
and good health.)
iii. Precor ut hune diem  transmittas in spe et potentia
Spiritus sancti.
EiU'o`ctat Ica 5lLC71 j;, T),!aaVV ECV  EV 2.a  aCL'VI'fEt IO0
l;2uthcaio; "y ov.
(I pray that you may this day live in the hope and
grace of the Holy Ghost.)
iv. Hodie omnia juxta fatum fient.
2,:tELOV  T(L'ra iTr OeOv ypiv'OLro.
(To-day let all things he ruled by God.)
v. Deus omnipotens animam  cum  corpore servet ut possis
curis semper adesse tuis.
ObE.; O 7ZaV',CQUoTo,~O TSJv' 1p;V;Z;,'!tvT~ at;Itiat acrff~ i'ra JW1rl,
TclU 1tv(?t t'urCt 6 LQ va2Erat.
(Almighty God preserve thy soul with thy body, that
thou mayest always be equal to thy trials.)




APPENDIX.                     429
APPENDIX C.
POSITIONES JURIS
Quas auspice Deo inclyti jureconsultorum ordinis consensu pro licentia
Summos in utroque jure honores rite consequendi, in Alma
Argentinensi die vI. Augusti M.DCC.LXXI.
h. 1. q. c.
Publice defendet
JOANNES WOLFGANG GOETHE.
Moeno-Francofurtensis.
1. Jus naturae est, quod natura omnia animalia docuit.
2. Consuetudo abrogat et emendat legem scriptam.
3. Idonea cautio fit tam per pignora, quam per fidijussores.
4. Pactum contractibus bonae fidei adjectum parit actionem;
sed stricti juris contractibus appositum actionem non producit.
5. Prodigus non ipso jure, sed Magistratus sententia honorum
administratione interdicitur, et post interdictionem promittendo,
ne quidem naturaliter obligatur.
6. Illiterati et juris imperiti judices non esse possunt.,
7. Transactio super re certa vel judicata fieri non potest.
8. Servitute imposita, ne luminibus officiatur, tam de futuris,
quam de proseontibus luminibus cautum censetur.
9. Testatur non potest usufructuario remittere cautionem
fructuariam earumn rerum, quve usu consumuntur, in praejudicium hxredis.
10. Publiciana actio cum rei vindicatione in codera libello
conjungi potest.




430                     APPENDIX.
11. In stricti juris actionibus fructus non veniunt nisi a tempore litis contestatoe.
12. Subscriptio instrumenti non continuo obligat scribentem.
13. Res hostium legari potest.
14. Creditor pignus naturaliter possidet.
15. Urbanum  pro3dium  distinguit a rustico, non locus, sed
materia.
16. Remedium L. 2. Cod. de Rescind. Vendit. non habet
locum in transactione.
17. Sola proestatio usurarum longo tempore facta non inducit
obligationem usurarum in futurum.
18. Societas solvitur morte, heresque socii in societate non
succedit.
19. Pro vino vel frumento mutuato reddi non potest pecunia,
invito creditore.
20. Reus non tenetur actori edere instrumenta vel rationes ad
intentionem ejus fundandam; sed actor res ad probandam exceptionem instrumenta edere tenetur.
21. Favorabiliores rei potius quam actores habentur.
22. Furti tenetur cujus ope vcl consilio tantum furtum  factum est.
23. Qui legat certam fructiiiim quantitatem, si non nascatur
tantum, quantum legabit, hberes ad prxestationem totius tenetur.
24. Testamentum, quo posthumus proeteritus vivo testatore
decedit, valet.
25. Fructus et usurae legatorum a tempore morwa debentur.
26. Liberi et liberti non restituuntur in integrum contra
parentes et patronos.
27. Redditio chirographi facta a creditore debitori, inducit
remissionem debiti, pignoris vero restitutio non idem.
28. Usufructus non dominii pars sed servitus est.
29. Quando nihil pactum est de distrahendo pignore, creditor
nihilominus post unam denunciationem pignus vendere potest.
30. Suspectus tutor ob latam culpam remotus non fit infamis.
31. Dominium sine possessione acquiri non potest.
32. Actionis verbo non continetur exceptio.
33. Privilegia realia transeunt ad hoeredes, non personalia.
34. Major annis xvII. potest esse procurator ad litem.




APPENDIX.                      431
35. In contractibus nominatis non datur condictio ob rem
dati.
36. Unica interpellatio constituit debitorem in mora.
37. Venditor etsi funduml simpliciter vendat, tamen eum liberum a servitute proestare tenetur.
38. In contractibus jus accrescendi non habet locum.
39. Etiam ob latam. culpam juratur in litem, et lata culpa
sub dolo continetur in civilibus causis.
40. Nec urbanae nec rusticae servitutes oppignorari possunt.
41. Studio Juris longe proestantissimum est.
42. De omnibus quse palam fiunt judicat Jurisconsultus, de
occultis Ecclesia.
43. Omnis legislatio ad principem pertinet.
44. Ut et legum interpretatio.
45. Consuetudo legi non derogat.
46. Salus reipublica suprema lex esto.
47. Non usus sed utilitas gentium jus gentium constituit.
48. Judici sola applicatio legum ad casus competit.
49. Legum corpus nonquam colligendum.
50. Tabule potius conscribendve, breves verbis, ampla3 argumento.
51. Interpretationes a principe factte separatim colligendce,
neque cum tabulis fundamentalibus confundendoe.
52. Sed qualibet generatione, vel novo quodam regnante ad
summum imperium evecto, abrogande, atque novva interpretationes a principe petendta videntur.
53. Poenam capitales non abrogande.
54. Lex Saxonica, que non nisi confessum et convictum condemnari vult, lex vequissima, effectu crudelissima evadit.
55. An foemina partum  recenter editum  trucidans capite
plectenda sit? quoestio est inter Doctores controversa.
56. Servitus Juris naturalis est.




432                     APPENDIX.
APPENDIX D.
List of works called forth by' Werther.'
1. Briefe an eine Freundinn fiber die Leiden des jungen
Werther. Carlsruhe, 1775.
2. Des jungen Werther's Zuruf aus der Ewigkeit an die noch
lebenden Menschen auf Erden. Ibid. 1775.
3. Werther an seinen Freund Wilhelm, aus dem Reiche der
Todten. Berlin, 1775.
4. Berichtigung der Geschichte des jungen Werther's. Frankfurt und Leipzig, 1775.
5. Freuden des jungen Werther's; Leiden und Freuden Werther's, des Mannes. Voran und zuletzt ein Gesprach. Berlin,
1775. (By Frederic Nicolai. Two editions of it appeared, the
better one of which had a vignette by Chodowieck on the titlepage.)
6. Ueber die Leiden des jungen Werther's. Gesprache. Berlin, 1775.
7. Etwas fiber die Leiden des jungen Werther's, und fiber die
Freuden des jungen Werther's. Dresden, 1775.
8. Kurze, aber nothwendige Erinnerungen fiber die Leiden
des jungen Werther's, fiber eine Recension derselben, und fiber
verschiedene nachher erfolgte und dazu geh6rige Aufsatze, von
J. M. Goeze. Hamburg, 1775.
9. Schwacher, jedoch wohlgemeinter Tritt vor den Riss, neben oder hinter Herrn Pastor Goeze gegen die Leiden des jungen
Werther und dessen ruchlose Anhinger. IlHamburg, 1775.
10. Werther in der Hille. Halle, 1775.
11. Die Leiden der jungen Wertherin. Eisenach, 1775.
12. Masuren oder der junge Werther.  Ein Trauerspiel aus
dem Tllyrischen.  Frankfurt und Leipzig, 1775.




APPENDIX.                      433
13. Piitus und Arria; eine Kiinstler-Romanze. Freistadt am
Bodensee, 1775.
14. Patus und Arria; eine Kiinstler-Romanze.  Und Lotte
bei Werther's Grab; eine Elegie. Mit einer Musik-Beilage.
Leipzig und Wahlheim, 1775.
15. Die Leiden des jungen Werther. Eine bekannte wahre
Geschichte. Hierin simmtliche Arien, welche von Albert,
Lotte und Werther wahrend der traurigen Begebenheit gedichtet worden sind. Berlin, 17...
16. Eine trostreiche und wunderbare Historia, betittult: Die
Leiden und Freuden Werther's, des Mannes; zur Erbauung der
lieben Christenheit in Reime gebracht, und fast lieblich zu lesen
und zu singen. Im Ton: Ich Miidchen bin aus Schwaben;
oder auch in eigener Melodei. Gedriickt allhier in diesem
Jahre, da all's iiber'n armen Werther her war.
17. Eine entsetzliche Mordgeschichte von dem jungen Werther, wie sich derselbe den 21 December durch einen Pistolenschuss eigenmichtig urns Leben gebracht. Allen jungen
Leuten zur Warnung in ein Lied gebracht, auch den Alten
fast niitzlich zu lesen. Im Ton: Ho1rt zu, ihr lieben Christen.
1776.
18. Mordgeschichte des jungen Werther's. Romanze, 1776.
19. Das Werther Fieber, ein unvollendetes Familien Stfick.
Nieder-Deutschland, 1776.
20. Die Leiden des jungen Werther's, ein Trauerspiel in drei
Aufziigen furs deutsche Theater, ganz aus dem Original gezogen. Bern, 1776.
21. Ernest, oder die ungliicklichen Folgen der Liebe; ein
Drama in drei Aufziigen. In einer freien Uebersetzung aus
dem Franz6sisbhen nach den Leiden des jungen Werther's gearbeitet. Berlin, 1776.
22. Versuch einer Poesie fiber einen wichtigen Brief des jungen
Werther's, von einem Liebhaber der Dichtkunst, G. A. S.Schwalbach, 1776.
23. Die Leiden des jungen Franken, eines Genie's. Minden,
1777.
24. Werther. Ein biirgerliches Trauerspiel in Prosa und
drei Akten. Frankfurt und Leipzig, 1778.
VOL. I.          37




434                      APPENDIX.
25. Und er erschoss sich - nicht.  Leipzig, 1778.
26. Man denkt verschieden bei Werther's Leiden, ein Schauspiel in drei Aufzagen. 1779.
27. Des jungen Werther's Freuden in einer bessern Welt.
Ein Traum, vielleicht aber voll sfisser Hoffnung ffir liebende
Herzen; von dem Verfasser der Lieblingstunden.  Berlin und
Leipzig, 1780.
28. Kronholm, oder, Gleich ist Werther fertig. Schauspiel
von Schmeider. Leipzig, 1783.
29. Ueber belletristische Schriftstellerei, mit einer Parallele
zwischen Werther und Ardinghello. Allen belletristischen
Schriftstellern und Lesern ihrer Schriften gewidmet. Strasburg, 1788.
30. Lotten's Briefe an eine Freundinn, wiihrend ihrer Bekanntschaft mit Werthern. Aus dem Englischen iibersetzt.
Zwei Theile. Berlin und Stettin, 1788.
31. Narcisse, eine englisehe Wertheriade.  Leipzig, 1793.
32. Des Amtmann's Tochter von Lfide.  Eine Wertheriade
fiur Aeltern, Jiinglinge und Midchen. Mit Kupfern. Bremen,
1797.
33. Aemil und Julie, oder die Unzertrennlichen. Ein Seitenstuck zu Werther's Leiden, von K. Albrecht. Mit einem Titelkupfer: Carlo Dolci pinx. F. Ramberg se. Berlin, 1800.
34. Die Leiden Werther's, eine wahre Geschichte.  Nebst
den zur Gesehichte geh6rigen Liedern. Berlin, 1800. [This is
in reality the same version of the romance for the people as No.
17, except that it underwent a few alterations to adapt it to the
period.]
35 Der neue Werther, oder Gefaihl und Liebe. Von * *  *
Nfirnberg, 1804.
36. Die letzten Briefe des Jacopo Ortis. Nach dem Italienischen herausgegeben von Heinrich Luden.  G6ttingen, 1807.
(These letters are by Ugo Foscolo, and are imitations of Werther.)
37. Praxede, oder der Franz6sischen Werther.  Uebersetzt
von Saul Ascher. Berlin, 1809.
38. Letzte Briefe des Jacopo Ortis, nach der ffinfzehnten, der
ersten allein gleichf6rmigen und mit bibliographisehen Zusit



APPENDIX.                     435
zen vermehrten Ausgabe.  Aus dem  Italienischen. London
(Zurich), 1817. (This edition contains also a comparison
between Werther and Ortis.)
39. Letters from Wetzlar, written 1817, by Major James
Bell. London, 1822. (This publication contains interesting
historical notices of the young man whose love and death
inspired Goethe with his Work.)
40. Lotten's Gestandnisse in Briefen an eine vertraute Freundinn, vor und nach Werther's Tod geschrieben. Aus dem
Englischen, nach der funften amerikanischen Ausgabe. Mitt
Lottens h6chst ihnlichem  Bildnisse, nach einem  Familien
Gemilde, und einem Facsimile ihrer Handschrift, aus einem
Erinnerungsbuchte. Trier, 1825.
END OF VOL. I.